I was watching Sarah Cunningham’s wedding from the back of the church. I hadn’t been invited of course. I had slipped in quietly and taken a seat in an empty pew and was waiting for the ceremony to begin. Sarah was standing at the back of the church next to my pew. Besides her was the man who I assumed was her father. I cast my eyes over her slender figure, wrapped in its white dress. At moments her deep green eyes would peek out from under her veil, and strands of her red-golden hair would flick around as she turned her head. Our eyes met several times.
Her low neckline ******* a large area of her pale pink skin. Coming from a small village in Africa, I was not used to seeing white skin at all. It was such soft and delicate thing that curved so beautifully. Just below her lace neckline the curves collected into perky round breasts. Despite being shrouded in white silk, their shape was so delicious and perfect that I had to fight hard not to reach out and tear the dress away from them. I felt my penis swelling in my lust for her I was wearing my traditional silken agbada dress with no underwear. My erection lifted the fabric, highlighting the size of my manly organ. I briefly caught Sarah’s eyes looking at it. They were filled with as much lust as mine.
The music began to play. I watched Sarah from behind as her father walked her down the aisle. My eyes followed her veil as it rose and fell with every step. Strands of her golden red air bobbed from beneath it. I stared at her cute behind and the slender waistline that shone through the lace. I felt a pang of jealousy looking at the fat white boy with the glasses who was being made into her husband. I felt that pain even more when he kissed her.
I had come to this place in a distant and strange country at the advice of our village medicine man. I had consulted him to ask why I had been struck by bad luck for so many years. Goats had died. Chickens didn’t lay eggs. Crops had withered and been eaten by beetles. My two wives had born me only *********, nine of them so far. I continued to try for a son but my attempts were fruitless. I had considered taking a third wife but I didn’t have the money.
The medicine man had danced and inhaled himself into a trance and in his trance he had told me about my great-grandfather, Old Baba. Old Baba had been chieftain of our tribe and had been humiliated by white men for speaking against them. The white men had tied him up and whipped him in front of the entire village. None of the villagers had had the courage to resist the white men. But Old Baba had spoken a curse that had now come to rest on me. The curse could only be lifted if I sought revenge. This was why I had made the long and dangerous journey to England.
Everything so far had been exactly as the medicine man had said. I was an uninvited guest at the wedding of Sarah Cunningham, the great granddaughter of Joe Cunningham, the man who had tied Old Baba up and whipped him.
Around my neck I was wearing the amulet the medicine man had given me. A small shard of Old Baba’s skull was attached to a gold chain. It was giving me strength. My time was coming.
I couldn’t go to the party because I didn’t have an invitation. I sat on a bench outside as music came out through the windows. The happiness of the people inside hurt me. It hurt me to think they were feasting with the riches they had stolen from Old Baba.
Time moved on and it was now dark. Some guests were leaving. At the command of my amulet, I slipped into the building through a side door and climbed the stairs. I found myself walking along a long corridor with doors on both sides. All of them were closed. The amulet made me stop outside a door that looked just like all the others, but this was the place. I removed my agbada dress and sandals and stood stark naked in this empty corridor, wearing nothing but the amulet.
I touched the amulet, praying to Old Baba to help me, and then pushed on the door. I immediately found myself standing face to face with Sarah Cunningham. Her eyes lit up with shock. They were beautiful eyes, green and large and deep. Her face was tired from a long night of dancing and tipsiness.
“Sarak Unnyam, don’t afraid, don’t afraid, beautiful woman, married, where your man?”
“He’s downstairs”, she spluttered, “having more drinks with his friends.”
“And now Sarak Unnyam here alone, so beautiful?”, I spoke softly as my fingertips reached out and touched her neckline. She didn’t resist.
“You were in the church,” she said, “I saw you.”
“Very beautiful,” I replied, “very love.”
She threw her arms around my neck and her lips met mine. Not a quick showy kiss as she had given the white boy in church, but a deep, long and intense kiss. Both of our hearts were racing with excitement.
With our bodies pressed against one another, I began to undo the back of her wedding dress. Underneath her dress she was wearing a bra and panties. I undid these too and soon she was standing in front of me in her naked beauty. I had never seen a white woman naked before and hovered motionless, stunned and silent. The soft uniform perfection of her white skin almost shone light of its own. Only the aureoles of her breasts stood out in a slightly different colour. Their redness echoed the redness of the hair that showed from under her veil.
I am of not unfamiliar with nakedness in women. The women in my village are mostly topless and I have two young wives of my own. But Sarah’s breasts were round and perky and did not droop like those of our village women. Any woman in our village would already have born and fed several children by the time she reached her mid-twenties, but here was a woman who had been allowed to reach the prime of her beauty untouched by the weight of motherhood.
She deftly closed the door to the corridor and locked us in. Her soft white fingers reached out to my dark manly organ and began to stroke it.
“It’s even bigger than I thought it was,” she whispered in my ear.
“Sarak make it happy,” I replied.
We fell into a close embrace. Her soft skin in close contact with mine. Her femininity against my masculinity Her whiteness against my blackness. My manly organ was pressed between us, pressed against her lower abdomen, the place where her babies would grow.
Ancestors can see you when a new descendant is conceived. I knew Old Baba was looking on in satisfaction at what was about to happen, and I knew that wicked Joe Cunningham was screaming in agony. Both thoughts made me happy.
My fingers explored the paleness of her body as we lay side by side on the bed. Her breasts were so soft. Her red nipples swelled as my black fingers circled them. The nipples of the last descendant of Joe Cunningham would soon be feeding a black baby, who would be descended from none other than Old Baba himself. I explored her crotch, fingering the edges of her labia, her pink vagina, the place from which that child would enter the world. She was getting moist at the touch of my fingertips.
Finally she pulled my manly organ towards her. I moved on top of her and pushed it inside. She emitted a muffled scream. Her vagina was tight, much tighter than my own wives, even on their wedding nights. At first I could only fit my tip inside but with every stroke I got in a little deeper. The resistance of her white body broke down and accepted what her mind had already accepted, the dominance of my blackness.
Her legs were now locked firmly around my buttocks and she moaned at every movement of my hips. My manly organ was deep inside her. Her moist and tight flesh surrounding it and pressed on it from all sides. I had never felt so stimulated along the full length of my organ. I felt unable to resist. I knew I couldn’t last long.
Of course I know what a female orgasm is. I have two wives at home and have pleased many other women in our village besides. But what I experienced next was something I had never known before. Her body began to quake. The flesh that surrounded my manly organ squeezed and contracted, and the contraction spread like a wave through her entire body, through her abdomen and then through all her bones and flesh all the way to her fingertips. Her grip on me tightened. It was as if she was trying to suck me inside, to make me a part of her. Another wave followed. And then another, each greater than the last. And every time she let off a shout, a scream, a gasping for air, a cry of pleasure she could not control.
In between cries and shouts she managed to kiss me. She was now covered in sweat. I continued to rhythmically work my organ inside her. I felt the seed beginning to move inside me, leaving my testicles and getting ready to shoot out of the head of my organ, which had never felt so huge or so excited. There was now nothing between the tip of my excited organ and her fertile egg. I could feel Old Baba dancing with joy. I could feel Joe Cunningham screaming with helpless rage. The last of his line was willingly allowing Old Baba’s descendant to be planted inside her.
And then it happened. I am normally good at controlling. I can hold back and pleasure my women for a long time. But the intensity and tightness of Sarah was such that I couldn’t. It erupted inside me. My manly organ quivered, and my body shook in unison with it. I felt my sticky seed shooting deep into her. A second shot followed and then a third.
I held still a little longer as I felt my body fluids mingling with hers. Her legs released me from their grip. I kissed her once more and rolled over. She lay on her side and I held her in the spoon position from behind. My black hand covered the perfect skin of white her lower abdomen in which I knew my seed was perfectioning her egg as we lay. The moment seemed to last forever. I was holding her beautiful white body while Old Baba was dancing in my brain. My baby, Old Baba’s baby, would inherit the fortune that Joe Cunningham had stolen from Old Baba. Revenge was served. And the beautiful thing was that it was not served by hate or hurt as Old Baba would probably have imagined, but by love and harmony. I lay there and savoured the moment.
“You’d better move, Paul will be here soon, ” she finally said.
I got up and looked once more on her beautiful white form in which my seed must already have been growing. I looked at those beautiful white breasts that would feed my child. Her wedding veil was still on her head. A trail of my seed was emerging from her vagina. I slipped back into my agbada and was about to leave, when I thought of something. I took my amulet, unclipped it from its chain, and placed it in her hand.
“Sarak Unnyam , take this, when baby bigger, you give, protect and help, Africa medicine”
“Baby? …” she screamed, “oh shit, I’m fertile and Paul and I were going to make a baby tonight, shit, why did you do this to me? Why didn’t you pull out?”
“Paul you husband? He coming up stairs soon. He can love you. Put seed. But me seed stronger. Old Baba make stronger. Old Baba say you baby black. Baby boy. Black boy”
“My baby will be black? What will Paul say? What will my father say?”, she cried with tears welling from her eyes.
“Take magic bone, Old Baba protect. Make strong.”
She took it and I slipped out of the room.
Her newly wed husband, Paul, was struggling up the stairs as I came down. The drink had taken its toll and he could hardly stand. I knew he had to make love to Sarah tonight. Paul had to believe he had fathered the child. The truth would only emerge when it was born.
I told Paul to lean on my arm and I walked him to his room.
Her low neckline ******* a large area of her pale pink skin. Coming from a small village in Africa, I was not used to seeing white skin at all. It was such soft and delicate thing that curved so beautifully. Just below her lace neckline the curves collected into perky round breasts. Despite being shrouded in white silk, their shape was so delicious and perfect that I had to fight hard not to reach out and tear the dress away from them. I felt my penis swelling in my lust for her I was wearing my traditional silken agbada dress with no underwear. My erection lifted the fabric, highlighting the size of my manly organ. I briefly caught Sarah’s eyes looking at it. They were filled with as much lust as mine.
The music began to play. I watched Sarah from behind as her father walked her down the aisle. My eyes followed her veil as it rose and fell with every step. Strands of her golden red air bobbed from beneath it. I stared at her cute behind and the slender waistline that shone through the lace. I felt a pang of jealousy looking at the fat white boy with the glasses who was being made into her husband. I felt that pain even more when he kissed her.
I had come to this place in a distant and strange country at the advice of our village medicine man. I had consulted him to ask why I had been struck by bad luck for so many years. Goats had died. Chickens didn’t lay eggs. Crops had withered and been eaten by beetles. My two wives had born me only *********, nine of them so far. I continued to try for a son but my attempts were fruitless. I had considered taking a third wife but I didn’t have the money.
The medicine man had danced and inhaled himself into a trance and in his trance he had told me about my great-grandfather, Old Baba. Old Baba had been chieftain of our tribe and had been humiliated by white men for speaking against them. The white men had tied him up and whipped him in front of the entire village. None of the villagers had had the courage to resist the white men. But Old Baba had spoken a curse that had now come to rest on me. The curse could only be lifted if I sought revenge. This was why I had made the long and dangerous journey to England.
Everything so far had been exactly as the medicine man had said. I was an uninvited guest at the wedding of Sarah Cunningham, the great granddaughter of Joe Cunningham, the man who had tied Old Baba up and whipped him.
Around my neck I was wearing the amulet the medicine man had given me. A small shard of Old Baba’s skull was attached to a gold chain. It was giving me strength. My time was coming.
I couldn’t go to the party because I didn’t have an invitation. I sat on a bench outside as music came out through the windows. The happiness of the people inside hurt me. It hurt me to think they were feasting with the riches they had stolen from Old Baba.
Time moved on and it was now dark. Some guests were leaving. At the command of my amulet, I slipped into the building through a side door and climbed the stairs. I found myself walking along a long corridor with doors on both sides. All of them were closed. The amulet made me stop outside a door that looked just like all the others, but this was the place. I removed my agbada dress and sandals and stood stark naked in this empty corridor, wearing nothing but the amulet.
I touched the amulet, praying to Old Baba to help me, and then pushed on the door. I immediately found myself standing face to face with Sarah Cunningham. Her eyes lit up with shock. They were beautiful eyes, green and large and deep. Her face was tired from a long night of dancing and tipsiness.
“Sarak Unnyam, don’t afraid, don’t afraid, beautiful woman, married, where your man?”
“He’s downstairs”, she spluttered, “having more drinks with his friends.”
“And now Sarak Unnyam here alone, so beautiful?”, I spoke softly as my fingertips reached out and touched her neckline. She didn’t resist.
“You were in the church,” she said, “I saw you.”
“Very beautiful,” I replied, “very love.”
She threw her arms around my neck and her lips met mine. Not a quick showy kiss as she had given the white boy in church, but a deep, long and intense kiss. Both of our hearts were racing with excitement.
With our bodies pressed against one another, I began to undo the back of her wedding dress. Underneath her dress she was wearing a bra and panties. I undid these too and soon she was standing in front of me in her naked beauty. I had never seen a white woman naked before and hovered motionless, stunned and silent. The soft uniform perfection of her white skin almost shone light of its own. Only the aureoles of her breasts stood out in a slightly different colour. Their redness echoed the redness of the hair that showed from under her veil.
I am of not unfamiliar with nakedness in women. The women in my village are mostly topless and I have two young wives of my own. But Sarah’s breasts were round and perky and did not droop like those of our village women. Any woman in our village would already have born and fed several children by the time she reached her mid-twenties, but here was a woman who had been allowed to reach the prime of her beauty untouched by the weight of motherhood.
She deftly closed the door to the corridor and locked us in. Her soft white fingers reached out to my dark manly organ and began to stroke it.
“It’s even bigger than I thought it was,” she whispered in my ear.
“Sarak make it happy,” I replied.
We fell into a close embrace. Her soft skin in close contact with mine. Her femininity against my masculinity Her whiteness against my blackness. My manly organ was pressed between us, pressed against her lower abdomen, the place where her babies would grow.
Ancestors can see you when a new descendant is conceived. I knew Old Baba was looking on in satisfaction at what was about to happen, and I knew that wicked Joe Cunningham was screaming in agony. Both thoughts made me happy.
My fingers explored the paleness of her body as we lay side by side on the bed. Her breasts were so soft. Her red nipples swelled as my black fingers circled them. The nipples of the last descendant of Joe Cunningham would soon be feeding a black baby, who would be descended from none other than Old Baba himself. I explored her crotch, fingering the edges of her labia, her pink vagina, the place from which that child would enter the world. She was getting moist at the touch of my fingertips.
Finally she pulled my manly organ towards her. I moved on top of her and pushed it inside. She emitted a muffled scream. Her vagina was tight, much tighter than my own wives, even on their wedding nights. At first I could only fit my tip inside but with every stroke I got in a little deeper. The resistance of her white body broke down and accepted what her mind had already accepted, the dominance of my blackness.
Her legs were now locked firmly around my buttocks and she moaned at every movement of my hips. My manly organ was deep inside her. Her moist and tight flesh surrounding it and pressed on it from all sides. I had never felt so stimulated along the full length of my organ. I felt unable to resist. I knew I couldn’t last long.
Of course I know what a female orgasm is. I have two wives at home and have pleased many other women in our village besides. But what I experienced next was something I had never known before. Her body began to quake. The flesh that surrounded my manly organ squeezed and contracted, and the contraction spread like a wave through her entire body, through her abdomen and then through all her bones and flesh all the way to her fingertips. Her grip on me tightened. It was as if she was trying to suck me inside, to make me a part of her. Another wave followed. And then another, each greater than the last. And every time she let off a shout, a scream, a gasping for air, a cry of pleasure she could not control.
In between cries and shouts she managed to kiss me. She was now covered in sweat. I continued to rhythmically work my organ inside her. I felt the seed beginning to move inside me, leaving my testicles and getting ready to shoot out of the head of my organ, which had never felt so huge or so excited. There was now nothing between the tip of my excited organ and her fertile egg. I could feel Old Baba dancing with joy. I could feel Joe Cunningham screaming with helpless rage. The last of his line was willingly allowing Old Baba’s descendant to be planted inside her.
And then it happened. I am normally good at controlling. I can hold back and pleasure my women for a long time. But the intensity and tightness of Sarah was such that I couldn’t. It erupted inside me. My manly organ quivered, and my body shook in unison with it. I felt my sticky seed shooting deep into her. A second shot followed and then a third.
I held still a little longer as I felt my body fluids mingling with hers. Her legs released me from their grip. I kissed her once more and rolled over. She lay on her side and I held her in the spoon position from behind. My black hand covered the perfect skin of white her lower abdomen in which I knew my seed was perfectioning her egg as we lay. The moment seemed to last forever. I was holding her beautiful white body while Old Baba was dancing in my brain. My baby, Old Baba’s baby, would inherit the fortune that Joe Cunningham had stolen from Old Baba. Revenge was served. And the beautiful thing was that it was not served by hate or hurt as Old Baba would probably have imagined, but by love and harmony. I lay there and savoured the moment.
“You’d better move, Paul will be here soon, ” she finally said.
I got up and looked once more on her beautiful white form in which my seed must already have been growing. I looked at those beautiful white breasts that would feed my child. Her wedding veil was still on her head. A trail of my seed was emerging from her vagina. I slipped back into my agbada and was about to leave, when I thought of something. I took my amulet, unclipped it from its chain, and placed it in her hand.
“Sarak Unnyam , take this, when baby bigger, you give, protect and help, Africa medicine”
“Baby? …” she screamed, “oh shit, I’m fertile and Paul and I were going to make a baby tonight, shit, why did you do this to me? Why didn’t you pull out?”
“Paul you husband? He coming up stairs soon. He can love you. Put seed. But me seed stronger. Old Baba make stronger. Old Baba say you baby black. Baby boy. Black boy”
“My baby will be black? What will Paul say? What will my father say?”, she cried with tears welling from her eyes.
“Take magic bone, Old Baba protect. Make strong.”
She took it and I slipped out of the room.
Her newly wed husband, Paul, was struggling up the stairs as I came down. The drink had taken its toll and he could hardly stand. I knew he had to make love to Sarah tonight. Paul had to believe he had fathered the child. The truth would only emerge when it was born.
I told Paul to lean on my arm and I walked him to his room.
