I was doing some charity work in Haiti after one of their endless disasters, setting concrete blocks for a community center. When the rest of the human-savior work crew went back to the states, I stuck around for a while, wanting to get a feel of the local culture and people. One of the native guys I met on the job, the cement guy, invited me for a beer the first evening, and I gladly came along.
We had a few drinks and I started running my mouth. I always considered myself a ladies' man, so I was boasting about some of my more exotic encounters. My new friend just smiled and nodded and laughed along at all the right places. When I eventually realized I was the one doing all the talking, I encouraged him to take a turn.
"Why are you just sitting back smiling? I bet you've had some real adventures. What was your wildest night?"
"Nothing you would believe, my friend."
"Oh yeah? Well, now you have to tell me!"
He sat there a moment, trying to make up his mind about me. Finally, he said, "You would just have to experience it for yourself. I'm not sure you are ready for it."
That got me very interested. "What the hell, man! I'm up for anything!"
He leaned in, "You ever give up control? Submit?"
I couldn't say that I had. The only time I had played around with ropes and gags, I wasn't the one tied to the bed. But the idea got me stirred up.
"As I said, I'm up for anything!" But I had no idea what I was saying.
He just shook his head. But at that point, I was insistent, to the point of becoming annoying. A couple more beers, and I don't know if I finally convinced him, or if he just wanted to put me in my place. Either way, he said, "Give me your phone."
I did. He punched in a number, called it, and his phone buzzed. "That's for when you want me to come and pick you up. Let's go."
I didn't have a car, so I climbed into the jeep with him. It was dark, and we headed out of the city, onto a dirt road. I trusted my new friend, for no reason, but I was sobering up on the drive, just from the excitement of the unknown, and from thinking about his question, 'You ever give up control?'
We eventually drove through a dirt village and stopped at a house just beyond it. The yard was overgrown with tropical plants with big leaves and fragrant flowers. The house was made of block but painted brightly. It was probably quite attractive in the daytime.
My friend led me up the one step to the wooden porch. There was a dim light on inside, visible through the lace window curtains. He knocked, and, in a few moments, she opened the heavy, wooden door. There was still a screen door between us. She saw my friend and smiled.
She was nothing more than a silhouette from the lamp light behind her. The whitest of eyes and teeth within an ebony shape, almost as tall as me, shaved head, large hoop earrings, her figure hidden within a flowing gown.
They had a conversation in their language, much of which involved looking sideways at me. They laughed the laugh of old friends, which almost put me at ease. She opened the screen door and stood aside. I stepped into the house. She shut the screen door and then the wooden one. My friend was gone.
That's when I discovered she spoke no English. She did speak, in her own language, more to herself than to me, and her voice was low and soothing. I just let the sounds wash over me and I relaxed more than I had any reason to.
I got a better look at her now that she wasn't backlit. Her skin was so impossibly dark. Her features were graceful. Her lips were thick, her nostrils broad, her eyebrows high and arched, her skin unblemished. I had no way to guess her age.
Her gown was colorful, in reds and yellows. It could have been a house dress, something she slept in, or something she threw on when we knocked on her door. Her feet were bare, and she gestured for me to take my shoes off, too, and place them near the door, so I did.
The house was all one room. The lamp was on a breakfast table with two chairs. There was a stove, a small bed, a couch, and what looked like a massage table. At that point, I made a bad assumption that my friend had just dropped me off for the best massage of my life, with what I assumed would be a spectacular happy ending.
She came to me and undressed me like I was a child. She lifted my t-shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor. She unbuckled my belt and gently slid it out of the loops. She unsnapped and unzipped my jeans, and I helped her by stepping out of them. At that point, I was a little self-conscious, but I was still assuming it was for a massage, so I let her slip down my briefs. She gathered my clothes and put them in a basket by the bed, then came back to me. I watched her walk away and back, still very unsure of the shape beneath the dress, though I could see there were plenty of curves in the front and the back.
She stood in front of me again and smiled. She spoke some words over me as she stroked my forehead, and I felt myself relax. My self-consciousness melted away, and with it, I stopped fighting down my desires, and my erection began to take a stand.
She paid no attention to my cock, which seemed like a professional thing to do, but the truth is that she was completely focused on my face. She began to press her fingers into my temples and her thumbs on my cheeks and under my chin. It was very intimate, and still very much what a masseuse might do. I felt my breathing slow, my heart rate steady, my head growing a bit too heavy for my neck.
Still holding my head in her hands, she backed me towards the table, and I leaned back onto it and lay down flat on my back. My dick was hard against my belly. My arms were limp at my sides. My eyes were open, but, when she stepped away, I didn't turn my head. So, I couldn't say what she got, or from where, but when she returned, she had a large pink flower in one hand that looked like nothing less than a vagina as she pressed the corners and it opened. In her other hand, she held a large phallus, as lily white as mine, but twice the size. It looked like it was made of ivory. I saw that it was carved into the shape of a man, bulbous head necking down to sloping shoulders, arms at the side, penis carved in outline into the belly, cut off at the knees into a flat end with some kind of plug or stopper there.
She laid the flower and the phallus on my chest for just a moment, long enough for her to pull down the shoulders of her dress so that it fell to the floor.
I had enough presence to turn my head towards her, then, and the sight was lovely. Her breasts were so full and round, but her nipples were low and pointed down. They were an even darker black, with puffy areolas and bite-sized nubs. Her waist curved extravagantly into her hips, and I could not see anything more below the table and into the shadows.
We both smiled. Then she took my penis in her hand and stroked me. She had already oiled her palm. Again, she was gentle and resisted any attempt I made to push my hips off the table to fuck her hand. With her other hand, she stroked my forehead until I calmed down.
When my dick first began to throb, I must have released some pre-cum, because she wiped it like nectar off the tip of my penis, then took the flower, opened it, and pressed her wet finger inside. She rubbed it all around and when she removed her finger it was coated with a red paste, which she then rubbed on both her nipples, painting them bright red.
She walked over to the bed and got a pillow and propped my head up at an angle so I could see down my body. Then she lifted one breast to my mouth and pressed the nipple in between my lips. The red paste was tart, but as I suckled her, sweet milk flowed into my mouth, and the two tastes blended into something so perfect I knew I would never want to stop sucking.
I drank from her a long time until the flow was just a trickle, then she gave me the other breast and I drank from her all over again. As I swallowed her, I saw a look of ecstasy on her face, and maintaining that look became more important to me than the pleasure of her nipple in my mouth, her milk down my throat.
Something was happening inside me that I could not identify as long as I was drinking from her. My relaxed body didn't move but felt stiffer somehow. There was some new awareness on the edges of my mind like I door I could open soon. When I was done drinking, she placed my head firmly back against the pillow. I was not limp. My head stayed exactly where she placed it, like clay.
She stepped back then to assess my condition. she lifted my arm, let go, and it stayed there. I could not move it. My eyes could not even betray my surprise. I could breathe, and I could blink, and think, though in a cloudy state, but my body was a doll for her use.
She placed my still-outstretched arm back on the table. Then, she reached down to my cock and pulled it away from my belly and pointed it straight up at the ceiling. It stayed there. I felt the pulsing of it internally, but it didn't move. And I knew then that I would still be able to ejaculate, but without any thrusting or control on my part.
"You ever give up control? Submit?"
I understood now. This was not a game. There was no safe word. I was at her mercy. And my only hope was knowing my new friend had survived this, and that it was the most extreme sexual experience of his life.
My view was still down my body, and I knew it was only because she wanted me to watch, to see what she was doing. She took the phallus from where it was on my chest and removed the large stopper. Then she slid it over my penis like a stiff condom. I thought it would be hard and sharp, but, when I entered it, it took on the shape of me, and my senses extended into it as if my cock had simply expanded to twice its width. She let go, and it was still pointed to the ceiling. She slid her hand up and down the shaft and I felt it, up and down my shaft.
