I always go back to my black ex-boyfriend.

My black ex-boyfriend seems to be my kryptonite. Everyone has something like it. There’s always that one ex that knew exactly what we wanted. Sometimes people can’t change much in terms of personality. But god, they can make a great fuck. They might know all your kinks, fetishes, know exactly what turns you on. This guy was that guy for me. He still comes around from time to time, and the chemistry’s still the same. I would fuck his brains out anytime, anywhere, with all the world to see. He knew just how to turn me into his dirty little whore.

If I didn’t know any better, I swear he hypnotized me somehow. I swear he did some kind of witchy spell on me. Whatever he did, I just know that whenever he comes around, I want to be his. I want to lay around in his bed, seducing him with my curves, giving him the bedroom eyes until he can’t help himself, he has to take me. And that’s when we raise a little hell. I spent almost my entire last week wandering around his hotel room and laying around in his bed. It started so innocently too, with a small visit.

I knew that he was back in town.

And it escalated quickly. I guess you can’t go see your black ex-boyfriend without immediately ending up in bed. He was crawling over me and taking control. I fired back, digging my nails into his back softly at first, then tearing them in. He always loved it rough. He loved the marks I left up and down his shoulders. it made him fuck me even harder, with all twelve inches of his big black cock. Sometimes he couldn’t take it, he wanted to cuff me down and make me his dirty little whore. Sometimes I couldn’t take it when he did. He craved tying me up so I couldn’t fight back.

That turned me on like crazy. Usually, I’m so assertive, dominant, I do what I want, I go where I please, I get what I want. No one can tell me what to do. No one has a toll on me. Except him. Even years after our relationship, I couldn’t help going back to my black ex-boyfriend. I always go to him when I want a mean, rough fuck. After all, I can’t resist his big black dick either. There were times that my wrists would be red and sore, covered in marks from pulling and struggling against the handcuffs.

The pain from that would feel so good.

Even the few days after, if he was already gone. They was a reminder of how fucking good it felt to have him tie me down, fuck me, tease me to no avail and have me begging him to let me cum. I was never one for edging, but he could bring me right to the edge and have me screaming his name, begging for him to let me cum. I have a soft spot for black phone sex, and I don’t think it’s ever going away.

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