Warning:
This story is a work of fiction and contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts between women. If this type of content offends you or you are under the age of 18 do not read it.
Author's Note:
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Copyright 2012 Jan, All rights reserved
Please mail to janmay696@yahoo.com if you have any suggestions for future stories.
Lactating Mamma 2
Black Mamma
By
Jan
When I returned to Atlanta I started looking for a black mamma to treat me the way that I crave. The first place I looked was my computer and the second place was the newspaper called the Advocate. The newspaper was not that much help because I had to weed through all of the men posing as women. The lesbian chat-rooms on the web were more rewarding.
Actually the role playing bores me. I have no desire to listen to women and posers babble on about sexual fantasies by the hour. It is not that what they discuss does not titillate my sexual desires, it is just that I would prefer to actually meet women and perform the acts they discuss. Most of these women do not have the nerve to actually fulfill their sexual fantasies. For instance there are a lot of women that claim they are in an incest relationship with their daughters, but never actually prove their story by allowing you to actually meet their children. The only time I actually indulge in prolonged discussions with these women is when I'm horny or drunk.
One evening when I was in a chat-room, I was drawn to a name that intrigued me. A name like Ivy is the kind of name a black woman would name her daughter. I read what she was saying before I was convinced that she was in fact a black woman before I sought to engage her in a private conversation. She accepted my offer, and we struck up a conversation.
She was rather blunt about the way she asked me what I had on my mind. I admitted to her that I was a naturally submissive lesbian, and was seeking a black mammy to dominate me, and my wettest dream was to find one that was actually lactating.
She also expressed a degree of interest in the subject herself. We discussed our desires. She told me that she was a Mistress for several skinny black chicks. She admitted that she especially enjoyed disciplining white women. In the course of our discussion she proclaimed that she was a full figured woman with all of the attributes that went along with her size. I told her that I had developed a strong attraction to women that would breastfeed me. Ivy responded with the single word "REALLY." She was not admitting anything.
I told her that I traveled a lot as part of my job as a personnel relations officer for a large airline. I was willing to travel almost anywhere to meet women that shared my sexual desires. Ivy told me that she lived in Charlotte, Georgia.
The knowledge that she lived so close to my hometown was enough to make my panties wet. We exchanged pictures. I was impressed with her picture. She reminded me of the actress from the thirties called Hattie McDaniel. She was the first black woman to receive an Oscar for her role in the 1939 movie 'Gone with the Wind.' Hattie endured the racial segregation even in Hollywood. She could not live in Beverly Hills or Malibu, but she was the richest black woman in the black district of Los Angeles.
Ivy had a big round flat face like Hattie and just as dark skinned. Her figure was everything a woman like me desires. Her breasts were so large that no bra would ever hold them up. Only stocky legs could hold up a robust figure like hers. She expressed her pleasure with my picture too.
I insisted on meeting her in a public place the first time. I prefer to do it that way so that I can verify she was who she claimed to be, and find out if she was an interesting in person as she seem to be online.
We agreed on a date and time. She selected a café that would be an appropriate place for a black and white lesbian to meet without shocking the self- righteous gentry of Charlotte. Charlotte is an old charming city, which represents a mix of both the old established traditional south and a very liberal mix of free thinkers. It is the kind of city where a drag queen or a dyke can mix with the gentry at parties as long as they don't embarrass themselves.
It was no problem for me to catch a local flight to Charlotte, and rent a car. I used the navigation system on the car to get me to the address of the café. I entered the place and stood near the entrance before I saw Ivy sitting at a small table with a red gingham tablecloth. I weaved my way through the tables. I approached her, as she stood up to greet me. She extended her hand in greeting. I took her hand, but approached her and hugged her as I kissed her cheek.
She reacted with a degree of embarrassment as if I had stepped beyond accepted greeting between a black woman and a white woman. She recovered and indicated what we should be seated. A young black waitress approached us with menus in hand. She greeted us politely and asked if we would like something to drink. Iced tea was appropriate for a hot summer day that promised humid rain in the afternoon.
As the girl retreated Ivy and I started getting to know each other. I found Ivy to be everything I desired. She was a very articulate woman, and her figure was everything her picture portrayed. Her body smelled of lavender. Her hands were large and strong from years of hard work, at the same time they were soft as a result of pampering. Everything about her revealed a woman that had worked hard for years, and educated herself to a point that she was able to live comfortably. In public she presented the picture of a respectable black woman that respected the traditions of the old south. She would never confront a white person in a disrespectful manner in public.
Just the same I recognized an underlying resentment of way society made her behave in public. I longed to know this other woman.
We chatted about trivial things, but I kept coming back to wanting to know her better. She eventually agreed to allow me to drive her to her home.
Her home was located in an old part of town that had been the center of high society during the height of the pre Civil War days. It had fallen into disrepair and had become a slum before the mid- twentieth century. Slowly people restored the homes into their former glory. Ivy's home was located above a small shop on a narrow street. I had to park behind the building. That was where delivery wagons had once delivered dry goods to the shops. We entered through the backdoor and took the stairs to the second floor.
The second floor allowed the home to take advantage of the cooling evening breeze. There was wrought iron balconies overlooking the front and back of the building. Large screen doors allowed cross ventilation. Everything about the home looked like something out of the 1850's. We sat on the old fashioned couch next to each other to continue our discussion. I suspect that she was making sure that I was the submissive I claimed to be.
She told me that her great-grandmother had been the slave of the owner of this very shop. She had lived in a small attic room above this very living room. She clerked for her master's, as well as did all of the household duties. Ivy claimed that her grandmother had been fathered by the master.
When she was comfortable that I would accept her domination when we were in a private place, she excused herself for a moment.
While she was gone I studied the surroundings. Everything in the room looked like it was age and style appropriate for the time. I could envision the black slave on her knees cleaning the hardwood floors, and then being raped reputedly. It seemed as if there was some sort of poetic justice that a descendant of that union owns the place now.
When Ivy made her entrance I was shocked to see the way she was dressed. She had on high heeled boots that fit her fat legs so tightly the seams were about to bust. Her waist was restricted by the tightest black leather corset I had even seen. It looked like a medieval torture device. The corset forced those massive breasts up and spilled over the top. Her breasts looked like the color of coffee with cream, and the areolas and nipples were as dark as black coffee, and they were as large as my hands. Those were the only items of clothing she had on. Her pussy was exposed, but hard to see wedged between those thick thighs. There was only a portion of her vulva visible, and that was covered with pubic hairs that looked like coiled watch springs.
She did a pirouette in front of me, to allow me to check out the look. I had seen pictures of the Hottentots from western Africa, and they were known for their bulbous butts. Ivy must have descended from members of that tribe, because it looked like you could place beer steins on the cheeks of her butt without spilling a drop. There were dimples on her butt. She was able to shift her weight from leg to leg setting her butt into motion that virtually dances to the beat of the music playing on her stereo.
I found her to be the sexiest thing I had ever seen. When she turned around she took me in her arms and kissed me. Her tongue filled my mouth. There was no escaping from her grasp, even if I wanted. She sat down in her favorite chair, and demanded that I remove my clothes.
While I was standing in front of her stripping off my clothes, she sat there with her legs spread, and played with her pussy.
When I was naked she made me approach, and she waved a finger under my nose. The smell of her finger was overwhelming with the odor of her pussy. The aroma filled my nose, and lingered long after she returned to playing with herself.
She demanded that I kneel between her legs and kiss her pussy. Wedging my face between those thick thighs was difficult. It was a struggle to get my tongue into those thick labia major. The slimy juice clogged my throat. I licked her pussy and clit with everything I could muster. Her smell was so strong I doubted that I could ever wash away the stench, but I loved it. I was forced to suck her pussy until she had a climax that added even more slimy juice that I had to swallow.
When she allowed me to stand up, she allowed me to sit on her lap, which is no easy task, because of her full figured body. When I was settled down with my head resting in the bend of her left arm, she lifted her let tit with her right hand and fed me the nipple. You can't imagine my surprise when I started sucking on her nipple and my efforts were rewarded the taste of warm milk. I started sucking like a greedy little pig. I sucked both tits dry until she forced me to stop sucking.
She had been finger fucking me the whole time. She had made me cum a couple of times. I felt as relaxed as I had ever been. Ivy stood up with me in her arms, like I was a baby. She carried me into her bedroom and placed me on her bed.
I felt powerless to stop her from doing whatever she wanted, and was willing to do anything she asked of me. She played with my breasts for a long time. She only stopped when I complained that they were sore. That was when she spread my legs, and started swabbing my pussy with that thick tongue of hers. She made me cum several times. When I thought she was going to let me relax for awhile is when she sat on my face smothering me with her big ass. She demanded that I lick her asshole. She lifted my legs, pulling my body up as she locked my arms under her armpits. She stuck a butt plug into my asshole and some sort of dildo into my pussy. I was cumming in fast succession while I struggled to breathe between the cheeks of her ass.
I must have passed out, because the next thing I was aware of was cool night air flowing over my body. I was alone and still naked. Hunger overwhelmed me. I stood up on wobbly legs. The smell of cooking drew me into the rest of the house.
I found Ivy cooking an absolutely delicious meal for the two of us. She had a dressing gown over her corset. She smiled at me and told me to have a seat at the table. She brought me the supper, and we ate like starving animals. When she had put the dishes in the dishwasher, we showered together. I said my goodbye, with hugs and kissed. I promised to visit her again soon before returning my rental car and catching a flight home.
I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you have a story you would like told, please send your mail to janmay696@yahoo.com.