Annelies

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Slow burner—real-life seductions are sometimes slow.

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Do you know what one of the top ten most erotic views is?

For me at least, and probably high up the ladder, is the view you have when you take a black babe on all fours and you see your large white cock slowly sink into that very black cunt, stretching her dark labia wide as you penetrate her.

And in the same sequence, when you pull back your white cock, those dark cunt lips are being pulled outwards, desperately trying to keep your cock inside, at the same time revealing her inner pink walls.

…

Annelies was a colleague of mine. I worked at a large company with all kinds of different brands under one roof. She worked for the audio brands department; I worked for the white goods department. The only thing we had in common was working on the same floor, and nothing else. She was in a steady relationship; I was single. She was a beautiful black babe, and I was a white guy. Oh, wait, we did have one thing in common; we both modeled a little bit on the side. But that’s it.

We would sometimes meet at the coffee machine, and we had a good understanding. She liked my harsh, dark humor, often laughing at my mean little jokes, showing me those beautiful white teeth. She was tall, just as catwalk models always are, and of course, my almost 2 meters (6.5) helped our bonding.

That, with those deep brown eyes, was a killer combination. But somehow, I was not hunting her. Don’t ask me why. Maybe because she was in a relationship with some guy nobody had ever seen. But of course, I had seen what a great body she had. One thing I noticed first is that she did have a round, hard butt, but very flat on the sides. She didn’t have that typical Black race butt. Perhaps after all she was a mix of two races? She wasn’t the darkest babe either.

What I liked most were her “model tits," as I used to call those typical breasts of catwalk models, which are clearly there but are not too big. Breasts with a moderate volume, but with an upper pole fullness and minimal sag, and nipples that point proudly forward.

As I was grabbing another coffee on Monday, Annelies showed up with her mug. Smiling at me.

“Hey babe.” She used to say when greeting me.

“Hey you, sleep at home this time? I teased. Always tease pretty girls. Rule #1 for studs.

“Did you?” She countered.

"No, I slept right in front of your house, waiting. No one home.”

She laughed. We flirted a lot. Month after month after month. Harmless flirting. Yeah right…

Somehow, one day, we chatted about cooking.

“You can’t cook, Annelies, I am sure of that.”

“But you can.” She replied. “Cook for me, baby. Cook for Momma Annelies.” She flirted.

I played tough. “OK. Tomorrow at my place. I will give you the address later.”

Annelies was quiet for a moment. Was this going somewhere? Did we just cross the line?

“OK! What time?”

“7 PM.”

“OK.”

“I don’t want you stinking in my living room; you better wash yourself for once.” I teased again.

“What will you make for me?”

“I don’t know, what do you like?”

“Ribeye.”

“With fries, I guess?”

“I don’t care; just get me ribeye.”

“Deal.”

Later that morning, I sent her by mail my address and my cell number, in case she couldn’t find it. She lived in another small town; I lived just outside Amsterdam. I had to take the afternoon off; my place was a mess. I left my office at 1 PM, bought on my way all the groceries, and once I got home, I started cleaning up. And fresh bedsheets. I showered and changed into a white t-shirt and loose jeans.

Around 7 PM she called me; she needed another ten minutes. She was quite punctual, I thought. I started preparing some finger food. I knew she liked rosé, so I already pulled out a bottle and two glasses. Right then, the doorbell rang. I let her in, and she looked gorgeous. Sexy mascara, dark lipstick on her full lips, a tight short top showing her flat brown stomach, combined with a short tight skirt showing her little butt, finishing it off with black high heels.

“Hi babe.” She said, smiling. Curious about my place, excited about tonight.

“You look good, Annelies.” I said.

“You don’t say that to a colleague, babe.”

“We are friends after 5 PM," I countered.

“With benefits?” she teased.

“Lots! Come in, I will show you around.”

“I want to see your bedroom first.” She flirted, her hand softly touching my naked arm.

I showed her the kitchen and living room, pointed at the bathroom and toilet doors, and then took her by the hand, leading her to my bedroom. Those days, I lived on the 11th floor, and the view from my bedroom was amazing. I mentioned this to her, and she stood in front of the window, letting it sink in. I took two steps and stood really close behind her as I whispered in her ear, “You can walk around naked here, and only those plane pilots will see you.” As I pointed at the lights of a plane, which was approaching in the sky.

She smelled good. Musky. I changed my stance and gently pushed my bulge against her butt. She wiggled her lovely butt against my cock and asked in a teasing way, as she looked at me over her shoulder, “Is that my meat?”

“Your meat is in the kitchen,” I teased her back. “I still have to prepare it.”

“To me it feels ready, babe.”

With the greatest effort, I answered, “First we eat, honey.” And I took one step back, delaying that delicious moment we both desired.

“Rosé? I asked, showing her the bottle in the kitchen, as she followed me.

“Yes, please.”

I poured us both two full glasses, and we toasted. I then turned facing the stove, and we kept chatting as I prepared the pans and the ribeyes. She looked over my shoulder as I marinated them and added some salt and pepper. Even while cooking, she stood close to me, and her musky, sensual scent was very seductive.

“You smell good, honey.” As I turned the meat.

“Did you speak to your meat?” Annelies teased. “Which one?”

I laughed.

And then Annelies added, “I can talk to your meat too, babe…” giving her words that erotic double meaning.

We kept teasing each other until dinner was ready. I served everything in the living room, dimmed some lights, and we ate in silence. She did praise the quality of my cooking, and sometimes she would let out short moans, telling me that way that the ribeye was exactly as she hoped it would be.

We finished dinner and the bottle of rosé. I quickly cleared away the table and brought out a bottle of Amaretto di Saronno, her favorite liquor, and two tumblers. We sipped in silence on my three-seater, waiting for the other one to cave in first.

She did.

“What do I get for dessert?”

I didn’t reply but gently took her tumbler out of her hand, placing them both on the couch table in front of us.

“Me.” As I leaned in, kissing her softly on her lips.

To be continued