Interracial Erotica -
Room 112
By Tracy Ames
Published on February 28, 2011

Twelve months ago, I was an unsatisfied, reasonably attractive, alpha-bata male. Away on business only hours after breaking up with my longtime girlfriend, I spot a lady who is destined to change my life.

Room 112

Twelve months ago, I was an unsatisfied, reasonably attractive, alpha-bata male who, somehow, stumbled his way through miles of red tape to become head of sales for an engineering company that supplied aerospace parts to privateers. My job often took me away from home and my Melba toast girlfriend, Zaire, which three years into our relationship suited her just fine. It hadn’t always been this way. In the beginning, we were inseparable and adventurous, even. That morning, twelve months ago, we woke up and dually announced that we’d grown apart. There was no fighting or blood shred. I’d venture to say it felt like old times.

We ate breakfast in the airport terminal where we laughed nonstop until the desk clerk made a final boarding call to San Antonio. She kissed my cheek and said she’d moved out of the house before I returned. If noting else, Zaire was practical—not given to fits of rage or tears and she was certainly no bunny boiler.

On recommendation from the hotels’ concierge, I wondered down the street to Barnacle Bill's, a small, nondescript eatery with a posh lounge in the rear equip with a live jazz band. Only in San Antonio!

After choking down what I assumed was cod, I paid my tab and followed a heavenly voice cranking out “Fly Me to the Moon” down a narrow corridor leading to the lounge. I sat at the bar, placed my order, and took in my shadowy surrounds. Pickings were fucking slim, not an attractive female in sight. There was a lady at the end of the bar but upon closer inspection, she bore a striking resemblance to a small woodland creature. Oh God, my heart rattled in my chest as she walked towards me, this is Texas everyone has guns. Don’t say anything stupid. The rodent was within striking distance—ready to launch!

“I don’t eat squirrel meat!” I blurted to the horror of those sitting nearby. Though my rudeness was attributed to my knee-jerk fear of all things furry, it proved to be the perfect deterrent. The squirrel lady left and I threw back a double whiskey. It was going to be a long night.

The wave of patrons who witnessed my squirrel comment left as the late night crowd came in. There was a petite Lisa Lopes look-alike sitting off to the side of the bandstand. She wore a form fitting white knee length dress; a tiny little thing no more than 5’1”, ninety-five pounds. She sort of smiled at me, I think. Her eyes spook volumes when her lips didn’t move. Her stare was bold, unflinching, never looking away. I desperately wanted to break the spell but for some inexplicable reason found myself unable or rather unwilling to do so. A slight smile curved one corner of her sensuous lips and a quick nod in my direction told me she knew I was her captive. Reluctantly I pulled away from her hypnotic gaze. When I looked back in the direction, she was gone.

Later that night, I awoke, cock in hand, and images of the lady from the lounge in my head. Wanking to a woman I’d never spoken to: this would’ve been an all-time low had everything about the experience been less vivid. I could literally feel my cock twitching inside of her. I massaged my cock while visions of her naked body pinned beneath my weight edged me towards eruption. I stroked faster. She begged me to fuck her.

“Harder, Jack.” She said into my eyes. Her legs splayed painfully apart.

I pound into her. My hand, slick with pre-cum, rhythmically did her bidding.

“Faster.” She demanded up at me. Damnit, I wish I could fuck her, eat her pussy, and watch her suck me off simultaneously! “That’s it!” Her eyes drifted closed. Her mouth slackened. Her neck arched. “Cum.”

My entire body spasmed. I was close, damn close. I coaxed myself—rubbing, rubbing, and manipulating, harder and faster. I thrust upward, grinding into my slippery hand, greedily chasing my orgasms to wombs end until I felt heavy burst of cum shoot through my cock. Each blast blurred the lines between her screams and mine. Convulsing, weak, and spent—I was in ecstasy! 


After a long day of bartering with the devil, I returned the jazz lounge hoping to see the lady in white. She didn’t show that night or the three subsequent nights which followed. My last night in town, I gave up. Maybe she’d been a figment of my overactive imagination. I called the bartender, paid my tab, and went to the restroom. No woman is worth this, I told my reflection as I washed my hands. I checked myself one last time before stepping into the dim corridor; I narrowly missed bumping into a passing patron. I brushed back the cuff of my shirt to check the time, and found it seized by a dainty female hand.

“Room 112.” She whispered in my ear and pressed a small, cold object into the palm of my hand. She was gone as quickly as she’d come.

Had I not opened my hand and immediately recognized the hotel key, I would’ve thought I was imagining things. We were staying in the same hotel. I returned to my room and freshened up…okay, that’s a lie. I went back to my room and paced up and down like a goddamn manic until my libido strangled my last fragments logic and hustled me downstairs to her room.

As I opened the door, my logic found its footing but quickly committed itself to making her cum when I saw her crossing the sitting room wearing a tiny black dress and sexy heels and a look of promise.

“Nice to meet you, Jack.” She took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom.

In hindsight, I realize watching her cute little ass cheeks peek beneath her hem wasn’t as important as how she knew my name. But at the time those cheeks were essential to my existence. “Wait.” I stopped undressing her. “You’re not a prostitute, are you?” She frowned. I’d asked the wrong question. “I mean…I’m not going to wake up without a wallet…or a kidney…or something else, right?”

“No, I’m not a prostitute.” She smiled coyly, her hand on the front of my pants. “I’m Caressa, a friend of Zaire. She thought we’d get along.” She explained as she finished undressing. My clothes followed. “She's been trying to fix us up for some time but I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of stepping into her shoes—that’s why you haven’t seen me recently. I spoke to Zaire." she sighed. "I needed  reassurance.”

“And now?” I asked, laying her on the bed. It was all I could do not to spread her legs and lick her right then and there. Instead I kissed down her neck, across her chest, and teased her nipples with my lips, awaiting her reply.

She studied me quietly, an erotic look on her face. “Now, I want you to kiss my pussy.”

My heart was pounding so furiously I was afraid it would frighten her! I began long, slow kiss-licks down her body, pausing to kiss and gently nibble the flesh of her stomach, her navel. She arched and tried to push my head lower.

“Patience.” I smiled up at her. “You’ll be screaming my name soon enough.” I took each of her calves in my hands and slowly kiss my way between her thighs as I spread them. Her slit came into view. Flawless best described it; her perfectly formed lips hid very little. I inhaled her scent; my breath caused her to jerk towards me. “Relax.” My thumbs gently spread her lips. Softly, with the flat of my tongue, I tasted her. Women never expect that. My tongue brushed over her clit, licking the tiny bead of wetness from its tip. “Damn you’re wet.” We both moaned as I gave her clit a little lick—a suck—and a kiss.

“Please get on with it!” Caressa grated.

“Quiet.” I wrapped my arms around her ass, pulling her slit tight against my face. My tongue thrust deep—in and out—spiraling drunkenly as deep as I could.

“Move your tongue….higher,” Caressa rubbed her clit while I licked.

“Right here?” I gave the underside of her clit one dragging lick with the flat of my tongue and fingered her.

“Oh fuck!” She gasped. “Now suck…right…there…don’t stop.” Her breathing became choppy and uneven, the duvet wretched in her fist, her thighs undulated wordlessly for a stretch time. I had her right where I wanted her; trapped inside her own head—unsure what I’d do next but more than willing to let me do. I lick her more vigorously but steady. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Damn good,” she said.

“Give me details.”

“It feels really, really good. Oh God!” She jumped under my tongue. “What are you doing to me?”

“Me?” Sounding innocent while you’re knuckle-deep in a woman isn’t easy. “What am I doing? Tell me.”

“You’re finger is…”

“Say it. Where’s my finger?”

“It’s in my pussy.”

“I’m fingering your pussy?” I asked. She nodded. “Tell me you like it.”

“I like you fingering my pussy.”

“Would you like me to lick your pussy again?”


“Then ask me.”

“Lick my pussy.”

I fingered her G-spot. “Beg me to lick your pussy.”

She panted with her head back. “I want your tongue…ohhh!” Her thighs tightened in my hands and her voice changed from keening cries of pleasure punctuated with breathless grunts to heavy slutty chants. “I’m cumming.” She rode my tongue. I cupped her ass in one hand, slid a finger into her, and pumped with the single-minded purpose of a steam engine. My tongue wasn’t far behind. Caressa grabbed my hair and release a steam of gut wrenching expletives. I kissed her lips and thighs until her voice trailed off into inaudible mutterings, sated.

I stood, wiped my mouth, and lay over her in a post-coital swoon. Her smile faded when she realized her recovery time was at an end.

“You’re kidding, right?” She grimaced at her error in judgment as I entered her with the measured precision of a sadist.

“Too much?” I smiled down at her contorted face.

Caressa shook her head and groan. “Zaire was a fool to let you go.” The walls of her freshly licked pussy stretched taut.

“In a little while, you’ll be done with me also.”

“The hell I will!” She groaned aloud as I fucked deep into her and slowly withdrew. She groaned again, and outright begged when she couldn’t catch her breath.

I answered her pleads with increased depth and a heavy dose of debilitating thrust, eliciting a throaty sound; part-moan, part-whimper, and all the excuse I needed to fuck her unconsciousness. I held her by the back of her head and brought her with me as I leaned up, and watched my shaft glisten, in and out, between her lips.

She stared, with glazed eyes and trained of my length slithering into her. A loose, devilish grin formed on her lips.

My mouth on hers, I asked, “You like that, Caressa?”


“Would you like some more?”

Her eyes rolled in her head and her mouth fell open in a low moan.

“Answer me!” I demanded, pulling her head back more forcibly than I intended.

She nodded and breathed in a husky voice, “Yes!” Her arms encircled my neck and her thrusting hips met me stroke for stroke. The sound of her fucking me combined with her filthy mouth had me on the ropes and going down fast! Obviously Zaire schooled her well.

I kissed her exposed neck and let her use my cock to bring herself to the brink of orgasm. She tightened around me—her breath quickened—I pulled out—flipped her over on her stomach—spread her legs—and plowed into before she knew what hit her. And if her clawing and reaching for objects real and imagined were any indication of her pleasure, she was in heaven! My entire weight on her, I reached under her and rubbed her clit without missing a beat. “Where do you want me to cum?” My mouth pressed into the side of her head, propelling her forward on the bed.

“Wherever you want.”

“I want to hear you say it.” I stroked deeper, harder. The bed cried under us. “Tell me where to cum.” Even saying the words turned me on.

“Cum on my ass.”

I pulled out, the first shot of cum hit her pussy lips. On my knees with one hand against the headboard, I decorated her round ass with my cum. “Fuck!” I came with such force, I became lightheaded!

On a high note, we spent that night kissing and cuddling and cataloging every inch of one another with our fingertips—on the low note, I came in her so many times I lost count. Sometimes I think of Zaire. I admire her selflessness and the strength it took to make such an arrangement. One day I’ll thank her for introducing Caressa and I, my better half, and showing me that sometimes loving someone means letting go.