Woman On Fire 1

Tina, my wife of twenty-two years had done some good for our fellow man. We had been promised a demonstration of the "real" African dances, the ones they NEVER show the tourists. Tina and I had had a wonderful day. We had installed three deep water pumps, bringing three villages their first fresh, clean water. We were both gleaming with white pride and magnanimity as we waited for the entertainment to begin.

Suddenly a dancer appeared before us. He was tall and heavy and well built, muscles bulging. His hard maleness, barely concealed by a ragged breechclout, was ridiculously outsized like a policeman's truncheon. He was quickly accompanied by others, also adequately equipped, that danced Tina out of the clearing and into the silent darkness around us. "Oh God, Oh my god. . . her voice trailed off as she disappeared into the blackness. I love you, Jack," her words faded; all was silent. Black. Except for the blazing fire.

Out of nowhere, 'the woman on fire' appeared, body undulating as some great snake, black as sin and gleaming with sweat and oil, the firelight dancing from her skin in shades of crimson and gold. Amid the flame and smoke, the dark curled masses of hair on her head and at her underarms and crotch seemed to absorb the light, like black holes of passion. Her pendulous breasts writhed and flowed, cocoa nipples taut. Twisting and turning to the primitive cacophony of the drums, she gave her body fully to the watchers, pausing in front of each; each male felt destined to possess her as his own; each felt the dance was for him alone.

A wave of carnal lust swept over me. I was at once achingly, helplessly, hopelessly engorged. A dank primal odor of sweat and female arousal assaulted me. She paused before me, danced for me, for me, only for me. My head reeled, my mouth went dry. I stumbled to my feet, ripped and tore at buttons and zippers. I nearly fell discarding shoes and stupid socks.

I joined her pagan dance then, my body pale and ghostly pink in the flickering firelight. For a time our bodies touched not at all, the space between us a no-man's-land of desire. The dance went on. And on. And on. Every other man disappeared, she was mine alone, or rather, I was hers. The dance went on. And on. And on. My thoughts turned to my wife, Tina, wondering briefly if she were watching. Or if some thoroughly adequate African was giving her the obverse of what I was receiving: well, I guess I hoped. But for which?

Finally, exhausted, I fell to the earth, conscious, but imprisoned by my need, and by the woman on fire. For a moment she stood over me. As she squatted, her fingers opened herself, her inner lips appeared, engorged, like feathers of fire slipping from inside her. Flaming. The next moment her dank wetness filled my senses, her steaming pussy hot on my face.

Undulating to the primitive rhythm of the drums, growing faster and more hard-driving, she thrust her hips forward and back, washing my face with her pussy, the hard insistent knob of her clit, blood red and about the size of the tip of my little finger, kept bumping my nose. I became serious then, licking and kissing and nibbling at her, drinking of the hot fluid that poured from within her, eliciting loud, primal growls from deep within her

And the louder she growled, the more intense her reaction, the hotter I became until her dark, dark fire rose to consume me, to burn away my resolution, destroy decency, make ashes of my sacred vows, turn all I loved to sin and evil. I was a helpless slave to the "Woman on Fire."

She moved over me then, holding herself open, painting my body with the soaking lips of her flaming pussy. I could clearly see the trails, gleaming amber in the firelight wherever her slime had touched me I arched my back to invite her harder, deeper; she responded by lifting more, painting each of my nipples to a soaking erectness, then moving down. To my raging prick, a passing clutch, Then down to my feet and the backs of my knees my knees, sliding up my thighs. She paused then, sat between my legs as if to fuck me, Every inch of her body I could see was refracted in flame, scarlet and blood red, crimson and gold, copper and amber. And all else, black. Except for the parts of her that opened. Her mouth tongue inside red with the blood of passion. Her Pussy three fiery reds: scarlet, blood, and crimson. The tiny wild rose of her ass hole pink as the flamingo on my mother-in-law's front lawn, but flaming, pulsing with invitation to my most secret dreams.

I gasped as she lay atop me, smothering me with her fullness, her heavy ample breasts first cutting off my air supply, then moving down, down, battering my chest and neck and then my belly. Sliding back up to cover my face with hers. I felt as if I were being swallowed, devoured, her lips and tongue and mouth hot, so hot.

My safety alarms were blaring. If I had any sense I would rise and dash away. But I had no sense, only desire. I craved to be swallowed, burned, taken.

Her massive breasts engulfed my cock and balls, hot so hot. I was sure I was about to embarrass myself when she took him into her ample mouth, but she shoved her dripping pussy in my face . Or rather lowered her wide open, dripping pussy over my face. As I gasped for breath, I could not help but suck in her hot juices. My mouth, my nose, my ears and eyes were filled with her hot, primitive fluid. And the smell. Overriding, overwhelming everything was the odor of her. It was a scent that was older than man, stronger than anyone's will to resist. Its effects went straight to my dick. I was longer, harder, thicker than I had ever been.

Except for the fire the night was black. Except where the firelight touched her, she was black, invisible. Bolts of crimson, gold, amber, shot out to act on my body, then disappeared into blackness. Finally, mercifully, she sat on me, taking my swollen manhood to the depth of her then laying forward full on me. Once again her mouth covered mine. Her ample nose pressed against mine, denying me the breath of life. She fucked me hard then, never rising from me, but undulating her massive form all over me. As the fucking went on and on, I lost my breath, lost my self, lost my soul. I finally lost consciousness in a blinding orgasm. Except for the blind heat that engulfed me, the immense relief that came with the total surrender of my person, I ceased to exist.

I woke next morning under starched white sheets next to Tina in our tourist hotel room. I rose naked to empty my bladder, but felt pain engulf my body. I stopped to study myself in the mirror, mouth agape. My body was bright red, all over. Tina's voice rang out behind me, "You have to tell me all about what happened around the fire last night, Jack. I never heard of anyone getting sunburned at night."

I turned to look at her then. The grin on her face was self-satisfied, her hair bleached, body sun burned like mine.