I wait in the darkness: lights off, shades are drawn, deep darkness. I need the dark to do what I am about to do. His body will be just as black as the room I wait in.
My body is white in the darkened room, but I wear a black mask. If I open them, my pale green eyes will see in the dimmest light, but I don’t wish to see him. I wish to inhale him. I wish to breathe his musk, hear his sounds, feel his size, experience his blackness and accept his passion.
I may taste him if he asks me, too, but I do not wish to see him. Not tonight. Perhaps another night, if there is one.
I am Cat Woman in the dark as I wait for him. Black mask. Red lipstick. My once black-haired pussy is now silvered with age. I lie naked in the dark.
My wedding ring lies in a silver dish on the nightstand. My ring is the sole, silent observer of the scene tonight, and it sits in the darkness like me. Waiting.
All men are black in the dark, but they’re not the same shade. I like the blackest shade of men. Always have. Always will. A black man brings black lust and black sex. Black sex is at its best in a blackout-curtained bedroom like mine.
I finger the silver wheat of my aged cunt and imagine the dark pleasures that will soon arrive. I am moist, and moistness is arousal. The shades are drawn, the lights are off. My husband screened my dark lover before I met him. He knows who we are. And where we live.
And so I wait, masked and moistened, for my lover’s shade to arrive.
My eyes are closed behind my mask lest the whiteness of my soul lighten the room. Some say eyes are windows to the soul. Better do this black deed entirely in the dark to keep my white soul hidden. No need to see him tonight. I prefer the image of him rather than the reality. He is my black lover-thief who will use my husband’s house key to steal my silver for himself. It’s been arranged.
I hear the front door open and close. I hear his sounds in my bedroom. His belt unbuckles, his zipper unzips. His weight upon my bed makes it creak. He’s a heavy man. I know this without seeing him.
I open my legs.
He needs no key of mine. My silvered pussy is his to take. His hand caresses my cunt, and he finds my silver is wet for him. My lover-thief presses his burglar’s tool against my pussy, and I grasp him to guide his black burglar tool into my vault.
He is not ebony in the dark. He is simply the dark. He’s my Dark Knight, and he’s a thief. He’s a lover-thief Dark Knight, without a cowl or a condom. The darkness has become his cowl. His uncut black foreskin is the condom that slides inside me.
Unopened in the table drawer, a condom waits in the darkness. My lover-thief said, ‘no damn condom.’ My cunt acquiesced.
He makes me feel something in the dark. The same way other Dark Knights do. Exotic, erotic, desirable. I have dirty feelings for him. I don’t care that dirty feelings stain my marriage, and I don’t care what others think. I surrender to his shade and welcome his burglar’s tool with moisture.
Two black-walnut-sized testes, held in a wrinkled sac, slap against my white backside. The thief’s thrusting is rhythmic. Feral. Animalistic.
My black loup-garou growls and bites my upper neck. He sucks my skin to bruise it, and he leaves teeth marks for my husband to explain to others.
He assaults my ears. Guttural sounds. Explicit, raunchy, carnal. His head lifts from my neck. He growls, “old white pussy needs young black dick.”
I hiss ‘yes’ in reply.
He is a gentleman, but he is not a gentle man. He beats my pussy with his black burglar tool, and he takes his pleasure without regard for mine. This is what I want him to do. I lean into the dark rhythm of his black lust. I grasp his ass, and I pull him deep. I whisper softly and repeatedly, “Take my silver, thief. Steal my cunt.”
His pounding intensifies with every word I speak! I flail about wildly, and grunt as a rooting animal! And then I howl… and then I pant. I pant and howl as a she-wolf mated at midnight by a loup-garou! I groan and I howl as loudly as ever I’ve done with any thief I’ve ever fucked. He’s uncontrollable, insatiable!
And me? I’m assaulted with the ferocity of his thievery! My lover-thief is stealing my aged, silvered cunt from me and… damn me to hell!… I’m encouraging him!
Suddenly, my thief gives a mighty groan and pauses. I feel his tool pulse. I feel his release. I feel his fluid.
Just as suddenly, orgasmic lights explode in my head! I’m cumming in the darkness! My toes curl! My fingers curl! I clench my eyes tight to keep the light from leaking out! My cunt grips his black tool just as tightly to prevent his withdrawal. I want all that he has. Every god-damn drip… or drop… or seep! All of it mine to keep!
The room is dark, but the light inside my head is intense! My entire body spasms beneath him. I groan again, and then I whimper with pleasure for a deed well-done.
He pauses. He waits. He waits as I come down from my orgasm. His black dick softens and soaks in the mixed fluids of my pussy. We don’t move. We wait. We feel. We are in the moment.
A few minutes later, quietly, he lifts himself up. Without a touch of tenderness or a sign of acknowledgment, he withdraws. I hear his zipping sounds again, followed by his buckling sounds. I hear a metallic sound from the nightstand, too.
His muffled feet are moving away. I hear the front door open and then close.
He’s gone.
I breathe the darkness into my lungs. I’m alone again. I’m no longer moist. I’m soaked.
I leave my legs open for my husband. A thief’s seed is evidence of the deed. My husband’s favorite phrase.
In the morning, my wedding ring is missing. My husband’s house key is in its place.
The bastard is a thief after all.
I hope he returns.
