Escapism

"Better brace yourself, baby," he spat on his cock, stroked it once, then once more slammed it in her; this time, there was no initial gentility.

He simply fucked her, holding her tight and firm from the waist, as he went hard, driving the entirety of his length in and out, letting her feel his size properly.

Her fingers curled around the couch's cushion, the soft material squashed underneath her clenching fists, and screamed; he was going deep in her, balls deep, stretching her out and punching her insides. It was a magnificent and unprecedented sensation, Rita's mind had been emptied of all thoughts and morbid scenarios for the future—all she could think of was her inner excitement, the heat of her body, the wetness of her pussy, the impending orgasm that was quickly brewing inside her.

Rita rested the side of her head on the soaked from her own dripping sweat cushion, continuously howling into the apartment; Tyrese slowed down, paced himself, once more catching himself near to exploding.

Once again, he abruptly decided to shift positions; with ease he lifted her up and sat her on his lap.

"Come on, baby," he said with a wide grin, his hand gently around her neck, "ride that black cock like you mean it, like the good little white slut you are."

And Rita did just that; she helped the cock back inside her, it slipped balls deep in with ease, and then began riding him. At first slowly, grinding herself on his crotch, clenching her muscles around him, tightening her grip around him, and slowly she did increase the pace, riding him like a broncobuster.

Her hands went once more around her melon breasts, squeezing them hard, while Tyrese tightened his grip on her throat, trying thusly to control the pace, unwilling to come before her.

Then, he felt her convulsions and immediately felt better; his shaft slipped out of her, when she fell forward, and subsequently into his arms resting her chin on his shoulder, and squirted all over his meat.

She continued to moan in his ear heavily, while her lower body shook violently in sheer satisfaction. Tyrese, with a beaming smile, shoved it back in and drilled her once more, feeling her ensuing convulsions on his member.

"Yes, yes, yes," was all Rita could utter at the moment, her lips on the sweaty, hot skin of his neck, her body rocking alongside his hard, long thrusts.

"Fuck," Tyrese muttered in frustration, as he throbbed inside her.

Hastily, he pulled out and pushed her down on her knees; Rita without even thinking took him in her mouth, overwhelmed from the fact she could taste herself on his shaft, and in seconds Tyrese's cock erupted and he unloaded all over her face.

Rita gasped at the sheer amount of jism landing on her skin and in her mouth; when he was done coming, Rita simply remained on her knees, quite bewildered.

"Holy shit, baby," Tyrese fell heavily back on the couch, exhausted, "that was amazing. Are you sure that was your first black cock?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she nodded, then rushed to the bathroom.

"Oh," he exclaimed, in faint disappointment, when she walked back in the living room, her face clean of spunk, "you..."

"I just couldn't..." she said, after taking a seat next to him, "it was too much to handle."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "it's been a long time since I last...you know," he put his arm around her shoulders and she rested her head on his.

"Where's the big black cock stud from before?" She asked him.

"Where's the bimbo slut from before?" He rebuked.

They both burst into laughter.

"When did you realize it was all an act?" Tyrese then asked.

"Actually," she said, letting her gaze wander around, "when I first stepped in here, I was certain. I mean," she laughed warmly, "from the get-go I refused to believe you were a walking stereotype, but..."

"Stereotypes exist, because they are true," he shrugged.

"At any rate," she added, "as soon as I walked in here and noticed the books, I realized you were just acting the dumb stud and all that black cock shit."

"You were even easier to read," he grinned and planted a kiss on her forehead. "I knew from the start you weren't a dumb bimbo, or someone that would be impressed with the whole once you go black thing."

"Then, why did you try it?"

"You'd be surprised to know just how many times it does work," he said coolly. "And, besides, I wanted to have some fun. If you had told me from the get-go to go fuck myself, I would have, probably, tried to impress you, by engaging you in a mind-stimulating conversation.

"Would it have worked?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "Under normal circumstances, I would have sent you to hell had you come up to me with your shtick. But, tonight, it was...well, I just wanted to escape normality; I actually wanted to feel like I have no cares in the world but to get laid by a handsome man, preferably with a big tool."

"Mission accomplished, then!"

They both laughed, and Rita slapped him, playfully, on the chest.

"Do you always stop acting the stud, when you come?"

"No," he shook his head with a sigh. "Usually, I keep the act up all night long; simply because the other part is not playing a role. Most women that do come home with me are either your stereotypical bimbos—those that do want nothing but to fuck and have fun—or, women who are really curious to go with a black guy, because of...

"Well, because of porn."

"Thank God for interracial porn, then?" She winked at him.

"I guess," he chuckled. "Though, it does get tiring. All they care about is this," he lifted his flaccid, yet still big, cock.

"Isn't this," she wrapped her fist tight around his member and offered him a wide, meaningful smile, "what matters the most, when it comes down to sex? When all you want is a good fucking?"

"I suppose; but, I do have brains too!"

"That's something I haven't heard from a guy before!"

"Yeah, fine," he sighed theatrically. "They're both equally important."

"So," she changed the subject, "what do you do? When you're not picking women up at bars, that is."

"I'm a PhD student; literature. Working on my dissertation at the moment."

"On?" She pursued.

"On David Foster Wallace; I wanted to do something on African writers," he hurriedly added, "but, the supervising professor told me it would have a hard time getting accepted by the committee. At least, Wallace is academically respected and widely known.

"He told me, I'll have to wait to become a professor, before I can work on the things I really want."

"No shit?" She raised her eyebrows, as she lifted her head, staring at him in faint disbelief.

"No shit," he nodded, trying hard not to break and laugh—he did break in seconds, and they both guffawed.

Come morning, Rita walked back home and returned to her studying, writing down new outlines, which they all ended in the trash bin. However, she felt more relaxed; and when, that afternoon, Tyrese called and asked her out for coffee, she decided she could use a longer break from Russell, Kant, and the rest of the gang.