Novel & Cerita Best African-american Lesbian Fiction Novels

À suivre. 📚MERCI Maman Tome 1 et 2 📚AMOUR IMPOSSIBLE 📚LA COLÈRE D'UNE FEMME AMOUREUSE 📚MARIAM SÔ 📚MA VIE 📚MA BELLE FAMILLE 📚OBSESSION CACHÉE 📚PAMELA PARDONNE MOI 📚 Du Paradis pour L'ENFER 📚 La femme de Ma galère

“There are three women inside. They beckon with hands that have too many fingers, and watch with faces that have too many eyes, and even their eyes have too many pupils. Their skin is . . . un-gentle. One has a breast that is more cube than sphere. Another has only one breast, and the third’s are mismatched, one much larger than the other. I see an eye where a navel should be. I see a mouth that is too wide on one side, stretching up into the cheek with a grin that reveals uneven fangs. The sight of these women is repulsive, and yet I am compelled by their tantalizing scent. A tendril of flesh coils out from the door, beckoning me as a finger would. Come hither, it says. I am frightened. I s

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This novel is entered in the "A Touch of Rainbow" writing contest especially created for stories about LGBTQ+. Thank you for supporting queer creations. Other stories by me: Book 1: How to Destroy a Badboy Book 2: The Emancipation of a Badboy

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I leaned back against the smooth, cool marble edge while my hand slid between my legs almost immediately, fingers parting my swollen folds as I let out a shaky breath. I was still soaked, a humiliating mix of my own arousal and Richard’s pathetic load. I opened the hidden browser on my phone, the one I kept password-protected, and went straight to my favorite BDSM site. My fingers trembled with need as I typed in the search bar: “dominant muscular man ruins married woman.” The video loaded. It was exactly what I needed tonight.

“I love your cocks more than I should. Please—fuck me harder. Use me.” Damian made a broken sound from the corner, but they ignored him. The rotations got filthier. They started switching holes more aggressively—pussy to ass to mouth without pause. Lube made everything slippery and obscene. I lost track of who was where. All I knew was constant fullness, constant pleasure, constant dirty words whispered against my skin. “Such a perfect little breeding hole.” “Gonna fill every part of you until you’re leaking for days.” “Bet you never thought you’d be airtight on your wedding night, did you, Mrs. Romanov?”

My jeans felt too tight suddenly, clinging to my thighs like a cage. “Take them off,” Leah murmured against my ear. “Let us see how wet that pussy is.” I obeyed. I kicked off my shoes first, then slowly slid the denim down, baring my thighs, my hips, my soaked black thong. Leah made a sound behind me — part moan, part growl — and knelt down to press a kiss to my ass cheek. Daniel’s breath hitched. “Fuck. She’s dripping already.” I was. A single line of wetness had soaked through the crotch of my panties, shamelessly obvious. I felt open and exposed. Lit up under their eyes like a toy they were ready to share.

After that I walked into the lecture hall about ten minutes late for classes. Instead of the calm I expected to see, the entire hall was louder than normal. The professor hadn't arrived yet. The girls were clustered in groups and whispering fast with soft giggles. Guys leaned over desks with their phones out, showing each other something. “Did you see him yet?” one girl asked her friend. “They say he’s from the UK." Her friend squealed a reply. "He's so hot. And I heard he wrote like three books on advanced dynamics.”

"That is good then. Just make dinner for me and run my bath, I am retiring early to bed today." "Okay ma" After eating and having my bath, I am on my bed reading a Americanah, an African themed novel by an African author, called Chimamanda Adichie, suddenly I remember what Nelly said to me at the restaurant but I just bluff it. My phone rings, I check the caller ID, it shows Alyssa with a heart emoji after the name. "Why is this smallie calling me?" I pick up the phone call. "Woman, what do you want?" I playfully ask her.

I’d got chills and fever now, fears and longings; I wanted Ellis like hell, but what exactly did ‘wanting’ mean? What did lesbians do? Should I start or would she? Dodgiest of all: was I actually a lesbian? Would I end up wishing Ellis had a cock? I’d a sneaky feeling I might, but one look at her beautiful face, her soft, smooth skin and her long, graceful body made it seem less important. Well, a bit less... When we got to her flat — a place as subtle and elegantly expensive-looking as its mistress — all trace of that briefly pensive Ellis had gone.