June 6, 2025, somewhere in a quiet corner of Paris
Emma’s fingers danced across her phone, their delicate movements betraying a restless excitement. Her red hair, falling just below her shoulders, caught the soft glow of her apartment’s light. Her green eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as she typed back to Parisianjamaican.
“Great stories,” he’d written, a smile almost tangible in his words. Emma felt a swell of pride, her tank top hugging her breasts as she sank deeper into her couch, her athletic legs tucked beneath her. “Which one?” she replied, with playful mischief.
“Dangerous Game is my favorite so far… I’ll binge the rest today,” he typed, adding that he wanted to share a lived experience for her to turn into a story. Emma bit her lip, stirred by the idea. At 26, she loved weaving erotic tales, but the thought of a man like John, tall, in his forties, with ebony skin, asking her to write for him sparked a new kind of excitement.
“With great pleasure,” she wrote, a shiver running across her pale skin.
“I changed my mind. I want you to write about a fantasy I have about a redhead I met on Lush. I’ll give you a summary, and you can flesh it out.” Emma’s pulse quickened. A redhead, like her. The image of John, with his provocative confidence and sculpted body, pushing her against the wall of her living room, flooded her mind. He’d hinted at his generous size in past exchanges, and the thought sent a traitorous heat pooling in her core.
She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the phone, then typed, carried by a daring impulse: “You know what, it inspires me… especially since I’ve been having a fantasy about a Black lover lately.” She held her breath, her cheeks flushing. She’d never explored this attraction.
“I've got videos of the women I’ve conquered, if you want to see…” he wrote. She pictured, for a fleeting moment, those women's bodies surrendered to pleasure, captured under the shameless gaze of a camera.
“So, you film the women you seduce?” she typed. “I don’t know if it’s scary or hot…” she added, a nervous smile playing on her lips.
John’s reply came swiftly, brimming with a confidence that disarmed her. “Maybe it’s my superpower… Even the ones who don’t usually go for it end up saying yes with me.” He described, with an almost tangible audacity, how those women, watching the videos later, gave in to the thrill of seeing his powerful body, his dark skin sliding brutally into them. Emma’s cheeks flushed. She pressed her thighs together instinctively, unsettled by the thought of what he described.
Steadying herself, she typed, driven by a burning curiosity: “I have a question because it intrigues me. You say the women you film usually don’t like being filmed, but they agree to it with you. Are they mostly single or in a relationship?” She held her breath, aware that each word exchanged with this older man, whose sensuality was so different from anything she knew, drew her deeper into uncharted territory, both frightening and deliciously tempting.
“Single, mostly,” he replied. “But I think it’s a generational thing. I’m in my forties, so most of them were my age or older."
"Have you ever filmed yourself?” The blunt question sent a flush to Emma’s cheeks.
“Never,” she typed, her fingers hesitating on the screen. John responded with an audacity that made her tremble, “You should try it… but not with your boyfriend.”
Those words excited her despite herself. Steadying herself, she wrote, torn between caution and temptation: “It would be risky to try that with anyone other than my boyfriend. Besides cheating, which I’m trying to avoid, the other person would have proof of my infidelity.” She paused, then added, a shy smile on her lips, “Even if the idea is arousing…”
John didn’t back down. “You use your phone, no face. None of my videos show faces… Imagine a video of the first time your boss bends you over his desk…” Emma’s pulse raced, the vivid image flooding her mind.
“Yeah, but you’d have the video too, right?” she replied, her tone betraying a hint of worry. “And if my boyfriend found the video on my phone, he’d know it’s me.”
John’s response disarmed her. “That’s part of the thrill… I’d need to relive bending you over in a bathroom while your boyfriend waits outside… Too thrilling to live only once.” Emma’s body responded, her thighs pressing together as she pictured the scene: a cold wall against her skin, John’s warm breath on her neck, the danger of the forbidden just meters away. She felt both vulnerable and irresistibly drawn, like willing prey in a game she wasn’t sure she could control.
“And you say you’re usually with women your age, but I’m only 26,” she wrote. The age gap between her and John added a layer of lust to their game.
“I’ve never taken a woman so young with that kind of age difference, so I think it would be thrilling to seduce you, to make you surrender to me… and to your desires.” He shifted tone, “Now my turn: tell me the recent fantasy about a Black man that turns you on so much you can’t help but touch yourself.” Emma felt a flush creep up her cheeks again.
She hesitated, then typed, letting her thoughts drift, “I have a colleague, a Black man, very handsome and quite muscular. I’ve fantasized about him once or twice, even though he’s never shown any particular interest in me, unlike some other colleagues. We talk, but I’ve never caught him flirting or glancing at my cleavage.” She paused. “As for fantasizing about a Black lover, I’m not entirely sure. There are all those ‘legends’ like ‘once you go Black, you never go back,’ but I’ve always thought a man of average size could be just as good if he’s experienced. Since I’ve never tried, it’s hard to say.”
She added, a shy smile on her lips, “Still, there’s a kind of different, more primal magnetism about you guys. I feel more like ‘prey’ when a Black man shows interest in me, and that’s ultimately what excites me. Not sure if I’m making sense, lol.”
“You make perfect sense… You’re prey, it’s a forbidden thing,” he wrote. He spoke of the contrast of their skin, the raw intensity he felt when women, initially daunted by his size, ultimately surrendered to him. “It is primal… If you gave in to a Black man, it would upend your life. All your secret desires would be fulfilled, and going back would be hard.”
He added, provocatively: “Trust me, your Black colleague wants to ravish you.”
She thought of her Black colleague, that fleeting fantasy she’d mentioned, but doubted his interest in her. Yet John’s words set her ablaze. She typed, hesitantly: “How can you be sure he’d want me?” Then, driven by a burning curiosity, she added: “So, in your opinion, if I gave in, say, to you, I’d never feel something as intense with my boyfriend or another white man? It’s not about size, but the primal side that would make the difference?”
She paused, her breath shallow. “It makes me want to try even more. But, to be honest, I’m a bit skeptical. Maybe you’re just really convincing.”
John replied with disarming confidence. “Nine out of ten Black men would want that experience,” he wrote, a smile almost palpable in his words. “It’s that primal side… It’s in you, and once you’ve felt it, you can’t deny it. That feeling of doing something you shouldn’t, once it awakens, nothing stops it. If you didn’t have those desires, it would be different, but until you give in, they’ll only grow stronger. Trust me, I know.”
Her pulse still raced when she typed, her fingers trembling slightly on the screen, “I have to go…” She hesitated, then added, “But the conversation was very… interesting.” She didn’t want to cut things off too abruptly. Without waiting for his reply, she set her phone down, her breath shallow, and moved to her computer, her bare feet brushing the cool parquet floor.
Emma opened her favorite GIFs site, a sanctuary where she preferred to lose herself rather than in the too-explicit world of pornographic videos. Gifs, those short, hypnotic loops, let her imagination weave deliciously perverse scenarios. Her fingers, guided by a burning impulse, typed “black man” and “redhead”. The screen lit up with suggestive images: bodies entwined, dark skin against pale, redheads lost in pleasure. Each image fanned the flames within her, her breath quickening, her cheeks flushed.
Seated, she slowly slipped a hand beneath the elastic of her pajamas, her fingers grazing the slick warmth between her thighs. Her core, already soaked, responded to the gentle caress, and she bit her lip, a shiver coursing through her athletic frame. Her eyes remained glued to the screen, where a young redheaded woman, much like her, was being fucked, not to say pounded, by a Black man, her face contorted with pleasure. It was exquisitely primal. In mere minutes, Emma was overtaken by a shattering orgasm, her body arching and writhing in her chair, which creaked under the intensity of her pleasure, her husky moans filling the air.
After catching her breath, with a slight sheen of sweat on her nose and temples, she took the mouse again and added this GIF to her new gallery created for the occasion on Lush, titled “My New Kink.”
~oOo~
A few weeks later
Emma stretched out on her bed, her legs draped beneath a light sheet, she idly opened her Lush-dedicated email, the one reserved for her erotic literary escapes.
An unexpected message caught her eye: an offer for a romantic night for two at a chic hotel in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, an elegant establishment nestled in Paris’s cobbled streets, where opulence mingled with plenitude. Emma frowned, her fingers hovering over the screen. Why would this hotel, whose doors she’d never crossed, offer her such a prize? She hadn’t entered any contests recently, and more strikingly, the email had landed in her secret address, shared with only a handful of contacts…
Was it phishing?
Skeptical but intrigued, she dialed the hotel’s number. A deep, velvety voice, belonging to a man at the front desk, answered, confirming with exquisite politeness that the offer was genuine. “Your email was selected in a draw for a complimentary night, mademoiselle,” he explained, his tone soft.
Perplexed but unable to resist the allure of the opportunity, Emma let her questions fade. The thought of a night in a luxurious hotel, surrounded by silky sheets and a hushed ambiance, sent a shiver of anticipation through her. She pictured surprising Nathan, her boyfriend, with this romantic escape and her new set of black laced lingerie.
~oOo~
The Paris métro hummed softly beneath their feet, its familiar rumble lulling Emma’s thoughts. Sitting across from Nathan, she caught his reflection in the dark window of the carriage, a mischievous smile playing on her full lips. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, his amused tone betraying a boyish curiosity. His dark brown hair, perpetually tousled, fell in wayward strands over his forehead, lending him that irresistible geeky charm she adored.
Tonight, he’d slipped into the shirt she loved so much, a deep navy fabric that hugged his shoulders and hinted at the lean lines of his chest. She almost wished he wore it less often, for its rarity stoked a smoldering desire within her, a warmth that already bloomed low in her belly.
“You’ll see,” she murmured, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. She crossed her legs, the subtle friction of her thighs beneath her light dress igniting a delicious tension. Nathan watched her, and she felt his gaze linger.
The journey, barely twenty minutes, carried them from the heart of their arrondissement to the cobbled streets of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. When they paused before the elegant façade of the hotel, aglow with golden lanterns, Nathan froze, his jaw dropping. “You actually booked a night here?” he exclaimed, his hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “Emma, this must have cost a fortune!”
She said nothing, offering only an enigmatic smile. The truth, that mysterious offer that had landed in her secret email, made the moment all the more intoxicating. She relished surprising him, drawing him into this luxurious escape without revealing its shadowy origins.
At the hotel’s glass door, Nathan stepped closer, his body brushing against hers. “I’m so lucky to have a girlfriend like you,” he whispered, his warm voice wrapping around her like an embrace. He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close, and she felt the firmness of his chest beneath the shirt. Their lips met, first with a tender, almost shy touch, then with growing fervor. Their tongues entwined, dancing a sensual ballet, weaving and unraveling with a passion that hinted at so much more. Emma closed her eyes, surrendering to the feel of his hands on her hips, the heat of his breath against her skin. A wave of desire surged through her, and she pressed herself against him for a moment, her heart pounding to the rhythm of a craving she could barely contain.
---
The hotel lobby welcomed them with soothing coolness, a pleasant contrast to the stifling June heat of Paris. Emma felt the air conditioning brush her skin, her fingers laced with Nathan’s, she stepped lightly, her auburn curls swaying gently on her shoulders. Nathan seemed captivated by the elegance of the space, his eyes scanning the ornate arches and gilded accents.
At the reception desk stood an elegant man, his badge reading “Boris.” His perfectly tailored suit highlighted an athletic build, and his ebony skin stood out under the soft glow of the chandeliers. “Bonsoir, madame,” he said in a deep, polite voice, addressing Emma as she stepped forward, leaving Nathan lingering behind, still absorbed by the grandeur of the decor.
“Bonsoir,” she replied, a shy smile on her lips. “We spoke on the phone. I’m the contest winner.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, tinged with restrained excitement.
Boris offered a wide smile, his white teeth catching the light. “Of course, we were expecting you,” he replied, handing her a magnetic key card with a precise gesture. “Here is your room key.”
“Thank you so much!” Emma exclaimed, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she grasped the card. Until that moment, a part of her had wondered if this was all too good to be true. The key in her hand, cold and real, banished her doubts. She turned quickly to Nathan, her green eyes sparkling, and grabbed his hand. “Come on!” she laughed, pulling him toward the elevator. Nathan, still distracted by the hall’s opulent details, followed reluctantly, his lagging steps adding a humorous touch to their haste.
---
Arriving to their room, the door swung open to reveal a luxurious haven, a spacious room dominated by a canopied bed draped in silky curtains. Unable to contain her excitement, Emma kicked off her yellow sneakers and dashed across the plush carpet. With a burst of childlike laughter, she leapt onto the bed, bouncing gleefully, her red hair swaying out of sync with her movements. Nathan, leaning against the doorframe, couldn’t help but smile at the infectious joy of the woman he loved. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo, capturing the moment.
Breathless, she slid off the bed with feline grace and sauntered toward Nathan, wrapping her arms around his neck, her body brushing against his. Her lips grazed his ear, her warm breath whispering, “If you knew all the things I want to do to you right now… Those curtains could inspire us.” Her eyes flicked to the elegant drapes framing the bed, a playful glint in her gaze.
Nathan’s lips curved into a smile. “This evening’s shaping up to be unforgettable,” he replied. He kissed her tenderly, his lips lingering on hers. But he gently disentangled her arms, stepping back. “Give me twenty minutes, I need to run a quick errand,” he said, his tone light but firm.
“Seriously? Right now?” Emma replied, her lips forming a disbelieving pout, almost offended.
Nathan chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t be mad, love. We’re probably not leaving this room until tomorrow morning, so I just want to grab something to make tonight perfect. I know how much you love Toblerone and a good Chardonnay. There’s a shop around the corner, or I’ll check with the front desk. I’ll be quick.”
Emma crossed her arms, feigning a sulky pout, but a mischievous smile betrayed her amusement. “Fine, you’re forgiven… only because you’re the most thoughtful boyfriend in the world,” she teased, her voice taking on a playful lilt. Then, with a theatrical flourish, she turned, letting her skirt slide to the floor and peeling off her top in one fluid motion. Her black lace lingerie, complete with garters, revealed the toned curves of her athletic frame. She crawled onto the bed on all fours, her hips swaying subtly, and glanced back at him, her eyes gleaming. “Don’t take too long.”
Nathan swallowed hard, his throat dry, his smile faltering under the spell of her captivating pose. “With that image in my head, I’ll break the 100 meters sprint record,” he said, a spark of desire in his voice. With that, he turned and hurried out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone, Emma collapsed onto her back with a sigh, sinking into the silky sheets. She gazed up at the canopy’s drapes, their elegant folds outlined against the ceiling. Her fingers absently traced the curve of her breasts, brushing the lace of her lingerie. A flicker of warmth coursed through her, but she pulled her hands away with a sharp shake of her head, laughing softly to herself. “Stop it, Emma,” she chided inwardly. “You’ll ruin the fun before he’s even back.”
A sudden ring shattered the silence of the room, startling Emma. The telephone on the bedside table buzzed insistently. Sprawled across the silky sheets, she rolled onto her stomach. Then, she crawled across the canopied bed, her body gliding against the soft fabric. Stretching her arm to its limit, her fingers brushed the receiver before grasping it. “Hello?” she murmured, her voice laced with curiosity and a hint of unease.
“Yes, good evening again, madame,” came the deep, velvety voice of Boris from the front desk. “The gentleman who paid for your room would like to meet you. He’s waiting in the room next door, first door on the right as you exit yours.” His tone, polite yet cryptic.
“What? Who is he? Why did he pay for my room?” she exclaimed, her heart quickening. But a soft click told her Boris had already hung up, leaving her questions dangling in the air. A wave of confusion washed over her, tinged with a burning curiosity that made her pulse race.
Her brows furrowed, Emma grabbed her phone and sprang from the bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. She snatched her skirt from the floor, slipping it on with a swift motion, and pulled her top over her black lace lingerie. She smoothed her hair, catching her reflection in the room’s mirror, without really knowing why she was doing it.
Emma stepped barefoot into the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest. Pausing before the adjacent door, slightly ajar, she froze, startled by the unsettling detail. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on the polished wood and murmured, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
No answer. The thick silence seemed to beckon her inside. Pushing the door open, she found a room nearly identical to hers: a canopied bed draped in silky curtains, plush carpeting, but eerily empty. “Is someone here?” she called again. She stepped forward cautiously, her feet sinking into the rug, her breath shallow.
Suddenly, the bathroom door opened. A man emerged, his virile presence filling the doorway. A white towel, knotted low on his hips, was his only covering, revealing ebony skin that gleamed faintly, a lean but sculpted chest, and firm arms. His short black hair framed a face with straight features, lit by brown eyes that locked onto her with an almost predatory intensity. Standing nearly six feet tall, he exuded a wild confidence.
“Good evening, Emma,” he said, a broad smile revealing dazzling teeth. His voice, deep and warm.
Emma froze, her mind reeling. “Who… who are you?” she stammered, her eyes wide, struggling to make sense of this sudden apparition.
He took a step forward, his smile widening. “I’m John… or Parisianjamaican, if you prefer.”
The floor seemed to drop beneath her. “What… how?” she faltered, her face paling as a rush of heat and panic surged within her.
He tilted his head, amused, his gaze never leaving hers. “Finding you would’ve been too complicated, Emma. Luring you here, on the other hand, was much simpler.” He gestured vaguely at the room. “Did you like my gift?”
“But… the contest...” she whispered, her thoughts tangling as he began to circle her, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. He kept a calculated distance, but his presence filled the space.
“Come now, Emma,” he said, his voice taking on a mocking edge, a smile curling his lips. “After all our conversations, I know you’re a smart girl. You didn’t really believe that contest story, did you?” He let out a short, vibrant laugh. “Boris is an old friend. He did me this small favor. But the room? I paid for it. And trust me, at that price, this hotel doesn’t give anything away for free. And neither do I.”
As he spoke, his steps had brought him to the door. With a fluid, almost silent motion, he closed it, the soft click of the latch echoing in the room. Emma felt a shiver run through her, a blend of fascination and alarm and her fingers tightened on the hem of her skirt, her eyes locked on his.
John approached Emma with a studied nonchalance. Emma stood frozen, her heart hammering in her chest. It wasn’t fear. No, it was the betrayal of her own body, a warmth seeping through her veins, defying her resolve. A breath away, he paused, his brown eyes pinning her in place. With a deliberate motion, he untied the towel at his waist, letting it pool at his feet. Instinctively, Emma’s gaze dropped, and she held her breath. He hadn’t exaggerated in their online exchanges.
“What are you waiting for, Emma?” he murmured, his deep voice resonating in the air.
“I… I can’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her fingers clutching her phone like a lifeline to reality.
He leaned closer, his breath grazing her ear. “You said yourself it intrigued you, Emma. The opportunity’s here—seize it.” His voice, husky and enveloping, sent a shiver she couldn’t suppress. “Like this,” he added, gently taking her left hand. He guided her fingers toward him, and she felt the heat of his member growing beneath her knuckles, contrasting with the cool metal of her engagement ring. Emma, paralyzed, dared not move or pull away, her pulse racing under the forbidden touch.
“I’ve read all your stories, Emma,” he continued, stepping forward, forcing her to retreat. “I know your desires, or nearly all of them. No need to play the innocent with me.” His eyes never left hers, intense, almost possessive, as her back met the cool wall of the room.
He stepped back slightly, his brown eyes sweeping over Emma with deliberate slowness, as if intent on committing every detail to memory. A charged silence settled, broken only by Emma’s shallow breaths, her back still pressed against the wall, her phone clutched in her trembling hand. He took his time, his gaze tracing her form with an intensity that sent a shiver through her.
Emma, petite yet graceful, seemed almost delicate under his stare, though her athletic frame exuded a quiet strength, honed by years of physical activity. The skirt she’d hastily slipped on hugged her hips, accentuating the curve of her toned thighs, while her light top hinted at the contours of her breasts, perfectly showcased by the black lace lingerie peeking subtly beneath the fabric. Every detail, the faint flush coloring her cheeks, the quiver of her parted lips, seemed to captivate him further.
John tilted his head, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips, his gaze lingering before meeting hers. “You’re even more captivating in person, Emma,” he murmured with his deep voice. He took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them, and the air grew heavier. “That outfit… it suits you perfectly. But I’d wager what’s underneath is even better.”
With effortless ease, he lifted her, his hands firm beneath her thighs, aligning their hips. His mouth found her neck, and she felt the warm pressure of his tongue tracing up her skin. In an instant, the moment turned wild, and Emma’s lips parted to release a faint moan. Distracted by the sensation of his cock pressed against her crotch through the thin fabric of her skirt, she barely noticed the hickey he was making. He whispered against her ear, his breath searing, “You taste good, Emma. And I can tell I’m going to savor every moment.”
John set her down gently, and she realized, dazed, that her arms had wrapped around his shoulders, her phone still gripped in her hand.
He straightened, towering over her, his gaze piercing. “On your knees, now,” he commanded, his voice firm yet velvety. Emma felt her legs quiver, ready to comply, but he stopped her with a gesture. “Wait. Give me your phone first. You know why.” A predatory smile curved his lips, and Emma, despite herself, felt a wave of heat flood her, her body betraying her tangled thoughts.
----
I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
I've reorganized my bio so you can more easily see the stories and series I write; feel free to check it out ;)
Please like, comment, and favorite this story (the three actions); it helps and encourages me a lot to keep going! 😉
And most importantly, don't forget to Follow me as an author so you don't miss any new stories.
