by Salvatore Marciano
The luscious lady was having a marvelous time. She was gingerly frolicking in her fur patch with the middle finger of her right hand. And after a few minutes of blissful burrowing, some of what she was next doing with that frisky right hand might even be regarded in some quarters as possibly illegal, for sure immoral -- but definitely NOT fattening!
She is the new stunning sepia siren Rachel St. Marie [5-5, 36-24-38], and she was feverishly masturbating-ing-ing-ING!!! for one of Clayton Blacquemoor's popular Black Mystique mail order videos.
Clayton who?
Hey, Bunky -- that's Clayton Blacquemoor, the short and rotund middle-aged Runyonesque rascal with the baby faced features of a depraved Mickey Rooney, who most savants would figure to be the last letch in the lunar system to be doing what he's doing.
So what's so special about what he's doing, huh?
See, the lovable little rascal is a white guy -- and a white guy, for chrissake, who, in these racially charged times, has carved out a unique niche in the pubic pantheon of nookie by totally devoting his career, future, fortune and gonads on dark meat.
In short, this priapic pixie has a fixation on Black Women!
"Love 'em!" he grins, as he continues to move closer, his camcorder capturing for posterity, and priapic pastimes, a spectacular close-up as pumping digits disappear in-and-out/in-and-out into that hairy sugar-cave.
Translated: He simply adores black booty, craves ebony poon. To Clayton, the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice! Proof of that devotion is evidenced in his slick and upscale presentations. Good lighting, tight editing -- and sensual music.
Recently he's expanded his Black Mystique line of lewd licorice lovelies [staring, among many-many others, Persia, Kamali, Babygirl, and legendary Jeannie Pepper], adding two new vaginal ventures:
The first spotlighting sizzling Latins [Alicia Rio, Veronica Brazil, Tiffany Torres, to name a few]; the second, alluring Asians [such as Umma, Jade East, Cumisha, plus new nymphomaniacal discoveries].
Please note, none of the above are paleface pube pounders. No siree, none of that Caucasian cooze for Bwana Blacquemoor. Ut-ah, just exotic and atomically erotic ladies of Tint.
To spread the faith, and make converts to his chosen fleshy devotion, a colored cootch-loving credo that these honey-hued satin dolls are the most exciting femmes, he's put out a 40-page catalog, International Mystique, complete with not only pix of all the lush ladies, but testosterone tingling text as well.
So how did fun-loving Clayton get to where he is today? Where did the Black bug first bite him in the balls? Did it stem from an experience with an chocolate nanny or nurse who had a sudden uncontrollable craving for vanilla? Did his calling come in a vision?
"You might say that," he laughs. "Actually it began with one of those rare experiences that forever change your life. I was in my mid-20s, a nice Jewish guy who had only had sex with my own tribe.
"Then one magical night I met a stunning beauty at a charity function for underprivileged kids. I was fund raising, and in walked this vision. I thought I had been hit by lightning.
"Well," he went on, his eyes sparkling with fond memories, "one thing led to another -- and she turned out to be the best piece of ass I'd ever had!
"Hey, maybe that night I was her greatest act of charity, just a novelty, or even a mercy fuck. But from that point, I had to have more chewable charcoal!"
And that he did, thanks to his filmmaking world travels as a documentary and industrial director/cinematographer [including works with Ray Charles, and even former President George Bush], Colorful Clayton was able to explore and expand on his erogenous Epiphany. As some horny sage once said, "travel broadens -- particularly if you meet the right broads."
Is this a happy man, or what?! To illustrate that point:
Meanwhile, back at the raunch, it's another night, another shoot, and this one to launch his lusty Latin series -- with none other than that bubbling bombshell, Veronica Brazil, she of the humongous hooters, libidinous lips, and ravenous mouth.
This chick could raise Lazarus' lumber from the dead. The words "wild" and "wanton" don't even begin to describe Volcanic Veronica.
"Oh, babee," she gushes just moments after entering Senor Blacquemoor's studio, "I think I forget my BIG dildo. Do you have a BIG dildo?"
Clayton thinks a moment, then shows his collection of toys. No King Kong dong here.
"Oh, babee," sighs the South American scorcher, "I must go home, get my BIG one!" WHOOOOSH, she's out the door! Twenty minutes later, though, she's back, grinning, ready and anxious to wrack her crack.
"Slowly," says Clayton, focusing carefully, "just make love to yourself."
"I like this job, babee," she grins energetically, as the dildo seeks and finds its juicy destiny.
"A little slower," Clayton whispers, moving in closer, capturing forever on video this unforgettable scene of classic self abuse.
But Veronica, like an act of nature that can't be controlled -- say a rampaging hurricane -- can't slow down.
Slow-w-w-www ain't in her genes. She's enjoying it too much.
Now for those who haven't seen many women jerk off, watching this marvelously lascivious Latin ballistically ball herself, assaulting her vulva with the force of a pile driver, well, it's one of those special times in life -- not quite as high as winning the lottery, but definitely above your ol' lady's best blowjob.
"I'm crazy 'bout thees job, babee!" she cries between swigs of Red Dog as she frenetically grinds away, Kong plunging to record setting depths.
Going completely sexually bonkers now, she spits on her tits and screams, "I WANNA BE FUCKED IN THE ASS!"
So what's she do?
Why abruptly whip Kong out of her snatch, and bury the Giant Dong south of the equator, of course -- deeper-Deeper-DEEPEST!
Clayton smiles mischievously.
Hey, it's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it!