I met Omolade [name changed – Ed] at university – we were both studying history of art at Cambridge. She was Nigerian and her mother was a quite prominent diplomat. For a long time we were just friends, but after getting drunk at a party one night, we spent most of the evening kissing and petting, with Omolade sitting on my lap, and pretty much ignoring everyone else.
It was my first time being intimate with a black girl, and of course, I really wanted to get her into bed, but there just wasn’t the opportunity at the party and I’d already drunk so much that night, I was scared of losing my erection. So I told Omolade to come round to my place in the morning for coffee. Part of me also wondered whether she’d kissed me only because of the alcohol, so this was kind of giving her a chance to back off.
Nevertheless, round she came and I made us a drink. I was wondering how to start up a conversation about the previous night when she put down her mug and came across to the sofa where I was sitting. Omolade was very petite, barely 5ft tall, and she sat on my knee again like a child and we kissed once more.
It wasn’t long before she stood up, took me by the hand and led me towards my bedroom. “You are a very naughty girl,” I joked, and gently smacked her bottom through the grey marl jogging pants she was wearing. “I know!” she laughed. Suddenly, I saw a green signal. I sat down on the bed, pulled her to my side and said: “Well, naughty girls need to be spanked, don’t they?” She just giggled in reply.
I pulled down Omolade’s jogging pants and somewhat to my surprise (but also delight) she was wearing no knickers. I suddenly found my face close to her genitals. She was as smooth down there as a little girl (I later learned that she regularly sugared herself to remove all pubic hair) and the deep fold of her vulva made my dick strain against my clothing.
I had always had a thing about spanking, so it felt like the most natural thing in the world to put this beautiful girl across my lap like a naughty child, and indeed she fitted there beautifully. I began to smack her soft, ebony bottom, at first playfully and then, when she didn’t demur, more seriously. My hand began to smart almost as much as her bottom undoubtedly was – and then she began to cry quietly.
I immediately stopped. “Are you OK?” I asked, concerned that I’d gone too far. “Yes,” Omolade replied. “Go on. I need it – I need it.”
Well, I was too aroused to need any further invitation. I put my left arm firmly around her waist and began smacking her again, covering every inch of her bottom as well as the tops of her thighs. Her lovely little black behind acquired a subtle rosy glow as I spanked her thoroughly.
I eventually stopped and just held her as she continued to have a bit of a cry. Then, just instinctively, I put my hand on her genitals and felt her. She was oily-wet with arousal, and I began to gently masturbate her with my fingers. She let out a contented little sigh.
“Did you get your bottom spanked like that when you were a little girl?” I asked daringly. “Oh God, yes,” Omolade grunted as I wanked her. “My mother would take down my pants like you did, or when I was older my father would lie me on the bed and use his strap on my bare bottom.” Her vagina began to leak and smell stronger and stronger as we talked – this was obviously a massive turn-on for her, as of course it was for me also.
Finally, I could restrain myself no longer. I laid Omolade on the bed, face up and jogging bottoms now kicked off, and stripped down my own lower half. She opened her legs and I entered her vagina like a hot knife going through butter.
Omolade smiled up at me. “And I bet this naughty little boy got a few sore bottoms off his mummy too!” she teased, as I screwed her gently. Well, yes – yes I had, many a time. Omolade made me tell her all about my boyhood encounters with my mum’s slipper (bare bottomed, over her knee) and she scolded me for being so badly behaved, detailing how she planned to discipline her own children when she had them.
All through this incredibly arousing pillow talk, I felt my crotch upping the pace and another smacking sound – this time that of my balls against Omolade’s vulva – was soon filling the room. Eventually I came deeply and copiously in her vagina.
All through that term, we met regularly and clandestinely for sex, and there was always a spanking element in it. Although my favourite thing was to have that glorious little bottom over my knee, I also let Omolade discipline me too, eventually bringing a belt round which she applied enthusiastically to my bare bum, as I lay in the same position she had herself for punishment as a girl.
Unfortunately, the relationship was always doomed to end. I had a regular (rather vanilla) girlfriend back in my home town and Omolade, I discovered, was already promised to the son of another diplomat back in Nigeria. We both knew this wasn’t a serious relationship but to share the intimacy when we did, and how we did, even for a while, was one of the greatest thrills of my life.