Book Spotlight Sugar and Spice Shondra Jackson

Sugar and Spice
The Lowdown Diaries Book 1
by Shondra Jackson
Chances Press
LGBT Fiction
Amazon | BN | Allromance

In this controversial erotic novella, author Shondra Jackson explores the lives some of those in the upper-crust African-American community in Atlanta and the married men who are a part of it and live double lives on the man-on-man sexual down-low.

Marcus married his college sweetheart, Rochelle, just as he felt it was expected for him to do and joined his father-in-law’s retail empire in an upper management position. Years later, Marcus knows that he has sexual desires that his wife can’t quench…which leads him to a willing younger, white guy, Eric, in his office. But when feelings beyond sex start to become involved will Marcus give up his male lover to maintain his social position?

Rochelle, a former beauty queen, has grown increasingly frustrated over her passionless marriage. When she develops a wandering eye for the muscular, virile pool guy, Tyrone, will her own sexual desires take her down a troubled road?

On the surface, Eric lives an out and proud life in Atlanta’s gay community, but he harbors a secret from his friends that brings him shame and taboo erotic desire at the same time…an affair with a married man at work. When he begins to fall in love with his closeted boss, Marcus, will Eric fess up to his true feelings?

Tyrone may spend most of his days cleaning pools and tending to the gardens of Atlanta’s African-American wealthy, but his true passion lies in his lifelong dream to be an actor. When Nate Jenkins, a celebrated black filmmaker, shows interest in him is it too good to be true? Does Jenkins have a secret agenda and shocking true plan for Tyrone?



Marcus reached down under the covers and started to stroke his veiny, beefy cock while his wife, Rochelle, lightly snored next to him.  She always did what many thought was the traditional male thing by falling asleep right after sex.  Not him.  How could he possibly sleep after willing his body to do so many things that felt alien to him?  Caressing her breasts, grabbing her ass, penetrating her with his pulsating dick.  She'd never guess the things he had to think of just to get him through these husbandly duties at least once a week.  And it was getting harder and harder with each year they were married.  He knew many men would love to fuck his wife.  With her loose wild chestnut brown curls, full bosom, and ample ass, she'd been a former beauty queen.  Miss Black Georgia, Miss Teen Georgia, Miss something else he couldn't remember which was a surprise since she talked about her pageant days like she was still eighteen versus a thirty year old.

He carefully slid out from under the covers and tiptoed over discarded clothes to reach the bathroom.  He quietly shut the door and flipped on the light.  He looked at his tall, six foot two, muscular frame and ran his hands over that six pack he worked so hard to achieve.  His skin was a smooth light cocoa brown due to his part Native American ancestry and his eyes were a dark brown almost black.  He kept his curly black hair to a short half-inch.

“You are one big fucking black stud,” Rochelle had said on their second date when she slid her hands down the front of his pants and gripped his impressive, even when soft, manhood.

They met when both were seniors in college and married soon after graduation with what can only be called a swift, whirlwind courtship.

He knew then he didn't feel what he should for her.  Now, after eight years of marriage it was practically torture to climb into bed with her and feign sexual interest.  He had to keep up the ruse though because no one...and he meant no one...could ever find out his truth.  If they did, gone would be the upper level corporate management job he held at his father-in-law's chain of upscale coffee cafes, Sugar and Spice, the number one coffee chain in Atlanta and the rest of the Deep South.  If people knew what made his cock hard and his balls swell with cum, he'd lose his marriage and the social standing that went with being married to Harold McNair's daughter, the former belle of upper crust African-American crust Georgia.  He had worked too hard scraping his way up from a lower middle class family in rural Georgia to let this all slip away.  But as time went on, even though he was in great physical health, he couldn't overcome this foreboding feeling that he was slowly dying emotionally and spiritually...losing himself with each passing year.

He turned the shower on almost scalding hot to wash away the sex sweat and stepped inside.  He gripped his now stiffened cock and thought of what he knew would get him off.  He thought about grabbing him...Eric...from behind.  Bending him over and pulling down those tight slacks he wore to work to expose his pale bubble butt.  He thought about how he loved to spit in the palm of his hand and then rub his spit over this white boy's tight little butt hole.  Then he'd take out a rubber because you could never be too careful, and then he'd ram his cock into that warm inviting little manpussy.  Eric would do his usual moaning and screaming out what a stud Marcus was and how no other man could compare.  Marcus would pound hard into him and call Eric his little pussy bitch.  He'd make him whimper and tell him how good his big black cock felt in his little white hole.  Marcus would fuck him hard and Eric, the perfect bottom boy, knew how to take it long and so deep that Marcus wouldn't have been surprised if his cum had shot out of Eric's mouth.  Marcus would reach under and grab Eric's much smaller but rock hard penis and stroke it as he fucked him.

Suddenly, Marcus shot his cum all on the wall of the shower, and he tried to catch his breath.



If he thought about Eric with herculean force and effort he could get hard enough to penetrate his wife and at least look like he was going through the motions.

He could sense that Rochelle felt the unspoken disconnect though, and she was gradually turning bitter and hard to handle.  Things had been made even worse by him and Rochelle moving into his in-law's while their house went through a remodel.  Marcus couldn't believe he let himself get talked into that one.

He could feel his in-law's eyes on him every night at dinner.  Harold, uptight and conservative in a dress shirt and tie, always looked like the Atlanta's Top African-American Businessman of the Year 2008 he was.  Harold's wife, Imelda, who was half-black and half-Filipina, was still a fiery exotic looking beauty at fifty-three years old with her shoulder length black hair and almond shaped eyes.  Imelda was always prim and proper and done up in dress and make up no matter what day or time it happened to be.

He knew that his in-laws were getting frustrated.  Where were the grandchildren that would one day take over the caffeine dynasty they had worked so hard to create?  Rochelle was their only child and all the pressure was on their daughter to produce an heir.

Marcus kept finding excuses not to have children.  He wanted to wait until he turned thirty.  He wanted to work his way up to management and prove himself to his father-in-law first.  He wanted to get the house remodeling done.  He had simply started to run out of excuses, and he knew it.

He wiped the cum off the shower wall, turned off the water, and began to dry himself off.  Maybe now he'd finally get some sleep.

When he opened the medicine cabinet to take out the deodorant he noticed Rochelle's birth control pill container.  He opened it up, and his suspicions proved correct once again.  There were way too many pills left.  He'd been tracking it for weeks.  Rochelle thought she had outsmarted him.  She'd plead ignorance or an accident once she got knocked up, and then he'd be trapped.  Little did she know he had her beat by a mile.  He practically deserved an Academy Award for faking an orgasm during sex, something he knew many wives had learned to do for their husbands.  With him and his wife, the roles were reversed.  He never came inside her.  In fact, he never even got wet with precum when he was with her...not like he did with Eric when a puddle of salty jizz would practically form in his underwear.

Rochelle wouldn't get pregnant anytime soon if he had anything to do with it.  But how much longer could he keep this going before he felt totally and completely empty inside?

With that thought in his head, he walked back into the bedroom, got under the covers, and willed himself to a deep dark sleep to a state where none of his secrets threatened the life he had built.



Post a Comment

Zipper Rippers Blog Design by Ipietoon