Reparation – Tiggy Mills – Interracial erotica

Interracial erotica at its scorching best!

Sometimes you grow up and all you want to do is make things better. This was how it was for Cole; born in the Southern United States, he had been taught by his mother to hate slavery, the historic persecution of the black race, and to try and atone for the sins of their ancestors. They were beliefs that his mother held with a good deal of passion, and she had her own brand of ‘physical’ recompense.
Cole grows up and meets the delightful and delicious, young, blonde Abigail who is also set on healing the wrongs of their country’s, chequered past. They have a deep, common bond in unusual and developing ways; and together they embark on a sexual and emotional journey into (and beyond) marriage that will ultimately change them forever through the intriguingly and aptly named Reparation estate.
An epic, demonic, sordid tale of interracial humiliations, that forewarns of the perils, that in trying to make amends for the past, all you sometimes really succeed in doing, is changing the future; sometimes inexplicably, in debased and immoral interracial-eroticaways that you would never, envisage, believe or expect. All related in explicit, dirty, exquisitely erotic detail from the devilish pen and fiendish imagination of the bestselling Tiggy Mills.



I first became aware of the suffering of the Negro and African race when I was away on holiday as a child with my mother and elder sister.

I was only a youngster, 12 years old and, as my parents had divorced and I lived mainly with my father, I would go with my mother and sister who lived with her, on vacation whenever she had the time to take me.

On this occasion we went to near the Gulf of Mexico, a small island in the turquoise blue of the Caribbean-sea where there were some luxurious 5 star hotels for us to play, swim and entertain ourselves.

The resort was not busy, as it was a quiet period of the year, and I began to spend a lot of time with one of the deep black, pool guards called Noah who befriended me and helped to teach me how to swim properly.

Noah was pretty young, extremely friendly and funny and became part of our little family group for the fortnight we were there.

I knew Noah liked me and I began to be aware that he was getting on very well with my mother Madeline and my 18 year old sister Emma as well, who I had mentioned previously.

Sometimes in the evenings my mother and Noah would go walking down the beach and one night I followed them, just out of mischievousness, and hid out of sight behind a shady, darkened, palm tree as they stood beside one of the empty sun-beds.

I saw them kiss and heard my mother groan as my dark friend began to embrace her in close, warm hug of friendship.

She was moaning, seemingly crying and I was starting to get worried for her well being, when she dropped to her knees and seemed to quieten as she hugged him around his hips.

It seemed that Noah didn’t like her making too much of a fuss of him like this and he was soon moaning and complaining a little as well.

They both suddenly seemed tired and lay down together on one of the loungers; I saw my blonde sister Emma near the hotel; ran over to her and told her about my mother’s strange affections for my personal, special friend.

She smiled and laughed, told me not to worry and that our mum would speak to me about the situation when she came back.

My mother and I were sharing a small suite, my sister had her own room and sure enough, when she returned she changed into her soft, pink, perfumed pyjamas and sat by me, on my bed that was in the room next to hers’.

She stroked my short, black hair, then questioned and whispered to me.

“Did you see me with Noah, darling Cole?”

I nodded and she smiled.

“What did you see?”

I shrugged in uncertainty.

“Nothing really! But you were kissing him and then you seemed unhappy, and then he… seemed unhappy.”

She stroked my hair gently again.

“Exactly darling…do you know why he’s unhappy?”

I shook my head and she explained to me why that was so.

“Because he’s an African and many years ago they were slaves…so it’s our job to make them feel better. When I moan and he moans it’s like…”

She thought for a moment in contemplation and I gazed and admired her shimmering, blonde, resplendent hair.

“It’s like sharing his pain and making him feel better.”

I smiled in understanding as if this strangely, all made perfect sense to me.

“Oh I see Mum.”

She nodded and went on.

“You and your father owe them more than most Cole, because your Daddy’s family made their pile of money out of exploiting black men like Noah on his farm in Georgia.”

I was shocked and listened enraptured as my mother told me all about the terrible slave trade and how so many black men and women had previously been exploited for such a long time in the southern states of America, where we lived.

I was fascinated, instantly overcome with guilt and blurted out my feelings spontaneously to her.

“You must help Noah as much as you can Mum!”

She nodded, smiled and placed her slender, elegant arm around my young and innocent shoulders.

“So if you see or hear anything Cole then, it’s just me helping Noah with his agony and sharing the guilt for what we’ve all done to the black race, darling!”

I nodded threw my arms around her and kissed her.

“That’s great Mum…that’s exactly what we should do!”

She tucked me into bed and I was just drifting off to sleep when I sensed someone come into the main lounge and then a door, quietly close.

Soon I could hear groaning and sounds of hurt and pain; immediately I knew it was my mother and Noah and she was helping him share his grief and suffering again.

I then slept happily listening to the faint, rhythmical sounds from next door knowing only that my beautiful mother was doing good work, repairing the bad things that had been done so long ago.

The experiences of that holiday and my mother’s incisive explanation was the prime catalyst and reason in raising my consciousness about the issue of black slavery, and was the cause of my initial interest and concern in making things better for the unfortunate, persecuted, African race.

My mother took her commitment to her calling very seriously; most early evenings and nights she was always with Noah and one or the other of them was crying or groaning as if to release the fetid demons of the past.

It also seemed as if my pretty, fair haired sister Emma also got caught up in the good intentions as I happened to enter her room on the last day of the holiday and she was lying on her bed beside Noah, with no clothes on, crying, screaming and moaning as if they were both in unbearable misery.

I ran out immediately but my sister saw me out of the corner of her eye before I left! She grabbed me afterwards and made me swear and promise on the bible that I would not tell our mother about what I saw.

I didn’t of course, but was confused why she was so worried, as I felt sure she would have been proud of her helping share the burden of Noah’s suffering.

It was surely such an admirable thing to do!

So that was the start of my discovery and eventual obsession with the awful mistakes and horrors of the past.


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‘Reparation’ by Tiggy Mills on AMAZON