The Night I Finally Gave In
I’d been scrolling through the same apps for months, heart racing every time a black king popped up—thick, dark, veiny, the kind of cock that made my mouth water and my hole twitch just looking at the preview pics. I’d always backed out last minute. “Next time,” I told myself. Always next time.
Until the night I didn’t.
His name was Marcus. 6’4”, deep voice on the voice note, smooth shaved head, and when he sent the full-body mirror shot—gray sweats barely containing what looked like a third leg—I knew I wasn’t running this time. He lived forty minutes away. I showered twice, shaved everything smooth, lubed myself up in the bathroom mirror while my legs shook, then drove over with the AC blasting to keep from sweating through my shirt.
He opened the door shirtless, basketball shorts hanging low. The smell of cocoa butter and clean skin hit me first. Then he smiled—slow, confident—and said, “You look nervous, baby boy. Come in.”
The living room was dim, just a floor lamp and the blue glow from a muted TV. He didn’t waste time on small talk. He sat on the couch, legs spread wide, and patted the cushion next to him. When I sat, he reached over, big hand sliding up my thigh, squeezing.
“You been thinking about this dick, huh?”
I could only nod.
“Say it.”
“I’ve been thinking about your big black cock for months,” I whispered.
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through me. Then he stood up, pushed those shorts down, and it flopped out—heavy, thick, already half-hard, the dark head glistening under the lamp. Nine inches easy, maybe more, and fat enough that my fingers wouldn’t meet around it. My mouth went dry.
“On your knees.”
I dropped like I’d been waiting my whole life for the order.
Up close it was even more intimidating. The heat coming off it, the heavy musk of clean skin and man, the way it twitched when I breathed on it. I started with my tongue—flat licks from the base all the way up, tasting salt and skin. He groaned when I swirled around the head, sucking just the tip into my mouth. It stretched my lips wide right away. I moaned around it, the vibration making him throb against my tongue.
“Deeper, baby. Show me you want it.”
I tried. Gagged almost immediately. Tears pricked my eyes but I didn’t stop. I bobbed, sloppy and eager, spit running down my chin, coating his balls. He put one big hand on the back of my head—not forcing, just guiding—and started fucking my throat in slow, steady strokes. Every time I thought I couldn’t take more, he’d pull back just enough for me to breathe, then slide in again. My cock was dripping onto the carpet, untouched.
After ten minutes of that my jaw ached, my throat felt raw, and I was floating. He pulled out, strings of spit connecting my lips to his glistening shaft.
“Bedroom. Now.”
He led me down the hall, shorts still around his ankles. Once inside he stripped me fast—shirt yanked over my head, shorts and briefs peeled down together. He pushed me face-down on the bed, ass up, knees spread.
“Look at that pretty pink hole,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Been waiting for this dick.”
He drizzled more lube over me even though I was already slick from earlier. Then I felt the blunt head press against me—hot, fat, insistent. I whimpered.
“Breathe, baby. Push back.”
I did. The stretch burned at first, then bloomed into something else—full, deep, overwhelming. He sank in slow inch by inch until his hips were flush against my ass and I could feel his balls resting against mine. I’d never felt so stretched, so owned.
He started thrusting—long, deliberate strokes that dragged over my prostate every time. I was moaning into the pillow, fists clenched in the sheets. He leaned over me, chest to my back, one arm wrapped around my throat—not choking, just holding.
“You like getting fucked by big black cock, don’t you?”
“Yes—fuck—yes, daddy.”
“Say it louder.”
“I love getting fucked by big black cock!” I practically shouted it, voice cracking.
He picked up speed, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin filling the room. I was leaking everywhere, cock throbbing, untouched. He reached under me, wrapped his huge hand around my dick, and stroked once—twice—and I came so hard my vision whited out, spurting across the sheets while he kept pounding through it.
He didn’t stop. He fucked me through the aftershocks, harder now, chasing his own release. When he finally buried himself to the hilt and groaned deep in his chest, I felt him pulse—thick ropes flooding me, so much I could feel it leaking out around his shaft.
He stayed inside me for a long minute, both of us panting. Then he pulled out slow, the wet sound obscene. I felt empty immediately.
He flipped me onto my back, climbed up, and straddled my chest. His cock—still heavy, slick with cum and lube—hovered over my face.
“Clean me up.”
I opened wide. He fed it to me, slow and deep, letting me taste us both. I sucked until he was soft again, swallowing every drop I could reach.
When he finally rolled off, he pulled me against his chest, big arm draped over me like I belonged there.
“You coming back next weekend?” he asked, voice low and sleepy.
I didn’t even hesitate.
“Yeah. I’m coming back.”
Until the night I didn’t.
His name was Marcus. 6’4”, deep voice on the voice note, smooth shaved head, and when he sent the full-body mirror shot—gray sweats barely containing what looked like a third leg—I knew I wasn’t running this time. He lived forty minutes away. I showered twice, shaved everything smooth, lubed myself up in the bathroom mirror while my legs shook, then drove over with the AC blasting to keep from sweating through my shirt.
He opened the door shirtless, basketball shorts hanging low. The smell of cocoa butter and clean skin hit me first. Then he smiled—slow, confident—and said, “You look nervous, baby boy. Come in.”
The living room was dim, just a floor lamp and the blue glow from a muted TV. He didn’t waste time on small talk. He sat on the couch, legs spread wide, and patted the cushion next to him. When I sat, he reached over, big hand sliding up my thigh, squeezing.
“You been thinking about this dick, huh?”
I could only nod.
“Say it.”
“I’ve been thinking about your big black cock for months,” I whispered.
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through me. Then he stood up, pushed those shorts down, and it flopped out—heavy, thick, already half-hard, the dark head glistening under the lamp. Nine inches easy, maybe more, and fat enough that my fingers wouldn’t meet around it. My mouth went dry.
“On your knees.”
I dropped like I’d been waiting my whole life for the order.
Up close it was even more intimidating. The heat coming off it, the heavy musk of clean skin and man, the way it twitched when I breathed on it. I started with my tongue—flat licks from the base all the way up, tasting salt and skin. He groaned when I swirled around the head, sucking just the tip into my mouth. It stretched my lips wide right away. I moaned around it, the vibration making him throb against my tongue.
“Deeper, baby. Show me you want it.”
I tried. Gagged almost immediately. Tears pricked my eyes but I didn’t stop. I bobbed, sloppy and eager, spit running down my chin, coating his balls. He put one big hand on the back of my head—not forcing, just guiding—and started fucking my throat in slow, steady strokes. Every time I thought I couldn’t take more, he’d pull back just enough for me to breathe, then slide in again. My cock was dripping onto the carpet, untouched.
After ten minutes of that my jaw ached, my throat felt raw, and I was floating. He pulled out, strings of spit connecting my lips to his glistening shaft.
“Bedroom. Now.”
He led me down the hall, shorts still around his ankles. Once inside he stripped me fast—shirt yanked over my head, shorts and briefs peeled down together. He pushed me face-down on the bed, ass up, knees spread.
“Look at that pretty pink hole,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Been waiting for this dick.”
He drizzled more lube over me even though I was already slick from earlier. Then I felt the blunt head press against me—hot, fat, insistent. I whimpered.
“Breathe, baby. Push back.”
I did. The stretch burned at first, then bloomed into something else—full, deep, overwhelming. He sank in slow inch by inch until his hips were flush against my ass and I could feel his balls resting against mine. I’d never felt so stretched, so owned.
He started thrusting—long, deliberate strokes that dragged over my prostate every time. I was moaning into the pillow, fists clenched in the sheets. He leaned over me, chest to my back, one arm wrapped around my throat—not choking, just holding.
“You like getting fucked by big black cock, don’t you?”
“Yes—fuck—yes, daddy.”
“Say it louder.”
“I love getting fucked by big black cock!” I practically shouted it, voice cracking.
He picked up speed, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin filling the room. I was leaking everywhere, cock throbbing, untouched. He reached under me, wrapped his huge hand around my dick, and stroked once—twice—and I came so hard my vision whited out, spurting across the sheets while he kept pounding through it.
He didn’t stop. He fucked me through the aftershocks, harder now, chasing his own release. When he finally buried himself to the hilt and groaned deep in his chest, I felt him pulse—thick ropes flooding me, so much I could feel it leaking out around his shaft.
He stayed inside me for a long minute, both of us panting. Then he pulled out slow, the wet sound obscene. I felt empty immediately.
He flipped me onto my back, climbed up, and straddled my chest. His cock—still heavy, slick with cum and lube—hovered over my face.
“Clean me up.”
I opened wide. He fed it to me, slow and deep, letting me taste us both. I sucked until he was soft again, swallowing every drop I could reach.
When he finally rolled off, he pulled me against his chest, big arm draped over me like I belonged there.
“You coming back next weekend?” he asked, voice low and sleepy.
I didn’t even hesitate.
“Yeah. I’m coming back.”
1ヶ月前
