Date: Mon, 6 May 2019 00:22:15 +0000 From: Derek HERFORTH Subject: Learning the basics 2 Learning the basics, from a sexpert: 2 Dear fans of Nifty, If you are not submitting stories for publication here, might you not contribute in another form? It does not take a lot, guys, to keep us going ... If the site affords you pleasure, why not support it, even if only $lightly? http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Feedback in good faith, positive or otherwise, will be gratefully received. I'm almost as interested in the attitudes that underlie erotica as in the erotica itself. Time: early 1960s Place: Initially, a large city in the American midwest, with the standard (for the period) black ghetto; daily life still largely segregated for most residents of both races. In Ch 2, Kent moves to NYC during his summer vacation, to spend several weeks with Rodney. Characters: Kent (writing in the first person), white, just turned 16; Rodney, black, 37 As Chapter One narrates in some detail, on a family visit back to the home town we share, Rodney manages to cop himself my 16 year-old white-boy anal cherry, then mount me again on two further occasions. Our three sessions come in quick succession, all falling within about a week's time, after which Rodney returns to work in New York, leaving my young rear-parts pretty well opened-up for the first time. While I can hardly be absolutely sure at this point, given Rodney's prowess with me, I suspect I'm very far from the only white teen lad he's ever seduced, gotten himself into, nor may mine be his first ever white-teen anal cherry either. Still, he seems rather pleased at having managed to pluck mine from me, as described, and then to mount me another couple of times. On a short visit home, ostensibly `on family business', perhaps he'd just not anticipated quite so much activity with a fresh young local boy. Our three meetings were facilitated by the fact he was not, in fact, staying with family, but had a small place to himself for the duration of his all-too-brief sojourn. But then, inevitably, he headed back to NYC to resume his job at one of the local newspapers, a position he'd told me about with considerable pride. At barely sixteen, I kind of felt I'd been `fucked and abandoned' by an `ethnic' male who I could not help feeling had already begun to affect anatomical changes in me, in my rear-parts, not to mention the huge impact I sensed our interaction had already started to have on my own self-image: "In less than a week, I've lost my anal cherry, been taken to bed three times by an older Black Man, got myself mounted, fucked royally each time ... What exactly do such goings-on make of me, a mid-teen white boy? What do they mean for me? What will they turn me into? How am I going to turn out?" Left in the lurch to ponder such questions by myself, I longed for Rodney, his support, discussion, feedback. He'd been so willing to talk about things with me; but, he was no longer immediately available. We did stay manage to keep in touch by snail-mail, however, as that was the order of the day, of course. Rodney, I found, never failed to reply to my letters. It would have been utter lunacy to encourage him to call me at home ... and expensive for him too back then, phoning from New York. His African-American speech would have been picked up by anyone who happened to answer the phone, and that would have spelled a lot of trouble for me, still a sophomore in high school, sequestered in an all-white suburb. "Just what's going on, an obviously black man calling the house, asking for you? How does he know you? How'd he get our number? – you give it to him?!" Before my first encounter with Rodney, I'd never had so much as a real conversation with a Black Man, just back-n-forth with gas-station attendants and the like, as I recall. And, I'm pretty sure my parents knew that too. I shared my `lack of exposure', living where we did, with Rodney at the coffee shop on our Day One, but I'm pretty sure he'd already intuited my situation, as he must have met with it often enough in his frequent intercourse with white teen boys. This was, after all, the Midwest in still just the early 1960s. So, after he left and I remained living at home, especially as I was more than a year below the age of consent when we first met, he was going to have to proceed with all due caution when it came to staying in touch. We'd write back and forth, `discreetly', it was decided. My parents both worked full-time, and for years our postman had been making his deliveries to our house mid-afternoon, M-F. So, I'd rush home from school every day, before anybody else got a look at the day's mail, just to see if there might be a letter from Rodney. And sometimes there was. Rodney wrote warmly, even tenderly, about us "getting together again", "spending more time together", and that aroused me so much, I began to hatch plans, especially after he mentioned wanting me to join him there to NYC and `stay a spell'. He even invited me, semi-formally, to `live with' him for a while, an idea that excited me no end, of course. It was pretty clear that we both wanted more access to each other. I had some friends in New York City more or less my own age, talented kids, most of them Jewish, I'd met at music camp in the Berkshires a couple summers earlier and had stayed in touch with. After running the idea past Rodney, getting his whole-hearted approval and encouragement, I decided to tell my parents I'd been invited to join my friends for `musical activities in the city' over the summer vacation, including `participation in a summer youth orchestra scheduled to give a number of concerts'. Of course, I'd be staying with my friends and their parents, as I had, in fact, for a few days after the earlier camp, when I was a mere fourteen. I had all their phone numbers, of course, but, I assured everyone at home I'd be making the calls, `twice a week from where I'm staying, ok?' My parents were experiencing some marital discord at the time, so a promise to take on the responsibility of keeping in touch from my side seemed good enough to them, given their more immediate domestic distractions. This, of course, allowed me to stay with Rodney, unbeknownst to them. As my parents' third child, second son, I was already, at that point, a pretty stable, `mature' 16, though, when I first met Rodney, I was only a couple weeks into my 16th year, still a bit `15-ish' perhaps. But, as my two older siblings had `turned out well' so far, Mom and Dad were trusting, encouraging me to explore myself and my environment before heading off to college to settle on a `future direction'. Little could they have known how Rodney, an Black Male twenty years my senior, had, in the course of three meetings, already laid the groundwork for, pretty much determined, quite irreversibly, certain things about my `general direction' for years to come. That so much was more or less determined in the course of only three meetings should be attributed, I'm sure, to the devastating power of Rodney's sexual allure and prowess, the superb Mastery he commanded whenever he entertained a young, gonad-fuelled white boy, inevitably drawing that boy into his thrall. By letter I'd asked Rodney how long he wanted me for. His reply: `for as long as you possibly can, baby-boy. New York's a great place, full of fun, especially in summer, and I want to be able to watch you learning to love it as much as I do.' Initially, I told my parents I'd be gone for six weeks, but then, when that period was up, I found I simply could not tear myself away, nor did Rodney want me to go, if truth be told. So, I extended, ended up spending almost the entire summer with him, until I absolutely had to return home at the end of August, to face the twin prospects of 11th grade and my fast approaching 17th birthday – still a year to go to `age of consent' -- yech! By the time I left NYC to return home, Rodney had had me largely (but not entirely) to himself for a fair proportion, almost a quarter, of my 16th year on the planet, a set-up that, for as long as it lasted, appeared to leave him pretty pleased, content with himself. At 38, he had a 16 y/o white lad cohabiting with him, a boy who was not only totally ready, but also fully up to receiving him nightly. The `cultural' and social shifts, hometown to NYC, were mind-boggling for a 16 y/o, as I recall, a lad just discovering his own tendencies, interests and inclinations. Very soon after arrival, I found myself being subtly shown off, if not quite `paraded around', as Rodney's `pride-n-joy'. It wasn't long before I was being taken to gatherings at a number of his Black Male friends' places, whether in the Village, where we lived, or uptown in Harlem – all to be narrated in future episodes. As things progressed, the summer rolling on, it gradually became clear that, while I was perhaps the sole lad actually sleeping with Rodney in his bed night after night, I was hardly the only young white male around him, keeping him company. Nor, in the end, was Rodney the only Black Male to offer me company that summer, I'd have to admit. But, I'm getting ahead of myself here ... Full details of my coming out to Rodney's circle of friends will be revealed, in due course. In NYC that summer, Rodney would be working most of the time, and, by mail he'd suggested I could probably get casual work for those weeks, a few days a week, to keep me in some pocket money and from getting bored at home when he was not around. On days I wasn't working, I'd explore the city, relying on his suggestions, guidance, guidebooks ... As we began to make detailed plans, he wrote about a few specifics, just, I suppose, to make sure I understood his `house rules', as he called them, what things were going to be like with me there. His apartment had only one bedroom, his bedroom only one bed, he reported ... `if that's ok'. In my response, I guess I might have gotten a little over-passionate: "Even if you had several beds, I'd want *us* to share just *one* of them. I hope you will let me into your bed with you every night, please, Rodney – maybe sometimes during the day too! Come to think of it, you and I, we've actually never spent the night together, have we? The most we've `slept together' was just in the course of napping, in between your double mountings each time we got together here. But I want to wake up next to you in the morning when we're living together there, please!" Rodney wrote back that my reply had got him `pretty excited'. I responded that I was sure I needed him `inside me, on a daily basis, at least once a day, if not more often.' He next reported that he was a `decent cook', so I needn't worry about that. Eating out would be expensive. When I replied I'd been trained at home as a `decent cleaner-upper', he said we sounded `well-matched', would `dovetail' nicely in `sharing domestic life' together. The language of his letters was beautifully restrained, and when I asked him about it later, he told me. "Yes; one of the things I thought a bit about when we first started corresponding was, `What if any of my letters to Kent were opened, discovered, somehow fell into the hands of someone they were not intended for, someone in his family?' Imagining that as a real possibility is what kept my style chaste. There was a lot I wanted to say – and you've heard me say it, sometimes, in the heat of passion – but thought I probably shouldn't write in my letters to you." So he did not respond directly in writing to my revelation that I needed him `inside me, on a daily basis, at least once a day, if not more often.' He let me write almost all of the passionate stuff, while he remained a bit reserved, at least in those letters. (He did `slip up' occasionally, referring to me as `baby-boy', `white-lad' and such, or revealing that my response had `excited' him, or that we were making plans to `cohabit', etc., but, all in all, the letters were remarkably chaste, compared to how they might have been written, and compared to his verbal passion in person.) That's just the kind of guy Rodney is, extraordinarily passionate, but controlled; and that summer, I learned to appreciate fully, up and down, and all the way into the innermost depths of my being, both his incredible passion and his mind-melting, penetrative control. Rodney is, I discovered, also profoundly wise in certain ways of the world; in particular, he's well-versed in low-risk strategies which allow him to indulge his passion for white teen males, with the ultimate goal, of course, of getting his rather large black penis rather deep inside said lads' innards. All this `inter-action' was occurring between him and white teen males (as I later found out), as well as between the two of us, quite a few years before interracial couples became at all common in even so-called `straight' society, and also at a time when the age of consent remained stubbornly plugged at 18 in many jurisdictions. Black-with-white, same-sex, me, at 16, two years underage: Rodney and I were kind of thumbing our noses at three taboos right there, and I can't deny that such `non-mainstream' behaviour lent a piquant sauce to the dynamic he deftly drew me into. We were contravening `social norms', while adult Rodney bedding a 16 year-old was out-n-out illegal, of course, not that I minded that in the least! But at the same time, especially there in Greenwich Village, we felt we may have been in the vanguard, prefiguring the shape of things to come, when black-n-white would be free to come together, in any pairing of genders, as early as age 15, as things later evolved at least in some locales. At the time Rodney and I were happening to each other there in the Village, back in our shared, Midwestern home-town, it would have been totally unthinkable for a Black Man to take me in to live with him, even for just a week or two. He'd have had to hide me in the basement, never let me out; otherwise, he'd have run serious risk of arrest, almost certainly sooner, rather than later. Things in Manhattan, however, are rather different, as I learn not long after my arrival. For example, among Rodney's Black friends, no secret has ever been made of the fact it's considered pretty basic for a true stud to have at least one under-age white boy in tow, available to him, at his beck and call. A number of rather young white lads, my age and even less, orbit around, are accessible, sometimes a bit randomly, to Rodney's circle of friends, a group of about two dozen male-inclined Black Males whose ages range from mid-teen to early sixties. Having frequent sexual access to one or more of the white lads is a widely respected status-symbol, and additional white boys are always being sought by members of the circle, I learn. The white lads themselves are encouraged to `recruit' friends, other teens they could trust, whenever possible. That Rodney had managed to procure himself an underage white `roommate', a live-in white-boy he lured to New York from the Midwest, impresses one and all within the circle, I notice immediately. Both Rodney and I are considered `rather special' by the membership. It would, of course, have been much trickier for a NYC Black Male, including Rodney himself, to arrange cohabitation with a local underage white-boy, a youngster with local family, or non-family `carers' responsible for looking after him ... In that sense, I was in a rather unique position for a boy my age, living for weeks on end away from home, but also free of any sort of `guardian' or `foster-care' – except, perhaps, to the degree that Rodney could be considered to be engaged in `fostering', `caring for', `rearing' and `training' me, with his own rather specific goals in mind, of course – a dynamic definitely not `within the norm'. But, there in Manhattan, we managed to fly under the radar. Not a few of Rodney's friends quite envy him his cohabitation with an under-age white boy. He was considered to have pulled off a rather tricky feat, his `stud-factor' rising appreciably within the circle. Rodney met me at Penn Station when I detrained from the Midwest. Man, was I happy to see him again! "This is going to be so good!", I whispered to myself, full of confidence. It was getting towards lunch time, so Rodney, of course, asked if I was hungry, which I was, but in more ways than one! We had an early meal midtown before he took me home, explaining he'd taken the day off work to `make sure I get off on the right foot' the first day of my stay. We'd communicated, at a heavy price in quarter$, by pay-phone several times before I left home. When I'd finally booked the train ticket and told Rodney of my mid-morning arrival in NYC, he made a rather special request: Could I hold off on my usual morning dump until I got to his place noon-ish? An unusual request, perhaps, but not, in fact, the first time such matters had been discussed between us, I recalled. Similar issues had come up back home on Day One, as he moved towards taking me to bed on my `maiden voyage' (though he, in fact, did not yet know I was `cherry'). Before he did that, prior to seeking entry, Rodney had pointedly asked if I didn't want to `sit' for a while in his bathroom: had I emptied myself out?, was I `clean'? I had and was, and proceeded even to explain my dumping routine in some detail, in which Rodney showed considerable interest, asked follow-up questions, and even promised to remember `for future reference'. [See Chapter 1] As I gradually came to realize, all this is simply an essential part of my initiation into competent, young-male analism. Rodney is a firm, but gentle, caring guide, a superb mentor for a young lad as he goes about acquiring anal know-how. And he clearly enjoys, rather intensely, overseeing the progression whereby a boy gradually makes himself more and more accessible to tops, gets himself mounted more and more frequently, finally blooming as a deeply committed, full-time analist. Rodney had overseen and managed that `progress' for a number of boys already; so, I was in very experienced hands. As Rodney explained to me in detail over the phone, on this occasion, holding back, `holding in', as he put it, for a couple hours, `to firm things up, let them solidify', would ensure a very complete dump – I remember, he actually used the term `a total, clean evacuation' – which would then leave me in an excellent position `when you get round to sharing your depths with me', as he so deftly put it, in the rich, sexual language he mostly refrained from in his letters. Anything at all connected to being in bed together with Rodney arouses me no end, so I was only too glad, on his advice, to `hold it in' for the last few hours of the long train ride, only to `evacuate' it all at his place. That way, I'd be clearing, as best I could, a squeaky-clean path for him to use as he then saw fit, all the way up my still narrow but slick anal sheath and deep into my rectum, those internal areas I felt he was probably eager to reacquaint himself with, at our earliest convenience. From the start, I've always been deeply struck by his tender concern for my body, which he sometimes even refers to as his `vessel'. Also impressive is his expertise in ensuring a very high level of physical enjoyment for us both, and in his frankness, when he speaks to me about such bodily matters, as he did over and over that summer. It's a lovely way of bonding – that total openness between boy and man on bottom/top issues. I soon learned to be very frank with him on such matters, and I think that's because I felt that such profound bonding was just one of several ways he had of subtly staking out his Black claim over every inch of my younger, white body and all of its functions, of asserting his firm, but gentle Black control and governance over everything going on both outside and inside of me. I loved that sense of a total yielding of myself to him, acknowledging him as `in charge of all that happens both to and within me', and I sensed he was rather pleased with my willingness to yield not only my body itself, whenever he demanded it, but also all things related to my body and how, in every detail, it functioned. And yet, he has the amazing knack of never coming across as commandeering, over-demanding. At the same time, there is no denying that I very soon came to feel I obviously belong to Rodney, totally, as his `territory', the `fecund acreage' he'd taken `invader's possession' of by simply being the first to plough it, so that there was never any doubt whatsoever about who was in charge. Very soon after my arrival in New York, partly because the environment was still unfamiliar to me, I began to feel I was almost `in orbit' around Rodney, wedded to him `gravitationally', in a way I'd never ever want to give up for any other dynamic, or mode of being. Even if I got to know other Black Men, as indeed I did that same summer, with Rodney's frank encouragement, Rodney would somehow remain at the centre of my `solar system'. How a lad gloms onto, and sticks with his First Mounter, if conditions allow, I realized. At the place which was now to become `ours', I'm given my time on Rodney's commode and find I need almost fifteen minutes. On emerging, he asks `how it all came out', and I manage to come up with a pleasing answer. `Totally clean on second wipe, Rodney.' `Awesome, my boy; but just let me have a look, will you?" "Please, sir!" He has me take down my slacks and underwear, then bends me over the arm of the chair in his bedroom, squatting himself down on his haunches and spreading my cheeks for an examination; then, after a moment, I hear him sniffing, feel his breath. So hot, to get sniffed there by the big Black Male who's soon gonna claim that hole of mine as his own! I get hard immediately. "Beautiful, Kent. Can't catch a whiff of anything I wouldn't approve of – and my, you have a lovely hole!" We return to the bathroom to undress each other completely, stepping into the shower together. On my anus and the immediate surrounding area Rodney uses a special, `super-mild', high-end bath lotion he's bought for me to cleanse what he calls my `hind-privates' with. (It's advertised, I notice, as `the ultimate before- and after-care for the active, sophisticated female'.) I'm told to use it whenever I bathe, but only on my genitals, and without fail on my boy-bottom. It's suggested, with a wink, that the rest of my body will be able to `put up with a bar of Lux'. Rodney washes my butt-cheeks for us sweetly, so tenderly, in fact, that he does not even have to ask me to spread my legs to offer him further access. I make that move entirely instinctively, like a young female animal in heat presenting herself to an older male for inspection, pre-breeding. By splaying my legs, I simply let Rodney know that my thighs and where they join together at my lower trunk – all that is entirely opened up now to exploration at his leisure. "There ya go, boy; love how you spread for me like that, without me even asking for it! You're gonna let me get my fingers in a ways?" "Please, Rodney; please handle me the way you always do. I have always loved how you touch me." "You do have lovely stuff for me to touch, Kent. I'm so glad you're finally here in my home to share it with me." "Sharing is fine, Rodney, but there can be more to it than that; you can take from me, absolutely, whenever you need, before I've even offered you anything." "That's the spirit, boy ... and I do realize that, of course. You're here to make yourself available, accessible to me 24/7, cos that's what it's all about here at my place." I'm afraid I love the sound of that idea, Rodney asserting quiet, but irresistible dominance over me as his own personal, live-in territory. For me, there's a new ring in his speech, though he's not raised his voice even one decibel. I'd just not managed to hear that confident, non-nonsense tone before, when we'd been together back at home. But maybe that was because his `domain' there had not really been his own in any permanent sense, but was only temporary, for that one week he'd been around town. Here, though, he was Master, at the Centre, while I felt, again, I was being pulled about in orbit around him – a minor planet, unable to escape his irresistible drawing power. Using the pricey, deluxe lotion he'd bought for me, once Rodney had bathed and teased me open, fingered my hole so that it started to relax for him – his assessment, of course – we rinse off, emerge from the shower-space and dry each other. He is not yet fully erect, but his magnificent Black Penis is clearly being fed by much redirected blood-flow, rendering him huge, pendulous, heavy, so very girthy. When I see him like that, thickly blood-engorged, but not yet erect, I sense, very deep inside, but in a new way, how totally full he must fill me when he mounts, inserts and gets a ways in. I have no trouble recalling how utterly split wide he made my rear-parts feel back at home, but being able to focus visually on how very large he looks now lends yet another dimension to the impact his genital endowment has on me. I promise myself that, as he next gets himself up inside me, I'm going to revive via my visual memory the magnificent image now in front of me, letting it enthral one part of my brain almost as much as the intense pressure and friction of his shaft on the lining of my sheath impacts another, more tactile nerve-centre of my brain. Both of us are now pretty well dried off, but before we leave the bathroom, I fall to my knees in front of Rodney, to lick that long, pendulous Black Shaft for him, up and down, over and over, leaving a film of white-boy saliva glistening on his massive Black Truncheon. Looking down at my young white face as it moves along his blood-engorged cock, he grunts his satisfaction. "Good boy, you know what your Black Daddy likes! He loves seeing your pink tongue licking his blackness!" "And I need my Black Daddy too, please!" Rodney leads me to what will become our shared bed for the coming weeks, and proceeds to erect himself manually; then, having lubed me and himself up, he introduces himself, very slowly, into me. (Later, he will teach me how to stimulate him to erection. I will be directed how to lick not merely his shaft, but to extend my oral services to his huge cock-head, how to coax sticky-sweet pre-cum forth from the slit, even how to kiss and lick his firm, ebony hindquarters to his utter satisfaction, til he tells me to stop cos he's ready to mount.) As he pushes himself gently into me, I struggle to replay the `tricks' I thought I'd learned from our earlier copulations, but can recall only vaguely how to relax sufficiently for his invasion; over six months have intervened since he's been with me, on my inside. For bare starters, he gets himself wedged just inside the sphincter he's just managed to tease open in the shower. About half of his huge, spongy cock-head sits there just barely inside me, waiting for me to slacken further. "Fuck, you're tight, boy! Give yourself to me; your Black Daddy wants you!" "I'm trying my best, Rodney. Black Daddy's not been up in me for so long, maybe I've recontracted to my virginal state? ... Have I started to open up at all for you today, sir?" "You do have a lovely white-boy pussy-hole for me, son; but I feel you gripping down really tight on me, and I'm hardly inside you at all yet. I think you're just going to have try and relax a bit more. Think `open, open sesame!', please." "I know, Daddy ... but it's just cos you are *so* huge, especially your girth. I don't think I'm consciously `gripping' you, though, certainly not milking you. When you come back to me after not having fucked me for a while, I think you're going to feel you're just too huge for me at first. But remember how I relaxed and opened for you the second and third times at home?" "You were beautiful; I felt you'd already learned how to accommodate me, and in such a short time! And yet, you were still so tight around me – open and inviting, but still amazingly tight!" "It didn't really hurt any more after that first time, honest! Wanting you inside me so much made me just ignore any pain I briefly felt. Moments later, it all just blossomed as awesomely beautiful, Rodney, like a flower opening myself to you." "And you haven't had anyone since your Daddy, over six months ago?" "No one; would you want me to be seeing someone?" "No, not unless I knew who it was, and had given my approval." "Hmm, I would always want your approval for that, Daddy, cos I really belong to you." "Yes, you do, boy. Hmm, I can feel you slowly beginning to relax around me now, gradually loosening, going a bit slack around Daddy's black cudgel – such a delicious sensation!" "I want you to have it, Daddy; I need you to own my boy-pussy, because no one is ever going to fuck me as beautifully as you do!" As my sphincter slackens and opens for my huge Black Daddy, he makes his way in, grunting in intense pleasure at how my slick anal sheath embraces, hugs him. Our verbal exchanges die away, shifting to more animalistic vocalizations, mostly from my side, whimpers modulating into broken sobs of extreme sexual arousal, as my big Rodney gets down in earnest to the business of power-fucking his current white boy, something he's always done so supremely well. I get myself fucked for about twenty minutes, non-stop, am made to cum twice, the first time without even touching myself, mostly because Rodney's huge penis will simply not stop nudging, caressing, teasing, slipping n sliding across – in a word, `harassing'! – my boy-prostate. His consummate skill at fucking away gently, none too forcefully, at a lad's G-button exceeds this particular lad's abilities to retain his own semen. It spurts out, rope after rope, landing first all over my face, then just on my chest and finally, a gob at a time, on my abdomen only. "Go for it, boy; show Daddy just how much white-teen jizz you've got in there! Daddy just loves to fuck it out of you like that!", Rodney just continuing to pump away, at some untold depth within me. I feel my mind starting to slip away, slide just beyond my control, his Black piston is doing me so deep, so ceaselessly, so forever. "Maybe this is what they mean when they say `He fucked my brains out', I suddenly realize. My second cumming happens a while later. We're now on our sides, spooning, except that Rodney has his magnificent penis two-thirds of the way up inside me, is again pumping, maybe playing piston – not sure what the best description would be -- in and out, in-n-out of me, just not stopping, ever. "Ok, baby, I'm feeling so fine, like I want to download myself into you. Can you cum with me, let me feel you boy-puss spasming on my penis as I leak out deep into you?" "Yes, Daddy," as I grab my own rampant cock in my fist. "Tell me when you're gonna cum, please. I wanna cum together with you." "Atta boy! Any minute now ..." Less than thirty seconds later, I hear Rodney grunt way down low, and know he's preparing to release deep inside me. I ramp up my cock-wanking, letting go of my first spurt just as I hear Rodney, "Aw fuck, take your Daddy's cum, boy. Let your white-boy cunt drink your Black Daddy's sperm!" We start cumming at almost the same moment, but Rodney's orgasm, his first, lasts longer. I'm done after about five spasms, while he keeps tossing it into me for at least eight or nine, maybe more; I lose count. Finally, things begin, very gradually, to subside. I'm already softening somewhat as he finishes himself off in me. And, though his convulsive cock-spasms then gradually die away, he leaves his penis firmly lodged inside me, hugely space-consuming, even as it softens. He seems in no hurry to draw it out. "Hmm, that's what I'd been missing since I returned to New York here, Kent." "And me too, from you, Daddy" "I get the feeling we'll be doing this a lot for as long as you can hang around." "You mean you're gonna let me sleep in this bed with you?" "There is no other, Kent. Will you be unhappy in this bed with me?" "Nope. If you put me in another bed, I'll just crawl into this one with you in the middle of the night, while you're sleeping, Daddy – just so I can spend some of the night next to you." "Sweet boy!", kissing me on the lips. We nap lightly, for ten minutes, then head back to the bathroom. Rodney has me sit while he putters about, in and out of the room, listening for the noises my lower body emits. I see that he enjoys that, takes a great interest in my after-routines. When I feel I'm done, he tells me not to flush, but to let him have a look first. He likes seeing his load once it's been ejected from my insides, congratulates me on `not even a smidgen of dirt, boy!' "That's how I want it to be every time with us, just like it's been so far, boy. You ever douched yourself?" "No, what's that?" "Not surprised you don't know, if you've never been with another top, cos I sure never mentioned it to you yet, Kent." "You are my only, Rodney" "Ok, love to know that, but it just means you're gonna need to be taught stuff, shown how to take care of yourself the way a boy like you should. All good, though. You're here living with me for a while, so there'll be time for that." "Eager to learn from you, sir" "Ok; maybe we should let you `have an accident', then teach you how they can be avoided in future, forever." "Not sure what you mean, Mr Rodney – an `accident'?" "No need to lose any sleep over it, boy. It'll happen if and when it happens." "Ok, sir." After freshening up, getting dressed, Rodney takes me out, round the neighbourhood where we shop for dinner. He shows me where I'll need to go for groceries. One of my domestic tasks will be to do the shopping two or three times a week while he's at work, his list of groceries in my hand. There will be days when he'll be able to come home for lunch, he assures me – days when there'll be time to fuck me some before or after lunch, or both, before he returns to work in the afternoon. I love the thought! Armed with the makings of dinner, we return home, where he shows me how the kitchen works, where the dishes go. After an early dinner, with plashes of rosι, I clean up for him before he pulls me back into our bed, where I get myself fucked for the second time that day, cumming for the third time by pumping my cock off as Rodney ships his second load of the day into me. I ask if I may skip `toilet duty' to keep his load inside me all night, then in the morning check out how much of it I've absorbed. Rodney loves the idea, but says I probably needed to be `plugged up, so you won't leak out all over as we sleep here'. I'm not at all sure what he means, so he shows me my first ever butt-plug, lubes it up and inserts it into me, thereby letting me get a lovely night's sleep with it lodged snugly in me, me all nicely plugged up, lying in bed next to him ... So the learning begins!