Story Codes: MM/interracial
Copyright 1996 R. Keith Peck; All Rights Reserved
Originally Posted: Sat, 19 Oct 1996 [Usenet]
I decided I liked her hair from the minute I walked in the door. It had lots of colors in it. Brown, blond, black. Reminded me of the girls from back home.
She must be the Boss Man's secretary because she guarded his door like a Doberman standing over a steak. On that door there was a nameplate, white letters on black:
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said, then started again because my voice squeaked. "Yeah. I wanna fill out an application."
She smiled -- a real fake sort of smile -- and shook her head. "I'm sorry. We stopped taking applications yesterday."
"Oh." Damn. Been in Chapel Hill a week -- and no one even wanted to talk to
me about a job. My whole get-the-fuck-off-the-farm thing was going in the toilet. Fifteen
dollars and a week's worth of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese was all I had left. Pretty soon
I'd be begging for change in
the streets alongside the fat hairy bums.
As she watched me her smile turned slowly from fake to real -- I could see it, and she really seemed sorry. "Mr. Evans already has a stack of applications. I'm sorry, but this is just a bad time of the year to be hunting for a job. School just let out. Mr. Evans has been interviewing about five guys a day." She looked down at her desk, then back at me, suddenly grinning. "And I'm not so sure you could stand up to the interviewing. You're kinda small."
Well, now, fuck you, I thought. I don't like being called small. She wouldn't like being called a whore. "Look, I really just want a chance ... "
I heard footsteps behind me, and the outside door opened. A blast of hot air hit me in the back, and sweat prickled in my armpits. She came up off her desk like a rocket, a stack of pink papers in her hand. "Mr. Evans, you've got a shitload of messages."
I had a chance, now, if I could grab it. The Boss was here. Maybe my luck was going to change. I turned, just as he laughed.
Laughter -- it sounded more like a big old steamer trunk being dragged across an old wooden floor. Because He was huge. Six foot three, or maybe more. My eyes were about level with his chest. And he was dark black. I'd never seen anyone as dark as him. The blackest guy I knew back in Chatham County had skin the color of strong coffee -- good guy, he was on my JV football team. But this guy, this Mr. Evans, was black as night. He wore a suit, which you don't see on black guys back home a lot. His tie was some sort of psychedelic pattern. This was Chapel Hill, after all. That tie lay draped on a chest about the size of a bull. His neck was so thick it looked like it was about to pop the top button on his starched white shirt. There were sweat stains all down the front of that shirt.
She looked like a stick figure next to him. She handed him the notes then stood there next to him, keeping an eye on him as he flipped through one by one. You could tell who ruled which part of the office.
"Hell," he said, "I've got more work to do than a stud at a nymphomaniac convention." He stopped at one note. "York wants what?"
"That's what he said," she said.
The big man stopped. He'd noticed me, standing there next to her desk, a poor little young white guy in a dirty t-shirt and old jeans. I felt like cringing under his gaze, but he just smiled at me. "And who is this gentleman?"
She said (before I could answer), "He came by to fill out an application, but I told him we stopped taking them yesterday."
Evans looked me up and down. It was a real slow thing, as his eyes went from my scruffy Reeboks up to my hair, which had been combed this morning but hadn't survived walking up and down Franklin Street. "Well," he said slowly, "I'm going to need some more guys. Let him fill one out." Then he spoke to me, directly, for the first time. "Can you come by tomorrow at ten for an interview?"
"Sure thing," I said, and a big grin spread over my face. Well, I thought, sometimes luck changes; you're not always screwed.
He looked at his secretary, laughed, and went through the door marked with his name.
She put the application in my hand. "You're lucky." She smirked. "Maybe. You're probably be even luckier tomorrow, if you stand up to it." She paused. I was supposed to be doing something. "Do you need a pen?"
Oh that. "Uh ... yeah," I said.
Just to be sure, just to increase my chances, I spent some more time hunting on Franklin Street, up on the college drag. I didn't think I needed to, but you never know. Everyone was taking applications -- the pizza joints, the bars, the coffee houses, the sports stores -- but no one was hiring. But I wasn't worried too much anymore. Somehow I felt I had the job with Evans nailed.
I stank up yet another tee-shirt, stomping around town in the heat. And my jeans too. I'd only got the one pair, so everyone's just gonna have to put up with it. I got used to smelling my own crotch a week ago. Hell, I even started liking it.
And then, after all that, I walked back up to Cherry Street, in Carrboro. I spent a buck on an ice tea at the Wendy's on the corner of Main and Greensboro. Which took me down to fourteen bucks, but I was spitting up cotton I was so dry.
I had to put my shoulder against the front door of the house and shove to get the damn thing open. This was because the house's foundation was settling. If you stood under the magnolia in the back yard you could see it - - you'd swear the place was being sucked underground. Doors got stuck all over the place, and anything loose on the floor that could roll tended to end up in one corner or another. Or else it fell down a crack to join the mess under the house. The place was old, and it was a wreck. Something like between five and twelve people lived there, depending on who was fucking who.
Brad sprawled on the couch in his cutoffs, fly open as usual. Brad's a friend from high school; he dropped out last year to party in Chapel Hill. He was the one who got me to move up here. He had his hand shoved down in his cutoffs, playing with himself. He flipped through a Hustler. No shirt on, no hair on his chest, which we always used to rib him about.
He looked up as I came in. "Dude," he said, "any luck?" He kept playing with himself. There were big wet stains in the crotch of his cutoffs. Brad pulls big wet boners.
"About as much as you have scoring pussy."
"Fuck you," he said. He threw the magazine down into the junk on the floor. He pulled his hand out, waved it at me as I stood in the doorway. Dogwater covered it. "Lick my hand, boy. Be my bitch."
"You ain't man enough," I said, laughing. Brad liked to pretend we were still kids sometimes. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and headed back towards my room. "Go on and finish yourself up. Melissa's gonna be in town this weekend. I don't need my damn hands."
He gave me the finger. "You got lazy after you stopped having to hunt for pussy." Brad undid his shorts and hauled his wang out.
No reason to hang around. I'd seen this before, over and over.
I shucked my clothes when I got to my room. I didn't have a real door -- the real one probably rotted away about fifteen years ago, or else got stolen, or was converted into a bogn -- but someone had nailed some shower curtains up, which was enough to give me a little privacy.
I'd lied when I said I didn't need my hands. All that walking, all that work, and thinking about Melissa my girlfriend had got my own prong riled up. It popped up tight against my belly when I stripped those old jeans off. It vibrated like a bell. My crotch smelled as strong as a barn full of tobacco. I sniffed and inhaled it deeply.
I tugged on my balls. Sweat made them wet and sticky. They're smooth, completely hairless, which always embarrassed me in the showers with the guys, sort of like Brad and his hairless chest. The guys used to think I was a perv, thought I shaved my balls. Which I didn't. I've got a good thatch down there, around the base of my dick -- except on my balls, which are about as naked as they were when I was twelve. It's just naturally one of those things.
I kicked some old underwear out of the way. I laid back on the mattress, propped my hand under my head for a pillow, and got ready for a good session. Man, I was hot. Hadn't had anything since I got to Chapel Hill -- not even my hand. There were so many people in the house I'd never got the room to myself. Though I knew Brad would jack off in the back row of a crowded bus if he wanted to -- hell, he liked doing it in front of an audience, I've seen him haul it out at a couple of parties -- I liked keeping that stuff to myself. I felt OK to do it now. Except for Brad, the house was empty, which was the first time that had happened since I got to Chapel Hill.
So I wrapped my hand around my dick and started giving myself a treat. I thought about Melissa, how we fucked, about how she licked to push me down and lick me, then grab my prick, stand it up, and sink herself down on it. Man, I could see her face as clear as I'd seen Mr. Evans today is his office -- how her eyes opened when I filled her, how she always squeaked a little when she hit bottom, how she always started out moving real slow on my prong, then humped faster and faster the closer she came to cumming.
I cupped my hand under my lips, smelling my cock stink, and I spat into it. I jacked on myself some more, using the spit until my cock started putting out enough lube on its own.
I'd only been on top of Melissa once -- the first time I put it to her, back in my junior year. Even then it hadn't been for long. She'd rolled me over before I shot and then started humping me the way she liked. I liked it better when she was on top. I liked feeling someone else's flesh smack up against my own while I laid there and took it. Made my butthole clench and me shoot hard when that happens.
I shot after a few more minutes of jacking. Lots of juice -- trails of it ran from my light brown pubes to the hollow of my neck. Good one -- I just wished it was with someone else.
I closed my eyes a bit afterwards and slept.
I woke up minutes or hours later, hearing Brad say, "Dude, what a load." He stood in the doorway, the moldy shower curtains shouldered aside. He was buttoning up his fly. I saw gray cum on his fingers. His chest was wet, either from sweat or jism. I thought he might have just shot a load all over the floor.
But I just grinned. "Bet you wish you could shoot like this."
"Fuck, I do shoot like that, you little twerp." He laughed. Brad can call me little without pissing me off. "You still look boned, Jimmy. You need some action."
Sure as shit my cock was hard. "We both need some action." Because Brad's prong was still pretty hard in his cutoffs, while he stood up there looking down at me.
I got up next morning about eight and did the normal shit, shower, shave routine. I put on the same jeans, the ones with no knees, but I did dig up a fairly fresh t-shirt. It wasn't really white -- it was actually mostly yellow, like the color you piss when you've been drinking lots of water -- but it didn't smell too bad.
I walked down to his offices again. They were near University Mall, which was quite a walk from Carrboro. I could have taken the bus -- should have, really -- but I wanted to hold on to the seventy five cents. I really should have spent it, because I got to the offices smelling a bit ripe, and with the tee-shirt soaked with sweat. North Carolina is steamy even in the morning.
She was there again, and she did recognize me, which gave me a good feeling. "He'll see you right now," she said. There was a smirk on her face. "Good luck."
So I said "Thank you" and went through the door without even sitting and waiting in the damn lobby.
His office was fairly plain. The floor was bare concrete -- guess he didn't want dirty work boots mucking up a carpet. He had some legal-looking stuff framed on his wall -- degrees, licenses, permits. There was a plain chair in front of a plain desk. Evans sat behind his desk.
He was dressed completely differently today. That suit yesterday had hid a lot. Today he had on a tank top, old and torn and tight. And I saw huge muscles. He was a really big guy -- bigger than I thought. I mean huge. I'd swear the rips in the tank top were caused by him flexing those huge muscles. Man, I'd never seen pecs on any guy like that. Farm hands who've tossed tobacco for years wouldn't get his size. They were muscled tits, big and round and hard as rocks.
He must've liked tight clothes, because his jeans were glued to him. It showed the shape of his body -- his thighs tapered like a wide receiver's, and his waist was narrow as a slim man's. I wondered about those things me and Brad used to joke about. Other stuff. Black guys. Their meat. It wasn't funny anymore. Never seen a guy fill up the crotch and thighs like that. Never. I mean, it was frightening how big it was.
He wasn't smiling. Not today. He looked real serious. His hand came out as he stood and grabbed mine. It was hot as a coal. "My name's Ted. Ted Evans. You're Jimmy?"
I nodded. I licked my lips because my mouth had turned into dust. "Yep."
"Yeah. I remember you from yesterday. Sit down," he said, letting go of my hand and pointing at the chair in front of his desk. "You're a pretty small guy, Jimmy. You up for this kind of work?"
I tried not to sound pissed. "Yeah, well, my dad has a tobacco farm, so I know how to work. I mean, lots of guys rib me about my size. But I always show them up. I've tossed more tobacco on some days than guys twice my size."
His eyebrows popped up a bit. "So you're a tough guy." His tits are so big they make me think of my girlfriend, so hard they make me think of road asphalt. But that wiry hair under his armpits, which he showed to me by putting his hands behind his head, isn't something a girl would have.
I said, "Yeah," and sat up in my chair to show him I mean it.
"Work's hard," he said. He leaned back and propped his big feet up on his desk. He wore old, shitty Adidas shoes. Grass stains, dirt in the treads. His socks are as yellow as my tee-shirt. Man, he was giving me a full-on view of his crotch. What the guys said about black guys had to be true. There was a huge bulge in his jeans, a long fat tube that muscled aside the fabric on his thighs halfway to his knees. I wished I was this guy's size. Hell, who wouldn't? I usually check out other guys' meat. I'm not small in that department, which helps compensate when you're in the showers. I got in the habit of doing that back in high school.
I wondered if black women's clits were bigger than white girls. But somehow that seemed a hard thought to sustain.
Ted went on. "So, Jimmy, how long you been in Chapel Hill?"
"About a week."
"Where are you staying?"
"With some friends, over in Carrboro. A buddy from high school named Brad. He moved up here about a year ago. Been after me to come too."
"You going to school here? The university, I mean?"
"Graduate high school?"
"So why'd you move off the farm?"
I shrugged. "Guess I got tired of driving a fucking tractor all day."
He laughed, but it was short. Ted's eyes dropped down and started to roam all over my body. This was the part of the interview when the boss really looked in you, looked inside, to see if you were tough enought for it. I felt like I was naked. I wished I'd worn better clothes. Should've got a whiter tee-shirt, even if it'd smelled more raunchy. And maybe I should have brought better jeans from home, when I moved out. Something with knees. Ted was checking out my build, wanting to know if my arms could handle the equipment.
I grinned a bit. "Hey, man, I ain't got your build, but I can get the job done."
He laughed, which made me feel better. "Don't sweat it, s afire with it. He came around in front of me and took in my pecs and abdomen. He nodded. "Not bad. Work out a lot?"
"You a football player?"
"Junior varsity. A while back."
"When did you get out of school?"
"About two weeks ago. Listen, do I check out?"
He paused for a bit, looked down at my legs. I pack my jeans tight in the thighs, but not like Ted. The family meat stays in my crotch, doesn't go roaming like his does.
Ted said, "Need to see more. You need a lot of strength in the legs too."
"Aww man, come on ... "
He shrugged. "Hey, look, I've got legal liabilities with this. OSHA'll be down on my ass like flies on a turd if you get hurt. Gotta check you out. Either me or a doctor, and the doctor'll cost you bucks."
So I undid my belt. Like what the fuck was I going to do? And what the hell, he was a guy. It wasn't like I was going to have to put up with silly airheaded girl giggling. I unbuttoned my fly, hooked my fingers into the waistband, and started shimmying out.
"Nah," he said. "Drop the underwear too. Hernias."
"Shit," I muttered. But I grinned anyway, because I knew I might be pissing off the boss man if I didn't, so I wanted to put a good face on it. I grabbed the tired elastic of my Hanes and got out of them. I had to kick the clothes off my feet. They went under his desk.
He circled me again. This time the itching started where the crack of my ass began, and this time it worked its way upward. My thighs started to shake. I was nervous, nervous enough so I didn't pop a woody, which I tend to do when I get naked.
He stopped again in front of me. "Big balls for a white boy. Saw them back behind your legs. You got a jock?"
I shook my head. "Nah. Got rid of my old one. Stinks."
"Get one. I have all my guys wear 'em for support. You'll need it to support those hangers. Jesus, you ain't got much hair on 'em."
My face got red and I about cussed him out. I can get real tired of being told about my size and about my balls. "So. I got the job?"
He grinned. "Yeah, Jimmy, you do."
I had to grin back. "Great! What time do we start?"
"At eight. You've got a pretty good body, Jimmy. You got a girlfriend?"
"What's her name?"
"Man, by the end of summer she's going to be all over you." Ted winked. "You'll look like me."
I laughed. "Man, I wish."
He leaned his ass against the edge of his desk, hooked his fingers under his tank top, and pulled it upward. Ted's skin gleamed dark and smooth as a bowling ball. His abdomen was like a rock. Hell, Eric, our quarterback on my JV team, didn't have a stomach like Ted's. His navel was tiny in that flat and smooth flesh. His nipples were sharp and pointed, stiffened up because of the air conditioning. Christ, I wished I had a body like that!
He saw me staring. "You like?"
"Wow, man." There was a strange feeling down between my legs, behind my balls, like I had to fart. I felt my thighs press together, and it didn't feel right to me, so I spread them. Cold air flooded up my crack, which had gone all sweaty.
"Hard work, man," Ted said. "That's what got me this. That's what'll get you this."
Ain't never seen a body like his. That black tower of strength came up out of those tight jeans. That faded denim glued to him, his wang filling them. Boss man.
"Yeah," I said, "can't wait."
"Yeah," he said, "me either." He looked down my body. "You used that lately on your girlfriend?"
My face got real hot, so I laughed. Been a while since a guy talked about my peter to my face. A shitload of sweat poured down my sides from my armpits. "No. I miss it, too."
"Yeah, I know how it is. You probably keep her pretty happy." He smiled and I thought of a fox. "Not bad. For a white guy."
I felt like I was burning alive. I got so embarrassed. My wang lurched out, went up to full mast, hard and throbbing in front of me. My balls snuggled up tight against the base of it. I went up so fast I didn't have a chance to fight it. "Sorry, man."
"OK. It's OK." His smile was gone. His hand started stroking that big thing in his pants. Up and down, real slow. I saw something go sliding past the rip in the jeans, making its way down towards the knee. "Happens to all us studs."
"Just ain't had none in so long -- "
"Can't imagine that. I though you'd have people crawling all over you. Shit!" Ted's face contorted. He bent over a bit, still rubbing that dick in those jeans. His stomach didn't wrinkle. "Man, I'm so hard it hurts!"
The sound of his zipper going down sounded like a shotgun blast in my ears. I couldn't help but stare. He opened his fly slowly. The wide band of his Bike jock was dirty and grimy, but it was still shockingly pale against that dark, hard belly.
He pulled his jeans down. The jock pouch, filled with elephant balls and the root of that cock, bulged and strained. And it only help the base and balls -- the rest of his setup was too fucking big. As the jeans went down inch after obsidian inch of his cock emerged. It was too long to be kept coiled in the jockstrap; he pulled it out and let it hang. It was full, thick, like a blacksnake that's just dined on a fieldmouse.
My mouth was hanging wide as he dragged his pants down.
When Ted got the jeans below his knees the cockhead dark as coal sprung free, and the huge pole swung upwards slowly, heavy from the weight. The Bike jock got pulled aside as it moved and one of his balls tumbled out.
"Shit!" Never seen anything like that.
He sighed as it came free. "Man!" It probed out in front of him. "Man, it hurt like hell being in my jeans!"
I stared at it. I'd never seen a cock with foreskin -- they whack us guys early back home, us being Baptists and all. Ted's foreskin was pulled halfway over the head, so that his cock looked like it had a sleepy eye on the end. The head was huge, the size of the peaches I plucked out of my uncle's trees. But it was dark and shiny with fluid. It looked more like a giant grape. Behind the head the shaft narrowed just a bit, but I'd swear that it was big around as my forearm.
He grinned at me. "Ever seen one like this?"
My butthole felt full of farts. It kept squeezing and squeezing, like it was trying to keep them in. "Back on the farm, yeah, on the horses."
Ted nodded. "Does it get you hot?"
I couldn't say anything. My mouth felt glued shut.
He grabbed that wang by the base and pointed it at me. He squeezed up the length. The pisshole gaped open so wide you could have put a ball-point pen up it. A huge drop of fluid oozed out of the hole. It stretched out real long, dangled from the end of his dick, then started to drip down onto the floor in slow motion, leaving a tendril of thick fluid behind.
The room smelt musky. My nose twitched.
"You get me hot," he said. "Real hot. Turn around."
I know what he wanted. Cornholing. I've put it to my little brother, liked doing it as much as he liked taking it ... but it's never been done to me. My crack was so wet I kept thinking of my girlfriend's pussy. My buttcheeks rubbed together while I stood there. This guy wanted to buttfuck me.
I stood there, stock still, just thinking. So this is what the secretary smirked about. If you can stand up to it. You're a small guy. This big guy, next to me, wanting to fuck me.
"Turn around, guy."
So I turned. Don't ask me why. Just felt like I needed to.
I bent over the chair, grabbed onto the back of it. And I spread. Wide. And it felt good to be like that. I felt like a little boy who knew he was about to get a chunk of candy. I laughed a little bit and arched my back. I'd show him. I'd show him my butt. Let him have it. Fuck it, I can take anything.
I knew he wanted me. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw that he liked me.
"Yeah," Ted breathed. He hawked up a big gob of spit. It dribbled down like his cockspit did onto his dick. He rubbed it in with his big hands. "I see your hole, Jimmy. Never had anything up it, have you?"
"Nope," I said. My legs were stretched so my thighs started to vibrate and shake a little. The chair rattled on the linoleum.
"Ever done it with a man?"
"Yeah, but not this way."
"Not up your butt?"
"Good," he said. "I like 'em narrow."
"You gonna fuck me?" I asked.
"Yeah. I fuck all the new guys. Makes 'em limber."
"That'll kill me," I said, looking at his cock all shiny now like the barrel of a freshly-cleaned shotgun.
He nodded. "For a minute you'll think you've died." More spit got smeared on his cock.
"Please," I said, "please," but I wasn't sure exactly what I meant.
"I'll please you." He took a step forward.
I jumped -- the dark cockhead pressed between my asscheeks. It was hurting already, stretching the outside of my ass. He burrowed it inwards until my hole started to stretch and I was bent over a chair with two feet of meat poised outside of my ass.
"No man, Christ, I can't -- " I started to say, which was too late, because I should have said that before I bent myself over the chair and showed him my butt. I'd copped too much an attitude with this guy -- there was no way I could take this mankiller.
My damn butt. Melissa always said my best feature was my butt.
His hand pressed between my shoulder blades and pushed me down some more. His groin thrust a little, getting that cockhead a little deeper into my cheeks. My sphincter already felt stretched.
"Don't fight it."
I fell forward and let him have at it. He was going to have me, no matter what. His hands, big and beefy, dug into my hips until his fingertips curled round my pelvis. I looked back and saw the black fingers sharp against my pale skin.
The pressure built and I closed my eyes.
My shriek came as my hole tore open and Ted's slick black weapon wedged me open. The pain jabbed through me from my ass to my heart. My chest felt like it would explode from within. I couldn't feel anything below my waist except pain like fire.
"Scream all you want," Ted growled. "My secretary hears this every fucking day. She likes it." He pumped and more slid inside. The cockhead felt more like a baseball than a peach -- a peach would yield and give a little bit; this thing was hard as wood and held me open.
He grunted. "You're tight, boy. This ass was made for plowing."
Another pump. More meat entered me. Another scream escaped me. The skin around my asshole felt like parchment it was so stretched. Looking back, I almost passed out when I saw how much more of that black monster he wanted to feed my ass.
Two pools of sweat had dripped onto the chair from my armpits. And they started to ripple as more droplets fell from my pits.
The next lunge almost made me gag. And he followed it seconds later with another attack. Sharp pain, again, behind my belly button. My rectum felt like a sausage about to split down the seams from too much meat.
"Half of it," he grunted.
He reversed direction. The monster started slipping out. I felt like I was shitting a huge turd. His cockhead, so huge, dragged the walls of my ass with it so that it seemed that he was sucking my intestines out through my asshole. Ted yanked it far enough out that my butthole started to spasm again, trying to free itself of that huge shaft.
"Man, I'm going to shit!" Tears squeezed from my eyes.
"Shit, then," he said.
I pushed down, with all my might, squeezing my belly so hard that if I'd been trying to get rid of a turd I would've shot it fifty feet. Something farts out of my asshole, but it isn't his cock. It felt like goo.
All it does is to make him moan. All it does it make him shove again. And this time I get skewered. All the way. I screamed. The hard rod plunged in to the base. His pubic hairs felt like short wire against my cheeks. His balls rammed against mine, bounced off them like a basketball rebounding.
"Man," he said, "I've got you fucked!"
All of him was in me. The pressure was so great. I swear I thought I was going to bust open in a cloud of organs and blood. His cockhead pulsed in my chest just below my sternum, and it leaked moisture there -- Ted's precum, hot as acid.
"You like?" he asked, rocking his hips back and forth like a fat man savoring a pig.
"Shit, I'm dying!"
He laughed. "Told you."
The cock slipped down me, black inch after black inch. As my hole started stretching to let his cockhead emerge I farted. I bent almost double, resting my forehead on the chair. I expected him to pull himself completely out of me, and I wanted to see how much of my blood was on his dick.
Looking between my legs I saw Ted's cock. If a mare could look between her legs during a breeding she would see this. Ropes of dark yellow mucous hung from it. Rivulets of mucous slid down my legs. My balls looked swollen, just as if someone had slugged them; they were pulled tight against my cock. Because of my balls I couldn't see that burning place where his cockhead turned my ass into his pussy. My cock throbbed against my belly and oozed precum.
"You're starting to like this, aren't you?" he asked. I didn't need to see his face to know that he grinned. His hands relaxed on my hips.
Now I could pull away. I could run out of here naked, gotten away from that gigantic dick. I could run screaming out into the streets, fuck this pain, screw this job ...
He slid it in and started to fuck me. And I just took it. And enjoyed him.
The strokes came surer, swifter, faster. The cockhead dragged up and down my spasming colon, and I jerked each time it grated over a spot near my hole. His balls slapped mine; it felt as if someone stuck needles into my back just below my kidneys.
I felt loose. Slutty. Like I felt beneath Melissa, when she rode me. Only better.
So I pushed back. Yeah, I started to like it. I squeezed down on him with my hole when the cockhead descended down to it. He usually would give me some short strokes then, rubbing himself on the tight hole, before he gutted me again with his prong.
I couldn't help it. I grabbed my cock and started twisting it. Ted's fist exploded against my ear and I reeled. "No, no," he said. "All my boys learn to cum just by getting assfucked."
"Shit, come on, I gotta -- " But he slapped me again ... hard.
His hips blurred and the strokes pummeled me. My mouth opened and I drooled. I put my hand back down on the chair, to support myself while he hammered me.
Ted's breath exploded from him. He sounded like a volcano on the build-up. He sweat streaked my split asscheeks. His fucks caused a tide of mucous to spread out over the linoleum on the floor. His thighs like black pillars supported and controlled his lust.
My eyes rolled up and I howled. His groin beat frantically on my ass. My cock erupted and my heart exploded. Huge gouts of jism spewed, solid stream of sperm. It spattered on my chin. He fucked the stuff out of me.
I bent my head down, opened my mouth, and drank my own juice while I shot. My howls got all thick and gurgly, as if I'd swallowed a large milkshake.
"Mother of God," he spat. He glued his groin to my ass. Through my orgasm I felt his cock vibrate like a steel girder under tension.
His first explosion would have blown me across the room if that oversized cockhead hadn't anchored me to his spurting spike. Just feeling that first jet of fluid going up me caused me nearly to fall over, started my own spurting all over again.
"Jesusmotherfuckingcocksucking Christ!" His hands redden my ass with slaps. My ass clamps down like a vise. His urethra throbs as it empties his balls, shooting jets up my ass like meteors.
My colon swelled, expanded, filled with his cum.
We collapsed and rolled off the chair into the floor. Pain shot up my knees. He clamped himself to my back, jerking his cock back and forth in me, spurting helplessly. My stomach ought to flood, he was so deep inside me. He writhed on top of me, twisting and shoving that black cock in me, trying to get every drop of jism he could up me.
When he finished -- I swear it took hours for him to finish cumming -- we lay together with hammering hearts. His jism oozed round that softening trunk. My colon trembled. My cock was hard.
Ted's tongue entered my ear, swirled through it for long lingering moments. His breath was hot. I shuddered and moaned. His cock softened, and started feeling like the tentacle of a giant squid crammed up my ass.
"You learn good," he said.
"I can't believe I lived," I said.
"None of them can." He got off me, the cock sliding out with a long slurp.
My ass felt like a crater. I swear I could feel cold air flooding it. Jism bubbled out like boiling mud.
I looked back at him, watching him stripping off his jockstrap. It was soaked -- mucous, sperm. He grinned, tosses it at me. "Wear this tomorrow. Show up at seven."
"I thought we started at eight."
"Work starts at eight. We start at seven."
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