by Zane
That was no banana! Nor should I have worried about him being gay. He was sitting on the sofa with nothing on but a pair of blue University of Memphis basketball shorts. Were my horns that obvious or did the boy just want to make sure he got this good pussy? For a former geek, Jerome had a fine body. He had a hairy chest. Not that common in black men and a first for me. This would be a nice little treat for my tits. Treat for my tits, treat for my tits. That would make a good hip-hop song title.
The time for indecision, being coy, or whatever, was over. We were going to fuck. That was that. I was not about to let all of this juice running down my leg go to waste. And I’m sure Jerome planned to stick his dick somewhere tonight besides in his hand.
I sat down next to him on the couch. As I did, he stood up, took me by the shoulders, and laid me back. My tits separated under the flimsy material, moving to either side of my chest. The movement of the fabric across my nipples turned them into hard, rubbery points of sensation. My nipples sent a signal to my pussy, checking to see if it was interested in playing. Which was just as well, because without much fanfare, Jerome used two of his fingers and slowly inserted them into my pussy until the heel of his hand was resting against my bushy box. He used his thumb to rub my clitoris. I came for the first time. Then I grabbed his wrist to stop what he was doing without taking his fingers out of me.
“Talk time, first. Okay,” I said. “Let’s lay down the rules of engagement. Kissing—no tongue. You can kiss me on the lips, and I really like being kissed on the neck, but putting your tongue down my throat is off limits. I want to keep that for my boyfriend. When he does it, it gets me really wet. But since I already have a miniature Niagara Falls going on between my legs, it’s not necessary.
“Sucking dick is off limits, too. My boyfriend’s dick is just the right length. I can get his whole dick in my mouth without having to gag. He likes to grab me by the head and fuck my mouth like it’s a pussy. And I swallow. The first time I let him come down my throat it freaked him out so bad I think he would have married me on the spot if I had asked him.
“The last restriction is the asshole. Boy, do I have a sensitive asshole. If you want to score brownie points, then pull my cheeks open and stick your tongue as far up my asshole as it will go. It doesn’t hurt if you lick my brown slit for a while, either. Also, if you want to take me doggie style, you can smack my ass as hard as you want and you can even stick your thumb up my ass if you need to hold on to something, but no dick head in the butt. Digits only.
“Now just because I’m not giving up any head does not mean you can’t. Feel free to lick and suck as much as you want. When you get to the clit, I prefer that you put your whole mouth on the little knob, create some suction, and tickle it with your tongue until my butt starts bouncing on the bed. My orgasm won’t be far behind.
“That leaves the pussy, which I assume is what you are after, after all. You can do anything to the pussy you want. You can use your fingers, tongue, thumb, nose. If you have a dildo you want to put in my pussy while you suck my clit, I’m game. Or, if you want to watch phallic vegetables or small fruits going in and out of my pussy, that’s okay, too, as long as they are clean and you can get them out. I don’t know how freaky you are when it comes to sex and most of this pussy stuff I have never tried, but I have always been interested in it, and since you are leaving for good, I won’t have to worry about hearing about what a freak I am, and I won’t have to worry about doing it again. I don’t even trust my boyfriend with this side of me.
“Now that we have gotten the fucktials out of the way, how about taking off those shorts and using me for your fuck lust.”
I didn’t have to ask him twice. He took his fingers out of my pussy, stood up, pulled off his shorts, and walked back toward me with the longest, thickest, meanest-looking dick I have ever seen in my life.
“My god! Jerome,” I said, staring at his thick-veined dick, not looking at his face. “I had no earthly idea that you were packing this much meat.”
“Would you have let me fuck you any sooner?” he asked, half-laughing.
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t have wasted all that time thinking about sugar and spice and everything nice.”
“Well, here’s to snakes, snails, and puppy dog tails; mostly snakes.” He laughed again.
I had to touch it. In all my years of fucking, I don’t remember touching a dick just to touch it. I’ve grabbed a few to stick in my pussy when my lover couldn’t find the hole and I didn’t want to wait. But to take a dick in my hand just to play with it—this was a first. I used my left hand to lightly cup his balls, which made my boyfriend’s balls look like raisins. I used my right hand to push the skin back, to fully expose the head, and stuffed his dick into my mouth. So much for rules.
As I enjoyed the sensation of his dick in my mouth I became excited, if a bit afraid. A big dick was new, it was challenging; I was afraid for my throat and my butt hole. As the head filled my mouth my pussy tightened, my butt hole loosened—spreading, winking, waiting, hoping. Everything that I’d said was off limits was now in play.
With his hands on my ears he pushed forward, and I could feel the head inching toward my throat. I knew I should stop because I had to sing a solo on Sunday. The last Saturday night my boyfriend had his dick in my throat my soprano was nowhere to be found the next day. Fortunately I didn’t have to solo that day. I hadn’t missed a solo since singing in the junior choir. If I didn’t sing tomorrow, I would have some explaining to do to our choir director.
Of course, if I were true to my Christian values, I wouldn’t be down on my knees, in the house of a man other than my boyfriend, with a dick in my mouth. I would have to figure this shit out tomorrow because sin and lust had me in their grip and I was loving losing the battle.
Jerome saved me from the dick-throat dilemma. In one fluid motion he was out of my mouth and I was on my back, wet, willing, and wide open. He was inside me so fast and so deep that I didn’t have a chance to experience anything but pleasure. My mind stopped processing. My senses of sight, sound, smell, and hearing turned off as he slowly slid into my body. I forgot to breathe until he stuck his tongue in my mouth, grabbed a tit in each hand, and tried to bottom out. That shit was not happening. My pussy was not built for a dick like his. Mine was a nice-girl pussy, built for normal-sized dicks doing normal stuff. He had reached the limits of what I had to give, I thought. He put those basketball hands on my ample butt, pulled me close, and found new territory inside my body. In my mind’s eye I could see his dick slowly entering my womb at the same time I felt him digging me a new hole. All my senses kicked back in. I opened my eyes, groaned really hard; I smelled his peppermint breath as he softly said, “I love you.”
When I stopped coming I started crying. I was coming here to give a good friend some pussy. I didn’t mind getting laid, but had not planned on getting stuffed. I didn’t mind giving him some pussy, but had not planned on giving him my body. I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about our relationship beyond twenty years of friendship. I had even started out setting down rules to govern our lust, only to have lust turn into love.
I held him as he kissed me. As he slid all the way to the back of my pussy, my tears kept falling. I knew that snot was running from my nose, but Jerome didn’t seem to mind. He was in the zone now, taking what I had come to give him, giving me what I had come for. Giving me more than I had come for in feelings and in dick.
Jerome was a one-of-a-kind friend. I would never see him again. Even though it was the best sex I ever had, I got over it. I got married. I have lived happily ever after. You think?
A Soldier for Cupcake
Shaniqua Holt
My legal name is Connie Johnson, but everyone calls me Cupcake because I am a chef. I relish working in the culinary field. Occasionally, I also work as a plus-sized model. I find that lifestyle extremely appealing. I’m confident about my curves and succulent dark skin. Many men regard me as a “dimepiece.”
A fe
w weeks ago I caught wind of an announcement that auditions were taking place for the May issue of a hip-hop magazine. Even though they did not specify plus-sized models, I decided to audition. Considering that my body is on point, I figured I wouldn’t have any problems.
The audition was going smoothly until the time arrived for the actual shoot. When it came time to take my pictures, a thin, ass-less model vigorously complained. She believed I was too large to be allowed at the audition and that I was breaking some kind of an unwritten fat-model code or rule. She complained so much that I was politely asked to step aside and leave.
Darrin, my hero in more ways than one, came to my defense. He chastised the other photographers and the model. He told the other photographers that he would take my pictures for the magazine.
During the shoot, I made sure I showed off every curve, posing seductively in a sexy black bra and panty set. I was convinced that I looked better than anyone else; my curves only enhanced my sex appeal.
Darrin seemed to love taking my pictures. I posed exclusively for him. I caught some of the other photographers talking among each other and watching my body with desperation in their eyes. I imagined they were whispering, “Damn . . . I want to fuck you to death.”
Darrin continued to snap pictures and even accumulated significantly more shots than the other photographers. Every few minutes, he paused and scanned my body as he held on to his camera. I would tease him and pout my lips, pretending to be naughty.
After the shoot, Darrin informed me that chances were slim that my pictures would be included in the magazine. He informed me that the model who had complained was remarkably good at getting her way with the other photographers, if I understood what he meant. He smiled a sad, but extremely sexy, smile that sent quakes down my spine and then he winked. It was then that I noticed the cane he was grasping in one hand. He blessed me with his business card and told me that if I ever needed him, give him a call.
The next day I told my friend Star, also a model, about the fallout at the shoot and how kind Darrin had been. She acknowledged his good deed, but warned me to stay away from him. She claimed that he had a terrible reputation within the model pool because he seemed to disregard everyone. Whenever someone tried to get close to him, he generally pushed them away. She then proceeded to tell me all about his past.
Darrin Sullivan had been stationed in Afghanistan two years earlier and was gravely injured, which resulted in the loss of both legs from the knees down. He had been honorably discharged, then had returned to the States and had a brief stay at a veterans’ hospital where he underwent physical therapy and learned to walk again using prosthetic legs. He had recuperated at home after that.
Sadly, during that time, he had also discovered his fiancée cheating on him with another man. My friend told me that the breakup had devastated him more than the loss of his legs. He decided to return to college and immersed himself in his studies. He excelled in college and earned a masters in fine arts. Presently, he was working full-time as an art teacher and artist. He occasionally worked as a photographer for the hip-hop magazine.
I listened to her information and critical judgment of Darrin, but despite her warning, I decided to contact him.
I waited until Friday of that same week to call. I was stunned that he remembered me since there were so many girls at the shoot. He assumed that I needed him for model work. I needed him, but not in the way that he imagined. I told him that I never had the opportunity to thank him for saving me from an embarrassing situation. After all, he did not have to intervene when he did. I offered to cook him dinner that night. He quickly declined at first, but I insisted and, with some persuasion, he eventually gave in.
He arrived at my house a few minutes early, almost as if it were intentional so he could also depart early. I noticed that he was wearing loose-fitting denim jeans and a white tee. His eyes looked me over as a familiar smile formed on his face. I was sporting black stilettos, skinny dark denim jeans, and a green shirt that enhanced my bosom. I had made sure that my clothes would enhance my curves. I escorted him in and pointed in the direction of the dining room. Once inside, Darrin complimented my décor decisions.
He followed me into the dining room. The prepared food, a miniature feast with extra servings, was already on the table, allowing it to cool.
“Everything looks delicious. Can I help myself?” he asked.
“Yes, pick your seat, sit down, and dig in. I hope everything is prepared to your liking.”
He grabbed a plate and quickly loaded it with a large helping of everything on the table. Then he sat down in the nearest chair.
“It all smells so good and tastes wonderful.”
“Good . . . I didn’t know what you might like to eat so I cooked a variety of foods. That’s why there’s so much of it.”
“Well, you’re definitely a great cook,” he complimented me.
He beamed as he loaded his plate with more food. I smiled as I loaded a plate and then I took a seat across from him. Before I took a bite, I watched his lips take a mouthful of food. He didn’t realize how much it turned me on.
• • •
I cooked him dinner every Friday and Sunday for the next four weeks. The more time we met and talked, the more attracted we became to each other. I found out that we had a lot in common, like a taste for the same foods. I also discovered that we had similar pet peeves. We both enjoyed watching the same sports. We admired the same athletes. We each told a few confessions. One time, he confessed that he enjoyed painting more than photography. I confessed that I enjoyed eating fast food more than gourmet cuisine. Each time we met, we seemed to hit it off even more. I hoped that it was only a matter of time before we took it to the next level. The last time we had hooked up, I noticed some standoffish behavior. When he left that Sunday, I sensed that our meetings were in danger of being nonexistent. I had asked him if he sketched nudes. At first, he didn’t reply but then admitted to drawing his ex-fiancée in the nude. The memories seemed to sadden him, almost ruining the evening. He smiled his sweet-sad smile before finishing his meal. I noticed that he didn’t decline to draw me nude.
It was obvious that he was attracted to me in every way possible. But it was also apparent that he feared becoming too involved. He didn’t trust all too well because of his past relationship. I was determined to have him in my life, and in my bed. I was convinced that we were made for each other. I had come too far to let him leave. I made up my mind to fight for him.
On Friday of the fifth week, I decided to make a move. Darrin arrived on time. Dinner consisted of cheese pizza and beer. He let me feed him slices of pizza. After dinner, I asked him to join me in the basement for dessert.
I left the dining room to put on a silky red robe before returning. This time I insisted that Darrin follow me to the basement. He followed me down the steps to a scene created specifically for him. I had persuaded my antiquarian friend to locate a vintage couch for me. She located a beautiful one, and bought a red crushed velvet slipcover that looked like something Freud would have utilized. In front of the couch was a table with a large porcelain bowl of fruit near a wine bottle with two glasses. There was a tablet with a pencil on the table. I poured him some wine and handed him the glass along with the tablet and pencil. He took them both and grinned.
I discarded my robe, allowing it to plunge to the floor. I wanted him to appreciate my breasts and beautiful curves. I sauntered slowly over to the piece of antique furniture and then bent over it slowly so he could gaze at my pink pussy before I sat down.
I told him to draw me and I watched as he drained the glass of wine in two gulps. I imagined that it had been awhile since he’d had any sex, so I was determined to ignite his flame.
It seemed like he was sketching me faster than I had expected. I got up to see the drawing and was impressed by his talents. I asked him if I could draw him nude. He laughed but I insisted until he slowly removed his clothes.
I was pleasantly surprised at t
he length of his deliciously dark dick. The sight of it drenched my pussy and I couldn’t wait any longer. He sat down on the couch in the same spot. I walked over to him seductively, my breasts moving with each step, and sat beside him.
I kissed his lips and ran my fingers through his hair. Then I kissed him again. He gazed at me with a stunned look before he returned the kiss.
I quickly clutched his dick. Before he could protest, I placed him in my mouth and sucked on him for dear life. I continued to suck while he twisted above my head. I watched his stomach move and he seemed slowly to lose control. I sucked harder, circling his dick with my tongue. I pulled it out and licked on his balls in an upward motion like one would do an ice cream cone, before returning his dick to my mouth. I felt the head of his dick swell and realized that he was about to cum.
I sat on the couch and spread my legs wide for him. He grabbed them as he got on his knees and then plunged three fingers into my wet pussy. He slipped his warm mouth over my clit. He sucked and finger fucked me until I started shaking. After a while, he removed his fingers and started licking the juices from my pussy. He licked my pussy and sucked on my clit once again. Slurping sounds filled the room. I cried out and moaned as loud as I could. He sat on the couch beside me and sucked both of my hard nipples. He sucked and licked them while rubbing my clit.
“Fuck my pussy; fuck my pussy now.”
“Damn, you’re soaking wet.”
I turned around, facing the wall behind the couch with my ass in the air. He licked my soaking wet walls again before he entered my pussy. This time around, sloppy wet sounds filled the basement. I moaned and my pulse quickened as his hard dick moved in and out of me. My body started shaking as he fucked me. I insisted that he fuck deeper inside my pussy and he did, working my entire body. He had to grip my breasts to steady his footing.
“I can’t take any more!” I shouted.
I screamed as loud as I could as I climaxed and then squirted everywhere. He pulled out at the same time, ejaculated, and then dropped to his knees and licked the juices off my pussy. I turned around on the couch to face him.
