Chapter Four: Pound Cakes
Damn, those feet were big.
Exiting the downstairs doorway of Telluride Hardware and Feed Emporium, I was absorbed in my thoughts when the hefty honkers ruined my concentration.
The Nike Cross-trainers were not new, nor were they rare. Rather, the presumption of the size of the dwellers within them was what captured my attention.
While many would dispute the notion that big feet infer a full set of like-sized appendages, I beg to differ. Living with size 13 and 17 extra wides in my home, and aware that the largest feet on record in the NBA, Roy Tarpley, whose size 25 immeasurably-wides still held the Ripley’s record for something, I knew the veracity of the general concept. Just Google that name, and add the word dick.
I traipsed up the stairs before me while my eyes stayed glued to the ground supporting those big’uns. Upon reaching street level, I broke away from them, reluctantly. That reluctance melted, however, at my realization that the bi-ped being they supported was an entity rarely encountered in the wild…errr, Telluride town.
A lanky, obsidian-skinned, double image of the foxy musician, Jon Batiste, stood with impressive feet planted, knees slightly bent, arms akimbo, nostrils flared, stomach concavely absent, onyx eyes checking me out.
Oh, he was licking his thickly dark lips, too, as I raised my own eyes from his nicely bulging crotch upwards to encounter this overtly cocky Pan-like creature. His first words stuck with me, “You be the Doc with the bookends, a’ight?”
For a second I thought I was being mocked. His face was not looking directly at me, but at an angle, which made the cock-eyed scrutiny seem other than sincere. It changed quickly to mischievous when his brilliant white teeth broke out from under the tongue licking those luscious, thick lips, and I responded in kind. “What’s up with those ‘bookends’, bra?” Though noncommittal, by my downward nod he got the fact the comment referred to his feet.
I was gratified the guy had noticed me, but still unsure of any intent, so took the tack of bafflement, instead.
“I seen ya’ with those two fly mens a couple days back—ya’ll was in the bistro where I’m workin’ right now. Kinda stood out. And, your hands was playin’ all ‘round those studs…Wassup with yo’own self?” Ahhh, now it came clear. My men and the proclivity of mine which was hardly held in check here in the liberal bastion of the mountain town full of ‘misfits’ did define me, I supposed.
And nobody overlooked my men. Both mature studs made plain our close-knit connection by their own body language, maybe more than I did. I admit, my hands did tend to rove over their ‘fly’ presences…
Both big hands made the next statement: one wrapped around the bulge I had been assessing moments before and the other fisted itself toward me in a friendly bump request, smile dipping on one corner as he clarified his intent. I bumped back and his fingers opened in retraction.
God, I loved the innate sultriness almost all men-of-color radiate. Especially when they are tail-chasing. This one was evincing the trait exceedingly well, I noticed, and my junk pitched upward by the comprehension.
Did I mention that the rascal was pinching a short, fat blunt between one dark thumb and long forefinger? He motioned me around a corner into the adjacent alley, using the blunt as a carrot. Little did he know that the bulge was much more my ‘carrot’ of choice. Or maybe he did know. Either way, I followed like I had a nose ring attached to his jeans button, feeling an oncoming event. No one was around that I could see, so what the hell?
Mystery dude lit up as he hoofed it, and the smoke left a definable trail to the back corner. He drew me leftward into a narrow dead end, body language conveying a certain familiarity with it. A throbbing undertone of base guitar drifted down from the small open window above us. Venting the bar behind the wall the man leaned against, it imbued the small semi-enclosure with an erogenous channeling of Grace Jones singing Walking in the Rain.
Turning around to me, he cocked his leg up on that wall, balancing on the other. The enwrapping hand still lightly massaged the noticeably bigger bulge. This act and the smile said a lot. The blunt went to his lips, pointing inward, offering a more intimate share of the herb. I accepted the power hit.
His full lips were moist. They brushed mine as we anteed up a notch. His dick-wrapper set of digits transcended to outreach and my package blossomed in time lapse as he unbuttoned my 501’s.
Only spreading the opening, he then leaned and grasped both edges of our sweaters, slowly raising both of them over our heads in a fluid motion. His tongue licked my taut belly all the way through that progress and as both cleared our heads, he engulfed my mouth, then tongued it open.
My heavy dick punched its way up from the front gap in my bunched boxers and poked his sable belly. Day-ummmm, I gasped. This man was able and steroidal in his tightness, and I think I felt a fucking lightning bolt jolt my dick head. He traded our places with his hands on my waist, now pushing my back up against the wall.
That versatile tongue vacated my mouth and descended once again in the reverse manner it had licked me up, this time guzzling down over my cock. Stopping only upon reaching my loins. The back of his throat provided a perfect endpoint and he ground into me greedily, teeth biting the phatted root.
Experienced in the trade of cocksucking, the veteran raised up off of me as he recognized my too quick approach to the precipice. “As good as advertised, sexy man,” he hissed in my face. Did he mean me, or him, I wondered? His crotch contacted mine and I honestly didn’t really care what he was packing by this time. The head was good enough. He apparently meant me since he was back on the dick in a fast second, very apparently ready for the load.
He rivaled my Jeremy in his talent—not. But, a distant second, no less. With only a few dozen full strokes, I came. Spurting it up to my own mouth as he backed off to see the multiple jets, his devilish leer sent shivers up my spine. This was a bad boy… he managed to eat a full helping of protein despite the watching and I luxuriated in the hot wetness as his tongue cleaned up. I licked my lips.
We sat still for a minute, then the doppelganger stood slowly up. He had loosened his pants and freed his piece while sucking, so on rising up, I felt a long, hard limber cock pulling against my scrotum, sideswiping past my asshole on the way. It rasped along my sensitive dick, then my stomach, and pressed between us as he passed me some cum-laden saliva, as nasty as he could.
My dick had no chance to wilt, springing back up between his smooth upper thighs to his balls after he passed over it with his own. He oiled my mouth with his.
“Don’t be lookin’ at my junks… not ‘til I tell you…Doctor. Uh-Ohh, I thought. Intoning that title wasn’t a real good omen.
My questing hard-on managed to contact his perineum and close by asshole. The hot stud rubbed suggestively over it, teasing my just-erupted piece. “Dat ain’t gonna be happenin’, beastie-boy…get it gone from your head, now,” he warned. But, he never moved from the contact.
My dick happily dry-pumped the spot while he lit up again, trading tokes to the slow-grind rhythm of the on-going Grace Jones medley. ‘Nightclubbing’ filled the surrounds as we felt the sexy beat between us.
Blunt now down to a nub, the no-name cocksucker placed it on the tip of his tongue and pushed it as far down my throat as he could. I swallowed it, hoping it wasn’t all I soon swallowed. “You about to be my cravin’ bitch, oreo-man. All that creamy white fillin’ ‘tween yo’ two mens got me goin’ t’other night. I’m a-wantin’ to feel you all up on the insides,” he didn’t stutter in my ear at all.
Ooooh, that sweet talk always gets me. He pulled out a little packet, white powder familiar. Handing it over to me, he told me “O-za Kay-za, baby bottom boii, on my mark, now, you gonna be removin’ your mistaken boner from where it’s fakin’ itself out, and you gonna go to descendin’, slow-like, with yo’ damn eyes closed, and durin’ the trip, you are gonna be thinkin’ ‘bout how you gonna ‘sprainkle’ this all along my shaft after you be slickin’ the thang all up, good and nice—it gonna be stickin' to it a lot better that way…and then, you gonna be lettin’ me lift those creamy legs up and I’m gonna crack that private li’l cookie jar you got goin’ back there, baby bitch.” As this all sank in, he dipped a good scoop up on a long pinky nail and sucked it in one flared Batiste-like nostril, staring at me while he did it. The other hand’s fingers searched out the pucker.
My dazed perceptions got the message, “And keep those damn eyes shut.” I understood and I was ready.
“Mark….…Beee—yutch.” Was all else he said.
I followed the precise instructions, taking care to rub my dick all the way down his thigh and calf on the way for my introduction to the mystery dick stuck between us, sliding down against his cum-laden chest. Getting down to a crouch, eyes closed, I searched for the hard prick with my own tongue, sucking it into my curious mouth upon locating it—it wasn’t too tough to find—and said a mental ‘Hi’ to the long, smooth stalk. It went in easily, an insistent push the only evidence of his hyped desire.
The nice piece was cut, with a huge flanging head that searched the inside of my cheeks on the way in. I spent a good several minutes slathering it, liking the feel of the full bush surrounding the pole, contrasting it to the total smoothness around Jeremy’s dick. Unable to deepthroat Gai’s full eleven inches, that huge one provided me no common comparison. My high mental state was now enhanced by an extra small bump from the man’s lowered pinky ‘spoon’ and, knowing what to do, I did so. Sucked it in.
The powdered pinky then erogenously rubbed my inner lips and teeth, leaving them tingling.
Finally, as the music medley changed to Grace’s ‘Pull up to the Bumper’, I managed to focus, letting loose my new favorite dick of the moment. “OK, you can open those eyes, now, boii.” He was sure watching the effort from above, and slapped my face a few times with it, slobbering me up.
I carefully poured the remainder of the packet, as instructed, along the top ridge of an utterly stunning upward curving deep black penis. I had never seen such a darkly hued dick before and up close as it was, it appeared blue-black. Large, tortuous veins scrolled down the sides. The huge swollen crown kept threatening to throw off the powder by its happy jumping. I was forced to roll a finger around the top curve of the base to control its excitement, but finally managed without wasting too very much.
I next spat in my palm and slimed my waiting hole with it, reaching between my legs from my crouch. Now, I couldn’t wait to put the beauty where it obviously belonged. For the moment, anyway.
Standing, I allowed the mystery man to hook my knees, one by one, over his elbows. Strong arms pushed me up the ancient brick wall and our noses met. “I’m goin’ in for some cookie dough, now, bitch.” The throbber aligned right nicely in its curving anatomy, and we both studied the other’s eyes for emotion as it slowly, surely sunk inside my juicy asshole. “Those pretty bitch eyes sure are getting’ big…Doctor…and I’m thinking it ain’t all because o' that coke-frosting on top o’ my fine black dick…huh?”
Nodding, I felt the curved end reach its length—only slightly shorter than my true man’s—and we sucked face while getting acquainted. I liked the feeling of the brillo bush tickling my ass globes and we grinded together as Grace broke into ‘Use Me’. It was hot. The cold weather made both our nipples extra hard but the heat of our hooked bodies kept the chill at bay.
“Tell me what they call you, Dick Man,” as I stared at him fucking me.
“When I pump your ass full of sperm and send you home to Daddy with it drippin’ out, you call me Ezra—Ezra Pound. You gonna have me a baby and I am gonna have visitation rights, now, you got it, bitch?”
As we rocked my socks off there against that wall, I felt the connection between us where the ultra-black dick was poling my ass being rubbed. By fingers not belonging to any of our four hands. All four were currently busy up here.
It was startling, but felt jood. Ezra felt it too, and our eyebrows both arched up. Looking back over the slim man’s shoulders, we spied a miniature, nappy-headed ebony male kneeling down between Ezra’s legs, checking the action and adding to it. He looked up at our altered movements and threw a familial grin up at our fucking faces. Couldn’t care less by his intervention. “Boy, I told you to wait in the car, didn’t I?” My big dicked man demanded. No response. “Well, didn’t I?” Nothing but crickets.
Grace broke into ‘Nipple to the Bottle’ and it dawned on me the rhythm between us hadn’t changed. Neither did the small alien hand stroking our connection-point down there. Ezra looked back at me, shrugged, and grinned, too, like, ”What can I do?” We picked up the pace.
The connection between us was palpable and I devolved into the music and the strokes. Ezra pounded my ass for ten more minutes, telling me all the nasty words he could think of, most comments ending with “bitch”. I bounced with the flow and crested before he did, spewing cum all between us again, smearing our bellies and chests.
That finally did it for the slim man, and I felt the sharp punch of his fat black dick into my gut where it seated itself, convulsing unseen shots of cum up in my insides. The little alien fingers excited the whole effect.
The black man sucked my lips into his while he groaned at all the various sensations. The forbidden thoughts pulsed through the both of us…and maybe a third. In the midst of it all, we felt hot stabs of prickling heat wash over both our asses; our eyebrows jumped again. So did our dicks.
We pumped together long past the climax point, feeling the erotic drippings underneath our touchpoints and we rolled in the blissful afterglow… the leer and evil-esque look had been replaced by satiation and he kept up the tonguing for several suspended minutes. Extra fingers were still busy massaging the last pumps of his dick, keeping the slippery action going down below.
“You are pregnant, bee-yutch, and I be the Daddy, now—what’s those two mens o’yours gonna be sayin’ bout that, do ya’ think?” He finally demanded, rubbing my nose with his. And smiling.
“They’re gonna want your number…Ezra Pound.” You free night after tomorrow?