On a crisp morning, Sadiq lifted his covers to see his morning wood and a slew of precum in his belly button greeting him. He made it bounce and the hefty thumping on his belly reminded him he was king. He sighed in adoration, a morning ritual he had become accustomed to over the years yet his engorged member still filled him with pride.
Sadiq was a striking 6’3” 25-year-old with a physique honed by a mix of natural athleticism and disciplined weight training. His African ancestry (nigerian roots, raised in Chicago) was evident in his broad shoulders, defined jawline, and thick, kinked hair kept in a sharp fade with a short goatee. His muscular frame included a powerful chest and arms, a V-shaped torso with a six-pack leading to a subtle snail trail, and a physique that exudes raw energy. His masculinity is underscored by his confidence in his physicality, and awareness of how society worshipped him and his 8.5 heavy black cock.
He was like any black man, he had a relentless passion for fucking—he viewed sex as both power and recreation. It started with an impulsive “snow bunny” phase at 17. He loved the sight of pale skin and pink holes waiting to receive him. Later in his 20’s, this passion evolved into a fascination with mature women (40+), whom he saw as challenge, a bit more dominant and rewarding. However, he craved a shift: a fully dominant partner who can control him, not just physically but emotionally. This desire stemmed from a subconscious dissatisfaction—he felt emotionally unfulfilled by his conquests, craving a connection that transcended conventional dynamics. He wanted to feel used.
Sadiq started his day like any other day, answering emails on the couch, gym and mindlessly responding to white women he had fucked. His last conquest messaged “Hi Sadiq… it’s been a few weeks. Everything ok? My husband really wants us to meet up again . Message me if you’re free daddy xxx ”. A hungry cougar. The message didn’t hit him the same. Instead he was focused on when last he had pussy. “Damn few weeks? Shiiiiid” he muttered to himself. Sadiq did not masturbate, the task too laborious. Besides, he didn’t think it was his duty. Which meant he had weeks worth of cum swimming in his big nut sacks. Sadiq slipped his sneakers on and walked to the little park at the edge of the neighborhood. The concrete court was still warm from the day’s heat, and the faint smell of cut grass mingled with the distant hum of traffic. He met his friends—Marlon, Darius, and Jerome—already bouncing the ball, their laughter rippling off the chain‑link fence.
Mid‑game, Sadiq’s eyes snagged a figure on the far side of the park. A white man stood near the chain‑link fence, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the game with a steady gaze. He was broad‑shouldered, his legs thick and well‑defined, the sort of build you’d expect of someone who spent time lifting weights. The flicker of the setting sun caught the sheen of his skin, and for a heartbeat Sadiq wondered what had drawn the man’s attention there.
The white man never moved, his eyes tracking every jump shot, every sudden sprint. Occasionally, Sadiq would lock eyes with him and the man would intentionally lower his gaze to Sadiq’s crotch with focused hunger. Sadiq knew what that look meant. A black cock fiend.
When the final buzzer of their impromptu match rang—an imagined countdown that the boys had set after a series of perfect three‑pointers—the sky melted into deep blue, then black. Streetlights flickered on, casting thin pools of orange on the worn asphalt. The boys, breathing heavily, exchanged high‑fives and then drifted away, each to his own night.
Sadiq lingered a moment longer, lacing his shoes, when he noticed the white man still standing by the fence. The man's shoulders were still, his gaze now fixed on the empty court. He gathered his things and made his way to the exit occasionally looking up at the shadowy figure. As he got closer he too analysed the man. His eyes stopped dead in their tracks at the man’s thighs. Pale, meaty, hairless. Just that second, the body moved turning away. Sadiq’s gaze climbed and the sight of a big booty awaited him. Sadiq couldn’t believe it, lost in curiosity and surprise he stared for a moment as he edged closer, the ass growing with each step. He caught himself and his eyes darted up. The white man looking back over his shoulders watching Sadiq feasting his eyes. Sadiq quickly began to redirect his focus looking for his key. After the act was up, he noticed the man had gone. Sigh of relief washed over Sadiq as he made his way to his car.
The lot was almost deserted: only his own dark sedan and a single other car parked a few bays down. The concrete was slick with recent rain, reflecting the harsh glare of the overhead lights.
Distracted by his phone, he walked to his car mindlessly not noticing the man had been waiting for him. He had thick, fiery red hair with subtle streaks of silver at the temples, often styled meticulously to accentuate his sharp, angular face. His starkly pale, porcelain-smooth skin covered his whole body and he had a big white man booty that was a force to be reckoned.
John was an older white man. His attraction to Black men began in adolescence as a fascination with their confidence and resilience—traits he envied but couldn’t cultivate himself. Over time, this evolved into a pattern of romantic relationships where he used his partners, treating them as conquests to boost his ego and feel powerful after seducing and conquering their manhood. There wasn’t a black man he hadn’t taken whole with his powerfully magnetic pink hole.
John had observed Sadiq and noticed he craved something different. He heard his friends taunt Sadiq over his snow bunnies. As Sadiq turned the corner to the drivers seat. John lunged at him and pressed his entire body on Sadiq pinning him to the car.
Now, pressed against his car, Sadiq was drowning in adrenaline.
“You’re going to stand there,” John whispered, his lips brushing the shell of Sadiq’s ear, “and you’re going to give me what I want u. And you’re going to thank me for it. Understand, nigga boy?”
“Yes,” Sadiq breathed, the word a vapor in the air.
“Yes, what?”
The correction was immediate. A shiver wracked Sadiq. “Yes… Sir.”
“Good.”
John’s hands, cool and sure, finally brome contact. They slid around Sadiq’s waist, over the damp fabric of his tank top, mapping the hard ridges of his abdomen. They moved lower, palms skimming the waistband of his shorts, then slipping beneath. Sadiq gasped as those strong white hands cupped him, one palm tugging the heavy ache of Sadiq’s balls, the other wrapping firmly around the thick length of his cock.
“Look at this nigga dick,” the man mused, his voice a mix of awe and condescension. “So desperate for a master. Perfect for a white man’s hand.” He shook the cock in approval and began to stroke, a slow, tormenting rhythm. “All this power, all this presence… and it’s mine to play with.”
With those words Sadiq’s thick cock stopped flopping around as the blood rushed to his groin. Sadiq’s cock started pulsing and within seconds was at full glory. The man removed his hands from sadiq’s basketball shorts. Sadiq sighed with relief (I shouldn’t be allowing this to fucking happen). He heard the man lick his own hand with a hungry grunt of approval. The man’s deep gravely voice spoke, “Tasty nigger cock” he then spat on the back of Sadiq’s head. Degrading him. He took the same hand to wipe it and traveled back to reclaim ownership of black cock.
The warm,wet spit acted as a lubricant on the bulbous mushroom tip. Sadiq’s breath hitched and his body shuddered as the man’s white hands firmly massaged the tip with effortless rhythm, precision and frustration. Sadiq’s head fell back against the man’s shoulder in unadulterated bliss, eyes shut tight. He hesitantly parted his legs wide in unspoken enjoyment. Succumbing to the white man’s grip and possession. His hips bucked involuntarily into the perfect friction of that grip. Every nerve was on fire. The humiliation was nectar. The submission was liberation. The man’s other hand released his heavy balls and crept up his chest, over his pounding heart, and came to rest on his throat, not squeezing, just holding. Claiming.
“That’s it nigger,get it up” John’s hand still down Sadiq’s pants as he coached Sadiq’s to climax, his stroke speeding up, becoming more purposeful. “Give it up. Give me all that pretty, powerful struggle. Let me have it.”
Sadiq was close. So close. The world had narrowed to the rough texture of John’s palm, the bite of his words, the secure weight of his hand on Sadiq’s throat. He was a tool, a beautiful, straining instrument being played by a master.
“Come for me, nigga boy,” John commanded, his voice dropping to a guttural, possessive growl right in his ear. “Come for the white man and show me who owns you now.”
The climax tore through Sadiq like a detonation. White-hot and mind-shattering, it ripped a raw, broken shout from his throat as he pulsed, again and again, into John’s unwavering grip, stripes of release painting beneath them. His legs trembled, his vision spotting.
As the waves subsided, leaving him boneless and shuddering, John brought his wet, glistening hand up between them. He pressed his sticky fingers against Sadiq’s slack, panting mouth.
“Clean it,” he ordered, no room for refusal.
John climbs into Sadiq’s car and pulls his pants down. The most beautiful pair of smooth white cheeks tumble out and Sadiq’s eyes bulge out of his head. Sadiq’s cock begins growing hard again as John parts his cheeks to reveal the most inviting pink hole.
“you been staring at this ass all night ain’t u? Come feast on this pink hole nigger boy”
Sadiq squats on the ground face to face with his first ever white man booty, he can smell the sweet aroma. He grabs johns cheeks and massages them parting the cheeks ever so slightly to see a glimpse of the pink hole. Each time Sadiq opening it wider and wider finally the pink hole farts right in Sadiq’s face. “damn yo this shit look tasty” with a grunt of hunger Sadiq plunges forward and begins to devour like a rabid animal
“Yes, Sir,” Sadiq rasped again, the lingering burn of his orgasm still teasing the back of his throat—his cock twitching, straining against John’s gloved grip, already thick and eager for another round.
The older man leaned back against the car, spreading his thighs just enough to be a fucking invitation. The scent of him—warm, musky skin, cologne sharp with sweat, and beneath it, the faint, unmistakable tang of something sweeter—that lingering, floral, submissive heat that always seemed to cling to him—flooded Sadiq’s senses.
The vision—two smooth, pale globes framed in crisp white underwear, the crease between them already slick with arousal—hit Sadiq like a fucking revelation. The sight of it, the way it strained against the fabric, the fact that this shit was *his*...
“Fuck,” his breath came out in a broken whisper as he yanked the waistband down. That was what he’d craved for years—the raw, perfect submission of another man, the taste of a pink hole that belonged to him alone.
John’s thighs were wide, the crack between them parted just enough to offer a glimpse—a wet, fluttering slit, glistening, waiting. The scent was perfect—sweet, rich, the kind of aroma that made his own cock throb between his legs.
Sadiq didn’t waste a second.
He pressed his face into the split, inhaling deep, his tongue darting out to lap at the damp seam, just the way John had ordered. The skin there was soft—so delicate, almost trembling—but he could feelit, the way it clenched, the way it pulled him closer.
“There it is,” John growled, his voice rough as Sadiq dragged his tongue along the rim, tracing every shivering edge with greedy, exploring strokes. “That’s the fucking prize nigga.”
Sadiqs black cock pulsed against his thigh, the thick, leaking shaft betraying how close he still was, but John didn’t move. He wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.
“Clean it,” John’s voice was already breaking, his fingers raking through Sadiq’s hair, nails biting into his scalp as he held him still. “Taste it like good little nigga boy. Show me who this ass belongs to.”
Sadiq didn’t need to be told twice.
He opened his mouth wide, the slick rim of the hole sealing against his lower lip, and sucked in. The flesh stretched, shuddering at the sudden contact, and he feasted—one long, hungry pull until he could groan around the taste of John’s own slickness, his name a guttural curse on his tongue as he worshipped the prize his master had given him.
The pink was perfection—so vulnerable, so wet, the hole already clenching around him as if trying to drag him inside. He pulled back slightly, just enough to let the edges swell, his tongue working back in with slow, deliberate strokes, not fast, not hungry—methodical. He wanted to learn every fucking contour of this ass, to taste the way John’s body responded to his command.
"Good nigga" John’s voice was thick, his thighs pressing tighter, the fingers wrapped around his own cock tensing like a vise. Sadiq felt the weight of every second, the way John’s breathing hitched, the way his entire body shuddered beneath the worship.
“Look at you.” Sadiq’s lips broke away with a sound of regret—“so goddamnwet for me.” He pressed back in, this time circling the rim with the flat of his tongue, drawing out every trembling twitch before he finally, mercilessly, drove his whole tongue past the entrance.
John’s breath hitched, his hips jerking off the ground—
“Fuck yeah, deeper, you filthy black bitch,” John snarled, his free hand clamping down on Sadiq’s shoulder, nails digging into dark skin like he owned every inch of it. Sadiq desperately stroked his throbbing cock faster, the veined length slick with pre-cum that dribbled down over his knuckles, but he held back, savoring the way John’s control fed his submission. The air thickened with the musky scent of sweat and arousal, John’s ass clenching rhythmically around that probing tongue, each flex sending jolts of pleasure ripping up his spine.
Sadiq obeyed without hesitation, his strong hands spreading John’s cheeks wider, thumbs pressing into the firm globes to expose everything. He plunged his tongue in fully, fucking the hole with short, insistent thrusts—tasting the salty tang of John’s inner walls, feeling them flutter and yield under his assault. Saliva mixed with John’s natural slickness, dripping down to coat Sadiq’s chin, but he didn’t care. This was his place, buried face-first in his master’s ass, serving like the eager slave he was born to be.
John’s thighs quivered, muscles bunching as he rode Sadiq’s face harder, grinding down to smother him in heat and flesh. “That’s it, eat my white ass like it’s your last meal, nigga. Make it shine.” His voice cracked on the edge of a moan, breath coming in ragged bursts. The dominance surged through him, hot and intoxicating—watching this powerful black body reduced to a whimpering worshiper at his feet, Sadiq’s cock twitching endlessly, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum that pooled beneath him.
Sadiq pulled out just enough to gasp for air, his lips swollen and glistening, before diving back in with renewed hunger. He lapped at the stretched rim, sucking the puckered skin between his teeth gently, then harder, drawing a sharp hiss from John. His tongue swirled inside again, exploring the velvety depths, tracing the sensitive nerves that made John’s entire body arch. The taste was addictive—earthy, primal, a mark of ownership that Sadiq craved like air.
“Goddamn, you’re good at this,” John panted, his hand fisting Sadiq’s coarse hair tighter, yanking him impossibly closer. Sadiq pumped his cock in brutal strokes now, the head flaring purple and angry, veins bulging under his grip. Pressure built low in his gut, coiling like a spring ready to snap. “Gonna while you tongue-fuck me nigga? Beg for it, boy. Beg to cum for my ass.”
Sadiq’s response was muffled, a needy whine vibrating against John’s hole as he redoubled his efforts—thrusting his tongue faster, one hand sneaking up to massage John’s heavy cheek, rolling them in his palm with reverent squeezes.
John’s hips bucked wildly, chasing the edge, his ass clenching down like a vice on Sadiq’s tongue. “Fuck—yes—right there, you dirty nigger slut!” The words exploded from him as Sadiq sprayed ropes of thick cum erupting from his cock, splattering across Johns calf. He kept grinding through it, milking every pulse, until he collapsed forward, chest heaving, utterly spent.
But Sadiq didn’t stop. Not yet. He licked slower now, cleaning the mess with tender swipes, savoring the aftermath as John’s body twitched in oversensitive bliss.
