He appears next to me as I exit the club. "Shall we take a taxi?" he asks. "Why should we," I reply --- I'm arrogant, I know, but I can't help it. "Why do you have to leave without a trick?" he shoots back.

He's black, slender, wears a polo shirt and unassuming beige slacks. My gaze descends to his package. He follows my eyes. He knows there's no need for concern, his physique will speak for itself. He's winning. He hails a cab. "Where's going," the cab driver asks. "Home," he answers, gives an address somewhere uptown. His right hand is now in my lap, my left hand is in his. My emerging erection provides a sense of direction (rhymes). He leans into me, slaps my cheek playfully with his hand, kisses. My erection is pleased. I feel his boner through his pants, undo his zipper, get hold of his uppity dick. "That's what I need," I think. "That's what you need," he says.

The taxi stops in chique neighborhood, town houses. Dawn is in the air. "I'd like to join you," the cab driver says, apparently meaning it, the poor guy. "Next time," my black trick replies as he gets out, pushing his dick back into its briefs in an awkward gesture, raising the zipper perfunctorily, the cab driver noticing. His envy shows in the emerging daylight.

An expensive main door with polished brass ornaments opens on a flight of steps, a large room, more space, a bedroom. He draws the curtains. "I need a shower first," I say. He puts his hand on my shoulder, gives me this appreciative look. "You're clean enough," he answers. He's getting ceremonial now, embracing me, smacking a wet kiss on my lips, hunkering down, undoing my belt, unzipping my pants, like in a porn flick. He fondles my penis appreciatively. "We're good," he says, and strips himself. "Lie down," he says, and points with his dick to the bedroom, "I need to pee."

I'm on his bed now, with my butts --- my best part --- pointing to the ceiling. "You seem to know what I want," he states casually as he enters the room. I lean on my forearm and turn my head. His enormous member is throbbing slightly, pointing skyward, God is involved. He gets hold of his dick, slips a condom, brings it back into a lateral position. A casual spit in the direction of my anus, another casual spit onto the jonny. He's ready.

The room explodes in a yell, my yell, I realize a split second later, as lightening is striking my abdomen. "No," I scream, "no, you are too big, man." "Relax," he says, holding still, his dick still in position. "We need gel," I say. "No," he says, "we like it rough. We're purists, nothing but Afro-American saliva to lubricate our passion." "Please," I say. He's still holding still, the pain is subsiding slowly. "How do you feel," he asks after an eternity. "Better," I say. "I'm in by three inches, five more to go." I wiggle my butt. He slaps it casually. "More spit," I plead. "OK, he says, but it'll hurt again." He exits, spits some more spit onto his dick. Another thrust, another painful explosion, as predicted. "Ooh, no," I yell, my eyes filled with tears. He's unmoved, his member still inside. "Give it a moment, you'll see." The pain relents indeed, faster than the first time. "Better?" he asks. "Yes," I say. "Gently," I say.

He's pushing ever so gently now. "Five inches to go," he's counting down, "four. three." If I would have words for the sensation. Perhaps we need so much sex because we can't really describe it. "Two," he continues, "one, done." I groan in reply. "I'm in the tunnel of pleasure," he waxes, and there's' a brilliant light at the end of it." I'm still hurting, but something in me wants him to stay. "Gently," I say again. He's going in reverse, slowly withdrawing his dick by some inches. Another gentle thrust. Back and forth, slowly, as my pain transforms into lust. I'm full of him now, full of urge, yearning, passion, of sexual delight, in short, I'm full of a majestic cock. "Is this love?" I ask. "Depends," he says, not interrupting his rhythm, "depends on your position."

He's fucking me now, up and down, back and forth, thrust after thrust, pushing, provoking, accelerating. I'm versatile, but I know how to come as bottom. "I'm coming," I say. "Wait, he says," and exits. "Turn around," he says. I'm lying on my back now, he's standing over me, jerking his dick, his balls swinging. More jerking, accent by accent. And then, his first groan, an arrow of white milk shooting out of his meatus onto my face, my neck, my breasts. Another shot, a third one. He's groaning again, squeezing his dick for the last drop, squeezing again. "How about you," he asks, squatting next to the bed, as he fondles my member. There's isn't much work to do, the dick explodes at his touch. Cum all over the place, my body, his face, his sheets. "See," he says, I told you. "Is this love," I ask again. "It was love," he replies.


John Kok

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