Sunday mornin’ came too soon. Church was the usual long service. Papa stern in the family pew, Mama’s fan flutterin’, the preacher thumpin’ on sin and duty. My body still ached pleasant and deep from the night before. Every time I shifted on the hard bench I felt the soreness in my hole, the lingering slickness of Isaac’s cum still inside me, warm and secret. It made sittin’ through the hymns both torture and comfort.
After services the mayor and his family came for dinner, just as Mama had arranged. Mayor Thaddeus Whitfield was a stout man with a silver-streaked beard and a booming voice that filled the dining room. His wife, Mrs. Cordelia Whitfield, sat prim in her best silk, all polite smiles and careful compliments on Mama’s table. And their daughter, Miss Amelia Whitfield, nineteen, with soft brown curls and a shy pink mouth, dressed in pale blue that made her look like a china doll. She was the whole point of the visit. Papa and the mayor kept tradin’ looks over the roast and the greens, talkin’ about “suitable matches” and “joinin’ two fine families.” Mama kept steppin’ the conversation toward Amelia’s accomplishments—her piano playin’, her needlework, how well she managed a household already.
I sat across from her, smile fixed polite on my face, answerin’ when spoken to. But every time I moved in my chair the pleasant soreness flared deep inside me, a sweet reminder of Isaac’s thick black cock stretchin’ me open the night before, of the way his cum had filled me and was still there, slow-leakin’ into the handkerchief I’d folded careful in my drawers. Amelia’s soft voice and hopeful eyes slid right off me. All I could think about was the willow, the moonlight on dark skin, and the man who’d claimed me under those hangin’ branches. The dinner stretched long, the talk of futures and plantations and children, while inside me Isaac’s seed still rested, and the ache of him was the only truth that felt real.
The Whitfields’ carriage finally rolled away after supper, lanterns bobbin’ down the long drive until the dark swallowed them. Mama was still chatterin’ about what a “fine match” Miss Amelia would make, Papa noddin’ over his brandy. I excused myself early, claimin’ a headache from the heat and the long day. Upstairs I waited only long enough for the house to quiet, then slipped out the back once more, heart already racin’.
Isaac was under the willow, just like always. The moon was thinner tonight, but there was still enough light to see the strong lines of him when he stepped out from the hangin’ branches. One look at my face and he opened his arms. I walked straight into them.
The tears came hard and sudden. I pressed my face against his bare chest, breathin’ in the warm, clean smell of his skin, and just broke.
“I can’t marry that horse-faced Amelia,” I sobbed, the words muffled against him. “I can’t do it, Isaac. They got it all planned—the land, the heirs, the whole damn future—and I can’t. I won’t. Fuck me, Isaac. Please. Just fuck me.”
He held me tight, one big hand cradlin’ the back of my head, the other strokin’ slow down my spine.
“Shh, Beau. I got you,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody forcin’ nothin’ tonight.”
We stripped quick and quiet. Clothes in a heap on the grass. Naked under the willow, the night air cool on my skin, his body hot against mine. He kissed the tears off my cheeks, then my mouth, deep and claimin’. When he turned me toward the thick trunk I went eager, bracing my hands on the rough bark, ass pushed back toward him. He spit into his palm, slicked that heavy black cock, then worked two thick fingers into me. I was still soft and open from the night before, the pleasant soreness flarin’ sweet when he stretched me.
Then the broad head of his cock pressed against my hole. He pushed in slow but steady, the thick shaft openin’ me wide, every inch of that rich dark meat sinkin’ deep until his hips were flush against my ass and I was stuffed full again. The stretch burned just enough to make me gasp, then melted into pure need.
“Harder,” I whispered. “Plow me.”
Isaac didn’t hold back. He gripped my hips with both strong hands and started fuckin’ me proper—long, powerful strokes that drove that big black cock deep into my guts on every thrust. The wet slap of his body against mine filled the little space under the willow. I could feel every ridge, every thick vein, the way the flared head dragged over that spot inside me that made my knees weak. He fucked me like he was tryin’ to brand himself into me, deep and relentless, the force of it rockin’ me forward against the tree.
My own cock bounced hard and neglected, drippin’ steady onto the grass. Tears still leaked from my eyes, but they weren’t only sorrow now—they were relief, surrender, the pure overwhelmmin’ feelin’ of bein’ taken so completely. Isaac’s breath was rough against my neck. He reached around and stroked me in time with his hips, fist tight and perfect.
“Come for me,” he growled soft. “Come while I’m buried in ya.”
I did—hard, spurtin’ over his hand and the tree roots, my hole clampin’ and flutterin’ around that thick black cock. The tight milkin’ of my body pulled him over the edge. Isaac drove in to the hilt with a deep groan and unloaded. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded me. Pulse after heavy pulse of that black man’s seed pumpin’ deep into my ass, fillin’ me until I felt it leak out around his shaft and run warm down my balls and thighs. He kept thrustin’ through it, shallow and slow, pushin’ his seed even deeper, until there was nothin’ left and we were both shakin’.
He stayed buried in me a long minute after, chest pressed to my back, arms wrapped around me. I could feel his cock softenin’ slow inside the slick mess he’d made. When he finally pulled out, a thick trickle of his cum followed, drippin’ down my leg.
I turned in his arms, still cryin’ quiet, and held on tight.
“I can’t marry her,” I whispered again. “I only want this. I only want you.”
Isaac pressed his lips to my temple, holdin’ me while the willow kept our secret and the pond lapped soft nearby. For a little while longer, the rest of the world could wait.
