The Trip
The humid Jamaican air, thick with the scent of jasmine and possibility, wrapped around Moses the moment he stepped off the plane. At 24, Moses was a striking figure – 6’2” of dark, golden-brass muscle, his handsome face alight with a quiet intensity. He’d meticulously packed his best shirts, his swim trunks, and a hunger he hadn’t dared articulate even to himself. Moses had a ‘thing’ for older white muscular men and always had, a primal pull towards their sturdy frames and salt-and-pepper wisdom, but he’d never actually been with one. Until now, perhaps.
Beside him, Pierre, his new boss, cleared customs with an efficiency Moses already admired. Pierre was 5’10”, a compact powerhouse of muscle, his salt-and-pepper hair and neatly trimmed facial hair outlining a strong jaw. His black chest hair jutted defiantly from the collar of his linen shirt, a hint of the dark fur that covered his arms and legs. But what truly captivated Moses – and what Pierre, for all his straight-laced demeanor, unconsciously flaunted – was the undeniable curve of his very big bubble butt, a taut, round perfection that Moses had been fantasizing about for weeks.
Pierre, a married man who meticulously maintained the façade of heterosexuality, felt a familiar, inconvenient stirring whenever Moses was near. He thought he was straight, but every time his gaze snagged on Moses’s broad shoulders, his confident stride, or the subtle bulge in his slacks, his mind replayed fantasies he kept locked away. He’d always craved the forbidden, specifically the raw power of a black man, and Moses, with his dark, potent energy, was an intoxicating embodiment of that craving. Pierre had a tight pink hole, he knew. A secret, yearning cavity that he’d always wondered how a man like Moses would fill.
The days in Jamaica unfolded like a dream. They navigated client meetings with a seamless synergy that surprised them both, then shed their professional skins for the island’s embrace. Mornings were spent on turquoise beaches, the waves a soothing rhythm against white sand. Afternoons saw them exploring hidden coves, hiking through lush rainforests, their laughter echoing through ancient ruins. Evenings were for rum cocktails at bustling beach bars, the air vibrating with reggae beats and the low hum of conversation. Moses observed Pierre’s easy charm, his unexpected adventurousness, and the way his muscles flexed when he swam. Pierre, in turn, found himself drawn to Moses’s quick wit, his genuine curiosity, and the sheer, unadulterated beauty of his form as he moved.
Their mission was a resounding success, the client secured with a handshake and a shared sigh of relief. On their final night, to celebrate, Pierre booked an idyllic dinner by the beach. The table was set with crisp white linen, flickering candles, and the ceaseless whisper of the waves. The moon, a silver disc, cast a shimmering path across the inky water.
Pierre’s Perspective:
The rum punch, sweet and deceptively strong, had loosened something inside me. The weight of the successful trip, the beauty of the night, and the intoxicating presence of Moses across the table had eroded my carefully constructed walls. I found myself talking, truly talking, for the first time in ages.
"You know, Moses," I began, swirling the ice in my glass, "I was... surprised. When you started at the office. You handled that merger brief like a seasoned pro, but there was something else. A... an energy." I tried to keep my voice casual, but my gaze kept falling to his full lips, the strong column of his throat. God, he was handsome.
Moses chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "And I was surprised by you, Pierre. All business, sharp suits, but I saw the fire in your eyes when you talked about taking risks. And your... presence. It's commanding." He was looking at me, really looking, and the air between us thickened, charged with unspoken truths.
"Commanding, huh?" I managed, my throat suddenly dry. "I wouldn't have pegged you for noticing things like that, Moses." My heart was thudding against my ribs, a wild drumbeat. This was dangerous. This was everything I’d denied for so long. But God, I couldn’t stop. The way he was looking at me, the heat in his eyes, it was unraveling me.
"Oh, I notice everything," Moses’s voice dropped, becoming a velvet murmur. "Especially when it's something I want."
My breath hitched. He couldn’t possibly mean… but his eyes, dark and direct, held a knowing glint. The raw desire in them was unmistakable. All the fantasies, the secret thoughts I’d pushed down, surged to the forefront of my mind. The image of his thick, dark cock, the one I’d imagined so many times, against my skin, inside me. Shame warred with an overwhelming, desperate hunger. I was married. I was straight. But looking at Moses, feeling the heat of his gaze, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the raw, primal urge bubbling up.
"Moses," I heard myself say, the words sounding foreign, yet utterly right, "I... I’ve been thinking about your cock. I've been thinking about it in my ass. My white ass. I need it, Moses." The confession tore through me, pure, unadulterated need. My voice was husky, barely a whisper. My face felt flushed, my body trembling.
Moses’s Perspective:
From the moment we landed, I knew this trip would be different. Pierre, my boss, with his muscled frame, his salt-and-pepper hair, and that big, beautiful bubble butt that had haunted my thoughts since he interviewed me. I’d watched him these past few days, seen the way his eyes lingered, the way his body subtly gravitated towards mine. He thought he was straight, a married man, but I could feel the electricity, the unspoken longing emanating from him.
The dinner, with the soft glow of the candles and the rhythmic crash of the waves, felt like a prelude. When he started talking about my "energy" at the office, I knew. That tension we always felt, the way our eyes would meet and linger a fraction too long, he felt it too.
"Oh, I notice everything," I let my voice drop, letting the full weight of my desire infuse the words. "Especially when it's something I want." I watched his throat bob as he swallowed, saw the flush creep up his neck. He was fighting it, but the dam was about to break. I could taste it in the air, thick and sweet.
Then he said it. The words I’d been dreaming of. "Moses, I... I’ve been thinking about your cock. I've been thinking about it in my ass. My white ass. I need it, Moses." His voice was raw, vulnerable, laced with a plea that tore at my insides. He looked utterly undone. It was everything I’d hoped for, and more. My thick girth 9-inch uncut BBC was already throbbing in my pants.
"You got it, Daddy," I said, my voice low and husky, a promise. "Tonight, I'm gonna give you the black cock you’re craving. I can’t wait to breed your fat daddy ass. That tight pink hole is mine."
We didn't wait for dessert. We barely touched the check. A silent, urgent agreement passed between us, a shared, desperate hunger. We practically ran back to the hotel, the cool night air prickling against my skin, every nerve ending alive.
We burst into Pierre’s room, the door clicking shut behind us with a definitive thud that sealed off the world. He turned, his eyes wide, pupils dilated, and I grabbed him, pulling him into a searing kiss. His lips were soft, tentative at first, then ravenous, devouring mine. His hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. My erection, hard and thick, pressed against his thigh.
We tore at each other’s clothes, buttons flying, fabric discarded in a frantic heap on the floor. My hands traced the fur on his chest, buried themselves in the salt-and-pepper hair, then trailed down his taut back to the thick, weighty mass that was his ass trapped in his underwear. He gasped, his head thrown back as I freed him, his ass jiggled free, a beautiful, pale dumper truck.
Pierre’s Perspective:
The kiss was everything I’d imagined, a wild, consuming fire that obliterated all my reservations. His lips were full, soft, then firm, demanding, and I gave myself over to it completely. My hands clawed at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, his muscle. When he found my booty cheeks, taking it into his hand like he owned them, a guttural groan escaped me. It was too much, yet not enough.
He pushed me gently towards the bed. "Get on all fours for me, Daddy," he commanded, his voice a low growl that sent shivers of pure lust through me. "Show me that bubble butt."
I obeyed without hesitation, a primal urge to submit overriding everything. I knelt, my hands bracing against the crisp white sheets, my ass high in the air, trembling slightly. The cool air brushed against my tight pink hole, making it clench in anticipation. I could feel his eyes on me, hot and possessive, and I craved it. Craved his gaze, craved his touch, craved the thick black cock I knew was coming. "Look at this tight pink hole," he growled, his voice a low, primal sound that sent shivers through my entire body. "Just for my black cock." He spread my cheeks, revealing the moist, puckered opening, and I let out a whimper I barely recognized as my own. “Give me that black cock, Moses," I gasped, my voice thick with emotion. "Stretch my pink hole. I want you to cum inside of me."
He dipped a finger in, testing, teasing. I arched my back, a wave of heat spreading through me, my ass clenching instinctively. "Easy, daddy," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "Gonna make sure you’re ready for me." He slicked me generously with lube, his fingers working inside, stretching me slowly. It was a bizarre, intense pleasure, a foreign sensation that was both terrifying and utterly captivating.
Moses’s Perspective:
He looked absolutely magnificent on all fours, his big bubble butt a perfect, trembling target, his hairy legs and arms braced, his head bowed. My BBC pulsed, thick and hard, a throbbing nine inches of dark power. This was it. The moment I’d been craving for so long.
His words were music to my ears, permission to unleash the beast. He wanted it, truly wanted it. That tight, hairy white man’s hole was practically begging for my thick, uncut BBC. I pulled out my fingers, gleaming with slick and the first hints of his creamy wetness, and positioned my heavy head at his entrance.
"You ready for this black cock?" I asked, my voice a guttural rumble. "Ready to feel a real nigga fill you up?"
He gasped, his whole body trembling. "Yes. Now. Please."
I pushed, slowly at first, his tight pink hole gripping me with an intensity that made me groan. The warmth, the suction, the sheer rightness of it sent a jolt straight to my core. I leaned down, kissing the back of his neck, burying my face in his damp, salty hair. "That’s it," I whispered, pushing deeper. "Take it all, daddy. Take my black cock."
He cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure, as my girth stretched him, forcing his ass to yield. I could feel his tight muscles fighting, then surrendering, rippling with each slow, deliberate thrust. His big bubble butt was a magnificent, quivering target, absorbing every inch of my length. I reached up and slapped his ass, hard, the sound resounding in the quiet room. "This ain't no office, Pierre," I growled, my nostrils flaring with primal instinct. "This is Jamaica. And you want black cock, and I’m the nigga you get it from."
I began to pound him, a rhythmic, animalistic fuck that shook the bed. His ass cheeks clapped against my hips with each deep stroke, a wet, smacking sound that drove me wild. I watched his ass ripple beneath me, a beautiful, powerful motion, as I plunged deeper and deeper, finding his sweet spot again and again. He was crying out now, a litany of grunts and moans, completely lost to the sensation.
"Fuck, you’re so tight, daddy," I gasped, holding his hips, driving into him with all my strength. "So good. Your pink hole is soaking wet for me." I bred him like a primary animal, every instinct focused on claiming him, filling him, leaving my mark deep inside his beautiful white ass. His grunts turned into ragged screams, his body arching back against mine, trying to take me deeper still.
My climax was building, an unstoppable force. I felt the familiar tingle, then the intense pressure, ready to explode. "I’m gonna fill you up, Pierre!" I roared, my voice raw. "Gonna make you a cum slut for my black cock!"
With a series of hard, final thrusts, I shot an even bigger load than I thought possible, flooding his ass hole with my hot, thick cum. Pierre shrieked, a primal sound of pure ecstasy, his body convulsing around mine. We both grunted like animals, our breaths ragged, as I emptied myself deep inside him.
I collapsed onto his back, spent, heavy, our bodies slick with sweat and his own juices. We lay still, catching our breaths, the only sounds the crashing waves outside and our own frantic heartbeats. I felt the warmth of my cum dribbling out of Pierre’s ass, a warm, messy testament to what we had just done.
"God," Pierre mumbled, his voice muffled against the sheets, "I love your black cock, Moses."
I pulled back just enough to whisper against his ear, thick and satisfied. "And I love the white man’s hole."
