White Man's Dick

“I don’t usually like white dick,” he says. He’s kneeling down in front of me on the living room carpet. I look at that coal-colored skin against the burgundy wool; the athletic socks he’s left on are tattletale gray. He’s strewn his sweats on the ottoman and pushed the furniture beside him. His round, worked-out ass nudges it when he leans forward. “No offense, but it doesn’t appeal to me a lot,” he says, examining my hardness up close. “But damn.”

I’m sitting in nothing but a T-shirt. My pants have joined his on the ottoman. My elbows rest on sides of the armchair; I’ve got an index finger supporting my forehead. From the waist up I could be listening to someone at any casual get-together in any coffee shop. From the waist down, it’s pure porn set scenery. “Suck it,” I suggest.

For a black man who doesn’t usually like white dick, he’s quick to obey. I feel first the heat of his breath as he open his mouth to accommodate me, then the softness of his lips. My dick takes a slow trip through the warm cavern of his mouth and the tighter, wetter tunnel of his throat. I slide forward on the upholstery a little bit in order to give him full access to my inches.

The man knows how to give head. He does that thing I like the best, when he applies most of the friction on the trip back up to the head, then opens wide to spear his throat on my meat. When he’s at the base, his lips open wider to attempt to encompass my balls. Their soft scraping against the skin plays my spinal cord like a harp. This is turning out better than I expected.

“Very nice,” I murmur, as my fingers rustle across the short coarse hairs of his scalp. He hums to himself softly in reply. He’s not really paying attention to anything but my dick. No matter what the color, he’s lost in the head job he’s giving me. All he cares about is maintaining that rhythmic, gentle, repetitive motion. He’s nursing at it. Suckling it. He’s a baby at his mama’s tit, a calf hungry at the udder. His eyes are closed and his breathing heavy; he’s got his arms lying atop my thighs so he can hold me around the waist. His fingers are tucked between the cushion and my butt.

I’m torn. I intend to fuck this one. He’s got a hot ass that looks like it needs to be plugged. But the head is so good I’m reluctant to stop him. The blow jobs I get are so indifferent or poor or just plain too rough that a good one is rare. I’m dimly aware it’s a dilemma other tops would give their left nut to have.

I let him suck for long minutes, watching him take as much of my inches as he can with every gulp. His own meat stands ignored, stiff, and raging between his thighs. It’s a curved and uncut seven inches, thickly hooded at the enormous head. It jerks and throbs to some internal rhythm, beating his flat stomach like a timpani stick.

He solves the problem for me when finally he disengages from my cock and lets it slap down on my abdomen with a wet splat. “Never had white dick inside my ass either,” he says, looking me in the eye.

“Maybe you want to try it.” Like so many of the other things I say during sex, it’s not a question.
He grunts and gives me a single nod. “Maybe I do.”

“Or maybe I should just put it away,” I say. We both know that won’t happen, but I sure try to make it sound as if it might. “Maybe I should put my big white dick back in my pants so you won’t be tempted by it. Don’t want you taking a white dick if you don’t like it.”

His face has gone hard. He’s not amused by my little game. “I didn’t say I didn’t like that white dick.”

“Do you?” We stare at each other for a long moment. He nods, but I’m not letting that response pass. “Then say it.”

“You want me to say the words, huh.”

“Exactly. I want you to say the words.”

His own cock is still rock hard. It’s standing out in front of him stiff and pointing due north by the compass. He licks his lips, swallows. “I like that white dick. I really like it”

“You want this white dick.”

His dick jumps, betraying his excitement. “I . . . want that . . . big . . . white man’s dick you got there,” he growls. “I want it up in my guts. I want that big white dick making babies up in this cunt.” My meat’s been glistening already from his spit and slobber. His words make precum bead at the tip. I look down at my cock, grab wrap my fist around the bottom few inches, then spread the gooey fluid over the head. The man’s lips part. “Please.” He clears his throat again. “Please, sir.”

“All right.” My voice comes out as a lazy drawl. “You earned it.”

It’s clear I’m not moving. He spits in his hand and rubs it around on his hole, then turns around and bends over. He’s exposing himself for me. Showing it off. I see him spit again. His fingers massage more spit against his shitter. When he cranes his neck around to look at my cock, I hold it out for display.

He backs up. Sits down. Allows me to spread his ass for him while I direct the head at that shiny black pucker. The pinkness of my head contrasts against his dark skin for a moment, then disappears, little by little. His hole swallows the last crescent moon, then slides down on my shaft. I’m in, all the way to the nuts.

I slide down in the armchair. My body is a shelf for him to sit on. He raises himself up and down on my cock, his hands stretching his ass cheeks out so that there’s nothing preventing him from taking me as deeply as possible. “Oh god,” he mutters to himself. “Oh god, yes.”

“How’s white dick feel?” I ask.

“So good.” His response is instantaneous. Genuine. Heartfelt. “So damn good. So damn good, baby.”

“I knew you’d like it.” The horny fucker is doing some fancy shit—swiveling his hips, grinding, clenching with his hole. No matter. As long as he keeps sliding that greasy ass up and down the length of my inches, I’m good. “Keep going,” I tell him. “Be a good boy and you’ll get some white man cum.”

“Please,” he says. “I want that white man cum. I need that white cum up in me. I love that white dick.” He keeps repeating words to himself. I can see his eyes are closed. He’s not talking to me so much as praying. “Please give me that white cum. I’ll do anything you want for that white man cum.”
I don’t have to say a fucking thing. He keeps doing all the talking for me while he bounces up and down on my dick, edging me closer and closer to the inevitable. First white dick or not, he’s experienced enough to know how to get it out of me, too.

When I blow, I hold him down. He practically falls back onto me and reclines on my body like a mattress, but he’s supporting himself on the chair’s arms so I’m not crushed. My seed blasts into his hole, deep. At the same time, the position changes enough that my dick starts to slip out. I try to hold him still so I can finish loading him up before it pops out. Most of it makes it in there. Then my shaft slops out and falls between my legs, where another glob of semen falls onto the carpet.

He’s trembling. “Thank you,” he says. Then he falls once again to his knees, uses his mouth to lift up my slick cock, and swallows it. He spends long moments cleaning it off in a worshipful manner. “Thank you, sir,” he says again, when he’s done.

I cup his chin. “Now you can either put on your clothes and slink out of here with your first white man’s load in your hole,” I tell him. “Or you can collect them, take them into the bedroom, then lie down on that bed and be ready to take some more dick and cum. Your pick.”

He stares at me, then nods and stands up. Slowly he pulls out his sweats and his top from under my jeans.

Then he makes the choice I knew he’d go for, all along.