It had been barely over a week since I broke up with my third boyfriend, this one of two years. Things weren't working out between us anymore, the spark had died off, and the time we spent together no longer felt as exciting as it once did. Of course, you know, the sex gets affected by that too, and although I'm by no means a sex fiend, it definitely degraded our relationship further.
My name is Breana, and I'm 25 years old, as I was at the time this all happened. It might've sounded just now like I'm an average-looking girl, but everyone always tells me I'm beautiful, and I'm inclined to agree somewhat! I'm not up my own ass, you can judge it yourself. For a girl, I'm taller than most of my female friends, at 5' 8", which certainly has cut me off from some cute average-sized and short guys, so all of my boyfriends were tall dudes. I'm svelte with some meat packed in important places, such as a bit on the belly and on the thighs. Tits? Yeah, they're kind of small, but I can get some cleavage to show if I use the right bra.
At the time, my wavy dark brown hair sat down to the line of my soft jaw, cut in a puffy chanel that made me look like a hipster. Men love the look, and I think it's cute too. I have olive eyes and a slim freckled nose that curves only subtly upwards at the tip. My smile is bright and charming, and forget the whole ordeal about white girls having thin lips; mine aren't plump, but they're shapely and carry some fullness.
It's not hard for me to find just any boyfriend, as you might imagine. There's always a barrage of guys waiting, poking, trying out their luck... it got annoying a long time ago, because I don't want to be with just any guy. Maybe that was the issue, though: at that point, after three break-ups, I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore.
I cried the first days after the break-up, ate an unhealthy amount of ice cream, played so much League of Legends I might've been called a new slur in chat, until I finally found myself in the position to ask for my best friend's help, my roommate Lindsay.
Lindsay wasn't much different from me per se, if not for her greater experience with men since her teens, so it was a reasonable bet.
She scoffed at me. Her suggestion? “I don't know! Try Tinder.”
“Tinder? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How am I going to find a boyfriend on Tinder, Lindsay? It's literally an app for sex.”
“No, look, you don't get it,” she said as she positioned herself closer to me and pulled up Tinder on her phone, going into the messages to show me one of her conversations. “You don't go on Tinder to meet anyone, you go there to get your ego stroked and to crack a good laugh at the pick-up lines. Look at this one...”
I frowned and shook my head negatively in disbelief. “I don't need to get my ego stroked, I get enough of that on Instagram.”
“Alright, but that shouldn't be an obstacle for you to at least try it, right?” She smiled and raised her brows at me. “Like, come on, you might feel better. Besides, the chance might be low, but you can still get lucky and meet a good candidate.”
“Well...” I breathed in slow and sighed, looking down at all the faces Lindsay had matched with. Most of the guys were cute, so at least I'd get some eye candy. “It seems I've resisted this app for long enough. I'll give it a try.”
And there I went, a girl who never used a dating app in her life, going straight for Tinder of all things! If it weren't for my friend, the experience would've been more of a hell than it ended up being, and let me tell you, at first, it wasn't easy.
As a girl, you get gunned down with likes. Tinder quickly inundates with guys trying to match with you, and the notifications are unbearable. Lindsay taught me to turn them off in the configurations so my phone wouldn't vibrate every second or so. Then she also taught me to be extra selective with how I swiped, to not give many chances; the more matches you amass, the more messages you have to deal with, and the more overwhelming it becomes.
Then she taught me to write a profile berating guys who are only looking to fuck. That was important to repel some of the nasty pervs who are looking for nothing but to get their dicks wet, which are arguably 95% of the male population. As an extra limitation on candidates, Lindsay advised me to set the distance to no further than 5 miles. That made it all more bearable as well.
After that, it was time to get swiping! We spent hours swiping side-by-side, never holding back our comments on the guys' profiles and appearances. We laughed aloud way into the night, and laughed some more swiping right before it was bed time. I swiped little to no guys to the right — despite there being some cute ones here and there — and matched with much less. The pick-up lines I got weren't too funny, but the effort made it entertaining, and the ego stroking wasn't as bad as I expected.
The morning after that, since it was Saturday, I decided to spend a while in bed. In between checking my socials, I absent-mindedly swiped through men on Tinder. Left, left, left, left, left, left... until I first found out about him.
Derrick, 28, was one of the very few Black men I saw on the app, and I was very careful not to accidentally swipe him left when his first picture filled my phone screen. It's rare to have Black guys in my district, although there are some majority Black neighborhoods some miles to the south, so the occasional one would pop up. Despite knowing those areas are more dangerous, I didn't assume much for the couple of Black guys I saw before, but Derrick screamed all levels of danger with his appearance.
Although not bulky, he was definitely very toned and defined. His skin was so dark it looked like chocolate, and in one of his gym photos, his glistening chest made me feel that characteristic warmth imagining how it must be to slide fingers between his hard body. He had tattoos all over his torso, a sleeve going down his left arm, and some sparse inking on his right one. He always had a buzzcut, probably so he could wear the bandanas and hats he sported in many photos.
Despite the baggy clothes, I'd say he dressed very well. It was all brand stuff, from the hype brands to sports brands, in an assortment of colors and sizes. He kept his beard short and tame, and the fact he had no face tattoos told me perhaps the look was just a fashion choice, although he definitely looked like a bad boy, and I never saw myself being into a bad boy, let alone a Black one.
He was a little on the distant end from where I lived, signaling he probably lived in the no-no zone, however, I couldn't be prejudiced. It's not because he lived in the Black suburbs that he was a criminal, after all. Anyway, not so absent-mindedly now, that was the morning's first right swipe, and suddenly, ABSOLUTE HORROR.
WE MATCHED.
Oh-oh. Didn't expect that one. It hadn't been more than 12 hours and that guy had already swiped me, and before that I was already having a moment; I was already fantasizing about going on a date with him, watching a movie, chatting, making out, going to the arcade, fucking marrying, all that stuff... and immediately all of that could be at the brink of becoming reality? Terrifying.
“Oh, no!” I whispered and promptly bounced off my bed, walking barefoot over to Lindsay's bedroom. “Oh, no! Lindsay! Help!” The sun was out and she was still in her fourth sleep! I nudged her shoulder and she began to shift around under the blankets. “Lindsay, wake up, please! I might've done something dumb!”
“Hmm... what? What is it?” I brought my phone in front of her face, the message “It's a match!” with Derrick's photo was stamped right over it. Lindsay's blue eyes opened like she had seen a ghost. “Oh, woah.” It took her drowsy brain a couple more seconds to process. “Woah, woah, woah! That's a hot guy, holy shit! Why have I never seen him on my app?”
“Lindsay, what the FUCK... do I do? What do I send?”
“You just press to keep swiping, like with every other guy.” In fact, she went ahead and pressed the button for me. “You don't need to send him a message. He's the man, he will send the message.”
I pulled my phone back and tapped on the matches tab to check on Derrick's conversation, still empty. “But... shouldn't I at least send a hello, or would that seem too desperate?”
Lindsay looked at me funny for a moment. “I always thought you were into the geeks, not the jocks. What's up, Bree? Having an awakening now?”
“No, I mean, did you see it? He lives south of here, he probably has more tattoos than I have freckles, and...”
“Yeah, and that's hot.” Her eyebrows then raised and she gave me a suggestive stare. “You know what they say about Black guys, right? He's all strong and mean, so you can tell he fits the stereotype.”
“O-kay, now you're just being racist. That's not at all what I meant. I'm out of here.” I turned and began to leave her room. “But don't worry, I'll let him send the first message.”
“Alright, good!”
Agony ensued. Tinder is a torturous app. The people you want are like totems, standing upright to be admired, speechless and immobile, whereas the people you're not into are active the most. I got message after message each minute, and none of them caught my eye at all at that point. When the app wasn't closed for the day, I was swiping to get Derrick off my mind, and the fact he occasionally appeared as online made me curious. Was he busy chatting with more uninhibited women?
It didn't seem uncommon for some guys to match and never chat. I wondered if he was one of those, and if I could break the cycle by ignoring Lindsay's suggestion for the first time, sending him a little hello. It's frowned upon, although it was worth a try, right? So I'd type “hello!” wait, erase it, and never send it. Then I'd type “good evening!” wait, erase it, and not send it either. I waited longer. Most men who were interested sent a message first anyway, I thought.
It then came a time before bed when my fruitless experience with Tinder got me feeling like a daredevil. I was taking the risk of putting myself out there on the app and getting those nasty messages, the pick-up lines, the super likes from guys who looked like my ***... so I took an extra risk with Derrick. I had a confusing crush for a man I didn't know, that's it, but I wanted to give this whole thing a shot. I sent a plain “good evening”, no more, no less. I threw the ball, and if it was meant to be, he would reply.
There was no response for three days now. Arrange a funeral for my heart. I didn't tell Lindsay; whenever she asked me about Tinder, I said the “same old, same old” without details. She probably thought Derrick had been a face lost in the crowd of perverts I swiped through. Little did she know I felt like I was going through a fourth break-up with a man whose voice I never heard.
I was still at work with Lindsay at the cafe when Derrick finally gave me a response. I didn't see he had sent me a message until I opened the app, because the notifications were off. Thankfully, whenever I opened Tinder, his conversation was the main one I dug out of the pile of inane pick-up lines to check on, and this time, there was something to read! Being as stupid as I am, I opened it without a second thought and the message got marked as read.
“Damn youre the cutest here so far, I want you in my bed tonight” that was it. That was the message.
Seriously? Like, what else did I expect anyway? He didn't seem like the romantic type. The compliment made me flush, but I couldn't deny the disrespect. He really thought I was going to sleep with him the same day he replied to me. Was he any different from the other men?
“Look who responded,” I said to Lindsay, leaning on the counter beside her and showing her the message. “Aaaand he's a fuckboy.”
“Oh, I saw this guy on my app last night, but we didn't match. You know, you're lucky,” she said, reading the message a bit closer. The fact I sent a message first got glossed over this once, focusing on the message at hand. “He likes you! I mean, you were into him, right?”
“I guess I was, but now I don't know.”
Lindsay saw right through me — no, actually, all she had to do was look at my red hot tomato face and chuckle. “You're still into this dude. My suggestion is that you take his offer.”
I re-read the message on my phone, pensive. “But he just wants to sleep with me. He thinks I'm some slut!”
“You're not a slut for getting pumped and dumped by a hot guy one time in your life. You have a crush on him, so make out during it, hold hands, cuddle after, I don't know! Just don't forget what you're getting yourself into, you know... he's Black.”
“Here we go with the racist shit again,” I sighed, but Lindsay only giggled in response.
“Bree, I'm not racist, calm down! I get you, I like Black guys too.”
“What do you mean? So you've been with one before?”
She nodded. “Two of them, multiple times. It's a rare opportunity around here, and I'm not saying all of them fit the stereotype, because I bet some of them don't. Doesn't change the fact both the ones I slept with fit it to a T, and it was amazing.”
A customer approached us, so my next words came in a whisper. “Which of the stereotypes are you talking about?”
“Size down there, among other things,” she murmured, and we had to put on our act, so I slid my phone into my back pocket and went to work. Hm, size down there.
Right, I'm not going to act here like I'm an innocent girl, though I will say I'm sensitive to racial issues, and any stereotype for Blacks feels wrong in my gut. Lindsay had a point nonetheless, if all the porn I had watched throughout my lifetime stood witness. It's extremely common to see porn — amateur or not — where the Black man has a large dick, I know it. Way more common than with any race. I didn't care, though. A big cock may look nice, but is it really that good? It didn't matter to me.
All of the guys I had sex with had cocks ranging from what I thought was average to small. In retrospect, I could've been mistaken, although I had no reason to complain. I knew what an orgasm felt like, and the white boyfriends I had did me well in bed most times, or so I felt. The idea of something big was simultaneously exciting and scary, but I wasn't sure it was enough to make me go slut mode. I had never done that.
Derrick, in the other hand, despite it all, felt different to me. It might've been the crush I developed for him in the past days, how needy I was post break-up... I'm not so sure. The romantic fantasies I had of that bad boy treating me like a princess despite it all came crashing down with that message. To him, I was just another piece of ass. Or was I?
He did say I was the cutest. That was very sweet, and he specifically said he wanted me in his bed. There was a hint of exclusivity there; I bet he was letting a soft side shine through too, the only way he knows of at least. Derrick was obviously an extremely manly guy, that's just how those men tend to be, I imagine, so that was his way of showing he had special interest in me. After all, he matched me in the first day, but clearly didn't match Lindsay in the coming days, so I had to be some type of VIP.
The more I thought of it, the more excited I was. That could be the day I'd not only meet this new guy — my most recent crush — but maybe also go straight to something so intimate with him. Normally I wouldn't have done this, but with Derrick, for the first time in my life, I decided to hook up. All I had to do was be as safe as I could about it, and I would be less likely to regret it later once I inevitably changed my mind.
“I'm free tonight, but I don't know if you're a catfish
” was my response to Derrick minutes after I read his message. It took half an hour for him to see, and instead of responding, he took me off guard by doing a surprise video call. Tinder has this feature specifically to deal with the severe catfishing problem it has, I imagined. I couldn't take the call right there, so I acted natural and walked to one of the bathrooms, locking the door behind me.
I took the call and lowered my phone's volume so it wouldn't echo too loudly. Derrick's face was right there on my screen, and I was overwhelmed with passion, eyes shining and face warm, sitting down on the toilet. I uncontrollably smiled.
“Yo, you seeing me?”
“Hey! Yeah, I am.”
“See? I'm real, you don't need to be paranoid or some shit.” His voice was deep, with a layer of hoarseness that cut well even through his phone's crappy mic.
“Hm, yeah!” My stupid face couldn't stop smiling. I spoke quietly to not alarm anyone outside as to what I was doing. “I'm at work right now, you caught me by surprise.”
“I didn't want to waste no time. What you think about tonight, huh?”
“I, well...” still smiling, but there was uncertainty in my brow now. “Like, you know, we barely met, so I'm feeling a little... you know.”
“A little afraid?”
“Not afraid, just a little unsure.”
“Hey, look, you real cute, alright? I'm really feeling us two tonight. Let me convince you, Breana.”
“Convince me how?” As I asked that, his camera began to fumble around. After a bunch of noise, the camera was pointed down at a floor, part of his legs visible as he sat on a couch, and my jaw dropped at the view. Porn was right all along.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. My eyes widened and I instinctively covered my parted lips. Derrick was unabashedly showing me his dick in the video call, and that thing was a goddamn monster! Part of my mind kept telling me that was the phone's camera making it look bigger than it was, but the other part saying “this is real and it is beautiful” was soon proven right when I saw his rough hand grab onto the hairy base of that shaft, wiggling it left and right, giving me a delicious view of the consistency of the flesh. He wasn't even half erect, and was magnitudes bigger than any of my ex-boyfriends. I couldn't get myself to be angry at what I was seeing, there was only awe and desire.
“You like that dick? You still looking at it.”
I mouthed the words “what the fuck” under my hand, and had to answer something. I was less rational then than I already was before. The warmth plaguing my face migrated all the way down between my legs, and I'll admit, as shameful as it might be, I pretty much creamed myself at the sight of Derrick's member. I was wrong; he was indeed enough to flip my slut switch. “Yeah, I really like it!” What was I saying at that point?
He turned the camera back to his face. “I'll give it to you, girl. Let's make it happen, alright? Tonight, I'll let you sleep at my place.”
“Okay, I'll see! Let's plan it for when I'm out of work.”
“Yeah, yeah, sounds good. I'll see you, babe.”
“Bye!” The call ended there. I gave myself a few seconds to take a breather. The image of that shaking Black meat had been burned into my memory. If the lack of detail in the camera already made an image too shocking to ignore, I could barely fathom what it would look like in person. My crush was much worse now, because my feelings' sexual tint had been exposed to its fullest extent with that shock. My panties were full, so I had to calm myself down. I got up and put my phone away, attempting my best not to think that cock for the next hours.
I explained to Lindsay I'd try to hook up with him, and that I was being careful about it. She said she was happy I was giving something like that a shot, and no matter my insecurity, I felt glad as well. It was all so strange to me, yet so desirable, like an urge kept pulling me to look at Derrick's conversation during intervals. We added each other on Instagram and began to chat there, planning how we'd meet up.
He said I looked like Snow White, that I'd “stick out too much in the hood”, that I should arrive at the nearest train station and wait for him to show up with his car, because he didn't want to let something happen to me on my way to his house. That was cute and caring, but also reminded me that indeed Derrick lived in a dangerous area, and I should beware. Still, he told me not to worry, that no one would hurt me as long as I was with him. That calmed me down considerably.
Me and Lindsay went back home from work early; the activity at the end of the afternoon was low and the boss chose to close down. I took a shower and stored some stuff in my backpack: tooth brush, soap, deodorant, hair brush, make-up, spare clothes, a pair of pajamas, phone charger, etc. I was planning on sleeping over, which was insane to me, but Lindsay said was typical for hook-ups.
I didn't put on too much make-up. We were planning to have sex, and, based on what I saw, know, and what Lindsay mentioned, I don't feel like Derrick would give me an easy time. Not only that, but he had already seen my at-work face; it couldn't get much worse, so I went with a subtle nude make-up. I placed a bet he was into freckles.
Although it was dark, it had been a sunny day all day, and the stuffy heat was still in the air. I left home with a black petite buttoned crop top that gave a decent outline of my cherry tits, denim hotpants, white sneakers, and a black mask. Carrying my backpack, I began making my way to the subway station. I was going to do it, I could barely believe it!
Near the subway, however, passing by a small local drugstore, I noticed something: I only had small- and normal-sized condoms in my wallet. It was going to be impossible to fit those on Derrick's cock for sure, so there I went to buy the largest condom I could find and not look like a complete whore.
I found it strange, I swear the biggest size I had heard of was called something like XXXL or whatever, but the biggest one I found was just called XL, and I bought that. It was a small store, so maybe they didn't get much on the special size department; the number of available condoms was definitely lacking. Are those the things you think about more often when you start dating a dude with a big dick? Weird first-world problems.
The pharmacist was obviously trained to not make customers feel awkward when buying those sorts of products; she was nearly quiet the whole time, not even a snicker. I placed the XL condom in my wallet, seeing how it towered the older condoms. “Wow. There's no way this one's not going to fit,” I told myself before continuing my way to the subway.
I took the line to the station Derrick gave me directions for. As I said, it wasn't too far away from where I lived, so the change in scenery was quite contrasting, going from a denser, more modern area into an older, poorer suburb. I stepped off the train and made my way up to the gateline, making sure to stay behind it in case something went wrong and I had to go back.
When Derrick sent me a message telling me he was waiting outside, I crossed the turnstile and went over to the exit, ensuring not to make eye contact with strangers. There were some white and mixed-race people there, but the majority was definitely Black now. It felt like I was in a different city, yet it was that close to home.
In front of a white Camaro, Derrick was leaning back, parked by the sidewalk right ahead of the station's exit. He wore a baggy white t-shirt, black jeans, big blue sneakers, and a blue hat. He didn't wear a mask, although I imagine he didn't have much patience to abide by restrictions at all times. Once my eyes met him, my heart fluttered and I felt like I was melting, a bright, dumb smile under my mask. Why did I feel that way for a guy I barely knew?
“What's up, girl?”
“Hi,” my soft voice came out a whimper in my nervousness. It was so soon clear that, despite my height, that man was significantly taller than me. Without hesitating, he reached around me and hugged my waist with one of his toned, hard arms, pulling me closer. Like a ragdoll, I let myself be pulled and moved my face up so that I could look at him inquisitively, vulnerable hands and fingers finding comfort in his broad chest. He pulled my mask down without question and, in less than a second, planted his thick lips against mine, holding me in a deep peck of our lips for what felt like eternity. I was the happiest white girl in the hood.
Our lips parted and we stared at each other for a brief moment before his face turned away to scan the sidewalk, letting go of me and walking around the car. “Get in, we going home already.”
Just like that, I put my mask in my pocket and got in his car. The windows were heavily tinted, and while I could see everything that happened outside, not a soul could see the white girl inside the Camaro. With the trap music playing on the radio, whose volume Derrick lowered for my own sake, they probably thought that was just him bringing another Black girl home to fuck. But nope, it was Snow White. I was in a situation if I've ever seen one.
His place was a cozy, old little suburban home. The porch wasn't doing too well, and the driveway showed signs of severe aging in the concrete. The grass varied from overgrown to colorless and dead, but otherwise, the place still didn't seem abandoned. He unlocked the front door and took me inside, letting me through the short corridor and into his living room, with two couches and a large TV, in turn placed atop an old wooden stand that also had two video game consoles.
Derrick lived by himself, but the beer cans and bottles in diverse corners of the living room signaled he didn't spend most days alone. I sat at the smallest sofa and let my backpack fall off the shoulder and to the side, waiting for him, who went to the kitchen.
I heard him open two cans, and he came back with one beer for him and one for me. “You fine with some beer?” I actually didn't like beer, but took it anyway and nodded with a smile, taking a sip off it. If I was going to taste it off his lips for the night, might as well start drinking it beforehand. “Damn, I can't believe I got such a white babe like you this easy. Shit's unbelievable, you look like a princess,” he peppered me with more compliments, sitting beside me and surrounding me in his arm, not as a mere move, more as a sign of temporary possession. He brought me closer to him, melting me in his heat another time.
Now the clash between my feminine, fruity perfume and his strong masculine scent was more apparent. He took a sip and, noticing I was looking at his face dumbfounded, gave me another kiss, a deeper one than our first. We knew where this was headed, and left the cans on an arm of the couch. Our tongues began to meet each other, and a tingle electrified my pussy thinking of how I was so passionately kissing a dangerous guy whom I encountered for the first time. This had to be wrong, yet I felt such an indescribable urge to keep it going...
We continued kissing almost non-stop for what felt like ten minutes; what started as an introduction transformed into an instinctive show of arousal. Step by step we found a rhythm and our tongues were twirling and dancing, our hot breath blasting each other's face, and my pathetic spit drooling between the two of us, thirsty for that Black stallion. My hands found his chest once more, and his other hand now went straight for my tiny waist, taking it as if he were about to tear me apart. Goosebumps all over me. Derrick was clearly an animal, and despite my fears, I wanted to experience what sort of mess he'd make of me by the end of the night.
There was only so much a girl like me could take before I had to go for the kill. I tried my hardest to not look like a slut for him, and if it were with any other man I had been with at that point, it would be quite easy to do. Not with Derrick, no. I had to touch that Black mamba, feel it through his pants and caress it for him, reward him for being such a fine specimen. I took a hand off his chest and down between his legs, feeling for his tool, which was no sweat to find.
I pat the base of the shaft first, and the true dimension of that thing was evidenced to me, now in person. Instead of the orgasmic shock of before, it intensified the passion of my kiss to nearly unbearable heights. I kissed him so much, and I had his erection growing against my skin, the greatest of sensations my delicate fingers ever had.
Going down the length of the beast, I could make out the veins, inhumanly thick, pulsating, and in need. Then the head, the warmest and most humid spot of his pants. I grabbed onto it through the fabric as if desperate to worship, and in truth I was. I had to do it, but it took a lot of might to separate my tongue from Derrick's. He had to be the one to interrupt our kiss.
“You already getting me hard, huh?”
I didn't smile anymore. My face glistened, body burning to the touch, skin painted scarlet from desire. A thin trail of saliva still connected our mouths, and as I spoke, they completely broke off: “You make me wet.”
“Yeah, I do.” He sat back on the couch and grabbed the TV remote, turning it onto a news channel and then pulling up his t-shirt. “Alright, you ready to suck some dick?”
His dick? I probably wasn't ready for it. Was I going to try it anyway? “Fuck yeah.”
“Good, then get on your knees and get to work. I'mma blow off some steam, had a long day.”
Promptly, without a complaint, I got off the couch and kneeled between his legs, unzipping his pants and beginning to pull down on his jeans and boxers. I never liked sucking dick. I wasn't a fan of the taste or the smell, and how my jaw was sore after. With Derrick, as per usual, I framed this all differently, especially at that point.
Did you hear how he treated me there? He ordered me around, like I had a job to help him blow off steam by sucking his cock while he watches television. I would've scorned at that if it somehow wasn't exactly what I wished for. I wanted to service him, I wanted to make him feel pleasure; by association, it would be pleasure of my own. So when he put me down and ordered me to serve, I submitted and gladly served in a manner I had never done before. There was something happening to me, and I had no idea what it was yet.
Finally, that massive slab was freed, bouncing out of its confines as if it celebrated. Big-dicked men weren't made to wear tight clothing, I concluded that must've been why so many Black men wore baggy pants. It has to be more comfortable when you walk around with such a third leg hanging underneath your body.
My eyes shifted from prize to prize: first, the lustful surprise in my eyes to see that chocolate dick; second, the delight in my eyes to look up at Derrick, who took an instant to admire how my delicate face looked under his obscene meat. It was all the same girth throughout, tapering only as the head begun. The cut foreskin made it so the glans was exposed, so the mushroom shape of the head, with the fleshy flares at the edges, made his dick look even juicier. It was hard to think of going back to all the comparatively tiny white dicks I had in the past after seeing Derrick's giant.
Indeed the head was glazed in pre-cum, but the sticky mess nonetheless sparkled as far back as half his absurd length, better illustrating the protuberant veins that were sure to pop out larger when he fully hardened. The scent assaulted my nostrils, and although at first I winced when I came closer, it seemed to have convinced me to give in fully somehow. It was as if that fertile perfume pierced through my airways and my nervous system, pulling me closer, making the intense, bad smell of a huge dick into the most interesting odor I could come up with.
In a moment of scientific fascination, I grabbed onto it. One full hand couldn't make the whole way around it, so I grasped it with two. I lifted it and looked at its balls hanging quite low off his crotch, reflecting the ceiling light from under the pubic hair. Fuck... how could a pair of balls be so large and full? Since when did balls make me horny? Since Derrick happened to me, that's for sure.
I jerked him off with slow movements, pulling on it, both my hands going back and forth, tip to base, to spread those juices and give him the loudest hand job I could. “This is so amazing...” I cooed quietly, looking back up at my man. He was busy watching TV, so I shut up and got back to serving.
It wasn't a hand job he asked for, but a blowjob. The logistics of sucking on a large cock weren't clear to me yet, although that wasn't a deterrent for me to go for it without a hint of humility. I munched on that huge urethra at his tip, slurped on his fluids and tasted his flavor. The saltiness and sourness made my eyes tighten; I released the tip from my mouth and giggled at my own reaction, looking up. He was busy still.
I gave the tip and the layers of pre-cum around it some thirsty licks and kisses, properly worshipping that dark tower. He was growing bigger, and that made me even more famished for his dick. Now braver than ever before, I confronted the tip again, then pushed my mouth in, wrapping my lips around his wrist-like girth. The characteristic soreness I got after sucking cock for too long appeared as soon as I reached a quarter of the way to completely swallow Derrick. My past experiences were pathetic in comparison, I could swallow every penis I had before with little extra effort.
I couldn't go further, I was reaching some kind of limit. Whether I'd be able to go deeper in the future, I wasn't certain, though I wanted for that to be the case. I never felt more like a woman than when I was kneeling before that Black stud, ruining my jaw to stuff his cock in my face, and I'd feel even more womanly having it stuck deep down my throat. For now, I faultered, releasing his cock and taking a deep breath. I looked up; not surprised, he was still busy, and changed channels now.
I regained my composure and tried again. I'd do anything to reach my body's limit in order to serve that man, and so this time, I tested my tolerance. Disregarding my sensitive gag reflex, I mouthed his tool a second time and began to physically push my head in with my neck, the force shaking my whole body. My eyes were crossed inwards, straining, gazing at the pubes of his crotch as a goal to reach. “GLKRRCH! AGH...” When that broad cock head hit the back of my throat, I uncontrollably coughed, adding to the mess on Derrick's chocolate skin with my own spit and throat foam. I kept on forcing to have him penetrate my throat, yet it felt like something was about to rip inside me, and I had to release him again.
I jerked him off with both my hands, coughing the woes of my irritated, sensitive throat for a while. Afterwards, I breathed heavily to recuperate my strength, and this time, when I turned my eyes upwards, Derrick looked at me visibly amused. I opened my bright smile, degraded by tears running below my eyes.
“You really into that BBC, huh? Looking at you, I'd never have guessed,” he said, lifting a hand and giving me a couple heavy, but bearable, slaps to the face. “Good girl.” When he said that, my heart beat at a thousand miles per hour.
“Thank you,” I replied, jerking his cock at its ridge with twisting motions of my hands. “But what do you mean by ‘BBC’?”
“You don't know what's a BBC?”
“I don't think so.”
“It's what you got in your hands right now. Big black cock, that's what it stands for. Lots of bitches be crazy for it, always hunting for some BBC,” he told me in between laughs, as if girls like me were addicts who so happened to make his dick wet. So that's what Lindsay was, and that's what Derrick implied I was too. I would've been offended if I could deny it. What I was experiencing all of those days and at that very moment, it seemed, was a sign that I was destined to become an addict for this “BBC”. Based on what went through my mind then, I'm sure my addiction had already begun.
“Oh, I had never heard of that.” I followed with a peck of my lips against the tip once more. “Hmm, I think I'm crazy for BBC, then. But I'm also crazy for this BBC's owner.”
“Then keep sucking. After I bust this nut, I'll stretch that white pussy out.” Yes, sir! Back to throating BBC.
No matter the experience I had at that point, it was never easy. No matter how difficult it was, I never backed down. I couldn't. Each taste I had of it, the more eager I was to serve. Just the grandiosity, the superiority of a bull like Derrick got me hungry to be a suck slave. I had grown not only accustomed to the fluids in my mouth, perhaps more in love with it. The flavor of a fertile Black cock is a difficult gourmet dish: it requires a tongue willing to take a challenge, and rewards it with a lifetime of unparalleled pleasures.
My sore jaw had to soldier through a long abuse, I knew it would be hurting for days. Was that anywhere close to how my pussy would feel after he was done with me for the night, though? That was the question. No matter, the pain was a detail at that point, the focus was on slurping Derrick's monster cock. Once close, he looked down at my teary freckled face and caressed my hair, some of which stuck to the sweat collected on my skin.
“Alright, suck it right on that tip,” he commanded, so my lips and tongue gave attention to the head and the urethra, giving it the naughtiest French kiss. “Just like that, yeah. Hmmm.” With my two hands, I continued pumping the rest of his extent, and my eyes now looked straight at his from below. I wanted to see the pleasure in his face, to know I had done my job well with all of the sacrifice.
There were no directions as to where Derrick wanted to cum, and I wasn't in the position to stop a blowjob in order to ask. I assumed that whatever he decided to do, I'd have to take it and enjoy it no matter how tough or humiliating. I didn't mind anyway; I'd allow that man to blast me in any part of my body if it meant pleasing him.
I watched his head lie back on the couch, a sigh escaping his lips. “Aaaah, fuck!” His dick, now fully hard and bigger than ever before, began to pulsate and enlarge under my very hands. My thin fingers could feel the tiniest of movements in the dilating veins, blood running desperately inside. The head twitched in my mouth and a torrent of viscous, sour sperm washed my tongue.
Diligently I suckled and swallowed, like I was being fed a proper meal, which, in all fairness, I'd argue I was. With every load that came there was a ton of gulping to do, but I was able to widen my throat just enough to suck it all, padding my belly with Derrick's seed. As I drank that strong-tasting milk, one of my hands reached down between my legs, feeling my crotch through my shorts. The denim was damp to the touch, and I was sensitive enough to writhe at the lightest caress. I wondered if I'd be able to take that BBC, not only due to its length and width, but also due to how sensitive I became.
Throughout the aftermath, I suckled more softly and ever so closer to the tip, ensuring that every glob and drop of cum leaking out had a home in my belly. My eyes intently watched Derrick, waiting for him to come back to his senses and give me more orders.
His head finally rose, and he said: “Damn! You don't go deep, but you put the effort.”
“Thanks,” I briefly quit my licks and slurps to respond.
“So, you ready to give me that pussy now?”
“Hmm, yeah, absolutely. Let me grab the condom.” I reached to the side over to the pocket in my backpack where I left my wallet.
Derrick laughed at what I said, glancing in mocking disbelief. “You gonna put a condom on me? Really?”
I was starting to become nervous, something I attempted to hide by pulling the XL condom out of the wallet and kneeling back between his legs. “Yeah, I bought the biggest size they had just for you, see?”
“Bitch, that ain't gonna fit on my dick.” I was taken aback by the wording he used at first. If my ex-boyfriend ever called me a bitch, even in jest, I'd berate him, but I didn't see myself in the position to complain about that with Derrick.
“Well... it's the biggest size, it should fit.” I opened the condom and looked at its diameter. It was not close to the girth of Derrick's BBC, although I'd expect condoms to be able to stretch somewhat, isn't it?
“It ain't gonna fit. You know what? Try it. But if it don't fit, you'll let me go raw.”
“No way,” I replied while already trying to roll the rubber out on his log. It took a little bit of effort, but as expected, with patience and stretching, it was covering him well. My pussy was definitely going to need some patience and stretching to fit that beast, so I sympathized with the condom in a twisted sense. “I've never had raw sex with any of my past boyfriends, that's not something I do.”
“And I never did some bitch if it wasn't raw. You ain't gonna be different.” That smug smile in his face made me question whether I really had the authority to do what I was doing, however, I pressed on with my convictions.
I raised my eyebrows and shrugged at his crotch. “See, it fits, so that means we have to have protected sex now, right?”
“Did it? Let me check,” he said, lifting his own cock by the base. It had become half erect after the bottles of cum he had sprayed into my mouth, albeit still hard enough to fuck a pussy right. My eyes crossed to watch as Derrick's tightly rubberized pole stood up right over my face, and then, with every ounce of disrespect in the world, it came down like a hammer onto my face. The slap sound echoed through the living room. He lifted it once more, and I was already wincing in anticipation; that first strike made my brain bounce in my skull from how heavy that package of meat was. This time he held it for a second and made his dick twitch, subtly jumping upwards. The veins strained and that girth engorged out in an instant; the sudden hardening of the flesh ripped the condom through the lower section of the shaft, up to the cock head. I stared in utter shock as BBC destroyed the only condom I had which had a fraction of a chance to cover Derrick, imagining what that would do to a human. Then again, the dick struck my face with the same harshness, and in brief darkness I heard a further rip that flung some piece of rubber somewhere in the room. “It don't seem like it fit. Maybe you bought the wrong size.”
I parted my eyelids and slowly witnessed the state of the remaining condom. It was useless now, with strands dangling under his slick, wet, thickened cock. I rubbed my hands through its remains, pulling it off so easily it felt like a joke. Without noticing, my mouth was slightly agape at the sight. I had no more protests, only observations. “Fuck, not even the biggest condom fits you. This makes no sense.”
“Seems right to me, though,” he continued, now waving his dick left and right, hypnotizing me. It didn't seem he would slap me with it again, I was on the safe side now. “Breana, you know what's the problem? You trying to fight it, but you gotta understand there ain't no fighting me. You already lost. If I say I'mma stretch your pussy raw, you don't talk back to me, you thank me like you did before.”
There was a feedback loop of anger within me, still embroiled in layers of undeniable submissiveness. I couldn't stand how cocky he was, and how wet it made me. I couldn't stand how every time I challenged him, he won in some shape or form. No matter how much I thought I knew how things would end up with Derrick, I was proven to have no control over anything, and he had it all in his hands. Worst of all, something deep in my soul told me that was the natural succession of things. My strategy became to give in, and stop trying to smart my way out of the facts. I knew then, finally, that it would be the first day a cock would go raw into my pussy. I wanted to do it for Derrick; I wanted to do it for BBC.
So I stood up and smiled. “Alright, sorry.” I took off my shoes then pulled off the shorts and panties, a sticky line of juices revealing how much I had creamed myself for Derrick the whole evening through. Exposed now were my pussy's small pink labia, shining heavily from how wet I had gotten. My hole was the messiest, with whipped pussy creams saturated into a white fluid ready to lube that man's impending entry. After, I took off my top and bra, revealing my small cherry breasts, the nipples as rose as my holes, perked up and hard. There was nothing on my body if not my socks.
“Good girl, that's what I'm talking about. Now come sit on my lap, let's get to stretching.”
Obediently I walked over to Derrick and got my feet up on the couch, straddling his wide open legs and squatting down. There was no time for fear now, so I grabbed his cock from behind and pointed its obese head against the sensitive door to my pussy, pushing it in circles so that its fluids mixed with mine in an attempt to ease the effort I'd have to make. A moan escaped me; the deep stabs of pleasure punched my womb from how needy I felt. I had never been that way, not even when masturbating.
With the two of us lined up, I grabbed the shaft firmly in one hand, and stared back at the first man who was about to take me raw. “Derrick?”
He looked at me with the same cocky grin. “Yeah?”
“Thank you so much.” I did as he ordered and followed it by fulfilling my fate: I tried impaling myself on that mast without any concern for my own well-being. I shoved down my hips as hard as I could, at first unable to make it pass through my tight hole. Teeth grinding together, eyes tightened from the intensity, face becoming red, and a long groan of effort were signs of my fight. I wasn't going to stop until at least a bit of it had gone in. “Grrrr, fffuuuuuck!”
Soon, the head plopped in by sliding over all of our slippery fluids, plugging me and forcing the hell out of my hole. Fuck it, I wasn't stopping there. “IT'S IN! Oh my GOD!” I continued losing my mind, then followed it by wiggling my body back and forth a tad until I continued pushing my way down.
Derrick laughed at my effort, but I'm sure he appreciated it. “That's it, almost there. You so tight, bitch, damn!”
With each immense amount of force I put, the deeper that BBC went into me. More and more it felt as if he would reach a limit, perhaps far enough to almost hit my cervix, and with that in mind I hoped that not shoving it all inside me would be enough to satisfy him. “TOO FUCKING BIG! Aaah...” Soon enough, yeah, I hit my limit; not just that, I also began to feel a characteristic warmth build from my crotch, spreading towards the rest of my body relentlessly. “Oh, shit... Derrick, I think I'm cumming!”
“Already?”
Like a BBC-addicted bitch in heat, my legs crumbled into a kneeling position on the couch, that cock going deeper into me despite the tightness. My body automatically pushed against Derrick's bigger and stronger one, and I panted like an animal, burning hotter than I did before. “Aah! Aah! Haah!” My belly sucked in and my thighs shook. The wetness between my legs grew; without noticing, I gushed out squirt as another first in my life, flooding his legs and couch. The way my walls tightened around that fat meat sent signals of pleasure and pain to my system, whereas to Derrick, there was only amusement.
“You gotta be fucking with me, you squirting just from getting my dick in you?”
I couldn't speak, only pant and at times whimper joyously. I took it all the way inside me, that monster of a cock was reshaping my hole at that very moment. I couldn't feel any happier, face buried in Derrick's collar bone, lost in his masculine scent. “Haah, aah...”
“Damn, you really way more into BBC than you seem,” he said, at this point genuinely surprised. So was I, in all honesty, but that was the first day I experienced the pleasures of a Black man like him. Lindsay was very, very right. “Alright, let me take over.” With the way I had broken my pussy in, there wouldn't be any substantial resistance to getting obliterated by his dick, so Derrick pushed me to the side, never sliding out, and placed me with my back to the couch, towering over me. He lifted my dripping legs up and out, holding one of them while his other hand found balance on the back of the couch.
Locked back in that fashion and without any power to do anything besides accept the destruction my pussy was about to sustain, I simply smiled brightly and stared with bedroom eyes at Derrick. Hesitation out the window, he pushed his hips back, then shoved his dick all the way in with a steady motion. “AAAH!” I yelped loudly, yet he didn't stop. My pussy was too sensitive and I knew I would orgasm once again soon, however, there was no more rebelliousness in me to try to fight back. If I came three, six, fifty times on a BBC, I knew it would be worth it based on my first one.
He kept on sliding back and forth, the wet sounds of my stretched pussy becoming louder than the TV. “Yeah, look at you, loving this Black dick.” With every cycle, his tension grew, and so did the roughness of his thrusts. “This white pussy just too tight, damn!” Then, after a slower thrust that made my legs shake some more as I felt that Black mamba snake its way to bulge my belly further, he started to mercilessly slam his crotch against mine, sagging balls slapping my ass each time. “Gotta stretch this pussy out until it ain't tight no more!”
“AAH, FUCK, I'M CUMMING AGAIN!” Once more I tightened and came all around that pole, way harder than the first orgasm. More squirt splashed out, making his veiny ebony skin glisten under the light. No matter how hard my pussy tried to push that monster out, Derrick's savage fucking pushed it all the way back in where it belonged. “OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE BEST!” I had reached a degree where yelling out in dumbed-down moans was normal. For all intents and purposes, I was being fucked silly.
I relaxed again and he was back to worsening his force, wildly poking the depths of my fuck hole. To me it was as if my entire body responded to the movements of that tree trunk in and out. Looking down, I could see that what was happening to my anatomy wasn't normal; my pussy lips gripped as if glued around his veiny flesh, despite all the natural lube, pulling out quite far whenever he thrust back, and then being dick punched all the way in with a thrust forward. I was fascinated, mouth agape once more, at the sight of what a Black bull could do to my body, something unlike anything I thought possible.
Then, without warning, my body writhed and convulsed into another BBC-induced orgasm. My moans filled the house like before: “AAAH, I CAN'T STOP CUMMING OM THIS DICK!”
“Keep singing how good that dick is, come on!”
“THIS DICK IS THE BEST!” Another toe-curling, thigh-shaking, eye-crossing orgasm possessed me. My lips formed a small O, from where drool oozed out as my mind went blank, occupied solely with the extreme pleasure of cumming on Derrick's massive rod.
Seeing me defeated on his couch, Derrick was satisfied. Now he would claim his final reward by busting a nut inside my unprotected pussy. “Fuck, I'mma bust a nut in you now! Gonna fill you to the brim!”
“YES! YES! PLEAAASE!” I moaned back, actual exasperation in my flushed face. “PLEASE, FILL ME TO THE BRIM WITH CUM!” It was going to be my first time having semen directly into my pussy, without a barrier to protect my womb from it, and right there I couldn't desire anything other than Derrick's nut washing my insides.
“I'mma give you what you want!” With a final thrust, his cock deeply planted load, after load, after load, after giant load of glue-like spunk into me. Whether I was being inseminated or not, I couldn't tell, though I could tell I was full when a thick and warm liquid oozed through the stretched corners of my pussy lips, bubbling out at times. “Shiiiit, this pussy sucking my balls dry!”
“This feels so good, I never knew. This really is the best,” I said, more serene than my exasperated shouting from before, seeing that I had gotten what I wanted. I was claimed by Derrick's cum, my walls probably painted on the inside. Our eyes met while his cock continued to twitch, depositing leftover drops of cum. His face approached mine and we tongue kissed again, just like that, attached against each other after such intense sex.
Our kiss after we were done wasn't as hungry as before, nonetheless, I could feel the tingle in me, the butterflies in my stomach that told me how I had been radically changed by that man and the experience he offered me. What once seemed like a disrespectful act, like it would be from any other guy, now seemed like a gift. I had been gifted a BBC from a true Black stallion, and everything made sense now. I had to experience that in order to feel complete.
When our kiss broke, we stared a bit more. From my gut feeling, I let the words slip out of the tip of my tongue: “I love you.” In that moment I didn't mind confusing sex with love. At least with that kind of man, I'm fairly certain there can be no difference after you have been made a physical and mental mess.
He responded with a chuckle and another “good girl, good girl,” followed by a peck on the lips. He couldn't love me like I loved him, I understood, since he had other girls to please him. I was just another one of his BBC-obsessed whores, and fortunately for me, I was comfortable with that.
We spent the night enjoying each other, drinking beer, watching TV while I jerked him off or sucked him. My jaw hurt a lot at the end of the night, and it was all worth it. One of the best parts was lying together with him in his bed, where we fucked some more, piling up further orgasms, making out, and then resting before sleep.
Derrick wanted to show me off to his friends. I imagined breaking white girls with his Black cock was a good brag among his circles, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to have my face on his socials as one of his booty calls, so I pushed my head against his naked chest when he took the selfie, hiding my identity partially. We were both sweaty and my hair was a total mess; no one would question that we spent the night screwing like rabbits.
Then we spooned under the sheets and slept soundly. If I had any dreams, they were probably the sweetest I had ever had, with my jaw sore, my pussy busted and padded with cum, and my brain clouded with the memory of that BBC's smell and taste. Snow White now wanted to stay in the hood.
My name is Breana, and I'm 25 years old, as I was at the time this all happened. It might've sounded just now like I'm an average-looking girl, but everyone always tells me I'm beautiful, and I'm inclined to agree somewhat! I'm not up my own ass, you can judge it yourself. For a girl, I'm taller than most of my female friends, at 5' 8", which certainly has cut me off from some cute average-sized and short guys, so all of my boyfriends were tall dudes. I'm svelte with some meat packed in important places, such as a bit on the belly and on the thighs. Tits? Yeah, they're kind of small, but I can get some cleavage to show if I use the right bra.
At the time, my wavy dark brown hair sat down to the line of my soft jaw, cut in a puffy chanel that made me look like a hipster. Men love the look, and I think it's cute too. I have olive eyes and a slim freckled nose that curves only subtly upwards at the tip. My smile is bright and charming, and forget the whole ordeal about white girls having thin lips; mine aren't plump, but they're shapely and carry some fullness.
It's not hard for me to find just any boyfriend, as you might imagine. There's always a barrage of guys waiting, poking, trying out their luck... it got annoying a long time ago, because I don't want to be with just any guy. Maybe that was the issue, though: at that point, after three break-ups, I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore.
I cried the first days after the break-up, ate an unhealthy amount of ice cream, played so much League of Legends I might've been called a new slur in chat, until I finally found myself in the position to ask for my best friend's help, my roommate Lindsay.
Lindsay wasn't much different from me per se, if not for her greater experience with men since her teens, so it was a reasonable bet.
She scoffed at me. Her suggestion? “I don't know! Try Tinder.”
“Tinder? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How am I going to find a boyfriend on Tinder, Lindsay? It's literally an app for sex.”
“No, look, you don't get it,” she said as she positioned herself closer to me and pulled up Tinder on her phone, going into the messages to show me one of her conversations. “You don't go on Tinder to meet anyone, you go there to get your ego stroked and to crack a good laugh at the pick-up lines. Look at this one...”
I frowned and shook my head negatively in disbelief. “I don't need to get my ego stroked, I get enough of that on Instagram.”
“Alright, but that shouldn't be an obstacle for you to at least try it, right?” She smiled and raised her brows at me. “Like, come on, you might feel better. Besides, the chance might be low, but you can still get lucky and meet a good candidate.”
“Well...” I breathed in slow and sighed, looking down at all the faces Lindsay had matched with. Most of the guys were cute, so at least I'd get some eye candy. “It seems I've resisted this app for long enough. I'll give it a try.”
And there I went, a girl who never used a dating app in her life, going straight for Tinder of all things! If it weren't for my friend, the experience would've been more of a hell than it ended up being, and let me tell you, at first, it wasn't easy.
As a girl, you get gunned down with likes. Tinder quickly inundates with guys trying to match with you, and the notifications are unbearable. Lindsay taught me to turn them off in the configurations so my phone wouldn't vibrate every second or so. Then she also taught me to be extra selective with how I swiped, to not give many chances; the more matches you amass, the more messages you have to deal with, and the more overwhelming it becomes.
Then she taught me to write a profile berating guys who are only looking to fuck. That was important to repel some of the nasty pervs who are looking for nothing but to get their dicks wet, which are arguably 95% of the male population. As an extra limitation on candidates, Lindsay advised me to set the distance to no further than 5 miles. That made it all more bearable as well.
After that, it was time to get swiping! We spent hours swiping side-by-side, never holding back our comments on the guys' profiles and appearances. We laughed aloud way into the night, and laughed some more swiping right before it was bed time. I swiped little to no guys to the right — despite there being some cute ones here and there — and matched with much less. The pick-up lines I got weren't too funny, but the effort made it entertaining, and the ego stroking wasn't as bad as I expected.
The morning after that, since it was Saturday, I decided to spend a while in bed. In between checking my socials, I absent-mindedly swiped through men on Tinder. Left, left, left, left, left, left... until I first found out about him.
Derrick, 28, was one of the very few Black men I saw on the app, and I was very careful not to accidentally swipe him left when his first picture filled my phone screen. It's rare to have Black guys in my district, although there are some majority Black neighborhoods some miles to the south, so the occasional one would pop up. Despite knowing those areas are more dangerous, I didn't assume much for the couple of Black guys I saw before, but Derrick screamed all levels of danger with his appearance.
Although not bulky, he was definitely very toned and defined. His skin was so dark it looked like chocolate, and in one of his gym photos, his glistening chest made me feel that characteristic warmth imagining how it must be to slide fingers between his hard body. He had tattoos all over his torso, a sleeve going down his left arm, and some sparse inking on his right one. He always had a buzzcut, probably so he could wear the bandanas and hats he sported in many photos.
Despite the baggy clothes, I'd say he dressed very well. It was all brand stuff, from the hype brands to sports brands, in an assortment of colors and sizes. He kept his beard short and tame, and the fact he had no face tattoos told me perhaps the look was just a fashion choice, although he definitely looked like a bad boy, and I never saw myself being into a bad boy, let alone a Black one.
He was a little on the distant end from where I lived, signaling he probably lived in the no-no zone, however, I couldn't be prejudiced. It's not because he lived in the Black suburbs that he was a criminal, after all. Anyway, not so absent-mindedly now, that was the morning's first right swipe, and suddenly, ABSOLUTE HORROR.
WE MATCHED.
Oh-oh. Didn't expect that one. It hadn't been more than 12 hours and that guy had already swiped me, and before that I was already having a moment; I was already fantasizing about going on a date with him, watching a movie, chatting, making out, going to the arcade, fucking marrying, all that stuff... and immediately all of that could be at the brink of becoming reality? Terrifying.
“Oh, no!” I whispered and promptly bounced off my bed, walking barefoot over to Lindsay's bedroom. “Oh, no! Lindsay! Help!” The sun was out and she was still in her fourth sleep! I nudged her shoulder and she began to shift around under the blankets. “Lindsay, wake up, please! I might've done something dumb!”
“Hmm... what? What is it?” I brought my phone in front of her face, the message “It's a match!” with Derrick's photo was stamped right over it. Lindsay's blue eyes opened like she had seen a ghost. “Oh, woah.” It took her drowsy brain a couple more seconds to process. “Woah, woah, woah! That's a hot guy, holy shit! Why have I never seen him on my app?”
“Lindsay, what the FUCK... do I do? What do I send?”
“You just press to keep swiping, like with every other guy.” In fact, she went ahead and pressed the button for me. “You don't need to send him a message. He's the man, he will send the message.”
I pulled my phone back and tapped on the matches tab to check on Derrick's conversation, still empty. “But... shouldn't I at least send a hello, or would that seem too desperate?”
Lindsay looked at me funny for a moment. “I always thought you were into the geeks, not the jocks. What's up, Bree? Having an awakening now?”
“No, I mean, did you see it? He lives south of here, he probably has more tattoos than I have freckles, and...”
“Yeah, and that's hot.” Her eyebrows then raised and she gave me a suggestive stare. “You know what they say about Black guys, right? He's all strong and mean, so you can tell he fits the stereotype.”
“O-kay, now you're just being racist. That's not at all what I meant. I'm out of here.” I turned and began to leave her room. “But don't worry, I'll let him send the first message.”
“Alright, good!”
Agony ensued. Tinder is a torturous app. The people you want are like totems, standing upright to be admired, speechless and immobile, whereas the people you're not into are active the most. I got message after message each minute, and none of them caught my eye at all at that point. When the app wasn't closed for the day, I was swiping to get Derrick off my mind, and the fact he occasionally appeared as online made me curious. Was he busy chatting with more uninhibited women?
It didn't seem uncommon for some guys to match and never chat. I wondered if he was one of those, and if I could break the cycle by ignoring Lindsay's suggestion for the first time, sending him a little hello. It's frowned upon, although it was worth a try, right? So I'd type “hello!” wait, erase it, and never send it. Then I'd type “good evening!” wait, erase it, and not send it either. I waited longer. Most men who were interested sent a message first anyway, I thought.
It then came a time before bed when my fruitless experience with Tinder got me feeling like a daredevil. I was taking the risk of putting myself out there on the app and getting those nasty messages, the pick-up lines, the super likes from guys who looked like my ***... so I took an extra risk with Derrick. I had a confusing crush for a man I didn't know, that's it, but I wanted to give this whole thing a shot. I sent a plain “good evening”, no more, no less. I threw the ball, and if it was meant to be, he would reply.
There was no response for three days now. Arrange a funeral for my heart. I didn't tell Lindsay; whenever she asked me about Tinder, I said the “same old, same old” without details. She probably thought Derrick had been a face lost in the crowd of perverts I swiped through. Little did she know I felt like I was going through a fourth break-up with a man whose voice I never heard.
I was still at work with Lindsay at the cafe when Derrick finally gave me a response. I didn't see he had sent me a message until I opened the app, because the notifications were off. Thankfully, whenever I opened Tinder, his conversation was the main one I dug out of the pile of inane pick-up lines to check on, and this time, there was something to read! Being as stupid as I am, I opened it without a second thought and the message got marked as read.
“Damn youre the cutest here so far, I want you in my bed tonight” that was it. That was the message.
Seriously? Like, what else did I expect anyway? He didn't seem like the romantic type. The compliment made me flush, but I couldn't deny the disrespect. He really thought I was going to sleep with him the same day he replied to me. Was he any different from the other men?
“Look who responded,” I said to Lindsay, leaning on the counter beside her and showing her the message. “Aaaand he's a fuckboy.”
“Oh, I saw this guy on my app last night, but we didn't match. You know, you're lucky,” she said, reading the message a bit closer. The fact I sent a message first got glossed over this once, focusing on the message at hand. “He likes you! I mean, you were into him, right?”
“I guess I was, but now I don't know.”
Lindsay saw right through me — no, actually, all she had to do was look at my red hot tomato face and chuckle. “You're still into this dude. My suggestion is that you take his offer.”
I re-read the message on my phone, pensive. “But he just wants to sleep with me. He thinks I'm some slut!”
“You're not a slut for getting pumped and dumped by a hot guy one time in your life. You have a crush on him, so make out during it, hold hands, cuddle after, I don't know! Just don't forget what you're getting yourself into, you know... he's Black.”
“Here we go with the racist shit again,” I sighed, but Lindsay only giggled in response.
“Bree, I'm not racist, calm down! I get you, I like Black guys too.”
“What do you mean? So you've been with one before?”
She nodded. “Two of them, multiple times. It's a rare opportunity around here, and I'm not saying all of them fit the stereotype, because I bet some of them don't. Doesn't change the fact both the ones I slept with fit it to a T, and it was amazing.”
A customer approached us, so my next words came in a whisper. “Which of the stereotypes are you talking about?”
“Size down there, among other things,” she murmured, and we had to put on our act, so I slid my phone into my back pocket and went to work. Hm, size down there.
Right, I'm not going to act here like I'm an innocent girl, though I will say I'm sensitive to racial issues, and any stereotype for Blacks feels wrong in my gut. Lindsay had a point nonetheless, if all the porn I had watched throughout my lifetime stood witness. It's extremely common to see porn — amateur or not — where the Black man has a large dick, I know it. Way more common than with any race. I didn't care, though. A big cock may look nice, but is it really that good? It didn't matter to me.
All of the guys I had sex with had cocks ranging from what I thought was average to small. In retrospect, I could've been mistaken, although I had no reason to complain. I knew what an orgasm felt like, and the white boyfriends I had did me well in bed most times, or so I felt. The idea of something big was simultaneously exciting and scary, but I wasn't sure it was enough to make me go slut mode. I had never done that.
Derrick, in the other hand, despite it all, felt different to me. It might've been the crush I developed for him in the past days, how needy I was post break-up... I'm not so sure. The romantic fantasies I had of that bad boy treating me like a princess despite it all came crashing down with that message. To him, I was just another piece of ass. Or was I?
He did say I was the cutest. That was very sweet, and he specifically said he wanted me in his bed. There was a hint of exclusivity there; I bet he was letting a soft side shine through too, the only way he knows of at least. Derrick was obviously an extremely manly guy, that's just how those men tend to be, I imagine, so that was his way of showing he had special interest in me. After all, he matched me in the first day, but clearly didn't match Lindsay in the coming days, so I had to be some type of VIP.
The more I thought of it, the more excited I was. That could be the day I'd not only meet this new guy — my most recent crush — but maybe also go straight to something so intimate with him. Normally I wouldn't have done this, but with Derrick, for the first time in my life, I decided to hook up. All I had to do was be as safe as I could about it, and I would be less likely to regret it later once I inevitably changed my mind.
“I'm free tonight, but I don't know if you're a catfish
” was my response to Derrick minutes after I read his message. It took half an hour for him to see, and instead of responding, he took me off guard by doing a surprise video call. Tinder has this feature specifically to deal with the severe catfishing problem it has, I imagined. I couldn't take the call right there, so I acted natural and walked to one of the bathrooms, locking the door behind me.I took the call and lowered my phone's volume so it wouldn't echo too loudly. Derrick's face was right there on my screen, and I was overwhelmed with passion, eyes shining and face warm, sitting down on the toilet. I uncontrollably smiled.
“Yo, you seeing me?”
“Hey! Yeah, I am.”
“See? I'm real, you don't need to be paranoid or some shit.” His voice was deep, with a layer of hoarseness that cut well even through his phone's crappy mic.
“Hm, yeah!” My stupid face couldn't stop smiling. I spoke quietly to not alarm anyone outside as to what I was doing. “I'm at work right now, you caught me by surprise.”
“I didn't want to waste no time. What you think about tonight, huh?”
“I, well...” still smiling, but there was uncertainty in my brow now. “Like, you know, we barely met, so I'm feeling a little... you know.”
“A little afraid?”
“Not afraid, just a little unsure.”
“Hey, look, you real cute, alright? I'm really feeling us two tonight. Let me convince you, Breana.”
“Convince me how?” As I asked that, his camera began to fumble around. After a bunch of noise, the camera was pointed down at a floor, part of his legs visible as he sat on a couch, and my jaw dropped at the view. Porn was right all along.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. My eyes widened and I instinctively covered my parted lips. Derrick was unabashedly showing me his dick in the video call, and that thing was a goddamn monster! Part of my mind kept telling me that was the phone's camera making it look bigger than it was, but the other part saying “this is real and it is beautiful” was soon proven right when I saw his rough hand grab onto the hairy base of that shaft, wiggling it left and right, giving me a delicious view of the consistency of the flesh. He wasn't even half erect, and was magnitudes bigger than any of my ex-boyfriends. I couldn't get myself to be angry at what I was seeing, there was only awe and desire.
“You like that dick? You still looking at it.”
I mouthed the words “what the fuck” under my hand, and had to answer something. I was less rational then than I already was before. The warmth plaguing my face migrated all the way down between my legs, and I'll admit, as shameful as it might be, I pretty much creamed myself at the sight of Derrick's member. I was wrong; he was indeed enough to flip my slut switch. “Yeah, I really like it!” What was I saying at that point?
He turned the camera back to his face. “I'll give it to you, girl. Let's make it happen, alright? Tonight, I'll let you sleep at my place.”
“Okay, I'll see! Let's plan it for when I'm out of work.”
“Yeah, yeah, sounds good. I'll see you, babe.”
“Bye!” The call ended there. I gave myself a few seconds to take a breather. The image of that shaking Black meat had been burned into my memory. If the lack of detail in the camera already made an image too shocking to ignore, I could barely fathom what it would look like in person. My crush was much worse now, because my feelings' sexual tint had been exposed to its fullest extent with that shock. My panties were full, so I had to calm myself down. I got up and put my phone away, attempting my best not to think that cock for the next hours.
I explained to Lindsay I'd try to hook up with him, and that I was being careful about it. She said she was happy I was giving something like that a shot, and no matter my insecurity, I felt glad as well. It was all so strange to me, yet so desirable, like an urge kept pulling me to look at Derrick's conversation during intervals. We added each other on Instagram and began to chat there, planning how we'd meet up.
He said I looked like Snow White, that I'd “stick out too much in the hood”, that I should arrive at the nearest train station and wait for him to show up with his car, because he didn't want to let something happen to me on my way to his house. That was cute and caring, but also reminded me that indeed Derrick lived in a dangerous area, and I should beware. Still, he told me not to worry, that no one would hurt me as long as I was with him. That calmed me down considerably.
Me and Lindsay went back home from work early; the activity at the end of the afternoon was low and the boss chose to close down. I took a shower and stored some stuff in my backpack: tooth brush, soap, deodorant, hair brush, make-up, spare clothes, a pair of pajamas, phone charger, etc. I was planning on sleeping over, which was insane to me, but Lindsay said was typical for hook-ups.
I didn't put on too much make-up. We were planning to have sex, and, based on what I saw, know, and what Lindsay mentioned, I don't feel like Derrick would give me an easy time. Not only that, but he had already seen my at-work face; it couldn't get much worse, so I went with a subtle nude make-up. I placed a bet he was into freckles.
Although it was dark, it had been a sunny day all day, and the stuffy heat was still in the air. I left home with a black petite buttoned crop top that gave a decent outline of my cherry tits, denim hotpants, white sneakers, and a black mask. Carrying my backpack, I began making my way to the subway station. I was going to do it, I could barely believe it!
Near the subway, however, passing by a small local drugstore, I noticed something: I only had small- and normal-sized condoms in my wallet. It was going to be impossible to fit those on Derrick's cock for sure, so there I went to buy the largest condom I could find and not look like a complete whore.
I found it strange, I swear the biggest size I had heard of was called something like XXXL or whatever, but the biggest one I found was just called XL, and I bought that. It was a small store, so maybe they didn't get much on the special size department; the number of available condoms was definitely lacking. Are those the things you think about more often when you start dating a dude with a big dick? Weird first-world problems.
The pharmacist was obviously trained to not make customers feel awkward when buying those sorts of products; she was nearly quiet the whole time, not even a snicker. I placed the XL condom in my wallet, seeing how it towered the older condoms. “Wow. There's no way this one's not going to fit,” I told myself before continuing my way to the subway.
I took the line to the station Derrick gave me directions for. As I said, it wasn't too far away from where I lived, so the change in scenery was quite contrasting, going from a denser, more modern area into an older, poorer suburb. I stepped off the train and made my way up to the gateline, making sure to stay behind it in case something went wrong and I had to go back.
When Derrick sent me a message telling me he was waiting outside, I crossed the turnstile and went over to the exit, ensuring not to make eye contact with strangers. There were some white and mixed-race people there, but the majority was definitely Black now. It felt like I was in a different city, yet it was that close to home.
In front of a white Camaro, Derrick was leaning back, parked by the sidewalk right ahead of the station's exit. He wore a baggy white t-shirt, black jeans, big blue sneakers, and a blue hat. He didn't wear a mask, although I imagine he didn't have much patience to abide by restrictions at all times. Once my eyes met him, my heart fluttered and I felt like I was melting, a bright, dumb smile under my mask. Why did I feel that way for a guy I barely knew?
“What's up, girl?”
“Hi,” my soft voice came out a whimper in my nervousness. It was so soon clear that, despite my height, that man was significantly taller than me. Without hesitating, he reached around me and hugged my waist with one of his toned, hard arms, pulling me closer. Like a ragdoll, I let myself be pulled and moved my face up so that I could look at him inquisitively, vulnerable hands and fingers finding comfort in his broad chest. He pulled my mask down without question and, in less than a second, planted his thick lips against mine, holding me in a deep peck of our lips for what felt like eternity. I was the happiest white girl in the hood.
Our lips parted and we stared at each other for a brief moment before his face turned away to scan the sidewalk, letting go of me and walking around the car. “Get in, we going home already.”
Just like that, I put my mask in my pocket and got in his car. The windows were heavily tinted, and while I could see everything that happened outside, not a soul could see the white girl inside the Camaro. With the trap music playing on the radio, whose volume Derrick lowered for my own sake, they probably thought that was just him bringing another Black girl home to fuck. But nope, it was Snow White. I was in a situation if I've ever seen one.
His place was a cozy, old little suburban home. The porch wasn't doing too well, and the driveway showed signs of severe aging in the concrete. The grass varied from overgrown to colorless and dead, but otherwise, the place still didn't seem abandoned. He unlocked the front door and took me inside, letting me through the short corridor and into his living room, with two couches and a large TV, in turn placed atop an old wooden stand that also had two video game consoles.
Derrick lived by himself, but the beer cans and bottles in diverse corners of the living room signaled he didn't spend most days alone. I sat at the smallest sofa and let my backpack fall off the shoulder and to the side, waiting for him, who went to the kitchen.
I heard him open two cans, and he came back with one beer for him and one for me. “You fine with some beer?” I actually didn't like beer, but took it anyway and nodded with a smile, taking a sip off it. If I was going to taste it off his lips for the night, might as well start drinking it beforehand. “Damn, I can't believe I got such a white babe like you this easy. Shit's unbelievable, you look like a princess,” he peppered me with more compliments, sitting beside me and surrounding me in his arm, not as a mere move, more as a sign of temporary possession. He brought me closer to him, melting me in his heat another time.
Now the clash between my feminine, fruity perfume and his strong masculine scent was more apparent. He took a sip and, noticing I was looking at his face dumbfounded, gave me another kiss, a deeper one than our first. We knew where this was headed, and left the cans on an arm of the couch. Our tongues began to meet each other, and a tingle electrified my pussy thinking of how I was so passionately kissing a dangerous guy whom I encountered for the first time. This had to be wrong, yet I felt such an indescribable urge to keep it going...
We continued kissing almost non-stop for what felt like ten minutes; what started as an introduction transformed into an instinctive show of arousal. Step by step we found a rhythm and our tongues were twirling and dancing, our hot breath blasting each other's face, and my pathetic spit drooling between the two of us, thirsty for that Black stallion. My hands found his chest once more, and his other hand now went straight for my tiny waist, taking it as if he were about to tear me apart. Goosebumps all over me. Derrick was clearly an animal, and despite my fears, I wanted to experience what sort of mess he'd make of me by the end of the night.
There was only so much a girl like me could take before I had to go for the kill. I tried my hardest to not look like a slut for him, and if it were with any other man I had been with at that point, it would be quite easy to do. Not with Derrick, no. I had to touch that Black mamba, feel it through his pants and caress it for him, reward him for being such a fine specimen. I took a hand off his chest and down between his legs, feeling for his tool, which was no sweat to find.
I pat the base of the shaft first, and the true dimension of that thing was evidenced to me, now in person. Instead of the orgasmic shock of before, it intensified the passion of my kiss to nearly unbearable heights. I kissed him so much, and I had his erection growing against my skin, the greatest of sensations my delicate fingers ever had.
Going down the length of the beast, I could make out the veins, inhumanly thick, pulsating, and in need. Then the head, the warmest and most humid spot of his pants. I grabbed onto it through the fabric as if desperate to worship, and in truth I was. I had to do it, but it took a lot of might to separate my tongue from Derrick's. He had to be the one to interrupt our kiss.
“You already getting me hard, huh?”
I didn't smile anymore. My face glistened, body burning to the touch, skin painted scarlet from desire. A thin trail of saliva still connected our mouths, and as I spoke, they completely broke off: “You make me wet.”
“Yeah, I do.” He sat back on the couch and grabbed the TV remote, turning it onto a news channel and then pulling up his t-shirt. “Alright, you ready to suck some dick?”
His dick? I probably wasn't ready for it. Was I going to try it anyway? “Fuck yeah.”
“Good, then get on your knees and get to work. I'mma blow off some steam, had a long day.”
Promptly, without a complaint, I got off the couch and kneeled between his legs, unzipping his pants and beginning to pull down on his jeans and boxers. I never liked sucking dick. I wasn't a fan of the taste or the smell, and how my jaw was sore after. With Derrick, as per usual, I framed this all differently, especially at that point.
Did you hear how he treated me there? He ordered me around, like I had a job to help him blow off steam by sucking his cock while he watches television. I would've scorned at that if it somehow wasn't exactly what I wished for. I wanted to service him, I wanted to make him feel pleasure; by association, it would be pleasure of my own. So when he put me down and ordered me to serve, I submitted and gladly served in a manner I had never done before. There was something happening to me, and I had no idea what it was yet.
Finally, that massive slab was freed, bouncing out of its confines as if it celebrated. Big-dicked men weren't made to wear tight clothing, I concluded that must've been why so many Black men wore baggy pants. It has to be more comfortable when you walk around with such a third leg hanging underneath your body.
My eyes shifted from prize to prize: first, the lustful surprise in my eyes to see that chocolate dick; second, the delight in my eyes to look up at Derrick, who took an instant to admire how my delicate face looked under his obscene meat. It was all the same girth throughout, tapering only as the head begun. The cut foreskin made it so the glans was exposed, so the mushroom shape of the head, with the fleshy flares at the edges, made his dick look even juicier. It was hard to think of going back to all the comparatively tiny white dicks I had in the past after seeing Derrick's giant.
Indeed the head was glazed in pre-cum, but the sticky mess nonetheless sparkled as far back as half his absurd length, better illustrating the protuberant veins that were sure to pop out larger when he fully hardened. The scent assaulted my nostrils, and although at first I winced when I came closer, it seemed to have convinced me to give in fully somehow. It was as if that fertile perfume pierced through my airways and my nervous system, pulling me closer, making the intense, bad smell of a huge dick into the most interesting odor I could come up with.
In a moment of scientific fascination, I grabbed onto it. One full hand couldn't make the whole way around it, so I grasped it with two. I lifted it and looked at its balls hanging quite low off his crotch, reflecting the ceiling light from under the pubic hair. Fuck... how could a pair of balls be so large and full? Since when did balls make me horny? Since Derrick happened to me, that's for sure.
I jerked him off with slow movements, pulling on it, both my hands going back and forth, tip to base, to spread those juices and give him the loudest hand job I could. “This is so amazing...” I cooed quietly, looking back up at my man. He was busy watching TV, so I shut up and got back to serving.
It wasn't a hand job he asked for, but a blowjob. The logistics of sucking on a large cock weren't clear to me yet, although that wasn't a deterrent for me to go for it without a hint of humility. I munched on that huge urethra at his tip, slurped on his fluids and tasted his flavor. The saltiness and sourness made my eyes tighten; I released the tip from my mouth and giggled at my own reaction, looking up. He was busy still.
I gave the tip and the layers of pre-cum around it some thirsty licks and kisses, properly worshipping that dark tower. He was growing bigger, and that made me even more famished for his dick. Now braver than ever before, I confronted the tip again, then pushed my mouth in, wrapping my lips around his wrist-like girth. The characteristic soreness I got after sucking cock for too long appeared as soon as I reached a quarter of the way to completely swallow Derrick. My past experiences were pathetic in comparison, I could swallow every penis I had before with little extra effort.
I couldn't go further, I was reaching some kind of limit. Whether I'd be able to go deeper in the future, I wasn't certain, though I wanted for that to be the case. I never felt more like a woman than when I was kneeling before that Black stud, ruining my jaw to stuff his cock in my face, and I'd feel even more womanly having it stuck deep down my throat. For now, I faultered, releasing his cock and taking a deep breath. I looked up; not surprised, he was still busy, and changed channels now.
I regained my composure and tried again. I'd do anything to reach my body's limit in order to serve that man, and so this time, I tested my tolerance. Disregarding my sensitive gag reflex, I mouthed his tool a second time and began to physically push my head in with my neck, the force shaking my whole body. My eyes were crossed inwards, straining, gazing at the pubes of his crotch as a goal to reach. “GLKRRCH! AGH...” When that broad cock head hit the back of my throat, I uncontrollably coughed, adding to the mess on Derrick's chocolate skin with my own spit and throat foam. I kept on forcing to have him penetrate my throat, yet it felt like something was about to rip inside me, and I had to release him again.
I jerked him off with both my hands, coughing the woes of my irritated, sensitive throat for a while. Afterwards, I breathed heavily to recuperate my strength, and this time, when I turned my eyes upwards, Derrick looked at me visibly amused. I opened my bright smile, degraded by tears running below my eyes.
“You really into that BBC, huh? Looking at you, I'd never have guessed,” he said, lifting a hand and giving me a couple heavy, but bearable, slaps to the face. “Good girl.” When he said that, my heart beat at a thousand miles per hour.
“Thank you,” I replied, jerking his cock at its ridge with twisting motions of my hands. “But what do you mean by ‘BBC’?”
“You don't know what's a BBC?”
“I don't think so.”
“It's what you got in your hands right now. Big black cock, that's what it stands for. Lots of bitches be crazy for it, always hunting for some BBC,” he told me in between laughs, as if girls like me were addicts who so happened to make his dick wet. So that's what Lindsay was, and that's what Derrick implied I was too. I would've been offended if I could deny it. What I was experiencing all of those days and at that very moment, it seemed, was a sign that I was destined to become an addict for this “BBC”. Based on what went through my mind then, I'm sure my addiction had already begun.
“Oh, I had never heard of that.” I followed with a peck of my lips against the tip once more. “Hmm, I think I'm crazy for BBC, then. But I'm also crazy for this BBC's owner.”
“Then keep sucking. After I bust this nut, I'll stretch that white pussy out.” Yes, sir! Back to throating BBC.
No matter the experience I had at that point, it was never easy. No matter how difficult it was, I never backed down. I couldn't. Each taste I had of it, the more eager I was to serve. Just the grandiosity, the superiority of a bull like Derrick got me hungry to be a suck slave. I had grown not only accustomed to the fluids in my mouth, perhaps more in love with it. The flavor of a fertile Black cock is a difficult gourmet dish: it requires a tongue willing to take a challenge, and rewards it with a lifetime of unparalleled pleasures.
My sore jaw had to soldier through a long abuse, I knew it would be hurting for days. Was that anywhere close to how my pussy would feel after he was done with me for the night, though? That was the question. No matter, the pain was a detail at that point, the focus was on slurping Derrick's monster cock. Once close, he looked down at my teary freckled face and caressed my hair, some of which stuck to the sweat collected on my skin.
“Alright, suck it right on that tip,” he commanded, so my lips and tongue gave attention to the head and the urethra, giving it the naughtiest French kiss. “Just like that, yeah. Hmmm.” With my two hands, I continued pumping the rest of his extent, and my eyes now looked straight at his from below. I wanted to see the pleasure in his face, to know I had done my job well with all of the sacrifice.
There were no directions as to where Derrick wanted to cum, and I wasn't in the position to stop a blowjob in order to ask. I assumed that whatever he decided to do, I'd have to take it and enjoy it no matter how tough or humiliating. I didn't mind anyway; I'd allow that man to blast me in any part of my body if it meant pleasing him.
I watched his head lie back on the couch, a sigh escaping his lips. “Aaaah, fuck!” His dick, now fully hard and bigger than ever before, began to pulsate and enlarge under my very hands. My thin fingers could feel the tiniest of movements in the dilating veins, blood running desperately inside. The head twitched in my mouth and a torrent of viscous, sour sperm washed my tongue.
Diligently I suckled and swallowed, like I was being fed a proper meal, which, in all fairness, I'd argue I was. With every load that came there was a ton of gulping to do, but I was able to widen my throat just enough to suck it all, padding my belly with Derrick's seed. As I drank that strong-tasting milk, one of my hands reached down between my legs, feeling my crotch through my shorts. The denim was damp to the touch, and I was sensitive enough to writhe at the lightest caress. I wondered if I'd be able to take that BBC, not only due to its length and width, but also due to how sensitive I became.
Throughout the aftermath, I suckled more softly and ever so closer to the tip, ensuring that every glob and drop of cum leaking out had a home in my belly. My eyes intently watched Derrick, waiting for him to come back to his senses and give me more orders.
His head finally rose, and he said: “Damn! You don't go deep, but you put the effort.”
“Thanks,” I briefly quit my licks and slurps to respond.
“So, you ready to give me that pussy now?”
“Hmm, yeah, absolutely. Let me grab the condom.” I reached to the side over to the pocket in my backpack where I left my wallet.
Derrick laughed at what I said, glancing in mocking disbelief. “You gonna put a condom on me? Really?”
I was starting to become nervous, something I attempted to hide by pulling the XL condom out of the wallet and kneeling back between his legs. “Yeah, I bought the biggest size they had just for you, see?”
“Bitch, that ain't gonna fit on my dick.” I was taken aback by the wording he used at first. If my ex-boyfriend ever called me a bitch, even in jest, I'd berate him, but I didn't see myself in the position to complain about that with Derrick.
“Well... it's the biggest size, it should fit.” I opened the condom and looked at its diameter. It was not close to the girth of Derrick's BBC, although I'd expect condoms to be able to stretch somewhat, isn't it?
“It ain't gonna fit. You know what? Try it. But if it don't fit, you'll let me go raw.”
“No way,” I replied while already trying to roll the rubber out on his log. It took a little bit of effort, but as expected, with patience and stretching, it was covering him well. My pussy was definitely going to need some patience and stretching to fit that beast, so I sympathized with the condom in a twisted sense. “I've never had raw sex with any of my past boyfriends, that's not something I do.”
“And I never did some bitch if it wasn't raw. You ain't gonna be different.” That smug smile in his face made me question whether I really had the authority to do what I was doing, however, I pressed on with my convictions.
I raised my eyebrows and shrugged at his crotch. “See, it fits, so that means we have to have protected sex now, right?”
“Did it? Let me check,” he said, lifting his own cock by the base. It had become half erect after the bottles of cum he had sprayed into my mouth, albeit still hard enough to fuck a pussy right. My eyes crossed to watch as Derrick's tightly rubberized pole stood up right over my face, and then, with every ounce of disrespect in the world, it came down like a hammer onto my face. The slap sound echoed through the living room. He lifted it once more, and I was already wincing in anticipation; that first strike made my brain bounce in my skull from how heavy that package of meat was. This time he held it for a second and made his dick twitch, subtly jumping upwards. The veins strained and that girth engorged out in an instant; the sudden hardening of the flesh ripped the condom through the lower section of the shaft, up to the cock head. I stared in utter shock as BBC destroyed the only condom I had which had a fraction of a chance to cover Derrick, imagining what that would do to a human. Then again, the dick struck my face with the same harshness, and in brief darkness I heard a further rip that flung some piece of rubber somewhere in the room. “It don't seem like it fit. Maybe you bought the wrong size.”
I parted my eyelids and slowly witnessed the state of the remaining condom. It was useless now, with strands dangling under his slick, wet, thickened cock. I rubbed my hands through its remains, pulling it off so easily it felt like a joke. Without noticing, my mouth was slightly agape at the sight. I had no more protests, only observations. “Fuck, not even the biggest condom fits you. This makes no sense.”
“Seems right to me, though,” he continued, now waving his dick left and right, hypnotizing me. It didn't seem he would slap me with it again, I was on the safe side now. “Breana, you know what's the problem? You trying to fight it, but you gotta understand there ain't no fighting me. You already lost. If I say I'mma stretch your pussy raw, you don't talk back to me, you thank me like you did before.”
There was a feedback loop of anger within me, still embroiled in layers of undeniable submissiveness. I couldn't stand how cocky he was, and how wet it made me. I couldn't stand how every time I challenged him, he won in some shape or form. No matter how much I thought I knew how things would end up with Derrick, I was proven to have no control over anything, and he had it all in his hands. Worst of all, something deep in my soul told me that was the natural succession of things. My strategy became to give in, and stop trying to smart my way out of the facts. I knew then, finally, that it would be the first day a cock would go raw into my pussy. I wanted to do it for Derrick; I wanted to do it for BBC.
So I stood up and smiled. “Alright, sorry.” I took off my shoes then pulled off the shorts and panties, a sticky line of juices revealing how much I had creamed myself for Derrick the whole evening through. Exposed now were my pussy's small pink labia, shining heavily from how wet I had gotten. My hole was the messiest, with whipped pussy creams saturated into a white fluid ready to lube that man's impending entry. After, I took off my top and bra, revealing my small cherry breasts, the nipples as rose as my holes, perked up and hard. There was nothing on my body if not my socks.
“Good girl, that's what I'm talking about. Now come sit on my lap, let's get to stretching.”
Obediently I walked over to Derrick and got my feet up on the couch, straddling his wide open legs and squatting down. There was no time for fear now, so I grabbed his cock from behind and pointed its obese head against the sensitive door to my pussy, pushing it in circles so that its fluids mixed with mine in an attempt to ease the effort I'd have to make. A moan escaped me; the deep stabs of pleasure punched my womb from how needy I felt. I had never been that way, not even when masturbating.
With the two of us lined up, I grabbed the shaft firmly in one hand, and stared back at the first man who was about to take me raw. “Derrick?”
He looked at me with the same cocky grin. “Yeah?”
“Thank you so much.” I did as he ordered and followed it by fulfilling my fate: I tried impaling myself on that mast without any concern for my own well-being. I shoved down my hips as hard as I could, at first unable to make it pass through my tight hole. Teeth grinding together, eyes tightened from the intensity, face becoming red, and a long groan of effort were signs of my fight. I wasn't going to stop until at least a bit of it had gone in. “Grrrr, fffuuuuuck!”
Soon, the head plopped in by sliding over all of our slippery fluids, plugging me and forcing the hell out of my hole. Fuck it, I wasn't stopping there. “IT'S IN! Oh my GOD!” I continued losing my mind, then followed it by wiggling my body back and forth a tad until I continued pushing my way down.
Derrick laughed at my effort, but I'm sure he appreciated it. “That's it, almost there. You so tight, bitch, damn!”
With each immense amount of force I put, the deeper that BBC went into me. More and more it felt as if he would reach a limit, perhaps far enough to almost hit my cervix, and with that in mind I hoped that not shoving it all inside me would be enough to satisfy him. “TOO FUCKING BIG! Aaah...” Soon enough, yeah, I hit my limit; not just that, I also began to feel a characteristic warmth build from my crotch, spreading towards the rest of my body relentlessly. “Oh, shit... Derrick, I think I'm cumming!”
“Already?”
Like a BBC-addicted bitch in heat, my legs crumbled into a kneeling position on the couch, that cock going deeper into me despite the tightness. My body automatically pushed against Derrick's bigger and stronger one, and I panted like an animal, burning hotter than I did before. “Aah! Aah! Haah!” My belly sucked in and my thighs shook. The wetness between my legs grew; without noticing, I gushed out squirt as another first in my life, flooding his legs and couch. The way my walls tightened around that fat meat sent signals of pleasure and pain to my system, whereas to Derrick, there was only amusement.
“You gotta be fucking with me, you squirting just from getting my dick in you?”
I couldn't speak, only pant and at times whimper joyously. I took it all the way inside me, that monster of a cock was reshaping my hole at that very moment. I couldn't feel any happier, face buried in Derrick's collar bone, lost in his masculine scent. “Haah, aah...”
“Damn, you really way more into BBC than you seem,” he said, at this point genuinely surprised. So was I, in all honesty, but that was the first day I experienced the pleasures of a Black man like him. Lindsay was very, very right. “Alright, let me take over.” With the way I had broken my pussy in, there wouldn't be any substantial resistance to getting obliterated by his dick, so Derrick pushed me to the side, never sliding out, and placed me with my back to the couch, towering over me. He lifted my dripping legs up and out, holding one of them while his other hand found balance on the back of the couch.
Locked back in that fashion and without any power to do anything besides accept the destruction my pussy was about to sustain, I simply smiled brightly and stared with bedroom eyes at Derrick. Hesitation out the window, he pushed his hips back, then shoved his dick all the way in with a steady motion. “AAAH!” I yelped loudly, yet he didn't stop. My pussy was too sensitive and I knew I would orgasm once again soon, however, there was no more rebelliousness in me to try to fight back. If I came three, six, fifty times on a BBC, I knew it would be worth it based on my first one.
He kept on sliding back and forth, the wet sounds of my stretched pussy becoming louder than the TV. “Yeah, look at you, loving this Black dick.” With every cycle, his tension grew, and so did the roughness of his thrusts. “This white pussy just too tight, damn!” Then, after a slower thrust that made my legs shake some more as I felt that Black mamba snake its way to bulge my belly further, he started to mercilessly slam his crotch against mine, sagging balls slapping my ass each time. “Gotta stretch this pussy out until it ain't tight no more!”
“AAH, FUCK, I'M CUMMING AGAIN!” Once more I tightened and came all around that pole, way harder than the first orgasm. More squirt splashed out, making his veiny ebony skin glisten under the light. No matter how hard my pussy tried to push that monster out, Derrick's savage fucking pushed it all the way back in where it belonged. “OH MY GOD, THIS IS THE BEST!” I had reached a degree where yelling out in dumbed-down moans was normal. For all intents and purposes, I was being fucked silly.
I relaxed again and he was back to worsening his force, wildly poking the depths of my fuck hole. To me it was as if my entire body responded to the movements of that tree trunk in and out. Looking down, I could see that what was happening to my anatomy wasn't normal; my pussy lips gripped as if glued around his veiny flesh, despite all the natural lube, pulling out quite far whenever he thrust back, and then being dick punched all the way in with a thrust forward. I was fascinated, mouth agape once more, at the sight of what a Black bull could do to my body, something unlike anything I thought possible.
Then, without warning, my body writhed and convulsed into another BBC-induced orgasm. My moans filled the house like before: “AAAH, I CAN'T STOP CUMMING OM THIS DICK!”
“Keep singing how good that dick is, come on!”
“THIS DICK IS THE BEST!” Another toe-curling, thigh-shaking, eye-crossing orgasm possessed me. My lips formed a small O, from where drool oozed out as my mind went blank, occupied solely with the extreme pleasure of cumming on Derrick's massive rod.
Seeing me defeated on his couch, Derrick was satisfied. Now he would claim his final reward by busting a nut inside my unprotected pussy. “Fuck, I'mma bust a nut in you now! Gonna fill you to the brim!”
“YES! YES! PLEAAASE!” I moaned back, actual exasperation in my flushed face. “PLEASE, FILL ME TO THE BRIM WITH CUM!” It was going to be my first time having semen directly into my pussy, without a barrier to protect my womb from it, and right there I couldn't desire anything other than Derrick's nut washing my insides.
“I'mma give you what you want!” With a final thrust, his cock deeply planted load, after load, after load, after giant load of glue-like spunk into me. Whether I was being inseminated or not, I couldn't tell, though I could tell I was full when a thick and warm liquid oozed through the stretched corners of my pussy lips, bubbling out at times. “Shiiiit, this pussy sucking my balls dry!”
“This feels so good, I never knew. This really is the best,” I said, more serene than my exasperated shouting from before, seeing that I had gotten what I wanted. I was claimed by Derrick's cum, my walls probably painted on the inside. Our eyes met while his cock continued to twitch, depositing leftover drops of cum. His face approached mine and we tongue kissed again, just like that, attached against each other after such intense sex.
Our kiss after we were done wasn't as hungry as before, nonetheless, I could feel the tingle in me, the butterflies in my stomach that told me how I had been radically changed by that man and the experience he offered me. What once seemed like a disrespectful act, like it would be from any other guy, now seemed like a gift. I had been gifted a BBC from a true Black stallion, and everything made sense now. I had to experience that in order to feel complete.
When our kiss broke, we stared a bit more. From my gut feeling, I let the words slip out of the tip of my tongue: “I love you.” In that moment I didn't mind confusing sex with love. At least with that kind of man, I'm fairly certain there can be no difference after you have been made a physical and mental mess.
He responded with a chuckle and another “good girl, good girl,” followed by a peck on the lips. He couldn't love me like I loved him, I understood, since he had other girls to please him. I was just another one of his BBC-obsessed whores, and fortunately for me, I was comfortable with that.
We spent the night enjoying each other, drinking beer, watching TV while I jerked him off or sucked him. My jaw hurt a lot at the end of the night, and it was all worth it. One of the best parts was lying together with him in his bed, where we fucked some more, piling up further orgasms, making out, and then resting before sleep.
Derrick wanted to show me off to his friends. I imagined breaking white girls with his Black cock was a good brag among his circles, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to have my face on his socials as one of his booty calls, so I pushed my head against his naked chest when he took the selfie, hiding my identity partially. We were both sweaty and my hair was a total mess; no one would question that we spent the night screwing like rabbits.
Then we spooned under the sheets and slept soundly. If I had any dreams, they were probably the sweetest I had ever had, with my jaw sore, my pussy busted and padded with cum, and my brain clouded with the memory of that BBC's smell and taste. Snow White now wanted to stay in the hood.
