Chapter I. The Step-father
I was understandably nervous about meeting my fiancée’s step-father. Julie spoke of him with adulation. By all accounts he was a dynamic, wildly successful man. Ambrose Grant had played professional football for several years, then founded a real estate firm when injuries forced him to retire from the sport. At 50, he was worth several million dollars, and owned multiple properties, including the building that housed his downtown firm. He raised Julie almost by himself, after her mother, his second wife, died when Julie was still in grade school. He had two sons from his first marriage, but made Julie a welcome part of the ******.
Although Julie and I were only 20, still in college, and only together for six months, I proposed rather hurriedly, mostly out of fear that she might realize just how of my league she actually was. Where she was outgoing and vivacious, the kind of woman who turned heads wherever she went, I was rather shy and introverted, unassertive and unworldly. The single thing Julie appeared reticent about was sex: she insisted that she was saving herself for marriage. We kissed, we cuddled, she even allowed me to dry hump her lovely thighs through our clothing, but we refrained from copulation of any kind. I respected her convictions, as they only served to make me respect and desire her more. When she accepted my proposal, she explained it was with the understanding that we would need her step-father's consent.
We took the private elevator to his twentieth-floor offices, and were ushered into his plush work suite by a male secretary. Despite everything Julie had told me about her much-loved step-father, Ambrose Grant, the one thing she failed to mention is that he was a black man. At well over six-feet-tall, Julie's step-father was every bit as imposing, even intimidating, as he was physically impressive. Although it had been two decades since he had last played professional football, he remained powerfully built, with broad shoulders, an expansive chest, and thick arms. His head was clean-shaven, his beard full and dark, his three-piece suit impeccably well-tailored. He stood from his desk, and held his arms out to Julie. "Daddy!" she called, throwing herself into his brawny embrace.
He leaned in and kissed my fiancée on the mouth. I was momentarily taken aback by that given that my own ****** was not very demonstrative. The kiss lingered for longer than made me comfortable, and, to my shock, when Mr. Grant raised his mouth from Julie's his tongue appeared to have been out. He glanced at me with dark eyes, and held out his hand. "And this must be your young man. Tommy is it?"
Somewhat flustered, I took his hand, which felt about twice the size of my own. "Uh, Tim, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. Julie has told me so much about you." As he shook my hand, he kept his other arm wrapped around his ********'s waist.
"Ah, only the good, I hope," he joked, his voice deep and resonant. I felt as though he were sizing me up, laying bare my weaknesses, in that discerning gaze. "So, you're the one who wants to steal Julie from the bosom of her ******, eh?" he chuckled. "I have to say, you're not quite what I was expecting."
Julie giggled. "Oh, Daddy," she said. "Be nice."
I felt myself flush. "Well, sir, Mr. Grant, sir, I, I, I love your ********, I love Julie very much. I know my, um, prospects, aren't...I'm still in school, you see, but I..."
Ambrose Grant burst out laughing. "Calm down, son. I'm just playing with you. Julie wants you, and that's good enough for me. As for your prospects, well, I'm sure we can find a place for you here at the firm."
"Oh," I exclaimed, not prepared for a job offer. "I appreciate that Mr. Grant, but I'm, well, I'm studying to be a social worker, and..."
"Nonsense," he replied with a wave of his hand. "Social work pays shit. You'll work here at the firm, just like my own boys. I won't brook any disagreement." He opened a lacquered box on his desk, withdrawing two thick, black cigars. "Do you smoke, boy?" he asked. I shook my head no. "Well, a cigar virgin, eh? Time to pop that cherry, son. These here are Cohiba Black Supremos from the Dominican Republican, a fine cigar, rich and spicy," he explained as he cut the caps from each cigar, handing one to me. I placed it between my lips uncertainly, as he held the blue flame of a stainless-steel desk lighter to the end. I sputtered and coughed as the smoke swirled around me, my eyes watering.
"That's a man's smoke," the domineering black man explained, as he turned his own cigar between his lips, moving the flame from my cigar to his. "You'll learn to appreciate it, son." Leaning against the front of his large mahogany desk, he drew the smoke into his mouth, clearly savoring the taste. I continued to puff awkwardly, wishing that I had had the wherewithal to refuse the cigar. "Julie," he said, "you sexy little slut, you know where you belong when Daddy's enjoying his smoke." Julie chuckled, and to my disbelieving eyes, sank to her knees in front of her step-father's groin.
"What the hell...?" I exclaimed.
"Relax, son," Ambrose Grant explained. "There's nothing like the twin pleasures of a good cigar and good head." He winked at me. "But I guess you wouldn't know about that, would you, Timmy, being a virgin to both cigars and pussy." My mouth hung agape as I watched Julie nonchalantly lower the fly of her step-father's slacks and reach inside. I moved forward to pull her away, but was met with Mr. Grant's large, black fist in my face. He wore several heavy, gold rings on his fingers that smashed into my left cheek. "Stay in your goddamn lane, faggot!" he yelled.
Julie turned in time to see me fall back flat on my ass. She snickered. "Oh, Tim, sweetie," she sighed, "don't give Daddy a hard time about it. He just always likes a blowjob when he's enjoying a cigar." With that, my beautiful fiancée’s small, alabaster hand fished her step-father's semi-erect penis out of his slacks. His sex organ was as black as charcoal, obscenely thick, grotesque. I wanted to vomit as I witnessed the woman that I loved welcome the ebony monstrosity past her soft, pink lips. Her step-father kept his gaze on me the entire time, his Cohiba held in his own sneering mouth. He motioned to my cigar, lying on the floor where it had dropped when he slugged me. "Don't waste a cigar as fine as that, son," he said to me as if there were nothing unusual or perverse about my fiancée, his own step-********, bobbing on his horror of a cock. "Pick it up and smoke it." When I hesitated, he roared, "Pick up that fucking cigar, you little weak, white faggot, or I'll beat your sorry ass!" Terrified, I complied.
Wrapping a large, meaty hand in Julie's blonde locks, Mr. Grant began forcing her deeper on his bloated prong. "Do me a favor, Timmy," he said, as if all this were perfectly normal. "I have a fine Balvenie scotch in the crystal decanter on the bar against the wall. Fix me a glass. Neat." I did not hesitate this time, fearing that he might actually beat me without a second thought. With my Cohiba in hand, I scurried across the room to the bar, all the while hearing the unnerving sound of Julie, her head buried in his crotch, slurping away.
My hand shaking, I poured a glass of the amber-colored scotch as instructed. Vaguely recalling the two fingers rule, I filled the glass only about a third. My knees quivering, my eyes downcast, I held the drink out to my fiancée’s step-father, wondering silently if he might actually be a psychopath.
"There's a good boy." Mr. Grant acknowledged my obedience the way one might a dog's. He sniffed at the liquor, inhaling its fragrant scent with appreciation. "Keep sucking, dick ditch," he snarled crudely at his step-********. Grinning at me, he confided, "She's a fine cocksucker, this one. Every bit as good as her whore of a mother. I had to train her up right, of course, but she really took to it, the way a fucking duck takes to water. Am I right, sweetheart?"
Julie looked up at her step-father's eyes, her mouth stuffed with his prick, nodding as she sucked. "Mm-mmff," she agreed. Fixing me with his steely gaze, Ambrose Grant continued, "For my little girl's sake, son, I am sincere in welcoming you to our ****** and offering you a place in my company. In return, you have to promise to take good care of the dumb little dick sow, and to not interfere with the, let's say, special relationship she and I share. She needs someone like you, boy, one who will treat her with the respect that cock pigs like her so seldom get. Can you do that, white boy? Can you promise to love and care for my baby girl?"
Julie momentarily plucked her mouth off her step-father's leaking black python. "Please, please, please, Timmy? I love you so very much!"
Standing before them, the extinguished cigar in my hand, I nodded, terrified of losing the love of my life, however bizarre and deviant the situation before me. "I love you, too, Julie," I assured her. "I love you so much. I do, I want to marry you." Once we were wed, I considered, maybe I will be able to rescue her from whatever perverse hold her step-father has on her.
Mr. Grant took a deep swallow of the scotch. "Now, that is what I like to hear, son," he said. "Hey, why don't you kneel beside my sweet Julie, and watch her work, give you an idea what you've been missing." Placing his cigar between his teeth, he smiled, puffing contentedly, as he watched me take my place beside my fiancée, simultaneously revolted and mesmerized at the sight of her ministering to his hideous behemoth of a cock. From this vantage, I could see the spiderweb of thick veins that crisscrossed the obsidian shaft, the balls plump with expectant semen, the translucent ooze that coated the lips that I had so often kissed. The musky odor of the black businessman's crotch was potent, heady. I had never found myself in such proximity to another man's erect member before, and found myself disquieted by the experience. I watched as the very girl who had told me she was saving herself for marriage sucked hungrily at the ebony stalk. My own cock had grown hard in my khakis.
"Hmm, I'm getting ready to blow, baby whore," Mr. Grant proclaimed, forcing himself deeper down his step-********'s throat. "Gonna feed you my nut, you dumb cunt!"
Suddenly, Mr. Grant withdrew his prong from Julie’s cock-battered mouth, and with a few strokes, plastered her sweet, eager face with his thick, copious nut. He was a man who seemed to relish an orgasm in much the same way that he appreciated an expensive cigar and a fine scotch, as his just and proper dessert. “Fuck, yeah,” he exclaimed, his breath heavy, raspy. “My sweet baby looks so gorgeous with a man’s load spackling that pretty face.” Julie smiled, running her tongue over her lips to catch a taste of her step-father’s foul cockslop. Mr. Grant fished his cell out of his pocket and snapped a couple of photos of Julie looking up at him, her face lathered with his sperm.
“Well, damn, look at what I’ve gone and done,” he muttered. “What an unholy mess. I can’t have my baby going outside looking like such a cum whore. What will people think? Timmy, would you be so thoughtful as to clean the nut off my ********’s face?” I began to stand in order to fetch a towel or napkin, but felt my future father-in-law’s hand on the top of my head, holding me down. “You misunderstand, white boy,” he scolded me. “I want you to clean Julie’s face…with your faggot tongue.”
I was aghast. “Pl-please, sir, no, don’t make me--,” I stammered, only to be met with the crack of Mr. Grant’s backhand hard against my face. “Don’t. You. Ever. Goddamn ever! Speak the word no to me, you goddamn little white faggot,” he shouted. “Now, get that faggot tongue out and clean that slop off my ********’s whore face!” I whimpered, but leaned in towards Julie’s cum-slathered visage. Hesitantly, I stuck my tongue out, and ran it along her glistening cheek. I had never even tasted my own semen before, and now here I was licking up the frothy cum of my girlfriend’s step-father. I felt like such a feeble, useless wimp. If I couldn’t stand-up for myself against this brute’s bullying and abuse, how was I ever going to protect Julie?
Were I not so intimidated by Mr. Grant’s mere presence, by his power, I would have bolted out of his office right then. With him towering over me, however, drawing on his cigar as he looked down on us, I complied with his instruction, and lapped his nut off my fiancée’s loving face. I wanted to balk at the strong, pungent flavor of his seed, but feared that the threat of a beating was very real. As I slurped the cum off Julie’s face, I attempted to gulp it down quickly, bypassing my taste buds, but Julie stuck her tongue in my mouth, passing globs of her step-father’s sperm directly into my mouth, mixing it with her saliva, creating a foaming mess of his thick jelly. I dry-heaved, only to be rewarded with a sharp and sudden cuff to my forehead. “Don’t gag on my junk, you fuckin’ weak-ass cracker!” Mr. Grant ordered. “You savor that shit, boy.”
After several minutes, Julie leaned back, smiling contentedly, her face sheening cleanly. Mr. Grant smacked his broad-shafted truncheon of a cock into the palm of his open hand. “Good job, faggot,” he said. “Now, do me.”
I looked at him imploringly. “Please, sir, please. I’m not gay, I’m not. I’ve never sucked a dick before. Please, don’t make me.”
“You don’t expect me to put this dick back in my slacks all sticky with sperm and spit, do you, boy?” he asked. “These pants cost more than you’ll make in a month. If you want to marry my ********, you need to prove to me that you understand the value of money, that you appreciate how hard I work for the things I have. Now, suck my fuckin’ dick clean!”
Honestly, marrying Julie was the furthest thing from my mind at that moment. Surviving the afternoon was my single priority. To that end, I took her step-father’s semi-flaccid cock in my hand, and opened my mouth. Uncircumcised, the black dick felt fat and rubbery between my lips. I slurped on it, trying to suck down any clumps of his nut that clung to the shaft or had gotten under the meaty foreskin. My own prick, shamefully erect while watching Julie suck on Mr. Grant’s prong, shriveled in abject humiliation as I licked at the same obscenely large fuck tool. "Ah, that's it, white boy; you are smoking my black dick better than you smoked that cigar, I got to tell you," the black tycoon teased. Julie giggled.
After what felt like an excruciating eternity, Mr. Grant kneed me away from his dick. “Christ, faggot, I know you’re enjoying my meat,” he taunted me, “but I don’t have time for another nut right now. I’ve got work to do.” I staggered to my feet, Julie beside me, beaming happily, as if everything that had just unfolded were perfectly normal. The manner in which her step-father moved so rapidly from polite and solicitous to cruel and demeaning, then back again, made me think that he might indeed be a sociopath.
Stuffing his dick back in his slacks, Julie’s step-father resumed his seat behind his desk. “Now, I don’t want you kids to worry about the wedding plans,” he said genially, relighting his Cohiba. “I’m thinking a June wedding. That gives us three months. I’ll have my people make all the arrangements. In the meantime, son, I think it best if you withdraw from that little college you’re in, whatever it is, and we’ll hook you up with an internship here. I think you have a lot to…offer this firm.” Enveloped in a haze of bluish smoke, he looked at me expectantly.
“Uh, th-thank you, sir,” I stammered, unsure what he required of me.
“Timmy. Please, son, don’t be so goddamn formal,” he chuckled. “Call me…***.”
“Thank you…***.”
Next: Chapter II - The Minister
I was understandably nervous about meeting my fiancée’s step-father. Julie spoke of him with adulation. By all accounts he was a dynamic, wildly successful man. Ambrose Grant had played professional football for several years, then founded a real estate firm when injuries forced him to retire from the sport. At 50, he was worth several million dollars, and owned multiple properties, including the building that housed his downtown firm. He raised Julie almost by himself, after her mother, his second wife, died when Julie was still in grade school. He had two sons from his first marriage, but made Julie a welcome part of the ******.
Although Julie and I were only 20, still in college, and only together for six months, I proposed rather hurriedly, mostly out of fear that she might realize just how of my league she actually was. Where she was outgoing and vivacious, the kind of woman who turned heads wherever she went, I was rather shy and introverted, unassertive and unworldly. The single thing Julie appeared reticent about was sex: she insisted that she was saving herself for marriage. We kissed, we cuddled, she even allowed me to dry hump her lovely thighs through our clothing, but we refrained from copulation of any kind. I respected her convictions, as they only served to make me respect and desire her more. When she accepted my proposal, she explained it was with the understanding that we would need her step-father's consent.
We took the private elevator to his twentieth-floor offices, and were ushered into his plush work suite by a male secretary. Despite everything Julie had told me about her much-loved step-father, Ambrose Grant, the one thing she failed to mention is that he was a black man. At well over six-feet-tall, Julie's step-father was every bit as imposing, even intimidating, as he was physically impressive. Although it had been two decades since he had last played professional football, he remained powerfully built, with broad shoulders, an expansive chest, and thick arms. His head was clean-shaven, his beard full and dark, his three-piece suit impeccably well-tailored. He stood from his desk, and held his arms out to Julie. "Daddy!" she called, throwing herself into his brawny embrace.
He leaned in and kissed my fiancée on the mouth. I was momentarily taken aback by that given that my own ****** was not very demonstrative. The kiss lingered for longer than made me comfortable, and, to my shock, when Mr. Grant raised his mouth from Julie's his tongue appeared to have been out. He glanced at me with dark eyes, and held out his hand. "And this must be your young man. Tommy is it?"
Somewhat flustered, I took his hand, which felt about twice the size of my own. "Uh, Tim, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. Julie has told me so much about you." As he shook my hand, he kept his other arm wrapped around his ********'s waist.
"Ah, only the good, I hope," he joked, his voice deep and resonant. I felt as though he were sizing me up, laying bare my weaknesses, in that discerning gaze. "So, you're the one who wants to steal Julie from the bosom of her ******, eh?" he chuckled. "I have to say, you're not quite what I was expecting."
Julie giggled. "Oh, Daddy," she said. "Be nice."
I felt myself flush. "Well, sir, Mr. Grant, sir, I, I, I love your ********, I love Julie very much. I know my, um, prospects, aren't...I'm still in school, you see, but I..."
Ambrose Grant burst out laughing. "Calm down, son. I'm just playing with you. Julie wants you, and that's good enough for me. As for your prospects, well, I'm sure we can find a place for you here at the firm."
"Oh," I exclaimed, not prepared for a job offer. "I appreciate that Mr. Grant, but I'm, well, I'm studying to be a social worker, and..."
"Nonsense," he replied with a wave of his hand. "Social work pays shit. You'll work here at the firm, just like my own boys. I won't brook any disagreement." He opened a lacquered box on his desk, withdrawing two thick, black cigars. "Do you smoke, boy?" he asked. I shook my head no. "Well, a cigar virgin, eh? Time to pop that cherry, son. These here are Cohiba Black Supremos from the Dominican Republican, a fine cigar, rich and spicy," he explained as he cut the caps from each cigar, handing one to me. I placed it between my lips uncertainly, as he held the blue flame of a stainless-steel desk lighter to the end. I sputtered and coughed as the smoke swirled around me, my eyes watering.
"That's a man's smoke," the domineering black man explained, as he turned his own cigar between his lips, moving the flame from my cigar to his. "You'll learn to appreciate it, son." Leaning against the front of his large mahogany desk, he drew the smoke into his mouth, clearly savoring the taste. I continued to puff awkwardly, wishing that I had had the wherewithal to refuse the cigar. "Julie," he said, "you sexy little slut, you know where you belong when Daddy's enjoying his smoke." Julie chuckled, and to my disbelieving eyes, sank to her knees in front of her step-father's groin.
"What the hell...?" I exclaimed.
"Relax, son," Ambrose Grant explained. "There's nothing like the twin pleasures of a good cigar and good head." He winked at me. "But I guess you wouldn't know about that, would you, Timmy, being a virgin to both cigars and pussy." My mouth hung agape as I watched Julie nonchalantly lower the fly of her step-father's slacks and reach inside. I moved forward to pull her away, but was met with Mr. Grant's large, black fist in my face. He wore several heavy, gold rings on his fingers that smashed into my left cheek. "Stay in your goddamn lane, faggot!" he yelled.
Julie turned in time to see me fall back flat on my ass. She snickered. "Oh, Tim, sweetie," she sighed, "don't give Daddy a hard time about it. He just always likes a blowjob when he's enjoying a cigar." With that, my beautiful fiancée’s small, alabaster hand fished her step-father's semi-erect penis out of his slacks. His sex organ was as black as charcoal, obscenely thick, grotesque. I wanted to vomit as I witnessed the woman that I loved welcome the ebony monstrosity past her soft, pink lips. Her step-father kept his gaze on me the entire time, his Cohiba held in his own sneering mouth. He motioned to my cigar, lying on the floor where it had dropped when he slugged me. "Don't waste a cigar as fine as that, son," he said to me as if there were nothing unusual or perverse about my fiancée, his own step-********, bobbing on his horror of a cock. "Pick it up and smoke it." When I hesitated, he roared, "Pick up that fucking cigar, you little weak, white faggot, or I'll beat your sorry ass!" Terrified, I complied.
Wrapping a large, meaty hand in Julie's blonde locks, Mr. Grant began forcing her deeper on his bloated prong. "Do me a favor, Timmy," he said, as if all this were perfectly normal. "I have a fine Balvenie scotch in the crystal decanter on the bar against the wall. Fix me a glass. Neat." I did not hesitate this time, fearing that he might actually beat me without a second thought. With my Cohiba in hand, I scurried across the room to the bar, all the while hearing the unnerving sound of Julie, her head buried in his crotch, slurping away.
My hand shaking, I poured a glass of the amber-colored scotch as instructed. Vaguely recalling the two fingers rule, I filled the glass only about a third. My knees quivering, my eyes downcast, I held the drink out to my fiancée’s step-father, wondering silently if he might actually be a psychopath.
"There's a good boy." Mr. Grant acknowledged my obedience the way one might a dog's. He sniffed at the liquor, inhaling its fragrant scent with appreciation. "Keep sucking, dick ditch," he snarled crudely at his step-********. Grinning at me, he confided, "She's a fine cocksucker, this one. Every bit as good as her whore of a mother. I had to train her up right, of course, but she really took to it, the way a fucking duck takes to water. Am I right, sweetheart?"
Julie looked up at her step-father's eyes, her mouth stuffed with his prick, nodding as she sucked. "Mm-mmff," she agreed. Fixing me with his steely gaze, Ambrose Grant continued, "For my little girl's sake, son, I am sincere in welcoming you to our ****** and offering you a place in my company. In return, you have to promise to take good care of the dumb little dick sow, and to not interfere with the, let's say, special relationship she and I share. She needs someone like you, boy, one who will treat her with the respect that cock pigs like her so seldom get. Can you do that, white boy? Can you promise to love and care for my baby girl?"
Julie momentarily plucked her mouth off her step-father's leaking black python. "Please, please, please, Timmy? I love you so very much!"
Standing before them, the extinguished cigar in my hand, I nodded, terrified of losing the love of my life, however bizarre and deviant the situation before me. "I love you, too, Julie," I assured her. "I love you so much. I do, I want to marry you." Once we were wed, I considered, maybe I will be able to rescue her from whatever perverse hold her step-father has on her.
Mr. Grant took a deep swallow of the scotch. "Now, that is what I like to hear, son," he said. "Hey, why don't you kneel beside my sweet Julie, and watch her work, give you an idea what you've been missing." Placing his cigar between his teeth, he smiled, puffing contentedly, as he watched me take my place beside my fiancée, simultaneously revolted and mesmerized at the sight of her ministering to his hideous behemoth of a cock. From this vantage, I could see the spiderweb of thick veins that crisscrossed the obsidian shaft, the balls plump with expectant semen, the translucent ooze that coated the lips that I had so often kissed. The musky odor of the black businessman's crotch was potent, heady. I had never found myself in such proximity to another man's erect member before, and found myself disquieted by the experience. I watched as the very girl who had told me she was saving herself for marriage sucked hungrily at the ebony stalk. My own cock had grown hard in my khakis.
"Hmm, I'm getting ready to blow, baby whore," Mr. Grant proclaimed, forcing himself deeper down his step-********'s throat. "Gonna feed you my nut, you dumb cunt!"
Suddenly, Mr. Grant withdrew his prong from Julie’s cock-battered mouth, and with a few strokes, plastered her sweet, eager face with his thick, copious nut. He was a man who seemed to relish an orgasm in much the same way that he appreciated an expensive cigar and a fine scotch, as his just and proper dessert. “Fuck, yeah,” he exclaimed, his breath heavy, raspy. “My sweet baby looks so gorgeous with a man’s load spackling that pretty face.” Julie smiled, running her tongue over her lips to catch a taste of her step-father’s foul cockslop. Mr. Grant fished his cell out of his pocket and snapped a couple of photos of Julie looking up at him, her face lathered with his sperm.
“Well, damn, look at what I’ve gone and done,” he muttered. “What an unholy mess. I can’t have my baby going outside looking like such a cum whore. What will people think? Timmy, would you be so thoughtful as to clean the nut off my ********’s face?” I began to stand in order to fetch a towel or napkin, but felt my future father-in-law’s hand on the top of my head, holding me down. “You misunderstand, white boy,” he scolded me. “I want you to clean Julie’s face…with your faggot tongue.”
I was aghast. “Pl-please, sir, no, don’t make me--,” I stammered, only to be met with the crack of Mr. Grant’s backhand hard against my face. “Don’t. You. Ever. Goddamn ever! Speak the word no to me, you goddamn little white faggot,” he shouted. “Now, get that faggot tongue out and clean that slop off my ********’s whore face!” I whimpered, but leaned in towards Julie’s cum-slathered visage. Hesitantly, I stuck my tongue out, and ran it along her glistening cheek. I had never even tasted my own semen before, and now here I was licking up the frothy cum of my girlfriend’s step-father. I felt like such a feeble, useless wimp. If I couldn’t stand-up for myself against this brute’s bullying and abuse, how was I ever going to protect Julie?
Were I not so intimidated by Mr. Grant’s mere presence, by his power, I would have bolted out of his office right then. With him towering over me, however, drawing on his cigar as he looked down on us, I complied with his instruction, and lapped his nut off my fiancée’s loving face. I wanted to balk at the strong, pungent flavor of his seed, but feared that the threat of a beating was very real. As I slurped the cum off Julie’s face, I attempted to gulp it down quickly, bypassing my taste buds, but Julie stuck her tongue in my mouth, passing globs of her step-father’s sperm directly into my mouth, mixing it with her saliva, creating a foaming mess of his thick jelly. I dry-heaved, only to be rewarded with a sharp and sudden cuff to my forehead. “Don’t gag on my junk, you fuckin’ weak-ass cracker!” Mr. Grant ordered. “You savor that shit, boy.”
After several minutes, Julie leaned back, smiling contentedly, her face sheening cleanly. Mr. Grant smacked his broad-shafted truncheon of a cock into the palm of his open hand. “Good job, faggot,” he said. “Now, do me.”
I looked at him imploringly. “Please, sir, please. I’m not gay, I’m not. I’ve never sucked a dick before. Please, don’t make me.”
“You don’t expect me to put this dick back in my slacks all sticky with sperm and spit, do you, boy?” he asked. “These pants cost more than you’ll make in a month. If you want to marry my ********, you need to prove to me that you understand the value of money, that you appreciate how hard I work for the things I have. Now, suck my fuckin’ dick clean!”
Honestly, marrying Julie was the furthest thing from my mind at that moment. Surviving the afternoon was my single priority. To that end, I took her step-father’s semi-flaccid cock in my hand, and opened my mouth. Uncircumcised, the black dick felt fat and rubbery between my lips. I slurped on it, trying to suck down any clumps of his nut that clung to the shaft or had gotten under the meaty foreskin. My own prick, shamefully erect while watching Julie suck on Mr. Grant’s prong, shriveled in abject humiliation as I licked at the same obscenely large fuck tool. "Ah, that's it, white boy; you are smoking my black dick better than you smoked that cigar, I got to tell you," the black tycoon teased. Julie giggled.
After what felt like an excruciating eternity, Mr. Grant kneed me away from his dick. “Christ, faggot, I know you’re enjoying my meat,” he taunted me, “but I don’t have time for another nut right now. I’ve got work to do.” I staggered to my feet, Julie beside me, beaming happily, as if everything that had just unfolded were perfectly normal. The manner in which her step-father moved so rapidly from polite and solicitous to cruel and demeaning, then back again, made me think that he might indeed be a sociopath.
Stuffing his dick back in his slacks, Julie’s step-father resumed his seat behind his desk. “Now, I don’t want you kids to worry about the wedding plans,” he said genially, relighting his Cohiba. “I’m thinking a June wedding. That gives us three months. I’ll have my people make all the arrangements. In the meantime, son, I think it best if you withdraw from that little college you’re in, whatever it is, and we’ll hook you up with an internship here. I think you have a lot to…offer this firm.” Enveloped in a haze of bluish smoke, he looked at me expectantly.
“Uh, th-thank you, sir,” I stammered, unsure what he required of me.
“Timmy. Please, son, don’t be so goddamn formal,” he chuckled. “Call me…***.”
“Thank you…***.”
Next: Chapter II - The Minister
