The first time I saw him, I knew I was done for. Big, dark, and built like he owned the whole damn block, Marcus walked into the bar like the world already bent for him. I was just some pale, skinny white guy nursing a beer, pretending I wasnt staring at every thick inch of him. He caught me looking, smirked, and that was it. Ten minutes later I was in his car, knees shaking, already hard just from the way he told me to get in.
White boys like you dont talk much, he said, voice low and rough. You just open up and take it.
He wasnt wrong. By the time we reached his place, my shirt was off and his hand was down my pants, squeezing my dick like he owned it too. Marcus was huge everywherebroad shoulders, heavy arms, and that fat black cock already pushing against his jeans. He shoved me to my knees the second the door closed.
Suck it, fag, he growled. I didnt need telling twice. I unzipped him and that thick, veiny dick sprang out, dark and heavy, the head already shiny. I wrapped my lips around it and moaned like the slut I was. He tasted salty and strong, and he didnt go easy. He grabbed my head with both hands and fucked my throat deep, making me gag and drool all over myself while he laughed.
Yeah, thats right. White fags were made for black dick. Take it all.
I choked and swallowed, eyes watering, but I didnt pull back. My own cock was leaking in my pants, untouched. Marcus used my mouth until he was rock hard and dripping, then yanked me up and bent me over the couch. He ripped my jeans down and spat on my hole, rubbing that massive head against it.
Beg for it, he ordered.
Please, I gasped. Please fuck me. I need that black dick.
He slammed in without warning. One hard thrust and he was balls-deep, stretching me wide open. I cried out, pain and pleasure mixing so fast I couldnt tell them apart. Marcus didnt slow down. He pounded me like he was trying to break me, hips slapping loud against my ass, that thick cock rearranging my guts with every stroke.
Take it, white boy. This is what you were born for. Black men rule, and you fags just open up and serve.
He was right. Every brutal thrust proved it. My hole clenched around him, greedy for more, while he called me every filthy name he could think of. Fag. Slut. White bitch. I came without touching myself, shooting all over the couch while he kept fucking me through it. Marcus lasted forever, using me in every position he wantedon my back with my legs spread, on all fours getting spanked, even riding him while he told me how pathetic and happy I looked.
When he finally unloaded, it was deep inside me, hot and thick, filling me until it leaked out around his cock. He pulled out and made me lick him clean, then shoved two fingers back in my sloppy hole.
Clean this up too, he said. I did, sucking his fingers while he watched with that same smirk.
After that night I was hooked. Every story on the blog after that came from real nights just like itdifferent black men, same result. They ruled. I submitted. And every time I wrote it down, I got hard all over again remembering how good it felt to be nothing but a hole for them.
