I answered the ad thinking it was easy cash for straight scenes. The guy on the phone said hot girls, big budgets, full-length movies. I showed up at the warehouse studio with my ID and a hard-on ready for whatever. Instead, Marcus was waiting. Six-foot-four, black as night, shoulders like a linebacker and a dick already half-hard in his sweatpants. He smiled like he knew something I didn't.
"New guy," he said, voice low and rough. "They told you the real deal yet?"
Before I could answer, the director cut in. "Change of plans. You two. Full scene. No script, just fuck. Camera's rolling in ten."
I tried to back out. Marcus stepped closer, grabbed my wrist and pressed my palm against his thick cock. It jumped under my hand, heavy and hot. "You want the money or not? It's this or nothing."
They had me cornered. Lights went up. Marcus shoved me to my knees right there on the cheap mattress. "Open up, pretty boy." His voice was pure command. I hesitated and he slapped my cheek with that heavy black dick, leaving a wet streak. "Suck it like you mean it or we start over."
I opened my mouth. The head stretched my lips wide, salty and thick. Marcus pushed straight to the back of my throat on the first thrust. I gagged, eyes watering, but he held my head and fucked my face slow and deep. Spit ran down my chin onto the floor. The camera guy zoomed in close, catching every sloppy sound.
"Look at that white boy choking on black meat," Marcus growled for the mic. He pulled out, strings of spit connecting us, then rammed back in harder. My jaw ached. My own cock was traitorously stiff in my jeans.
They stripped me next. Marcus bent me over the edge of the bed and spread my ass with both hands. "Virgin hole. Gonna open you up nice." He spat right on my hole and rubbed the head of his cock against it. No lube beyond that. He pushed.
The burn was instant and brutal. I yelled. He didn't stop. Inch after thick inch sank into me until his balls pressed tight against mine.
He started fucking like he hated me. Long, punishing strokes that knocked the air out of my lungs. Every thrust dragged over that spot inside that made my dick leak onto the sheets. The camera caught it all: my hole gripping that black cock, the way my ass cheeks jiggled, my face twisted between pain and something darker.
Marcus flipped me onto my back, hooked my legs over his shoulders and drilled deeper. "Tell the camera how it feels," he ordered.
"Fucking huge," I gasped. "Too big."
He laughed and slammed harder. "You love it. Say it."
I said it. Over and over while he pounded me. Sweat dripped from his chest onto mine. He grabbed my throat, not hard enough to hurt but enough to own me. His hips never slowed. The wet slap of skin filled the room.
He pulled out, flipped me again, and fed that cock back into my mouth so I could taste my own ass. Then he bent me over once more and finished inside me. I felt every hot pulse, thick ropes flooding my guts while he groaned and held me down.
They kept the cameras rolling for round two. Marcus made me ride him, made me beg for it, made me shoot untouched all over his abs while he filled me a second time. By the end I was shaking, hole wrecked and dripping, throat raw.
The director tossed me an envelope. "Full story's gonna sell. You two look nasty together."
Marcus wiped his dick on my thigh and smirked. "Same time next week?"
I should have walked. Instead I nodded. The money was good and the way that black cock owned me was already pulling me back. I left the studio with cum still leaking down my leg and the taste of him in my mouth, knowing the movies would show every second of how I'd been tricked and how fast I stopped caring.
