Heavy is The Head
By RandyKneeling.
For the boy on his knees, it was an entirely different proposition. He was allowing his mouth to be fucked by a black man, a black man with a big cock, one which he was grateful to receive. For the white boy, the experience was overwhelming, and he gave in completely to his submissive feelings and his single-minded lust. He willing surrendered to the black man, knowing that he’d never experience anything better, and would likely chase this feeling for the rest of his life. The feeling of fulfillment that came from servicing a superior, and the complete devotion to the black man’s pleasure.
When the job was done, Roland escorted the cocksucker to his front door, sticking his head out just as his best friend Duane, who lived two streets over, happened to be driving by. The two friends exchanged glances, and Roland knew he’d be questioned later about the suspicious stranger who had left his place in the middle of the day.
Roland and Duane had been friends since middle school, when Roland had stood up to the bully who picked on Duane and hurled racial epithets. He had taken down Terry “The Terror” Anderson in front of the whole school with a ferocity so memorable that he never needed to display it again. Not only did it establish Roland’s place among his childhood peers, but it also cemented a friendship with Duane that endures to the present. Oh well, Roland would come up with some plausible excuse later. The real question, the one that had begun vexing him of late, was why the things he had been telling himself no longer seemed to be working.
Closing the door and leaning against it, Roland was flooded with memories of how he got to this place in life. His formative years and early sexual experiences were all with black women, and while they were hot, they were uncomplicated; some might even say wholesome. Even his first sex with a white woman was fairly vanilla. Still, her unbridled enjoyment of his body was unmistakable, and no doubt was turbocharged by the societal taboo they had violated. It was easy to understand, given how enflamed his own passions became over the contrast of white flesh on black. Specifically, of white lips on black dick, regardless of who those lips belonged to.
How far things had come since then! Sometimes he could barely believe it himself. The sheer luck that one of his early experiences with a white woman would be with Jean, a psychology major lacking only the license to practice. She might not have cleared the dissertation hurdle, but it wasn’t for lack of insight. She had a keen understanding of the sexual undercurrents in society and had provided Roland with the formula for finding others like herself, along with the basic theory behind it. Not just the racial taboo – the specific influence of Big Black Cock porn, and the way in which it affected otherwise straight white men. She had a privileged perspective on that, being married to an early aficionado. Or a victim, depending on how you looked at it. Her husband, Oliver, was the classic stereotype: a mild-mannered, scrawny white man with more brains than testosterone.
When Roland had met Jean, he was still relatively inexperienced sexually, but he was exactly what Jean was looking for. She had become intrigued by Oliver’s addiction until her own desire to submit to a strong black man became all-consuming. It was she who found Roland, she who had seduced him, then showed him how to take charge. She craved his cock, seeing it as the embodiment of the black king ideal. She worshipped it, and by extension, him.
To Jean, the only thing better than sex with Roland was the time immediately following, when she would return to Oliver and give him the thing he craved beyond all reason — a blow-by-blow narrative of her encounter. Her vivid descriptions drove her mild-mannered husband wild; the graphic details of what she had done to Roland, and what he had done to her. Poor Oliver would whack away at his diminutive prick, furiously rushing toward the edge of orgasm before letting go – hoping he had stopped in time – so he could just listen; his goal always being to climax from her words alone. More often than not, he ended up charging too close to the edge and sliding over, ruined. He still loved it.
In fact, it was tremendous fun for both of them, and a seemingly perfect dynamic; right up until Oliver’s desperate desire to become an active participant put a scare in Jean. She knew her husband far better than he knew himself, and was convinced he was ill-equipped for the realities of such an encounter. Just like that, she informed Roland that it was over between them, that she needed to step back and tend to her marriage. She had no idea how long it would take, and said it would be unfair to ask Roland to wait, so she gave him the benefit of her accumulated knowledge and sent him off to make best use of it.
After what Jean had taught him, a whole new world opened to Roland. There had been quite a few white women since then. Things were simpler back at the turn of the millennium. Decent quality online porn had broken free of its pay-per-view shackles, but was not yet ubiquitous. Married women were low risk for STDs, and Roland began to see the white ones in a whole new light. No longer were they unobtainable, and if they were still forbidden fruit, so much the better. They were potential thrill rides, and every time he met one, he did what he could to gently probe, attuned to the slightest hint that they might harbor the secret desire. In the span of months, that whole new world became his own, and he happily took advantage of both the women and their hopelessly submissive husbands. Sometimes it was a challenge, and he had to work hard at it. Other times, it was almost like shooting fish in a barrel.
Chrissie was one of the easy ones, letting him know during their first encounter that she was unhappily married. Armed with his newfound understanding of why she might confide such a secret to him, it didn’t take much to get her to admit her husband’s obsession. She fit the stereotype perfectly, having been infected by her husband with a heightened curiousity, fed by the pillow talk he would spew in response to the slightest teasing from her. The whole thing was almost too easy, and it nearly proved to be his undoing.
It happened after a day out with Mali, his off-again/on-again girlfriend, who was currently very much on again. Beautiful Mali, whose parents proudly traced their ancestors to West Africa. Her name was a nod to the region’s ruling empire, but more significant to Roland was what it meant: “the place where the king lives.” She had taken its meaning to heart, raised to regard herself as being worthy of a king.
Roland thought about how his own name translated to “renowned throughout the land”. Maybe that’s why the idea of being a king appealed to him, but that didn’t mean he was ready to settle down. Happily for him, Mali had no issue with that. After all, there were plenty of other potential kings worthy of a look, and she made her way among them with the confidence of a future queen. Growing up in the hood might have informed her outlook, but she had learned to keep that part of herself under wraps. Roland didn’t know about the chink in her armor until the day it unexpectedly showed itself.
The couple had returned to his place after taking in a matinee movie. Following his usual routine, Roland tossed his keys in the bowl by the door and hit playback on his ancient answering machine before heading into the kitchen to grab some juice from the fridge. By the time he clocked the voice on the message, it was too late.
“Hey, Roland, it’s Chrissie. You there?… Oh well, guess not. Sooo, just calling to see what’s up, maybe get together if you’re not busy? Okay, well… call me back! Byeee!”
“Who the hell was that?” Mali asked.
“Uh… just a woman I met a while back. We hang out sometimes.”
He did his best to make it sound casual, but the complicity in his voice betrayed him.
“Aww, HELL no! Do NOT tell me you’re hittin’ that!”
“Hey, babe, calm down. What’s the deal? You agreed we weren’t exclusive.”
“Calm down? Don’t you tell me to calm down! You wettin’ your dick in white pussy? I thought you were better than that! You gonna turn into one of those lame-ass brothas who think being seen with a white woman is gonna boost their status? Well, let me tell you, I’m not about to be kicked to the curb for some snow bunny!”
“Hold on! Nobody’s getting kicked to the curb! Besides, who said she was white?”
“Oh negro, please! Chrissie? And that sing-song baby-girl voice? Jeezus! She probably even spells her name with an ‘ie’ at the end, am I right?”
“Okay, okay; so she’s white. That doesn’t mean… I mean… she ain’t nothin’ to me, babe! We’re just having a little fun, you know. It’s not serious.”
Roland knew it was a weak argument, and the day didn’t end well. His futile attempts at damage control were shot down at every turn. It wasn’t until after Mali left that it occurred to him she might feel less threatened if she knew Chrissie was married. At least she’d know she wasn’t at risk of being dumped. It didn’t fix everything, but it was all he could come up with.
After giving her a day to cool off, he took his best shot. It wasn’t smooth, and she made him plead his case over multiple days, but eventually she softened. The first key was convincing her that Chrissie was nothing more than a cheap diversion, and surprisingly, his lame analogy helped. He compared Mali to an upscale, all-inclusive, hedonistic adult resort, while Chrissie was a roller coaster at a traveling carnival; a wild and slightly dangerous ride, good for occasional fun only. The unexpected part came when Roland let slip something he hadn’t planned to mention at all.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about her, though — she’s not a slut or anything. She’s just got this thing…”
“Uhhh, you know you can’t stop there, right?”
“She… has a thing for me. I mean, something extra. Because I’m black.”
“Oh, Roland, please don’t tell me she gets off imagining herself up in the big house when the big, strong field ni-”
“No, no, no — nothing like that! She just… I guess you could say she fetishizes my dick.”
Mali softened at that, reaching out to Roland’s crotch and firmly cupping his package.
“Ahh… well, can’t really blame her for that, now can I?”
Mali squeezed just enough to suggest proprietary rights. In response, Roland dropped his own hand to her ample booty, tracing the outrageous curvature of her ass as he gave up the goods on Chrissie and Spencer.
“There’s something else you should know. It’s kinda big.”
“Uh, I know that! But you’re not supposed to say it, that’s my line!”
“No, that’s not… I mean, it’s kind of a big deal — the other thing you should know. Her husband has the same kink.”
It took a second to register, but once it hit, her journey from confusion to comprehension to arousal was a sight to behold.
“You mean a white man fetishizes over your dick? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yep, ‘fraid so. Not that I’ve let him do anything about it. I haven’t even met him. But Chrissy talks about him a lot. They’re on a bit of a journey, those two. Turns out most of them are.”
“Most of them? What are you talking about? Most of whom?”
“Oh, sorry; I guess that’s the rest of it. It’s a thing, this fetish. They call it BBC—Big Black Cock. They’re hung up on it. It’s huge on all the porn websites. You should see…”
“Uh, no thanks. But I do want to hear more. About Chrissie and Spencer, I mean.”
Mali was starting to get that crawly, tingling feeling that was an early indicator of her own arousal. For now, it would have to wait. She was far more interested in learning more about the intriguing white couple. She guided Roland to the sofa and unfastened his slacks, pulling out his meaty dick, intent on pumping him for everything he had. Roland willingly surrendered it all, summarizing the high points of what Jean had taught him, leaving out only the fact that she existed. He simply presented the information as a distillation of his own porn observations. After all, it was all out there, Jean just showed him it was real, and thereby attainable—that, plus a few solid tips on the best ways to exploit things.
It took a while, but Mali was methodical and eventually extracted everything from him, including a large amount of thick cum that he spat onto the back of her hand. Two shimmering ivory strands criss-crossed her dark knuckles, and the remaining ooze pooled between her thumb and index finger. With a final base-to-tip squeeze, she milked the last drop from his tube. Looking him in the eye, she raised her hand to her mouth and made a show of appreciatively slurping it up. After all that he had surrendered, it seemed the least she could do in return.
Mali acted on her newfound knowledge immediately, deciding a meeting of all parties was in order. As soon as Mali and Roland worked out their own mutual availability, she had him on the phone with Chrissie. They settled on the next Saturday night, and Chrissie told them she’d keep her husband, Spencer, in the dark about Mali being there. She assured them Spencer would love the surprise. She’d tell him he was only getting to tag along to meet the big black stud who had been fucking his wife; to shake his hand and thank him for doing it. That alone would be enough to set him on edge, so she gave him no reason to expect anything more, making it clear that the thank you would be “verbal only”. She knew it wouldn’t keep him from fantasizing, hoping for more.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The run-up to Saturday night was a near-constant stream of questions from Mali, and it was all Roland could do to keep up with her desire to embellish her twisted imaginings. She was dying to experience Spencer’s cock infatuation for herself. She had no desire actually to see anything, but she wanted to hear him admit it, describe it. She wanted to understand how bad it was and was infatuated with the notion that a straight white man would subjugate himself to such a degree.
Once Roland explained how Spencer’s fetish extended to black people in general, Mali couldn’t get enough. She loved the idea of having a white man at her command, eager to perform whatever degrading act she desired. Not that she wanted to degrade him literally — it was enough that he considered oral servitude to a black body to be degrading. Such an attitude was sacrilege to a queen, but it was sweet payback to a victimized little girl from the hood. White boy may get off on the idea of his own inferiority, but it was hard to imagine his feelings could be any more intense than her own when she thought about the superiority it conferred on her.
By the time Spencer rang Roland’s doorbell, his heart was racing, and his dick was stiff. Not that anyone would notice, but Chrissie knew him well enough to know. As sexy as her little black dress was, she knew his unimpressive boner had little to do with how she looked.
When the door opened, Roland greeted the couple, scarcely acknowledging Spencer before wrapping Chrissie in a giant hug, followed by a kiss more familiar than anything exchanged between friends. Turning to Spencer, Roland held out his hand to the diminutive white man, whose own hand disappeared in the much larger black one. After a few obligatory pumps, Spencer attempted to pull away, but Roland held him firm, saying,
“Good to meet you, Spencer. I was told you have something to say to me. Something intended to accompany this handshake?”
An obviously intimidated Spencer nodded, his eyes downcast, shifting back and forth between Roland’s feet as he mustered the courage to test his voice.
“I have all evening,” Roland said, the rich baritone reflecting his own calm demeanor.
Spencer forced himself to look up, searching for anything in Roland’s face that might ease his nerves. Taking a breath, with a wavering voice, he delivered his well-rehearsed lines,
“It’s a pleasure and an honor to meet you, Sir. Thank you for allowing me to express my gratitude to you for taking such good care of my wife’s sexual needs. I am in your debt, Sir.”
“Well said, boy!”
Roland’s pleasure at the respectful wording was genuine. The fact that he had already broken out the “boy” appellation did not go unnoticed by either Chrissie or her husband, even if Spencer was the only one exhibiting a visible reaction – the trace of a smile for a promising future.
Roland guided his guests into the living room, all his attention focused on the interaction between the two women, as each assessed her competition. Given the build-up to this encounter, the formality of introductions was unnecessary, but was nevertheless observed. In a further nod to social convention, both ladies briefly acknowledged each other’s men. Only Spencer was oblivious to the norms, captivated by the ebony goddess that rose to greet him.
She wore low-rise white booty shorts and the briefest possible canary yellow tube top. The abundance of rich, dark skin fairly glowed in the soft lighting, an effect he had no clue was courtesy of coconut oil. What he did notice was that her shoulders were delicately muscled, her core was solid, and the rich hue of flesh above and below that skimpy top stood in stunning contrast to the bright yellow crepe. Her shorts barely covered her luscious butt cheeks, accentuating her toned thighs. The entire package rested on heels too high to be practical, yet perfect for the occasion. His single-minded attention was only broken by the increased volume of Chrissie’s voice.
“Spencer… SPENCER… aren’t you going to say hello? You’re staring!”
Suddenly aware that all eyes were on him, he registered that the vision before him was standing with her right arm extended, an amused look on her beautiful face. Thankfully, Roland repeated the words Spencer had completely missed.
“I said, this is Mali.”
Spencer reached for the offered hand, briefly considering turning it upside down to plant a respectful kiss, before opting for the more conventional handshake.
“Hello. I mean, pleased to meet you, Mali. I-I had no idea…”
And then his words failed him, self-edited before they could escape his lips. So much he wanted to say, and all of it wildly inappropriate. The brief silence was mortifying, but was mercifully ended by the vision herself, who took pity on her tongue-tied supplicant.
“That’s okay, honey; just relax. You don’t need to say anything. Just come and sit down next to me, and we can have a nice little visit. Roland, baby, could you see what our guests might like to drink?”
Relieved that claws had not come out, Roland was happy to do the serving as everyone got settled, with Spencer taking a place between the two women on the sofa. Roland distributed the adult beverages and relaxed into his favorite recliner, content to observe what promised to be a fascinating evening. He knew Mali was simmering with anticipation, and she wasted no time getting to the meat of things.
“So, Chrissie, Roland tells me you have a thing for his dick.”
The bold statement landed with a thud, cutting through all the niceties that had led up to it. Mali took a sip of her drink, letting the bombshell sit just long enough to elicit nervous shifting before letting everyone off the hook.
“Don’t worry, I understand completely, and it’s not a problem. I’ll confess to being initially taken off guard by this whole… situation, but I’ve come around, and I want you to know that I’m okay with it. More than okay, in fact – I think it’s hot! I’d love to hear more about the… enthusiasm that you two share. I hope you won’t find it too uncomfortable to discuss in front of me. After everything Roland has told me about you two, I feel like I know you rather intimately.”
Knowing Spencer was not about to help, Chrissie glanced at Roland before responding, not entirely happy to see his silent amusement.
“You have me at a disadvantage, not knowing what Roland has told you. What more would you like to hear?”
Taking mercy on them both, Roland suggested,
“How about this – perhaps you could favor us with a little slice of your home life. I know when you and I hook up, it isn’t over for you when we part, but I’ve never heard the details. Maybe you could share a little of how things play out when you get back home.”
Chrissie looked at Spencer as she began,
“Oh, that’s easy, it’s always the same. He’s always waiting for me, horny with anticipation. He listens for the door and comes running like a puppy dog as soon as he hears it. He knows I’m going to be all funky, even if I don’t always bring him a full-cream pie. I do try, though, don’t I, Roland?”
“We both do,” Roland says, checking with Mali, who had begun to squirm in her seat.
“Yes, you do know the broad strokes of how this goes, don’t you. You’re very considerate of Spencer that way. So I like to make him wait for it—tease him a little. It’s just so much fun!”
Mali turned to look at Spencer, hoping he was enjoying this as much as she was. Noticing that something was off, she cut in,
“Pardon the interruption, Chrissie, but could I ask you to pause for just a moment?”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to Spencer and said,
“You look uneasy, Spencer. Would you be more comfortable on the floor?”
It wasn’t a command or an insult, merely a gentle, insightful suggestion, one which Spencer seemed relieved to hear. He sheepishly slid off the sofa and took a place on the floor at Mali’s feet, leaning against her bare legs. It took Roland and Chrissie by surprise, but Mali played it off as the most natural thing in the world, patting Spencer on the shoulder while saying,
“I’m sorry – do go on, dear.”
Roland continued to look on in amazement at what had happened, but Chrissie recovered quickly and continued,
“Right. So, I like to tease him. I tell him the things we did, with particular emphasis on what he likes to hear about most — the big, black cock. See, Spencer’s got a thing for big black cock. I know it’s because he secretly wants to suck one. I keep trying to make him admit it to me, but he’s too scared to. Scared to admit it to himself, I think.
So I tease him, telling him all about how I suck Roland’s cock, about how big it is, and how dark it is, and how hard it gets. And whenever I’ve got a big load waiting for him, I make sure to get my pussy close to his face while I’m taunting him so that he can get a good whiff. I tell him how much cum is in there waiting for him, and how much I want to see him eat it. I’m really quite a little tease, but I know he loves it, don’t you, Spence?”
Taking Spencer’s silence as agreement, Chrissie continued,
“And then, when I finally let him have it, my God, he dives in like he’s starving for it! And the whole time he’s eating your cum, Roland, I talk to him about how he really should taste it straight from the source. I tell him how good it feels shooting into my mouth, and what a privilege it is to serve a black man – a superior black man. But for all that teasing, I can never get him to admit he wants it. But you know what I think would get him to break down and admit it? Seeing one in the flesh and getting close to it, staring right into the ol’ one eye. I just know he’d crumple!
Mali couldn’t take any more and blurted out,
“Aw, shit! That does it! Roland – I want to see it! Chrissie, I think you want to see it too, am I? What do you say? You want to see hubby suck a dick?”
“Fuck yes, I do! Roland?
Mali was practically beside herself,
“What do you say, Roland? C’mon baby, do it!!!”
It was not lost on Roland that Spencer was the only one who hadn’t weighed in on the idea. Roland was sure Chrissie was right about her husband’s secret desire, but still, he didn’t want the poor guy to freak out under pressure. He looked down at Spencer, who looked back from the floor with a serious case of puppy dog eyes. Whatever Roland saw in that look, it apparently helped him decide, because he stood up and unzipped his trousers.
“Easy enough to let him see one. It’s not like you ladies haven’t seen it before. Here you go, boy… take a good look.”
And out it flopped, all flaccid, meaty, six inches of it, bobbing gently as it came to rest, pointing down at Spencer. Of course, Chrissie had seen it before, but not so regularly that it didn’t arouse her own lust.
“There it is, baby! Just look at that fucker! Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Now, now,” Roland admonished, “none of that. You said merely seeing it would be enough. No fair dirty-talking him into it.”
Both women excitedly resituated themselves for optimal viewing. Roland stood still, patiently studying Spencer. The boy’s eyes were locked on target; that much was obvious. What was going through his head, Roland could only guess, but it clearly involved conflicting emotions. He waited a few beats, and then a few more; still, the boy sat and stared. Then Roland reached through his fly again, digging deep to pull out his ballsack, which settled behind the dangling black snake, framing it with undeniable appeal.
“Might as well see the whole package,” he said with a smirk.
That broke the dam, and Spencer rose on his knees and began shuffling toward the black man. The ladies shared a celebratory grin, but Roland said,
“Hang on now, he’s just getting a closer look. That is what you said it would take, right, Chrissie? He’s just making it a fair test.”
They watched Spencer approach, shuffling on his knees until his nose was within inches of the bait. He was breathing deep, taking in the musk and pheromones, almost trance-like. Then his face closed the remaining gap, and he buried his nose between cock and scrotum, inhaling deeply. Roland asked,
“See something you want, boy? All you have to do is admit it. First to yourself, then out loud. That’s what all this is about. Just admit it, and I’ll let you put it in your mouth.”
Spencer pulled his head back, took one look at his wife, then cast his eyes up to the confident man towering over him.
“I do want it, Sir — more than anything! Can I… I mean, may I… suck it?”
“Go ahead, boy.”
With the slightest of whimpers, Spencer slipped his tongue under the bulbous head, lifting it slightly to appreciate its weight, before consuming the entire length.
“Good boy,” oozed Chrissie, obviously relieved to break the silence and celebrate. Roland smiled and looked at Mali, whose delight was genuine, and Roland relaxed into the experience.
Spencer hummed as he worked, and the vibrations had a quick effect on Roland, forcing Spencer to back off as the length of his captive grew beyond his beginner’s ability. The exposed shaft gleamed dark against the boy’s pallid cheeks, inspiring Roland to remark,
“Look at you, so content down there with my dick in your mouth. You look like you’ve got everything you want in life right now. Is that true, Spencer? Do you have everything you want right now?”
Spencer stopped bobbing his head to honestly consider the question, keeping his prize in his mouth while he pondered. Was there anything more? Admittedly, he was having a tough time thinking at the moment, but it was hard to imagine what more there could be. Not only was he being allowed to suck a black cock, but his wife was watching, along with the man’s gorgeous black girlfriend. Spencer felt like he had died and gone to heaven. Still, this was such a rare opportunity. If there were something more, he might only need to ask. Could anything make this better? He thought back to the endless hours he spent masturbating to the very fantasy he was now living out. There was only one thing he could think of that was missing. Taking the cock out of his mouth, he stammered,
“Could you… I — I want you to call me… whiteboi.”
The confession was accompanied by a shiver, as the shame of the admission ran through his body. Mali did what she could to suppress her laughter. Chrissie, recognizing it to be the truth, simply smiled.
“No problem. Now get back on it… whiteboi.”
Spencer resumed his oral worship, eager to perform every move he had ever studied, impart every sensation, and make every appreciative sound he had ever heard a cocksucker make. He licked the rigid shaft, jacked it into his mouth, sucked on the fat, circumcised head, and twirled his tongue over it. Finding it too daunting to fit both of the man’s large balls in his mouth at once, he settled for sucking each one separately, rolling them in his mouth until the entire smooth scrotum glistened.
Chrissie was loving every minute and cheered him on,
“Oh my God, baby, you’re doing it! You’re really doing it! Sucking big black cock! I’m so happy for you, baby!”
Mali got into the act as well, encouraging,
“That’s it, whiteboi – suck those big, black balls!”
Roland loved every part of it, but knew the beginner was unlikely to get him off, at least not without completely wearing out his jaw muscles. He finally pushed him off with a dispassionate
“That’s enough, boy.”
A dumbfounded Spencer sat crestfallen, his face soaked in his own saliva, stammering,
“But… but… I want your cum!”
His voice was plaintive, and his visage was pathetic, but Roland was unmoved.
“Oh, you’ll get my cum, boy — the same way you always do, when you eat it out of your wife. But first, I think my girl’s got designs on your ass.”
Turning to Chrissie, Roland asked,
“What do you say, care to loan him out to Mali for a while?”
With zero hesitation, Chrissie replied,
“As long as I get you, she can have him. Turning to Mali, she said, “Just don’t break him.”
Then, leaning in, she confidentially added,
“He’ll do anything you want him to, but he prefers to be told to do it. He likes to pretend he’s being forced.”
With that piece of intel filed away, Mali grabbed Spencer’s hand and helped him up, then dragged him off to the master bedroom, leaving Roland and Chrissie to the guest room.
The familiar lovers took their time exploring each other’s mouths, but before things got too heated, Roland called a pause to use the bathroom. He could have held it, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to eavesdrop on Mali, telling himself he needed to make sure things were going okay in there.
After relieving himself, he paused at the door to the master, which had been left open a crack. He heard Mali issue a formal invocation to worship. He decided to peek in, seeing exactly what he had pictured – her verbal invite was accompanied by an irresistible display of her best asset. She must have been teasing the poor whiteboi pretty effectively, considering the way he folded at the sight and gave up everything.
“Oh, God! Aww sweet Jesus! Yes, I’ll eat your ass! Of course I will! I’d love to eat that black ass! Please let me! I’ll do anything for it! Fuck, I’ll lick your used pussy, I’ll suck off all your men! I’ll do whatever you want!”
Roland hadn’t planned on lingering, but this was just too good.
“Suck off my men? Which ones sugar? I know a lot of men.”
She was clearly toying with the whiteboi, who could hardly contain his excitement.
“The black ones! All of them – friends, lovers, even family, I don’t care!”
With his desperate offer still hanging in the air, he followed up with a guilty admission,
“I – I don’t know any black men… other than Roland, I mean.”
“Oh sugar, I can help with that. Believe me, I know lots of black men that would love to use that little whiteboi ass of yours!”
“But… I don’t want them to use my ass, I just want to suck them!”
“Well then, if you’re going to rely solely on your mouth, you’re gonna need to audition. Nothin’ I like more than white tongue deep in my black ass! Go ahead, indulge yourself, whiteboi. If you’re good enough, I might even give you a taste of chocolate syrup!”
Roland smiled and closed the door on them. He was pretty sure Mali hadn’t actually ever had a white tongue on her ass before — let alone in it, but he had no doubt she’d like it. He just hoped that when she was done with the poor boy, he’d be able to leave under his own steam.
Rejoining Chrisse, it didn’t take long for Roland to realize that she was fired up more than usual. She always liked to talk a little dirty, playing up the racial aspect of their coupling, but tonight was next level. Maybe it was knowing her husband was in the next room, submitting to a strong black woman who made no bones about wanting to dominate him. Or maybe it was the unshakeable image of hubby kneeling in front of her lover and getting his first taste of black cock; but whatever it was, the racial overtones were heavier than usual. It didn’t bother Roland – each heated comment that emphasized his blackness spurred his own lust. Even when it all came to a head and she begged him to ram that African spear deep into my married white pussy! Even then, knowing the phrase would come back to haunt him later, it had the desired effect in the moment, spurring him to fuck her harder than he ever had before. The whole thing became animalistic and, ultimately, epic. It might have been mildly racist, too, but it was definitely hot as hell.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In the days that followed, Roland marveled at his own good fortune, his privilege to have such riches laid out before him. It was as if fate had handed him a sexual menu arranged in two columns. Column A featured strong, sexy black women, while column B contained needy, sexy white women. It only increased his enjoyment to know that the servers who delivered selections from column B were often on the menu as well, whether as snacks or appetizers. Was he being selfish to keep this place all to himself? After all, so many brothers were out there haplessly scrounging for a meal, settling for whatever the kitchen had left when closing time neared.
It was a lot to sort through. He wanted to talk about it with someone, and wished he had a black friend who could help. He had plenty of black friends, but he doubted any of them would understand; at least not enough to provide any useful insight. The few white friends he had would be even worse; unless, of course, any of them secretly harbored the very affliction which he preyed upon. No, there was only one person he knew who might offer a useful perspective – the person who introduced him to this reality. Jean, the psychologist with the BBC kink. With some trepidation, he punched in her number, anxious about how she might respond after the way things had ended.
As it turned out, the two former lovers found their mutual affection remained intact, and Roland was further relieved to learn Jean and Oliver had found a place with each other where both could be happy. It had taken time and effort, but Oliver had grown emotionally to the point where Jean even allowed herself the occasional flirtation outside their marriage. However, she was careful in the amount of after-action description she provided Oliver. Roland only had to hint about his struggles, and she was more than willing to get together to lend a sympathetic ear. Jean’s schedule was busy, and the date they settled on was over a week away, giving Roland plenty of time to mull things over.
The very next day, Duane dropped in unannounced. It wasn’t long before he brought up the subject Roland knew was coming.
“Yo man, what’s with the chubby white dude I saw skulking out of your place last week? He sure didn’t look like any of your crew from work.”
Even though Roland knew this was coming, he hadn’t come up with much, other than the man was some kind of repair tech. At the last minute, he decided to make it more vague, preferring to avoid an outright lie.
“Just another service provider, you know, maintenance stuff. Seems like when you own a home, there’s always something.”
Duane might have bought it if Roland hadn’t opted for such stilted language.
“Service provider, huh? What kind? Cable guy? Appliance repair? I didn’t clock no tool bag, and no company logo on the shitbox Chevy he was driving.”
Roland was cornered, and he knew it. He just didn’t know how Duane would react to the real reason.
“Ok, you got me. The service was… oral. You know…” Roland put his hand in front of his crotch and moved it up and down, as if guiding a head.
“Nooooo… no way! You’re shittin’ me! Really?”
Roland nodded, waiting out the initial surprise to see what would follow once reality sank in.
“How the fuck… how’s something like that happen? Wait a minute — you’re not… I mean, you aren’t…”
“No…” Ronald cut him off, “I’m not. As I said, it’s just a service, nothing more. No reciprocation, no kissing or anything like that. Just a little stress relief. To be honest, I do it as a favor as much as anything else.”
“A favor, huh? You do him a favor by feedin’ him your dick?”
“Well, yeah; partly a favor to him, but mostly to his wife.”
“Whaaat? His wife! Awww dude; c’mon! Now I know you’re shittin’ me!”
“It’s the truth, Duane; swear to God.”
“Mu-tha-fucka!”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t know if any of them are mothers. How ’bout you have a seat, it’s a long story.”
Roland couldn’t resist opening with a disingenuous plea for help, confessing that he was drowning in white pussy. Once the joking was over, he tried to relate some of what he had learned about the type of married white woman that was his focus, and was surprised to find he actually had to work to get Duane to believe him. He purposely skirted the psychology angle, intent on keeping Jean out of it.
Before long, his attempts to explain felt like he was giving a seminar on how to pick up white wives. He described how the more physically inferior the husband is, the better it works. You only need to say something sexually suggestive to the woman in a way hubby doesn’t overhear. Something that lets her know you’re packing works best. Something like “I may be mistaken, but I think I saw you looking earlier, and the answer is yes, it’s real.” He described how, if she’s offended, she’ll let you know, but as long as you’re in polite society — amongst their peers works best — she’ll be subtle in how she objects. She won’t want to make a scene and put hubby in the awkward position of having to defend her honor. And if she likes it, she’ll let you know that too. She might even let you know that hubby may be up for playing a part. He told Duane that’s when things can really get fun, but conceded it rarely goes that far, at least not right off the bat.
“Lemme get this straight. You’re telling me the husbands know you’re fucking their wives, and they’re ok with it?”
“Ha, yeah, more than ok; most of them get off on the idea. They’re almost always the ones who fall for the BBC shit. You’ve seen the porn, right? The interracial porn, and what a big deal they make over our dicks? They call it Big Black Cock porn. Some of these white boys go fuckin’ nuts for it! It’s like they get brainwashed. You’d be amazed at how much of it features white boys sucking black dick.”
For Duane, who had barely gotten comfortable with his friend’s revelations about married white pussy, it was a lot to digest.
“Yeah, but that porn’s all bullshit — it’s just actors doing it for money.”
“There’s plenty of that out there, for sure. All the glossy stuff is just what you say it is, but those amateur videos? Dude, that shit is real! I’ve even heard some of the same dialogue coming out of their own mouths. Which isn’t surprising, once you realize that’s where these guys are getting it from. And let me tell you, they’re devoted students — most of ’em study long and hard before they get the first dick in their mouths. They aren’t always sword swallowers, but you won’t find many women as enthusiastic as they are. I’ll bet some of them would even pay for it. I’m tellin’ ya, they ain’t right in the head!”
Roland could see that Duane was skeptical, so he continued,
“Let me explain something I’ve figured out about white dudes. Ever been alone with a white guy in private, and notice the way they act all nervous?”
Duane thought back to the few times he could remember being in a men’s room with a solitary white dude. They did seem kinda squirrely. He said,
“Yeah, but I figured that was just because of the garbage they see on the news, you know; all that crime coverage stoking racial fear.”
“There is that, but some of them — these dudes I’m telling you about — what they’re really afraid of is that you might whip it out in front of them, or somehow lure them into checking out your bulge. They’ve seen and read so much porn about it, it fucks with their head. They get so they’re afraid that if they get a look, they won’t be able to resist. And that fear, by the way, is not wholly unfounded.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve done that! Whipped it out in front of some unsuspecting white boy?”
“Oh yeah, and it worked like a charm. But you’ve got to be careful – don’t go pulling shit like that unless you’re sure. You’ve got to learn how to identify the white boys who are ready. You gotta find the ones I call the BBC Believers. They’re the ones who have bought into the whole mythology.”
“Mythology?”
“Yeah, you know, the trope about black guys swinging big dick. It doesn’t matter that it’s BS, all that matters is that they believe it.”
“Easy for you to say. I’ve heard how Mali talks about you, I’ve no doubt you’re packin’.”
“From what I can tell, it isn’t so much about what’s in your pants as it is about what’s in their head. You know how in the fashion world they say black is slimming? Well, in the world these people live in, it’s just the opposite. They see a black dick as fatter than it actually is. Kinda like an anorexic looking in the mirror. Plus, you’re a shade darker than me, and for these folks, the only thing better than a black dick is a blacker one.”
Duane might not have been fully convinced, but he left with plenty to think about. Roland was just relieved to have escaped judgment and hoped the subject had been put to rest. He had a whole night and day to look forward to seeing Jean again before Duane was back at his door. His friend was on a mission and wasted no time on small talk.
“Yo, Roland, all that shit you told me yesterday? I can’t get it out of my head, and something’s kinda bothering me. It’s the weirdest thing, but all that stuff about married white pussy? I mean, that’s cool and all, but I can’t stop thinking about being serviced by a whiteboi. Is that fucked up, or what?”
Roland knew what Duane was grappling with; he had gone through the same thing himself. The superficial answer was easy, but it skirted uncomfortably close to his own struggle.
“I don’t think so, but then, look who you’re talking to. I may not be the best judge of that. I could give you a psychological explanation for the attraction, but I think it boils down to: if it feels good, do it. Or in this case, let it happen.”
Duane thought it over for a minute, and Roland could see him coming to terms with it. Still, he was surprised by the speed of Duane’s decision.
“How can I find me a whiteboi like that?”
It wasn’t a question he was prepared for, but once asked, an obvious answer suggested itself. Roland did know white guys like that; in fact, he had several waiting in the wings. But it didn’t seem right to hand one to Duane gift-wrapped. The guy should have to work for it, at least a little.
“Tell you what, buddy, how about if I introduce you to one of those boys who I know has the bug, but hasn’t found the courage to act on it yet? I think it might do you good to meet someone who shows the signs but still needs encouragement. Sound fair?”
“Yeah, I think so. What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I got this one white girl — Tammy. She stops by now and then for a taste, but never with her husband. She leaves him at home because she has no interest in seeing him get what he most likely wants. Some of the wives are like that. Maybe the idea turns them off, or they just don’t want to complicate things. Whatever it is, I don’t usually push them to do anything they don’t come up with on their own. But I suppose I could make an exception, this one time.”
“Yes! Let’s do it! How would it happen?”
“I’m thinking I’d give her a call, let her know I’ve got a friend I’m looking to help out. If she’s interested, I’ll pitch it like a double-date kind of thing, where I’m looking to hook up, but I want to give my bud at least a chance for a blowjob. I’ll make it sound kinda like it’s the price of admission: bring hubby along to meet my friend, then we can have fun on our own. And whatever happens, happens. It’s beyond anything she’s ever done, but she seems a bit more free of late. She might just go for it.”
“Sounds great! So, what do I do, just wait ’til we’re alone and whip it out?”
“No, man, didn’t you hear any of what I told you? You gotta be more delicate than that. You don’t want to scare the guy off. Let him get comfortable with you, show him you’re not a threat. Then give him a chance to come around on his own. Maybe with a well-placed subliminal clue, or some subtle innuendo.”
“Say what? Can you maybe dumb that down for me? I really need some concrete help here. Can you give me something I can actually use?”
“Sure,” Roland said. He did tend to get in his head when he thought about this stuff. “Use body language – without being obvious; or steer the conversation to something sexually suggestive.”
“Okay, I hear that. Any ideas how I can bring up a thing like that?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t even met the guy. Please talk to him briefly and get a read on him. It’s a dance, not unlike a real date in a way, except you know the pump is primed. You’ll have to work out the details on the fly. Just watch some of the amateur BBC videos — they’ll show you how these guys expect you to act.”
Roland told Duane he needed more time to think it through before calling Tammy, but expected they could work something out. He rebuffed further questions from Duane, pointing him back to the porn research and assuring him it would provide valuable insights. In addition to being true, it had the added benefit of pre-empting further questions by promising that all would become clear with further study. It might also provide an outlet for some of that pent-up lust, which couldn’t hurt either.
When Roland finally did call Tammy, things went even better than he had hoped. Not only did she jump at the idea of the slightly twisted double date, but she also put him at ease over his biggest concern – the wild card of putting a husband into such an unexpected situation. He had an aversion to those kinds of situations, but she handled it so deviously that he couldn’t help but admire it.
“Ooooo, I know how to put hubby in the right frame of mind – I’ll tell him that he’ll finally get to meet my black lover, and then drop the tidbit that if he’s lucky, he might even get to see his first BBC! I just won’t tell him it’s going to belong to a different man! How fun is that?”
He had to hand it to her; it was amusing. What bothered him, though, was how downright manipulative it was. He didn’t have to know a thing about these guys to get them to do his bidding. In fact, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know this one’s name. All he needed to know was the direction of their porn habit and how far down the path they had traveled. Even their wives seemed powerless to resist what was dangled in front of them. The results were consistently rewarding; it was just the before-and-after that he found troubling.
By the time Tammy graced his doorway, Roland had decided to have a little fun with this one. Not only because it was fun, but because he knew it would set an appropriate tone for Duane. Peering through the distorting glass of the front door, Roland could tell Tammy’s husband was noticeably shorter than her, making him no more than 5’5″. He was shifting nervously at her side. Good, thought Roland, as he opened the door with a smile.
“Hey, you two, welcome. Please come in.”
Tammy stepped over the threshold first, and Roland greeted her.
“Thank you for coming, Tammy, and thank you for bringing your husband. It’s high time he met me, considering how much of my cum he’s swallowed.”
Roland stood in front of the small white man and looked into his eyes, confident he would wither under the challenge. Sure enough, he lasted less than 2 seconds before casting his eyes downward. He did love to see them like this and took pleasure in driving it home.
“Of course, you know who I am, and I’ve decided I don’t need to know your name. Here, your name is whiteboi, or boy, for short. You okay with that, boy?”
Roland waited for him to look back up and say something, but once it was clear nothing was coming, he continued,
“That’s what I thought.”
Directing them into the living room where Duane sat relaxing, Roland said,
“I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Duane. Duane, this beautiful young lady is Tammy, and this is her husband, whiteboi.”
Roland hadn’t bothered to include Duane in his little game, and the look on his face was priceless.
Duane stared incredulously at the humiliated husband before turning to Tammy to shake her hand.
“Pleased to meet you. I’ll do my best to take care of your husband while you and Roland enjoy each other’s… company.”
“Well, aren’t you sweet! I do appreciate that.” To her husband, she said, “Dear, do take advantage of the time to get to know Duane. He seems like the kind of man you might really enjoy spending time with.”
And with that, a smiling Tammy escorted a smirking Roland to the bedroom, not to be seen again for hours.
In a surprising display of nerve, hubby addressed the larger black man,
“Duane, what did you mean by ‘taking care of me’ while they… You know.”
“Oh, no need to worry about that, whiteboi. Why don’t you come have a seat next to me on this sofa, and we can get acquainted.”
The silent compliance was expected, but it still tickled Duane to see it. He was going to like this!
“From what Roland has told me, you know what he and Tammy are doing in there right now, don’t you?”
“Yes. Roland is giving my wife what I can’t. I tried – I really did – back when she let me.”
“You mean to tell me your wife lets other men fuck her pussy and she doesn’t let you have any? Jesus boy, what do you get out of it?”
“She does other stuff with me. I get to come, just not in her. And I get… other things, too.”
He didn’t even try to hide the blush.
“Oh yeah? Like what? What else do you get, whiteboy?
“I… I get to eat a black man’s cum.”
“Holy shit! You get to, huh? She feeds you that shit?”
“Straight from her pussy. It’s what I live for!”
It was all part of the template, but for Duane, having someone admit it to his face was vastly different from watching a video of strangers from the past.
“Fuuck. It really is true.”
It was supposed to stay in his head, but it slipped out. Oh well, it’s not like it was that loud.
“Then I guess you’re happy, you’re going to get your treat when you get home. And Roland’s happy, he’s getting his right now. Meanwhile, looks like ol’ Duane’s stuck with his hand tonight.”
The comment had the desired effect, as a look of consternation overtook pleasant memories.
“But that’s not right! That should never happen! I mean, you’re free to do whatever you want — of course! But to settle for anything less… if I were there, I’d…”
“You’d what, boy? Out with it!”
“I’d at least make sure it didn’t go to waste! The thought of your precious seed going down the drain… or spent into a tissue and discarded… that should never happen! That kind of waste is criminal, when there are so many who would gladly… well, you know.”
“I think I’m beginning to, boy. Go on, what would you do?”
“I’d eat it! I’d gladly take it in my mouth and swallow it. A man like you – your precious African seed should never go to waste! Not when there’s someone out there like me who would love to consume it.”
“Hmmm… African seed… I like that! You really are a believer, aren’t you? Aright boy, you’ve convinced me. I think it’s time you unwrap your present.”
Duane stood up and faced the boy who had been sitting next to him. He placed his own hands on his hips, expecting nothing less than complete obedience.
“Get to work, son.”
Staring the black man in the crotch, the would-be cocksucker somehow mustered the courage to resist the man’s instruction temporarily.
“Sir, could I please…could I take my pants off first? I need you to see how small I am, Sir.”
“Naw, I don’t want to see that shit. I don’t give a damn what’s between your legs, boy. I don’t doubt it’s small, but I couldn’t give a fuck. I need to get my dick sucked, now get busy.”
Against all odds, in defiance of a direct command from his superior, Duane was shocked to see the submissive actually resist, shedding his pants and underwear as quickly as he could.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be quick. I just need you to know how small I am, so you’ll understand why I have to do this. How inferior I am, and how superior you are. How right it is for me to submit, and for you to use me. I need you to know you’re the only man in the room.”
“Shit, you think I don’t already know that?”
Still, Duane let the white boy finish, casting aside his shirt to end up completely naked before retaking his seat. Despite Duane’s dismissive words, he was shocked to see the adult male sitting in front of him.
“Jesus Christ, boy; you went through puberty and all it got you was that little tuft of hair above your… whatever the hell you call that thing?”
“I knew you’d understand if you saw it, sir. Thank you, thank you for letting me be exposed for what I am. I’m ready now, sir.”
As stupefying as the display was, it made perfect sense in light of what Roland had tried to explain. Even an average dick would look huge to this white boy. Duane might not have the length of his friend, but at least he had the girth of an adult male, not like the sad little pencil-dick on this boy. And judging from the way the boy was gazing at it, the darkness of his skin was definitely playing a part.
“Go ahead, boy.”
Without wasting another minute, the humiliated supplicant did what he’d been dreaming of doing for years. He didn’t rush it — he savored every moment. The belt was worn soft and came unfastened with no trouble. The pants button required slightly more effort before giving way to his fumbling backward maneuvers. The boy’s surprise at finding the black man was a commando, lasting only as long as it took to take in the whole vision. The object of his longing, so thick and meaty, so temptingly close! He breathed deep and drifted closer, drawn by the scent, allowing it to insinuate itself in his brain.
“Yeah, you like what you see, I can tell. Not like yours at all, is it, boy?”
“Not even close, Sir. May I?”
“Go for it, boy. Show me how much a little-dicked whiteboi wants black cock.”
This was the moment Duane had envisioned ever since Roland told him it was possible. Now that it was happening right in front of him, he could hardly believe it. He knew it would be good, but he wasn’t prepared for the childhood memory that sprang unbidden in his head.
He was back in that middle-school gym, and Roland had just dropped Terry the Terror with a single punch. He remembered how his classmates were gathered around, awed by what they had witnessed. In his mind, the open white mouth and humiliated visage before him was that of his nemesis, and for a brief moment, he felt the full measure of sweet revenge the bully had coming. That’s it, Terry — take it in your mouth, you fuckin’ racist scumbag. Suck that big black dick!
As rich as Duane’s moment of triumph was, it paled in comparison to the ecstasy that washed over his cocksucker. Duane’s thick cock was a dream come true, and the naked white boy filled his mouth with it as he snaked a hand behind Duane’s balls, pulling them gently forward, feeding the cock deeper into his mouth. The appreciative hums and moans emanating from the boy’s throat vibrated around his dick as he began to suck with a purpose.
Duane had gotten head before, but always from women, and more often than not, it was more performative than inspired. He always thought it funny how it’s called cock sucking when so many people forgot actually to suck. But not this one – this one understood. This whiteboi was good!
“That’s right, suck on that fat fucker, little boy. Make that big black dick feel good.”
Duane relaxed and closed his eyes, riding waves of pleasure as his very own white cocksucker worked his manhood. It was rare, but he had felt this good before, when stroking into a nice, slippery pussy. But he’d never felt this powerful, or appreciated. Yes, this was something he could get used to! Opening his eyes, he noticed his cocksucker was tearing up, not out of sadness, but because he was pushing himself to take as much dick as he could down his throat. The boy was motivated, no doubt about it.
“You are one sweet cocksucker, boy! Yeah, make your daddy’s dick feel good. You like that? You like suckin’ your black daddy?”
The nod spoke volumes — the boy was too enraptured to let it go for a single second. Duane chuckled to himself; the boy was hooked. At this point, he’d probably do anything Duane wanted to get the reward he was brewing, and all Duane wanted in return was to give it to him. No, that wasn’t quite true… Duane wanted to give it to him over and over. No way this should be a one-off.
“You’re working to get daddy’s nut, aincha boy? You want that jungle juice?”
He knew the boy would nod again — it just tickled him to see it.
“And I want to give it to you, boy. I want to give it to you on the regular. How’d that be, boy? You wanna suck daddy’s black dick and eat his nut every time I want to feed it to you?”
Not only was the nodding more urgent, but the boy surprised him by pulling off, sensing the importance of the moment.
“Oh yes, Sir – that would be awesome, Sir! As often as you want, I want to be there for you!”
“I was hoping you’d feel that way. You just tell that pretty wife of yours that’s what you want. She’ll understand; she knows how good black dick is, and how much she needs it herself. Roland’s got your number, and after this, I’m gonna have it too. You just tell wifey you want Duane’s black dick, so she’ll know why I’m calling. You two are gonna both be on call for your black men now!”
Tammy’s husband went back to work, clearly happy at the prospect of his black daddy taking care of his future needs. And Daune went back to riding the wave, equally pleased, now that he had his own personal cocksucker. The thing about riding waves is that they take you closer to shore. Duane had been riding swells, but this one was different — this one kept building, until it became apparent it was going to break.
“Get ready, whiteboi – Imma bust a nut in that mouth of yours!”
Once again, the boy’s online education paid off — he knew just what to do. He backed off until he held only the fat head between his lips, allowing his mouth to fill with the promised reward before gulping to keep up with the volume. The pulsing lasted longer than he expected, but as each spasm delivered less of the rich cream he craved, he collected it, giving it a swish and gargle, wanting more than anything to cap off his performance in style. His black daddy was suitably appreciative.
“Boy, I don’t know what it is about black cock that gets you so horny, but I guess it really doesn’t matter. All that matters is, it does, and I’ve got one.”
Seeing how well he had pleased his new black daddy, he fell back and rested, content in the knowledge that once he got home, he’d have a second load to eat — one he would be able to take his time enjoying.
When Roland and Tammy finally emerged from the bedroom, the way the two smiling men were collapsed on the couch told the tale. Tammy collected her husband and left, confident she would get all the details out of him, at least if he wanted to feed from her. And she knew he wanted that.
Roland was happy for his friend and relieved that everything had gone according to plan. He gave Tammy’s number to Duane without reservation, after securing Duane’s agreement that he would use it only to summon the male of the house. The idea of sharing the couple appealed to Roland; with any luck, it might even allow him to share some of his misgivings. At least now he had company in his exploits.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When Roland and Jean met up again, they discovered the months that had passed were filled with stories, most of them coming from Roland. To Jean, it sounded like Roland had made exceptionally good use of the wisdom she had imparted. As the undercurrent in his stories became apparent, her questioning narrowed in on how he felt about it all, eventually getting him to put it into words. About how his adventures with the women seemed relatively harmless, but with the guys (he couldn’t bring himself to use the term men), it felt so much more exploitive. Still, the appeal was undeniable.
“I guess what bothers me is that these people are so broken. I can’t help but feel like I’m taking advantage of them.”
To which Jean replied, “What about me, Roland? Am I broken?”
“Not exactly, but you might be cracked a little.”
It got her to laugh, but she quickly resumed her analytic demeanor,
“Look, Roland, you are taking advantage of them. But that’s not how you feel, that’s what you’re doing. I think you’re feeling guilty about it. Why? You didn’t make them that way. You’re just reaping the rewards. And you want to know the best part? You’re giving the husbands exactly what they want most in life. Hell, you’re doing these white boys a favor, allowing them to realize their full potential. You’re letting them enjoy giving pleasure to a superior, unleashing feelings of gratitude they wouldn’t otherwise know. They have come to see giving sexual pleasure to black people as their calling, their greatest fulfillment. If you ever doubt any of it, just ask them — they’ll tell you. And remember, the more you tease them with that gorgeous dick, the more truth you’ll get out of them.”
It made perfect sense, just like everything else Jean had told him. It even got him to comment that she really should have pursued a license to practice.
“If only I could have found a good doctoral dissertation topic… you know, maybe it’s not too late. How about this – Black Guilt: Negative feelings resulting from the exploitation of White Guilt”.
Roland could see she was serious, but wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Care to run that by me again?”
“Sure, it’s like this: White Guilt is over white privilege. So, if Black Guilt were a thing, it stands to reason it would be over Black Privilege. Funny, I didn’t even know there was such a thing!”
“Neither did I!” joked Roland. “But you may be onto something.”
The comment lit a spark in Jean’s eye, and she surprised Roland with a look reminiscent of the woman he had first met. An impression she confirmed with her out-of-the-blue comment,
“I know what I’d really like to be onto…”
“Seriously, Jean? What about Oliver?”
“What Oliver doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, when he’s a good boy, even he deserves to hear a hot story now and then. Whaddaya say, lover; one last blowjob for old times’ sake? Sounds like a fitting reward for providing you with the keys to the kingdom.”
“When you put it that way, Jean, it seems the least I can do.”
Roland smiled as he lowered his zipper and watched with pride as his very own amateur psychologist knelt in front of him. Jean sucked his dick — correction, his big, black dick, and Roland marveled at her undying devotion to it. This learned woman, who not only recognized the origin of her infatuation but also understood it well enough to guard her own husband from the extremes of its insidious attraction, still allowed herself to be swept up by it. The gentle manner of her ministrations put him in a reflective state, and his mind wandered, reliving the vast array of delights Jean had revealed. The keys to the kingdom… damn straight! Along with a consort worthy of the title Queen, perfectly suited to share in the pleasures those keys unlocked. It really is true, he thought; it’s good to be the King!
The End.
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