Letting My Thug Neighbor Breed Me
submitted August 5, 2005
Alright fellas, the following story is the latest edition in my often torrid sex life. The events depicted are entirely true, but because I didn’t record it, some of the dialogue has been embellished a little – but only some. The bulk is nearly perfect. The story involves sex between two consenting adults. If this type of story offends you, or if you are not allowed by law to continue, then please don’t continue. You’ve obviously happened upon the wrong page…
After my last few exploits…alright, who am I kidding…after my last several dozen undocumented exploits, I found myself graduating from graduate school, quitting my waiting tables job and leaving my sexy, drug-addicted, occasional bootie call, moving in with my parents, and then moving again to a small, quiet, we’re-big-fans-of-NASCAR southern Illinois community to continue my education even further. That’s right, I’m on track to becoming a doctor. But in the meantime, there was this wicked jungle fever that was hindering my thought processes.
For the sake of anonymity (and realism), we’ll call my new location NascarVille.
So there I sat in NascarVille, two weeks before class and my assistanceship began, and I was craving some of the dark meat like it was nobody’s business. I was dying. I had no internet access…I had no connections. I was simply left to my own devices. More on that in just a moment.
I moved into my new apartment just this past Monday. The apartments in this particular community were odd in that it was really a mass sea of duplexes…two-story apartments attached to other two-story apartments with other similar structures surrounding it on all sides. My place was plenty spacious; two bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, living room, toilet. It was all the space I needed. Unfortunately, it lacked a room of virile, young, curious, straight black men willing to receive blowjobs at no cost or consequence.
The day after I moved in, I thought of recreating a repeat performance of the cable incident of 2003…me being used by a gang of roughnecks. Unfortunately, I was left to improvise when the new gang consisted of one 64-year-old man who would not have been described as alluring at any point in the last three decades. Without my precious internet, I was screwed. No access to any of my normal channels of hookups…only me and my tried and true porn.
The day after I moved in, and after I revisited said delicious porn, I found myself drunk. When I find myself drunk, I tend to say and do certain things that might get the average person shot, stabbed, or beaten. I, fortunately, was not just some average person. Drunk and horny, I threw on my Skechers, grabbed my keys, and headed for the door. Not really looking for a hookup (despite my abundance of black neighbors), I decided to simply go for a stroll. However, moments after stepping out onto my porch, I noticed a maroon SUV with a foxy African-American driver and a foxy African-American non-driver leaning up against the drivers side window. Obviously, these fellas were buddies. I decided to pretend like I was headed to the mailbox and did just that. On my return, the fellas continued talking as I passed by, only this time I looked over in their direction, held their gaze, and noticeably licked my lips. Oh, the lengths I would go to for some sizeable black cock…
Despite my best lip licking efforts, the foxy black lads did not bite at my not-so-subtle offer. I returned to my pad and decided to regroup. After about twenty minutes, I decided it was time for another walk. Nothing. I passed by a Ford Taurus with some black chick clamping down on her man right outside the same apartment that the SUV was parked in front of. Apparently, it was the kind of night designed for heterosexual coupling…not for the good ole-fashioned gay kind. Poor me. After about six blocks, I decided to head back.
Two days later, I went to “check my mail” and noticed a lone sexy black guy sitting on his porch smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a pair of dark colored sweat pants and a white wife beater t-shirt. His hair was styled in cornrows, but the back was longer than the front giving the impression of several little braided ponytails. His t-shirt flattered his sizeable biceps immensely. He acknowledged me with an ever sexy, “Sup,” at which point I effeminately replied, “Hi,” and began more noticeably sashaying down the pathway. I developed a plan in record time, and about ten steps after our brief exchange, I fell to the ground squealing in pain. After all, I had just “sprained my ankle”…and he was destined to become my thug in shining armor.
After about ten seconds, this sexy dude began walking over to me. “Yo, dude…you need some help and shit?” He sounded a little bit stoned.
“Oh, man,” I replied, “I think I sprained my ankle. Can you help me back to my apartment?” He replied by putting each hand in my arm pits and effortlessly helping me to my feet. As soon as I was vertical again, he took my right arm and draped it over his manly shoulders for support. After he determined which apartment was mine, we began walking towards it.
“I appreciate your help, dude. I guess I’m a bit drunk.” I had, after all, been drinking rum prior to my walk.
“No problem, bro. I’m a bit loaded myself,” he replied.
“My name is XXXX, by the way,” I said.
“I’m Jackson,” he said.
As we walked, I thought ahead to my apartment and the scene I meticulously created in case an opportunity such as this arose…a scene I created for the past three nights. Beside my entertainment center sat an open box of gay porn, including a vibrator and a large black dildo. On my coffee table sat a pornographic DVD cover – a movie about black men fucking submissive white dudes. In the VCR, I had some interracial straight porn, just in case all of the gay shit was too much for them to handle. I had it all planned out.
As we walked awkwardly through the front door, Jackson asked me where I’d like to sit.
“Actually, I have to pee first,” I said.
“Whoa, dude…you gonna have to handle that all yourself,” Jackson replied. Man alive, the bulge in those sweats looked so much better in my living room light. Thick and trailing several inches down his left leg. You could clearly see the ridge of his cock head, so I imagined he wasn’t wearing any underwear. I disguised these crotch glances by looking down at my unsprained sprained ankle while balancing on the other foot.
“It’s cool, dude. But I owe you. You want a beer? Some rum?”
“Damn, dude…rum sounds mighty fine,” he said, while sitting down on my loveseat, arm on the back of it, legs spread just so. What took me aback was the fact that he appeared to expect ME to get it. Despite my ankle. I wasn’t about to piss him off. In any case, my plan involved leaving him alone for a minute in hopes that he’d glance at the pornography and put two and two together. Looking for any old port in the storm, sailor?
I hurriedly hobbled down the hallway towards the bathroom. When I was out of his line of sight, I walked normally, peed (I actually had to), washed my hands and walked back. As I approached the living room area, the hobble reappeared. He was sitting in the same position. Didn’t seem to have browsed anything. And he also didn’t help himself to any libations.
I retrieved two glasses from the cabinet. “How strong you like yours?”
“Bitch, I like my drinks strong. You couldn’t make it strong enough.”
That felt like a challenge. I had some big glasses, so I grabbed my fifth of Bacardi and filled his almost two the top – about seven inches of rum. I added one more inch of coke. His was finished. Mine was about the opposite – one inch of rum, seven of soda. I grabbed them from the counter and limped my way over to the couch adjacent to the loveseat. He took his drink and took a big, hearty gulp.
“Bitch, that shits the bomb,” he said, smiling, revealing a gold tooth. “You know how to make your shit.”
Over the next twenty minutes, Jackson consumed his drink and was a quarter way done with his equally strong second. I began to find out more about my hot, black, muscled, gold-toothed stud. He graduated from high school and joined the army. He was on track to have a good post-service career as an electrician, but then got tied down when he knocked up a one-night stand in this, our small college town. She refused to let him go, no matter how much he shirked his familial responsibilities, and now he was trapped here living with her and his now 4-year-old daughter. Because of the job market, he found himself frequently unemployed, as he currently was. He was living off what she made as a nurse.
Trying to steer the conversation down a more risqué avenue, I said, “Yeah, well, I bet she’s a good lay. After all, you stuck around.”
“Yeah, dawg, it was either stick around or have her daddy shoot my ass up.” He paused, looking at me like he was skeptical. “What the fuck do you care anyway, bitch. You’s a fag, ain’t ya?” The rum – in combination with the pot and whatever else he may have been drinking, smoking, or snorting – was beginning to affect his speech. Yet it seems he was indeed coherent enough to pick up on the casually displayed gay paraphernalia.
I oozed confidence. “Yeah, I’m a fag. I just know what I like.”
He laughed. “And what’s that, bitch?” He sure liked to call me bitch a lot. That was fine, however, since I had been delving into my more submissive side.
I looked him square in the eye. “I like to suck cock. Can’t get enough of it.”
“You never get no pussy?”
“I could if I wanted to. Been offered hundreds of times.” Here came my hook. “I just like the taste of cum too much.” I would have probably never tried such a direct approach if I knew him to be sober. Alas…
He laughed, and rose from the loveseat and moved toward the rum. He started making another drink. When he returned, he seemed to be slightly more pronounced in the crotch area. Not hard, but definitely thicker.
“Dawg, I can’t believe you suck that shit down. I cum in buckets, bitch.”
I smiled and laughed, still tossing out hooks. “Cut it out, you’re gonna get me thirsty.”
“Drink your drink, bitch. My nut’s off limits.”
I was crushed. Devastated. Kicked in the jimmy. Then…
“Me and Terrell did talk about finding us a little fag bitch to pump all rough and shit though.” As he said this, he eyed me, almost suspiciously.
“Who is Terrell?” I asked, suddenly reinvigorated.
“Cousin. He used to work over this one faggot’s throat when he was in grammar school. Got him trained real good.”
“You ever tap it?”
“Hell no, bitch. My girl sucks me just fine.”
Again, crushed. Then…
“She don’t swallow though. Says it’s too sweet and complains that there’s too much all shootin’ out at her and shit. Can barely even get half the damn thing in.”
“Half?” I laughed. “Sounds like an amateur!”
“You saying you could do better?” he asked, taking a big drink.
I looked at him confidently. “I’ve never met a cock I couldn’t deep-throat.”
He seemed to be thinking things over. After about a minute…
“You got fifty bucks?” he asked.
“Yeah.” It was a rare time indeed that I actually had any money, let alone fifty dollars. I was, after all, a college student.
“Lemme see it, bitch.”
I went to my kitchen table, where my wallet was, retrieved the money, and returned to my seat. I tossed the fifty bucks onto the coffee table. He picked it up, counted it, and shoved it in his pocket. At that point, he leaned back in his seat, lifted his shirt to mid stomach (no six pack, but flat, and tattooed), untied the string holding up his sweatpants, and sat there looking at me. When I didn’t immediately pounce, he lowered his shirt and said, “Well if you don’t want it, bitch, I’ll just take my money and go home.”
Money for what, I thought…drinking my rum?
“I just prefer to be on my knees with the dude standing. You know, fucking my face.”
“Oh,” he said, “you like to get a little freaky-deaky and shit.” He rose from the loveseat and approached me, a sexy thuggish swagger in his step. His cock was definitely harder than before, tenting out. He walked right up to where I was sitting. He roughly grabbed the back of my head and pulled me forward so that I had to scoot to the end of the cushion. He grabbed his sweatpant-covered cock by the root and began rubbing it on my face. I tried to stick my tongue out to accommodate his rough play, but he was quick and sloppy – obviously an effect of the Bacardi. “You wanna suck on my black cock, white boy?”
“Yes,” I replied. Basic terms seemed appropriate. Wrong.
“I don’t believe you, bitch. Make me believe you.”
“Please Jackson…sir…let me suck on your big black cock. I’ll do anything.”
“Anything,” he asked with an air of humor in his voice. “That’s right, bitch. You’ll do whatever I want you to do to get this nut, won’t you bitch?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do anything. Anything you want. I’ll let you fuck me. I’ll let you pimp me out. Anything.”
“I don’t want that ass, faggot,” he scolded, pulling his cock away from my face, only to roughly slap that hidden rod against my mouth. “I’m no fag like you.” So, apparently, face fucking a dude was straight, but fucking an ass was gay. This foxy brotha had no clue about irony.
“No, sir, of course you’re not gay. I want to suck your straight cum right out of your straight cock,” I said with equal parts thirst and lust.
He pulled the front of his wife beater over the back of his head. He had one small tattoo over his right nipple, a bigger tattoo over his left, and plenty of ink going down in some Asian lettering down his stomach, perhaps from his stint in the military. He was smooth all over. The definition in his pecs and biceps more than made up for his lack of a six-pack. He hooked his thumbs under his waist band and pulled his sweats down to mid-thigh. His ever expanding cock sprung up, and he looked to be about nine inches long, 6 or so in girth. His nuts were smaller and hairy – I couldn’t imagine a huge bucket-filling load coming out of them – and he obviously trimmed his pubes. While his cock was a nice dark chocolate brown, the head on his tool was slightly more pinkish, and a bit of tasty pre-cum formed at the tip. My examination of all this took only about three seconds, and after that, he grabbed his cock at the base and moved forward. “Open up, you faggot.” I did, and he roughly shoved about 75% of his cock into my open and willing mouth, stretching it to the absolute limit.
“I thought you said you could deep-throat, faggot?” he said, disappointed that I didn’t accommodate his first thrust. Needless to say, I was ready for the second thrust, as his cock plunged deep into my throat and his balls slapped abruptly into my chin. “Ahhh, now that’s more like it, bitch.” He held it there for just a few seconds, and then found himself a more steady rhythm.
While he was holding my head and plowing his way past my tonsils, I let my hands do a little exploring. I felt and rubbed on his balls. I squeezed his muscular and deliciously smooth ass cheek as I pulled him roughly towards me. I let my hands roam up past his tattoo covered belly to his rock hard pectorals, squeezing his hard nipples when I arrived.
He would slide his dark chocolatey cock through my lips, hold it there for three seconds, then withdraw it. Repeat. Plunge. Withdraw. Repeat. With each forward thrust, his nut hairs would tickle my chin, intertwining with my pathetic attempt at a goatee. Despite a few moans and comments like, “Take it bitch,” he was relatively silent. I sat there and let him plow away at my throat like the obedient cocksucker I was.
After about fifteen minutes, he withdrew completely. “Get up, bitch,” he demanded.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“Get in the bedroom.”
As I walked to my bedroom, my cum thirst made me forget about my alleged sprained ankle, and this black stallion definitely noticed.
“I see that ankle has healed, cocksucker. Or maybe it was never hurt to begin with…”
“I just wanted to suck on your cock, sir.”
“I see, faggot. So you tricked me.” We arrived in my room. “Get your white ass on the bed. No, get on your back…let your head hang over the side.” I did. Jackson moved up to my head, positioning his cock to my lips. With one extremely rough thrust, his cock was back in my throat. I felt my top lip get cut as it was pushed into the line of my teeth, but I was a trooper. His balls were now getting pushed into my nose, and his verbal assault was kicked up a notch. “Faggot.” “Bitch.” “Cocksucker.” “White cocksucker.” “White faggot cocksucker.” Anything was game, and I was more than willing to milk that straight cock for all it was worth. Another fifteen minutes passed. He withdrew. “Faggot’s getting me close,” he said, grabbing hold of his throbbing dick and stroking it. “Let me see that pretty white ass,” he said, and I moved obediently to my hands and knees. He grabbed one of my ass cheeks. “Ahhh, that’s it. Look at that white butt, begging to get this black cock up in it. You think you’d like that, whitey?”
“Yes, sir. I’d love to get fucked by that big black cock.”
“Yeah, I bet, faggot,” he said with a smirk, still stroking his cock. “Too bad for you I don’t do that gay shit.”
Again, the irony…
Then he continued: “Maybe if you shaved yourself all smooth, perhaps I’d give it a tap sometime.”
This made me look back. He was eyeing my butt like a horny gay dude would look at a dick-shaped t-bone steak. With his right hand, he was stroking his cock. Left hand – pinching his right nipple. His tongue was licking his lips, and his eyes looked glazed.
Then, unfortunately, he continued: “Of course…it’ll cost your honky ass.”
Unfortunate since I was poor as shit.
His stroking had began growing more feverish as he looked at my hole. Now, beads of sweat were forming on his brow. “Back that ass up…get it to the edge of the bed,” he demanded with a peculiar – but familiar – tone in his voice. I did as I was instructed. His gleaming cockhead was now about three inches from my twitching ass. Thank god! He was going to fuck me without an additional cash infusion.
Then, my hopes were dashed. “Here it comes, bitch. Hold that ass open…I wanna breed that faggot cunt.” I rested my head on the sheet and reached back, pulling my ass cheeks apart. Like a seasoned pro, he moved forward, but only stuck the head in. Momentarily, it made me feel bloated…after all, he had a large head. But then I felt jet after long jet of his extremely warm cum getting pumped into my bowels. His moans could have probably been heard back at my Milwaukee apartment. After about four shots, he pulled it back out and shot about four more onto my ass crack. I could feel the warm jizz slipping down the crack, streaming to my nuts, and dripping off onto my sheet. When it finally stopped cumming, he said, “Wanna taste this nut, bitch?”
“Hell yeah,” I panted.
He grabbed his cock – still hard, by the way – and rubbed it up against my crack, coating his cock with his freshly spewed juice.
“Get down here on your knees.” I did. Squatting like that, I could feel some of his substantial load leaking out onto the carpet. I didn’t care…I was going to get a taste! He looked down at me as I sat there. “Well…go ahead.” I started licking all over his cock, from root to tip, savoring his unusually sweet load. I would have much rather drank straight from the hose, but I was pleased to just be able to taste him.
After a minute, he retrieved his clothes and got dressed. He left shortly thereafter claiming that he was babysitting. Either that child was a sound sleeper, or it was a line of bullshit – either way, I didn’t give a fuck. Before he left, I gave him my cell phone number. This all happened only three days ago, and he hasn’t called yet, but I have a feeling he will. In the meantime, I have started doing some more squats to keep my ass toned, and I took care of any and all masculine hair below my waist. He won’t be able to resist a full on attack of this ass next time he comes around. And hopefully he’ll have his cousin in tow. I will keep you posted.