Brava Boutique Owner
“This heathen got the nerve to open a boutique here in Stonedale. Disrespectful,” hissed the brown-skinned matronly lady with a short haircut that had silver streaks throughout.
“I know,” scoffed the other, shaking her head as she drove past the store.
Inside, the owner was busy doing not too much. His shop assistant was named Holly and she was somewhere in the back at the moment.
A chime indicated that the door of Brava Boutique was open.
Hutner, the proprietor of the establishment, looked up from his crossword puzzle and said, “Welcome to Brava! How may I help you?”
“Oh,” stuttered the dude with a brownish-yellow complexion. “Uh. I need a gift for my girl’s birthday.”
“Oh she’s lucky,” the white boy looked the customer up and down. What do you have in mind?”
“Just some stuff. Maybe a gift card.”
“We can definitely do a gift certificate. May I also suggest a couple of trinkets to go with it.”
“Yeah, Sounds good.”
“Well we have these earrings and costume rings which she might like.”
As Hunter showed him the jewelry, the guy studied the badonkadonk on the green-eyed fellow.
“Yeah. This looks nice,” he commented.
“Thanks! I pick out all the pieces myself,” shared the effeminate one.
“Yeah. I’ll take them earrings and a thirty-five dollar gift certificate.”
“Great! Let me ring you up!”
“Fahso!”
Hunter walked back to the register. “Hmmm,” he wondered aloud. “Let me give you a twenty-five percent discount on the earrings in hope that you’ll shop with us again!”
“That’s wassup!”
Hunter clanged on the keys and said, “That’ll be fifty-four forty-six please. Cash or credit.”
“Cash!”
“Would you like to be added to our loyalty list?”
“You gon’ text me now?”
“We can.”
“Do the reply go back to you?”
“It’s an automated system. So it goes to the platform. My employees have access too,” Hunter explained.
“Nah! Gimme yo’ number and I’ll text you if I need to get another discount.”
Hunter called out nine digits.
The customer typed them in. “I’m Sheik. I’ma text you now.”
Hunter’s phone dinged. “Got it,” he shared.
“Aight. I’m finna hit you fah real,” nodded Sheik.
The gentleman disappeared out the door.
Hunter studied him walking across the street to a parallel parked black 2004 Mercedes CL Coupe with twenty inch rims that had a gloss black finish with a red inner lining. He decided to text.
-Nice ride
-Thx! Nice ass!
-Thank you! You want it?
-Hell yeah! You got a spot?
-I live alone over in Etheridge
-Ahhh shit! I thought you had a spot around here.
-If it gotta be right now, not really. But I could give my shop asst off for the afternoon.
-Nah I got a spot. Leave and come follow me.
-Send me a dick pic first.
The photo arrived. It looked meaty and decent in length.
Hunter replied, ‘Is it a house?’
-Nah. It’s an old church we can go behind.
-That sounds crazy.
-I ain’t gon’ do nun but fuck that big ol’ booty. I know who you are. You why ol’ dude got caught up.
-Huh?
-He was a cop. That shit hot. I see why he was fucking you.
-Oh yeah?
-Follow me. NOW!
-Yes sir. White VW Passat.
Hunter told Holly he had to run out.
Hunter pulled around and beeped at Sheik. He then pulled off into the bank parking lot so Sheik could lead.
The black Benz headed out of Stonedale’s corporate limits. It was in the direction of where Darius had lived.
Hunter thought back to that time…
It was 2014. He had convinced his grandparents to let him get a part time job during the summer when he wasn’t in the marching band. He got hired at Burger Shack - a tiny eat-in establishment with a drive-thru.
Darius Williamson was the first and only Black out of four police officers on the force in the town of just over fifteen hundred. The deep sepia complected brotha would come in regularly on his shift for lunch break because the owners let the local law enforcement and firefighters eat free - only their meals, but with a 25% discount if others were with them.
Darius usually dined alone. After seeing the cashier a couple of times, he decided to inquire, “Where you from?”
“I live in Etheridge,” the employee had answered, referring to a town that was about eight miles away in a different county.
“Are you even old enough to be working?”
“Well,” Hunter rolled his eyes. “I’m sixteen and it’s legal for me to do whatever.”
“Oh really,” smirked the officer.
“Yes, sir! It’s even the age of consent.”
“Oh I know,” Darius rubbed his hands together and licked his full lips.
“You do,” Hunter narrowed his gaze.
“Yeah! You got a boyfriend,” he whispered.
“No! I need one.”
“Oh yeah?”
The deep brown dude leaned forward, “Write down your number if you want to text me,”
On the receipt, Hunter wrote his number.
“Thanks, “ winked Darius.
Hunter’s phone buzzed.
-It’s me. Your fave customer.
-How do you know that?
-I seen you looking at me. I know you can’t work past 10.
-That’s right.
-Wanna follow me to a spot and talk?
-Yeah.
-Bet. I’ma be parked at the Chevco gas station at 10.
-See you then.
Hunter watched Darious finish his chili cheese burger, fries, and fried apple pie.
Hunter clocked out on time and hopped in his beige 2010 Honda Accord. He sent a message letting the officer know he was off his type of car. He headed over to the gas station and saw the police cruiser sitting there.
Darius pulled out. He led the way out to a dirt road and parked. He got out and walked over to Hunter’s vehicle. “You cute as hell, boy!”
“Thank you!”
“You been fucked before?”
“No, sir!”
“You gonna let me fuck that boipussy?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Call me Black Daddy, you sexy li’l white twink!”
“Yes, Black Daddy!”
“Good boy! I’ma make you a girl! Get out, pretty boy!”
Hunter stepped out of the vehicle.
Immediately, Darius pulled him close and planted a deep wet kiss on his supple pink lips. “Damn! You fine,” he sighed.
“Thank you! You’re handsome!”
“Am I,” Darius asked.
“Totes! So you’re married,” Hunter inquired, looking at the eighteen carat gold plated wedding band swirled with one tenth-carat total weight diamonds across the top.
“I am! Is that an issue. I been fucking sissy faggots like you on the low since I was at J-S-U!”
“I’m okay with it.”
“Let me see that ass then!”
Hunter slid down his pants and undies.
“Ooh wee,” remarked Darius, slapping that taut bubble. “I wanna fuck you now.”
“Mmmmm!”
“Yeah! Get on your knees and suck this dick,” he ordered, pulling off his durable black tactical boots and pants.
Hunter dropped to his knees and grabbed the already erect 8¾-inch-by-5½-inch tool. “It’s so big,” he gasped.
“I know,” grinned Darius. “Open wide!”
Hunter complied. His pouty lips parted. He swirled his tongue over the mushroom head. He encapsulated the shaft with his warm, wet mouth.
“Damn,” barked Darius. “This shit already feel better than my wife’s head!”
“Mmhmm,” moaned Hunter.
“Hell yeah! Gag on that motherfucker, gay boi!”
ARRRRRRGHHHHHH.
Saliva and spit were going everywhere.
“Good gurl,” the dominant one praised the cocksucker.
“Mmhmm!”
“Bend that faggot ass over,” commanded Darius. He spat on Hunter’s pink hole and angled his dick towards the secret garden. He pushed in slowly. “Breathe,” he instructed. “Let yourself go limp. I’ma teach you about poppers and douche and shit later. But you shit on this dick if you gotta!”
“Oh my,” whined Hunter. “Ooh! Oww! Mmmmmphhhh!”
Darius pushed in half way. “Get used to it,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” wailed Hunter. “Oh my god!”
“Yeah! I like ‘em feminine as fuck! You all the way femme, boi! Let me in that shithole, faggit!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Black Daddy,” he howled.
“Yes, Black Daddy!”
“Hell yeah,” Darius groaned as he felt the delicate softness open up.
“Ooh-wee, Black Daddy,” purred the sissy.
Darius began to thrust.
Gently.
As Hunter cooed and shrieked, Darius picked up the pace.
“Fuck yeah, bitch,” Darius yelled. “Gimme that boipussy!”
“Oh my god! Oh my god! I think I have to poop!”
“Shit on this Black dick, boi!”
“Oh no!”
“You better!”
Darius pounded with greater fury. He felt a gooey warmth happening.
Hunter’s fanny let out thick juicy turd.
Darius kept fucking. He pounded for another eighty-nine seconds then announced, “I’m finna nut in that butt, boi!”
Darius grunted.
“Oh my god,” cried Hunter.
Afterwards, Darius retried a container of wet ones so he and his bitch could wipe up the mess.
From then on, Darius would use the guise of his side hustle security guarding. He would make sure he was free every other weekend for a rendezvous with Hunter.
Hunter lied to his grandparents. He told them he would be visiting a classmate that went to the Mississippi School of Math and Science on the campus of MUW in Columbus.
The first time they were checked into a motor inn and their vehicles parked around back. Then, and each time after, they would fuck nonstop for a night.
Hunter progressed in makeup skills and even bought high quality press-on nails to complete the look.
In commemoration of Hunter’s s*******nth birthday, Darius suggested a silicone pump for that derriere.
Hunter quickly agreed.
A pump session was set up. Darius was pleased with the results and kept fucking his bitch boy down the dirt road and at various seedy motels in remote areas of the state.
After nearly eighteen months of straight up fucking, Darius went radio silent. He didn’t even come into Burger Shack anymore.
Hunter was pissed because he gave up marching band in his senior year just to be in concert band - which had given him more opportunities to be Darius’ bitch fag.
Hunter figured out where Darius lived and showed up weekend night after work when he saw the cruiser parked in front of the house. He blew the horn.
It startled Darius’ wife and two k**s.
Darius had no idea what was happening outside. He instructed Angela and the c***dren to go to the back bedroom. He retrieved his side arm and went outside.
He recognized the Honda Accord as soon as he opened the door and cursed himself.
He lowered the Glock and went over to the vehicle.
After twenty minutes, he came inside and told Angela he had to get his wallet. She asked why. He said the k** outside was crazy and he needed to drive him home to Etheridge. He prodded her to drive her car and follow them. She said no. She insisted he call 9-1-1.
Darius refused. He got his wallet and darted out of the ranch style home.
He told Hunter to get in the passenger seat and he drove sixty miles to another town and checked them into a motel.
They fucked nonstop for two days.
Hunter told his grandparents he was in Columbus again needing a mental health break.
They believed him since Hunter’s mom eventually overdosed when Hunter’s younger sister was run over by his drunk uncle. His dad also succumbed to d**g addiction and was eventually shot to death. They’d sent their son away so he could avoid charges. It was another case of Stockstill privilege. Hunter’s grandfather was a retired county court whose own father had been a lieutenant governor of the state.
By the time Darius returned without having answered his wife’s phone calls, she was fuming. She figured out through local gossip that her hubby had been screwing a high school white boi. She called the police department and told them everything. She spread it at church. She called colleagues and friends.
Darius was ruined. He arrived home to find some of his stuff in the yard. He loaded it into the bed of his truck and left.
The police department fired him. He was smart enough to reach out to Hunter Stockstill’s family. He drove right over to the Queen Anne home with the wraparound porch. He spoke ad nauseum with John Stockstill.
The former judge made some calls and secured an interview with a small police department in north Mississippi.
Darius headed up there and got the job. He ended contact with Hunter per the deal.
Hunter snapped back to the present day after remembering that tumultuous time. He hated that he’d gone to Darius’ home, but he had been feeling neglected and didn’t have the benefit of life perspective.
Sheik stopped and turned left. There was a tattered sign that read ‘Mt. Pisgah Temple Holiness Tabernacle’.
The building was dilapidated, but very out of the way.
They pulled behind the former place of worship.
Sheik exited his coupe. Hunter got out of his sedan.
“Look at all that ass,” commented Sheik. “Did it get bigger since that Nigga was fucking you?”
“Yeah! I’ve had it pumped a couple more times.”
“Good gurl,” he beamed, grabbing the voluptuous rump. “You want this big Nigga dick, white boi?”
“Fuck yeah, Nigga!”
“Dis a ghetto ass fah real, bitch!”
“Thank you, daddy!”
“It’s Nigga Daddy, punk,” the twentysomething boomed, slapping the faggot across the face.
“Sorry, Nigga Daddy,” bemoaned Hunter.
“Dat’s a good boi! Now suck dis dick!”
Hunter knelt down and pulled out a generous, whopping brown member. “Oh my gawd,” he gawked.
“I know you can take it, faggit!”
“Yes, Nigga Daddy! Gimme one sec!”
Hunter marched over to his car and opened the trunk. He extracted a small suitcase and took out some anesthetizing throat spray. He pumped it into his mouth and fell down again.
ARRRRRRRHHHHHH.
Saliva and spittle all down Hunter’s plastic surgery enhanced lips and face.
“Bend that phat booty over! I’m finna fuck you,” Sheik growled.
Hunter did as told. He pulled down his shorts and panties. He lubed up his hole.
Sheik thrust in without a concern. “Take dis dick, hoe!”
“Yes, Nigga Daddy!”
“Goddamn! Yo shit tight!”
“Yes,sir! Is it tighter than your girlfriend’s pussy!”
“Hell yeah, faggit! And better too!”
Sheik pounded and smacked those cheeks harder and harder.
Hunter whined into the rural emptiness.
“I’m finna…”
Before he could finish that statement he erupted.
Hunter felt nine pulses.
When Sheik pulled out he huffed, “I’ma come fuck you tonight in that mansion, boi! We gon’ record cause I’m making us a All for Fans site.
“I know,” scoffed the other, shaking her head as she drove past the store.
Inside, the owner was busy doing not too much. His shop assistant was named Holly and she was somewhere in the back at the moment.
A chime indicated that the door of Brava Boutique was open.
Hutner, the proprietor of the establishment, looked up from his crossword puzzle and said, “Welcome to Brava! How may I help you?”
“Oh,” stuttered the dude with a brownish-yellow complexion. “Uh. I need a gift for my girl’s birthday.”
“Oh she’s lucky,” the white boy looked the customer up and down. What do you have in mind?”
“Just some stuff. Maybe a gift card.”
“We can definitely do a gift certificate. May I also suggest a couple of trinkets to go with it.”
“Yeah, Sounds good.”
“Well we have these earrings and costume rings which she might like.”
As Hunter showed him the jewelry, the guy studied the badonkadonk on the green-eyed fellow.
“Yeah. This looks nice,” he commented.
“Thanks! I pick out all the pieces myself,” shared the effeminate one.
“Yeah. I’ll take them earrings and a thirty-five dollar gift certificate.”
“Great! Let me ring you up!”
“Fahso!”
Hunter walked back to the register. “Hmmm,” he wondered aloud. “Let me give you a twenty-five percent discount on the earrings in hope that you’ll shop with us again!”
“That’s wassup!”
Hunter clanged on the keys and said, “That’ll be fifty-four forty-six please. Cash or credit.”
“Cash!”
“Would you like to be added to our loyalty list?”
“You gon’ text me now?”
“We can.”
“Do the reply go back to you?”
“It’s an automated system. So it goes to the platform. My employees have access too,” Hunter explained.
“Nah! Gimme yo’ number and I’ll text you if I need to get another discount.”
Hunter called out nine digits.
The customer typed them in. “I’m Sheik. I’ma text you now.”
Hunter’s phone dinged. “Got it,” he shared.
“Aight. I’m finna hit you fah real,” nodded Sheik.
The gentleman disappeared out the door.
Hunter studied him walking across the street to a parallel parked black 2004 Mercedes CL Coupe with twenty inch rims that had a gloss black finish with a red inner lining. He decided to text.
-Nice ride
-Thx! Nice ass!
-Thank you! You want it?
-Hell yeah! You got a spot?
-I live alone over in Etheridge
-Ahhh shit! I thought you had a spot around here.
-If it gotta be right now, not really. But I could give my shop asst off for the afternoon.
-Nah I got a spot. Leave and come follow me.
-Send me a dick pic first.
The photo arrived. It looked meaty and decent in length.
Hunter replied, ‘Is it a house?’
-Nah. It’s an old church we can go behind.
-That sounds crazy.
-I ain’t gon’ do nun but fuck that big ol’ booty. I know who you are. You why ol’ dude got caught up.
-Huh?
-He was a cop. That shit hot. I see why he was fucking you.
-Oh yeah?
-Follow me. NOW!
-Yes sir. White VW Passat.
Hunter told Holly he had to run out.
Hunter pulled around and beeped at Sheik. He then pulled off into the bank parking lot so Sheik could lead.
The black Benz headed out of Stonedale’s corporate limits. It was in the direction of where Darius had lived.
Hunter thought back to that time…
It was 2014. He had convinced his grandparents to let him get a part time job during the summer when he wasn’t in the marching band. He got hired at Burger Shack - a tiny eat-in establishment with a drive-thru.
Darius Williamson was the first and only Black out of four police officers on the force in the town of just over fifteen hundred. The deep sepia complected brotha would come in regularly on his shift for lunch break because the owners let the local law enforcement and firefighters eat free - only their meals, but with a 25% discount if others were with them.
Darius usually dined alone. After seeing the cashier a couple of times, he decided to inquire, “Where you from?”
“I live in Etheridge,” the employee had answered, referring to a town that was about eight miles away in a different county.
“Are you even old enough to be working?”
“Well,” Hunter rolled his eyes. “I’m sixteen and it’s legal for me to do whatever.”
“Oh really,” smirked the officer.
“Yes, sir! It’s even the age of consent.”
“Oh I know,” Darius rubbed his hands together and licked his full lips.
“You do,” Hunter narrowed his gaze.
“Yeah! You got a boyfriend,” he whispered.
“No! I need one.”
“Oh yeah?”
The deep brown dude leaned forward, “Write down your number if you want to text me,”
On the receipt, Hunter wrote his number.
“Thanks, “ winked Darius.
Hunter’s phone buzzed.
-It’s me. Your fave customer.
-How do you know that?
-I seen you looking at me. I know you can’t work past 10.
-That’s right.
-Wanna follow me to a spot and talk?
-Yeah.
-Bet. I’ma be parked at the Chevco gas station at 10.
-See you then.
Hunter watched Darious finish his chili cheese burger, fries, and fried apple pie.
Hunter clocked out on time and hopped in his beige 2010 Honda Accord. He sent a message letting the officer know he was off his type of car. He headed over to the gas station and saw the police cruiser sitting there.
Darius pulled out. He led the way out to a dirt road and parked. He got out and walked over to Hunter’s vehicle. “You cute as hell, boy!”
“Thank you!”
“You been fucked before?”
“No, sir!”
“You gonna let me fuck that boipussy?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Call me Black Daddy, you sexy li’l white twink!”
“Yes, Black Daddy!”
“Good boy! I’ma make you a girl! Get out, pretty boy!”
Hunter stepped out of the vehicle.
Immediately, Darius pulled him close and planted a deep wet kiss on his supple pink lips. “Damn! You fine,” he sighed.
“Thank you! You’re handsome!”
“Am I,” Darius asked.
“Totes! So you’re married,” Hunter inquired, looking at the eighteen carat gold plated wedding band swirled with one tenth-carat total weight diamonds across the top.
“I am! Is that an issue. I been fucking sissy faggots like you on the low since I was at J-S-U!”
“I’m okay with it.”
“Let me see that ass then!”
Hunter slid down his pants and undies.
“Ooh wee,” remarked Darius, slapping that taut bubble. “I wanna fuck you now.”
“Mmmmm!”
“Yeah! Get on your knees and suck this dick,” he ordered, pulling off his durable black tactical boots and pants.
Hunter dropped to his knees and grabbed the already erect 8¾-inch-by-5½-inch tool. “It’s so big,” he gasped.
“I know,” grinned Darius. “Open wide!”
Hunter complied. His pouty lips parted. He swirled his tongue over the mushroom head. He encapsulated the shaft with his warm, wet mouth.
“Damn,” barked Darius. “This shit already feel better than my wife’s head!”
“Mmhmm,” moaned Hunter.
“Hell yeah! Gag on that motherfucker, gay boi!”
ARRRRRRGHHHHHH.
Saliva and spit were going everywhere.
“Good gurl,” the dominant one praised the cocksucker.
“Mmhmm!”
“Bend that faggot ass over,” commanded Darius. He spat on Hunter’s pink hole and angled his dick towards the secret garden. He pushed in slowly. “Breathe,” he instructed. “Let yourself go limp. I’ma teach you about poppers and douche and shit later. But you shit on this dick if you gotta!”
“Oh my,” whined Hunter. “Ooh! Oww! Mmmmmphhhh!”
Darius pushed in half way. “Get used to it,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” wailed Hunter. “Oh my god!”
“Yeah! I like ‘em feminine as fuck! You all the way femme, boi! Let me in that shithole, faggit!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Black Daddy,” he howled.
“Yes, Black Daddy!”
“Hell yeah,” Darius groaned as he felt the delicate softness open up.
“Ooh-wee, Black Daddy,” purred the sissy.
Darius began to thrust.
Gently.
As Hunter cooed and shrieked, Darius picked up the pace.
“Fuck yeah, bitch,” Darius yelled. “Gimme that boipussy!”
“Oh my god! Oh my god! I think I have to poop!”
“Shit on this Black dick, boi!”
“Oh no!”
“You better!”
Darius pounded with greater fury. He felt a gooey warmth happening.
Hunter’s fanny let out thick juicy turd.
Darius kept fucking. He pounded for another eighty-nine seconds then announced, “I’m finna nut in that butt, boi!”
Darius grunted.
“Oh my god,” cried Hunter.
Afterwards, Darius retried a container of wet ones so he and his bitch could wipe up the mess.
From then on, Darius would use the guise of his side hustle security guarding. He would make sure he was free every other weekend for a rendezvous with Hunter.
Hunter lied to his grandparents. He told them he would be visiting a classmate that went to the Mississippi School of Math and Science on the campus of MUW in Columbus.
The first time they were checked into a motor inn and their vehicles parked around back. Then, and each time after, they would fuck nonstop for a night.
Hunter progressed in makeup skills and even bought high quality press-on nails to complete the look.
In commemoration of Hunter’s s*******nth birthday, Darius suggested a silicone pump for that derriere.
Hunter quickly agreed.
A pump session was set up. Darius was pleased with the results and kept fucking his bitch boy down the dirt road and at various seedy motels in remote areas of the state.
After nearly eighteen months of straight up fucking, Darius went radio silent. He didn’t even come into Burger Shack anymore.
Hunter was pissed because he gave up marching band in his senior year just to be in concert band - which had given him more opportunities to be Darius’ bitch fag.
Hunter figured out where Darius lived and showed up weekend night after work when he saw the cruiser parked in front of the house. He blew the horn.
It startled Darius’ wife and two k**s.
Darius had no idea what was happening outside. He instructed Angela and the c***dren to go to the back bedroom. He retrieved his side arm and went outside.
He recognized the Honda Accord as soon as he opened the door and cursed himself.
He lowered the Glock and went over to the vehicle.
After twenty minutes, he came inside and told Angela he had to get his wallet. She asked why. He said the k** outside was crazy and he needed to drive him home to Etheridge. He prodded her to drive her car and follow them. She said no. She insisted he call 9-1-1.
Darius refused. He got his wallet and darted out of the ranch style home.
He told Hunter to get in the passenger seat and he drove sixty miles to another town and checked them into a motel.
They fucked nonstop for two days.
Hunter told his grandparents he was in Columbus again needing a mental health break.
They believed him since Hunter’s mom eventually overdosed when Hunter’s younger sister was run over by his drunk uncle. His dad also succumbed to d**g addiction and was eventually shot to death. They’d sent their son away so he could avoid charges. It was another case of Stockstill privilege. Hunter’s grandfather was a retired county court whose own father had been a lieutenant governor of the state.
By the time Darius returned without having answered his wife’s phone calls, she was fuming. She figured out through local gossip that her hubby had been screwing a high school white boi. She called the police department and told them everything. She spread it at church. She called colleagues and friends.
Darius was ruined. He arrived home to find some of his stuff in the yard. He loaded it into the bed of his truck and left.
The police department fired him. He was smart enough to reach out to Hunter Stockstill’s family. He drove right over to the Queen Anne home with the wraparound porch. He spoke ad nauseum with John Stockstill.
The former judge made some calls and secured an interview with a small police department in north Mississippi.
Darius headed up there and got the job. He ended contact with Hunter per the deal.
Hunter snapped back to the present day after remembering that tumultuous time. He hated that he’d gone to Darius’ home, but he had been feeling neglected and didn’t have the benefit of life perspective.
Sheik stopped and turned left. There was a tattered sign that read ‘Mt. Pisgah Temple Holiness Tabernacle’.
The building was dilapidated, but very out of the way.
They pulled behind the former place of worship.
Sheik exited his coupe. Hunter got out of his sedan.
“Look at all that ass,” commented Sheik. “Did it get bigger since that Nigga was fucking you?”
“Yeah! I’ve had it pumped a couple more times.”
“Good gurl,” he beamed, grabbing the voluptuous rump. “You want this big Nigga dick, white boi?”
“Fuck yeah, Nigga!”
“Dis a ghetto ass fah real, bitch!”
“Thank you, daddy!”
“It’s Nigga Daddy, punk,” the twentysomething boomed, slapping the faggot across the face.
“Sorry, Nigga Daddy,” bemoaned Hunter.
“Dat’s a good boi! Now suck dis dick!”
Hunter knelt down and pulled out a generous, whopping brown member. “Oh my gawd,” he gawked.
“I know you can take it, faggit!”
“Yes, Nigga Daddy! Gimme one sec!”
Hunter marched over to his car and opened the trunk. He extracted a small suitcase and took out some anesthetizing throat spray. He pumped it into his mouth and fell down again.
ARRRRRRRHHHHHH.
Saliva and spittle all down Hunter’s plastic surgery enhanced lips and face.
“Bend that phat booty over! I’m finna fuck you,” Sheik growled.
Hunter did as told. He pulled down his shorts and panties. He lubed up his hole.
Sheik thrust in without a concern. “Take dis dick, hoe!”
“Yes, Nigga Daddy!”
“Goddamn! Yo shit tight!”
“Yes,sir! Is it tighter than your girlfriend’s pussy!”
“Hell yeah, faggit! And better too!”
Sheik pounded and smacked those cheeks harder and harder.
Hunter whined into the rural emptiness.
“I’m finna…”
Before he could finish that statement he erupted.
Hunter felt nine pulses.
When Sheik pulled out he huffed, “I’ma come fuck you tonight in that mansion, boi! We gon’ record cause I’m making us a All for Fans site.
2 years ago
