Z-Rated (Chocolate Flava 3)
It was over in less than ten seconds. She dropped the spent dong and pivoted around to face the other cock, which she had never let go of.
She grasped it now with her other hand as well, and pumped it with both, softly and lightly, then harder and tighter. She reveled in the bumpy texture of the shaft, the incredible curving length of the cock. She tugged so hard that blond-fuzzed balls spilled out of the hole, which she briefly cupped and squeezed.
Then she stood up, sent the stool careening into the wall. Holding the up-thrust prong around its thick, furry base, she backed up to it, long legs slightly parted and back slightly bent, sticking the swollen hood into her moist pussy lips from behind.
Fingernails scraped against metal on the other side as she brushed the purple cockhead against her pussy lips, washing it in her hot juices, before popping it right into her pussy and recklessly pushing back until her taut buttocks touched the panel, embedding the turgid dong inside her.
She finally unhanded the prick at that point, grabbing up her sperm-slick tits and squeezing them, pinching her rigid nipples. Her butt cheeks were pressed almost flat against the partition, the long, hard, thick cock filling her cunt. Gritting her teeth, she rocked back and forth on her high heels, impaling herself on the pole.
The heated grunts and groans from behind the metal barrier mingled and melded with the woman’s own breathless gasps and moans as she rocked faster, fucked herself more urgently; the cock thrusting back now, matching her rhythm.
Her buttocks smacked briskly against the partition, the stall shaking, the mammoth cock sluicing back and forth in her sucking pussy, swelling her twat and bum and body with shimmering heat. She felt the churning member stiffen still further inside her, heard the cry of “Here it comes!” Felt the scalding splash of spraying semen—dousing her pussy.
The wildly thrusting cock pumped her full seven times.
But she didn’t come herself.
She still had a number of swingers clubs and dogging sites and filthy back alleys to visit that evening—promising even longer, thicker, more massive cocks.
• • •
The man leered when she answered the doorbell. “Bit of a size queen, huh?”
He was a little guy, pitch-black, with horn-rimmed glasses and a shaved skull. She regarded him coldly. “Who are you?”
He snorted. “Don’t even see me, huh? Got your mind on big dicks all the time.” He tried to step inside, but she blocked the doorway, tall and slender and cool in her sky-blue stockings, wraparound cobalt-blue skirt, and pearl-white satin blouse. “I’m
the guy from Brownbaggers—the guy behind the counter. You know, the place with the glory holes—”
“What do you want?”
He smirked. “It’s not what I want, baby. It’s what you want.”
She started to close the door.
And he shoved his sweatpants down, exposing a deep-black cock that dangled five inches long, unerect from a thicket of dark pubes.
Her ice-green eyes locked on the slab of meat, and her hand tightened on the doorknob.
“Twelve inches, if you treat it right, baby,” he oozed.
Like the rest of the spacious house, her bedroom was done up in subdued shades of silver and blue, elegant and tasteful, if somewhat cold. She dropped to her stockinged knees in the shag and dug her glossed fingernails into the elastic waistband of the man’s pants.
He grinned down at her as she pulled down his sweatpants and grasped his cock. “Yeah, that’s the way!” he grunted. “That’s what pretty mama wants.”
She lifted the heavy, hanging piece of meat, then stroked the smooth, shifting foreskin, anxious to grow the dong as long as the man had promised. It would be longer than she’d ever had before, in all her years of searching and stroking and sucking and fucking.
“You got a pretty fancy place here, Vanessa,” he said, glancing around and licking his lips. “Guess you ain’t out chasing dick all the time, huh?”
His voice grated annoyingly in her ears.
But his cock was growing in her soft, damp, caressing hand, stiffening, thickening, lengthening, rising up like a hooded cobra rises up out of its wicker basket when its master plays the proper tune. She grabbed on to it with her other hand, pulled with the pair, watching the darker head swell out of the dark foreskin, the huge, dangling, black sack tighten.
“Name’s Leonard, by the way.”
It was almost parallel with her parted lips now, throbbing hotly in her tugging hands at ten inches long and seven inches around, and still growing, swelling obscenely and sizing up between the little man’s loins. Right before Vanessa’s fixated eyes.
“Name’s Leonard, I said!” He snatched his cock out of her grasping hands and took a step back, then furiously fisted the final two inches himself.