Michael’s massive cock was deep inside my pussy. He had me positioned on the uncomfortable cabin bunk bed. Michael is a large physical man, an ex-college basketball player. Yet, I loved the feeling of his power and strength inside me, throughout me. Even on top of me.
He entered me slowly, since I’d never experienced such a large cock. I felt like a virgin. He began to pick up his tempo. I felt each thrust hitting my cervix, causing a wave of pain and pleasure throughout my body. He sensed his effect on my body, his thrusts even harder. He fucked me harder than any man had before. I felt like my body was in the middle of an earthquake.
“Do you love my black cock, bitch?” he said forcefully. He added, “Tell me, slut, do you need my black cock?”
“Yes, Sir. Yes. Yes.” I tried to respond, but it came out like a whisper. Before he could reply, I added, in a much stronger voice, “Yes, Sir!”
Wow, where did that voice come from?
Only half an hour before, he was the helpful trusting Michael that I knew. Now he was strong and intimidating, controlling my body like no other man. A half hour ago, I’d feared this new Michael, and now I wanted him. Needed him. How was this possible!
Yes, I overthink things often. Some of my Jewish guilt had begun to take hold as well. Then I felt his cock grow thicker. I found my hands on his balls as they grew harder. My god, he was going to cum again.
When he came in my mouth, I’d struggled to take his seed. Such force and volume! Yet somehow, I’d managed. I felt him cum again, this time inside me. I felt his cock grow thicker, and then with a loud moan he filled my vagina. I felt him spurting, coming. Two, three… four spurts of seed. I was lost in ecstasy. What Jewish guilt… I didn’t want this to end.
Michael collapsed next to me on the small cabin bunk. I reached for his cock, feeling his strength. The man was semi-hard, where other men were flaccid. He was breathing heavily – or was it me?
Without his guidance, I rolled over and began to lick his semi-hard cock. His hand reached for the back of my head, stroking my hair. At times, he appeared dominant, other times tender. He stroked my hair while I tasted my own juices and remnants of his seed. It took a while, but I sensed his cock was gaining strength and growing. Seriously, Michael was going to cum a third time?
I felt him shift from stroking my hair to gripping my hair. He was, once again, dominant Michael. He forced my head down and I gagged. It would take weeks before I’d be used to his girth and power.
Admittedly, it took a while to coax his seed, but he came again. Not as strong, yet stronger than my husband when he first comes. My less-than-scientific study has shown that black men cum stronger and with much more stamina than other men. I am sure that other men cum stronger, but I haven’t met them. Yet.
It was quite dark outside, and the camp was dead quiet. There was a sound, probably a coyote in the hills, but otherwise quiet. The cabin was dark; we had fallen asleep. When I awoke I knew I had to get home. Fortunately, my husband was traveling.
Michael awoke, and yet he wasn’t finished. My body was done, destroyed by his large, thick cock and my many orgasms. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t remember when I’d orgasmed more than once in the last thirty years, yet with Michael, I had so many. Some soft, some hard and painful. All wonderful.
He rolled me over and said, “Time to break in that virgin ass.” He continued, “Ever take in the ass, Jew Girl?”
What was happening? No, I’d never had anal sex. Truth be told, it seemed rather disgusting. How was that big cock going to fit inside me anally? My thought was his massive cock would break me, split me in two.
Well, he was unable to get into my tight ass, especially since he was not as hard. My goodness, he was human after all! Instead, he’d stroked his semi-hard black cock, and I received a small amount of seed on my face and hair. The man was spent. Four times! He came four times.
In the coming months, he took me anally and I have grown to love this feeling.
He held me and stroked my hair and called me Kitten. Kitten? Sometimes, in our ten years of a professional relationship, he would call me “Miss XYZ”. Now, I was his kitten. He also referred to me as his “pet”. I loved when he called me kitten or his pet.
He helped me stand up, dress, and wash up. He was again the loving Michael. He caressed my body and said, “You are now mine, understand, my Jewish slut?”
I replied, “Yes Sir,” and meant it.
