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As he rose from his seat to go to the restroom, my eyes followed his ascent as if he were moving in slow motion. I followed him from his smooth chocolate baldhead glistening in the ambient light of the restaurant, to his eyes, which were the color of midnight and promised ecstasy. My eye perused his clit-colored lips that were begging to be kissed. He had on rust orange silk shirt, through which his nipples emerged. The shirt highlighted the outline of his taught biceps and abs. I took in the sight of his zipper on his jet-black wool slacks that bisected the picture frame of his hips and thighs made for his overgrown cucumber dick and balls. They sat like a pair of peaches in his pants, all firm and round and ripe on either side of his zipper.

Mentally, I had been fucking him all night. I had climbed atop his lap and ground my cunt against his dark dick through his slacks. I had sucked on his tongue until it had grown numb. I had pressed my tits against his chest until my pink nipples were hard and excited. I had licked his ebony skin between his thighs, up to his balls until my lips stung from the taste of the salt on his skin.

I had strapped on a black plastic dildo, had him down on all fours. I pumped the plastic cock in and out of his ass, fucking him like a man fucks a woman he never thought he'd ever have the chance to take. Slow with a little hesitation at first, and then fast and furiously, like only his orgasm matters. Fucking him until his breathy, masculine moans and groans foretold that he was about to cum. The image raced through ...

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