I never planned on cheating, but that night everything changed the second I saw his cock. I was twenty-four, married to a sweet but small-dicked white guy who never made me cum. My friend dragged me to this bar downtown, and there he was—Darius, six-foot-four, dark skin, broad shoulders, and a bulge that made my mouth water right away. We locked eyes, and I knew I was done for.
We barely talked. He bought me a drink, leaned in close, and whispered, “You look like you need a real man tonight.” My pussy clenched. I told him I was married, but he just grinned and said, “That don’t matter if your husband ain’t fucking you right.” Ten minutes later I was in his car, legs spread, his thick fingers already inside my soaked panties.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he growled, pumping two fingers deep while his thumb rubbed my clit. I moaned loud, not caring who heard. My husband never touched me like this. Darius pulled his hand out, unzipped, and freed that massive black cock. It was the biggest thing I’d ever seen—thick as my wrist, veiny, with a fat head already leaking precum. “First BBC?” he asked. I nodded, heart pounding.
I wrapped my hand around it and couldn’t even close my fingers.
I stroked him slow at first, then faster, watching how it twitched. “Suck it,” he ordered. I leaned over and took the head into my mouth. It stretched my lips wide. I gagged when he pushed deeper, but I didn’t stop. Saliva ran down his shaft as I tried to take more. He grabbed my hair and fucked my throat until tears streaked my makeup.
By the time we reached his apartment I was shaking with need. He stripped me fast, bent me over the couch, and rubbed that huge cockhead against my pussy lips. “Beg for it,” he said. “Please fuck me with that big black cock,” I heard myself say. He pushed in slow, stretching me wider than I thought possible. It hurt at first, but the burn turned into the hottest pleasure I’d ever felt.
He buried every inch inside me and held still, letting me adjust. Then he started pounding. Hard, deep strokes that made my ass ripple and my tits swing. I came on his cock within minutes, screaming his name. He didn’t stop. He flipped me onto my back, hooked my legs over his shoulders, and drilled me even harder. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Every thrust hit my cervix and sent sparks through my whole body.
“Tell me whose pussy this is,” he demanded. “Yours,” I gasped. “Your black cock owns it.” He grinned and slammed in deeper. I came again, squirting around his thickness for the first time in my life. He pulled out, flipped me onto all fours, and shoved back in. One hand gripped my hip, the other reached around to rub my clit. I lost count of the orgasms.
When he finally came, he buried himself to the hilt and flooded my pussy with thick, hot loads. It overflowed and ran down my thighs. I stayed on my knees, shaking, while he pulled out and let me lick him clean. I tasted my own cum mixed with his.
I went home that night with his load still leaking into my panties. My husband asked where I’d been. I just smiled and said, “Out with friends.” Two days later I texted Darius for round two. That first time ruined me for anything smaller. Now every story I tell starts the same way: the night Kristen finally got her first BBC and never looked back.
