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By (user no longer on site) OP 24 weeks ago
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The door clicked open and there he was: Marcus, 6'6" of solid muscle filling the doorway like he owned the whole damn hotel. His dark skin gleamed under the low lights, and the second his eyes landed on Muffin (kneeling in the middle of the room in nothing but those sheer black stockings, patent heels, and the tight velvet wrap around her throat), his slow grin said everything.
“Fuck,” he rumbled, voice deep enough to vibrate through the floor. “Look at this little snow-bunny all gift-wrapped for me.”
Muffin’s breath hitched. Her pale skin flushed pink from her freckled cheeks all the way down to where the word SLUT was scrawled in thick black letters across her perky little tits. Below that, WHORE curved over her ribcage, and right above her smooth, already-glistening pussy, someone (me) had written in bold capitals: BLACK OWNED.
I stayed back in the corner, phone already rolling, red light blinking. “She’s been dripping since we wrote that last one,” I told him, voice calm, like I wasn’t hard enough to hammer nails. “Haven’t you, baby?”
She nodded, biting her plump lower lip, green eyes huge as Marcus stepped closer. The bulge in his jeans was obscene, a thick, heavy ridge straining the denim. He didn’t bother with small talk. Just unbuckled, unzipped, and let that monster spring free.
Ten inches, easy. Maybe more. Veiny, dark, angry-looking, the head already slick with precum. It bobbed inches from Muffin’s face, so thick she couldn’t have wrapped both tiny hands around it.
“Suck it, slut,” he ordered, tangling one massive hand in her fiery red hair.
She didn’t hesitate. Both hands gripped the base (still couldn’t close her fingers) and she opened wide, stretching those pretty pink lips around the fat crown. A muffled whimper escaped as she sank forward, taking the first four inches in one greedy slide. Spit already shone on her chin.
Marcus groaned, hips rolling slow. “That’s it… little redheaded cocksocket. Gag on that big black dick you begged for.”
Muffin’s eyes watered instantly, mascara starting to run, but she pushed deeper, gagging herself deliberately, throat fluttering around him. The wet, sloppy sounds filled the room: gluck-gluck-gluck as she bobbed, drool pouring down her chin, dripping onto the word CUM DUMPSTER written across her belly.
I zoomed in, catching every detail: the way her throat bulged, the black letters smearing slightly under trails of saliva, her thighs trembling in those stockings as she humped the air, desperate for friction.
Minutes blurred. Marcus used her mouth like a toy (pulling her hair, forcing her nose into his trimmed pubes until she gagged and sputtered, then letting her get air before shoving back in). Her lipstick was gone, replaced by a glossy ring of spit and precum halfway down his shaft.
Finally he pulled out with a wet pop, strings of drool connecting her swollen lips to his cock. He slapped it against her cheek (heavy, meaty thuds).
“On the bed, whore. Ass up. Let your man see what a proper fucking looks like.”
Muffin scrambled, crawling on all fours, stockings whispering against the carpet. She climbed onto the king bed and arched her back hard, presenting that tiny pink pussy framed by garter straps and the words BBC ONLY I’d painted on her ass cheeks in bold letters.
Marcus didn’t tease. He just lined up and sank in—one long, brutal thrust that buried every inch inside her. Muffin screamed, high and broken, fingers clawing the sheets. Her whole body jolted forward, tits bouncing.
He didn’t give her time to adjust. Just gripped those narrow hips and started pounding: deep, punishing strokes that made her ass ripple and the bedframe slam against the wall. Wet squelching noises mixed with her sobbing moans and the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of his heavy balls against her clit.
“Tell him,” Marcus growled, yanking her head back by the hair so she faced my camera. “Tell your husband what you are now.”
“I’m—ahh—fuck—I’m a black cock slut,” she wailed, voice cracking as another orgasm tore through her. “I’m just a little white cum dumpster for big black dick—oh god don’t stop—”
Marcus laughed, dark and filthy, and sped up, railing her so hard her knees slid on the sheets. The words on her body blurred under sweat and smeared paint, but you could still read BREED ME across her lower back when he finally buried himself to the hilt and unloaded, hips jerking as he pumped rope after thick rope deep inside her.
Muffin collapsed forward when he pulled out, trembling, pussy gaping and leaking thick white cum down her thighs onto the black stockings. Marcus gave her ass one last possessive slap.
I kept filming as she looked back over her shoulder at me, mascara-streaked and utterly wrecked, lips parted around a dazed little smile.
“Your turn to clean her up, cuck,” Marcus said, zipping up. “Or you want round two first?”
Muffin whimpered, already spreading her legs wider.
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