Date: Thu, 18 Aug 2011 16:11:21 -0400
From: Evan Williams <classic14rider@gmail.com>
Subject: Black Boyz

This is a work of erotic fiction.  It is not to be read by minors.  It
includes sexuality involving teenagers and older men. If this type of
erotic fiction disturbs you, or if you find that you may be unduly
influenced by it, please search for something else to read for your
personal erotic fictional entertainment.

All publishing and reproduction rights are reserved by the author of this
story.

*************************************

It was not an unpleasant problem to have, but it was a problem
nonetheless. Bob found that spending an hour or two in the late afternoon,
unwinding at a table outside of a neighborhood coffee shop, never gave him
the uninterrupted quiet time he needed to work on his accounting ledgers
before wrapping up the day and going home. There were too many distractions
– too many teenage boys getting off from school, strutting around with
their shirts off in the late summer heat at the end of August,
unintentionally parading their smooth, lean youthful bodies in front of all
casual observers.

Some of them zipped by on skateboards. Some whipped down the streets on
bicycles. Others fitfully roughhoused, inadvertently tugging at each
other's shirts and trousers – exposing hairless abs and a generous
portion of smooth young buttocks, much to the enjoyment of aroused teenage
girls who were always standing nearby.

But the girls were not the only ones who appreciated masculine beauty at
its teen stage of development; Bob found himself aroused, sporting a
throbbing woody that was visible beneath his khaki trousers, as boys from
high school partially disrobed one another in front of him on the
sidewalk. Young and energetic, they liked it rough. Tenderness was for
sissies and babies.

Bob always suspected that had it not been for the fact that the boys were
obsessed with their heterosexual identity they would have raped each other
right there on the spot.

One of Bob's favorites was a black boy who rode by after school on his
bicycle. The boy, usually alone, secured his bike to the pole of a parking
meter before going into the coffee shop to order a strawberry smoothie. Bob
watched as the boy's luscious red lips were slowly coated with the
strawberry cream as he slurped the smoothie down.

When he was finally ready to leave, the boy rolled his right pant leg up
above the calf so that his denim trousers wouldn't get caught in the chain
rings of his bike. Bob was aroused by the hair on the boy's calves. It
seemed to hint at the thick bush of pubic hair the boy must be sporting in
his trousers, under his boxer shorts.

Surely the boy must have a fairly developed sexual drive, judging from all
of the testosterone pumping through his body. It was obvious from the
defined muscle tone in the lad's arms when he grabbed the handlebars. The
kid was all-male and Bob figured that his raging hormones must be driving
the boy crazy at night.

The contrast between the boy's smooth brown face, chest, arms and torso,
and the hairiness of his calves fascinated Bob. The kid was no doubt man
enough to have a big black cock, yet too boyish to be subtle about it.

The kid acted innocently enough. He acted as though his mind was filled
with pure and wholesome of thoughts, but as far as Bob was concerned the
kid wasn't fooling anyone. He was a typical horny teenager, with a horny
teenager's thoughts and needs.

Bob could see it. It was obvious.

It showed in the frequent, spontaneous bulges the kid would get in his
pants – sometimes triggered by a passing girl, sometimes for no apparent
reason. Judging by the size of his bulge, the boy had nothing to be ashamed
of when he showered with the other teenagers in the locker room at
school. When the kid's spontaneous erections occurred, which was quite
frequent, Bob just shook his head, "You can't stop a boy from being a boy."

He could well imagine that when the kid was alone in bed at night he wanted
to fuck everything in sight. He probably got plenty of practice fucking his
mattress and his pillow. There were no doubt yellow cum stains all over the
boy's bed sheets. His mother was probably frustrated always having to
bleach his linens to try to keep them white. She was fighting a losing
battle. She would never be able to keep up with a horny teenager's sexual
drives.

Bob thought about what an uncontrollable humping fuck beast the boy must
be, especially after a long workout on the basketball court, which got the
boy's blood and testosterone really stirred up. Bob could only imagine the
sexual frustration that the boy must constantly be subjected to as a result
of the demands of his thick black cock. He allowed his imagination to take
over as he fantasized about getting inside of the teenager's pants.

Imagination turned to strategy when he saw the boy sneak off one day with a
group of other boys to a back alley that was known to be a hangout for kids
who smoked pot. Pot costs money, Bob reasoned, and teenagers are always
short of cash. Maybe he could find a way so that he and the kid could help
each other.

The kid came back from the alley red-eyed, with a goofy grin on his
face. He sat down at the table next to Bob, spreading his legs and playing
with the yellow band on his wrist.  Bob looked over at the boy, "So, you
like smoking trees?"

The boy shot the older man an alarmed and defensive glance.

"No need to be alarmed," the man reassured him, "I did the same thing when
I was your age."

The boy turned his head dismissively, "Man, I can't believe you were EVER
my age."

"Well, I was once," the man said, pretending not to take offense at the
insult, "and I know a lot more about you than you might think. In fact, I
probably know a lot more about you than you know about yourself."

The boy looked impatient and resumed playing with his yellow wrist band,
"Is that right?"

Bob sat back in his chair and reeled off the obvious, "Your parents are a
pain in the ass and they don't understand you; the ones who really know how
you feel are your friends, and even with them you sometimes feel like an
outsider; when you get high – back there in the ally – you feel like
you can understand the whole crazy, mixed-up and confused world ..."

Bob paused for effect. The kid waited; his mouth hanging slightly open in
amazement at the perceptiveness of this "old guy."

The older man continued, "And sometimes your dick gets so hard, and you get
so horny, that you think it will kill you."

The boy seemed to be blushing. He quickly turned away in embarrassment.

He grabbed his crotch and pumped his legs back and forth. "Well, you almost
right," he said defensively, "`cept I don't have to get horny `cause I got
bitches to take care of my dick when I need to."

"No you don't," Bob shot back, not taking any bullshit bravado from the
kid, "You spend most nights stroking that monster cock of yours alone in
bed – and what you don't take care of at night, you finish off in the
toilet stalls of public restrooms, when nobody else is around, and the urge
is so powerful that you can't wait to get home to take care of it."

It was a good guess.

An expression of guilt flashed across the boy's face, quickly followed by
angry defensiveness,

"What, is you some kinda faggot pervert? You stalkin' me? You all into my
business..."

Then, as if the kid realized what he was admitting, he quickly added, "Man,
I don't do none of that shit. I aint no fuckin' pervert freak like you."

Bob didn't let up, he laid it on thick, "Sure you do. The walls of the
stalls of men's rooms all over this neighborhood are probably splattered
with stains that are souvenirs of your horny teenage jack-off sessions."

The black teen was now tightly clutching his crotch, absent mindedly, while
pumping his legs rapidly, giving the white man an angry face.

"Get the fuck away from me you fuckin' faggot pervert; just stay the fuck
away from me," yet the boy made no effort to get away from the man himself,
and he continued to pump his legs like a Texas oil drill.

"No need to get angry," Bob reassured the boy, "I think we can help each
other."

The boy gave the older man a sour look but before he could say anything Bob
pressed ahead with his proposition, "I can pay you the money you need so
you can go on smoking trees ..."

The boy froze. He stared at the older man, his mouth hanging open. Bob knew
he had the lad's attention.

"...and in exchange," Bob continued, "you will allow me to taste that black
teenage cock of yours."

Bob sat back and picked up a newspaper, allowing his proposition to sink
in.

The boy held onto his crotch and pumped his legs again while his mind
seemed to drift off to some distant place.

Bob studied the lad from the corner of his eyes, trying to read what the
boy was thinking.

When the boy seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to respond the
older man laid down his newspaper. He turned to face the boy directly,
thinking that he better spell out the terms for him, "Look, you're a horny
teenage bastard and, to you, I may seem like a dirty old man. I have money;
you don't. For $50 I can discreetly take care of your, uh, condition and
you can earn extra cash to go on burning weeds ... do we have a deal?"

The boy seemed to mull over Bob's offer.

Bob added, as a teaser, "I can make that black cock of yours feel
good. None of your inexperienced little girl school chums can do what I can
do for you.

"Ever imagine what it would be like to have a pair of warm, moist lips
sucking on your big black cock? Most boys your age say it feels better than
fucking pussy.

"And if you close your eyes it won't matter to you whether it's done by a
boy or a girl ... or even a dirty old man. All you'll feel is the sucking,
you'll feel my lips and tongue moving up and down the length of the stiff,
hard black shaft between your legs ... and nobody has to know anything
about it, it will just be between you and me – and you'll get paid for
letting me do it..."

The man sat back again and picked up his newspaper, as if he rested his
case and was waiting for a verdict from the jury. Once again he studied the
boy out of the corner of his eyes.

The boy's hand was no longer simply clutching his crotch, it was subtly
rubbing and grabbing what was obviously a thickening tube of flesh between
his wobbling knees.

Bob suspected that the feeling was a familiar one for the boy, the torment
of all teenage males. The boy's cock no doubt got hard in public at the
most inconvenient times and he'd have to find a way to hide his state of
arousal until he could go somewhere to take care of it.

Bob watched the boy's growing discomfort with amused satisfaction.

He watched the black lad wiggle in his chair, surreptitiously stroking his
cock through his pants. He watched the boy's futile efforts to conceal his
aroused condition from the man, using his hand to shield the tent in his
pants which slowly grew too large for cover.

The boy tried to maintain his composure, but the fact that he was biting
his lip in frustration gave him away.

Now the older man openly mocked him, "Come on you horny little bastard, you
nasty teenage slut, you want to make some money and get that cock of yours
taken care of at the same time?"

Bob stood up and walked toward the door of the coffee shop, "I'll be in the
middle restroom with the door locked.

Knock three times and I'll let you in. Otherwise you can go find someplace
to jerk off alone, as you usually do, and live with the fact that you're
fifty dollars poorer than you would have been if you had had some smarts."

Bob opened the door of the coffee shop with a flourish and dramatically
left the boy outside, wobbling his knees, holding his crotch, biting on his
lip and trying to figure out what he should do next.

Bob went into the middle restroom, locked the door and waited.

It suddenly occurred to him, what if the black boy decided not to take him
up on his generous offer? What if the kid got on his bike and rode home or
went off with some buddies? How long should Bob wait in the restroom before
he could assume that the boy just wasn't coming?

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long to resolve these questions. He
heard a timid knock on the door, followed by another and then another. He
opened the door and the black teenager was standing there, head lowered,
and eyes cast down at the floor.

As an impish impulse Bob was tempted to slam the door in the boy's face and
say, "Sorry, sir. You can't come in here. This restroom is occupied." He
resisted this temptation because he could see that the boy was nervous and
probably wouldn't realize it was just a joke.

"C-can I come in?" the youth asked softly.

Bob moved away from the entrance and gestured for the boy to come in, "Be
my guest. Come right in."

The boy darted into the room as if he were afraid of being seen by other
people in the coffee shop.

Bob locked the door as the lad looked around the room. Bob moved in on him,
almost pressing his body up against the boy. He caressed the boy's
shoulders and gently rubbed his back. The boy felt firm and muscular
underneath Bob's hands.

Bob held his face close to the boy, who instinctively jerked his face away,
but must have realized that there weren't too many places to escape to in
this small room, and besides, this was probably part of what the man was
paying for.

The kid cooperated as Bob brought his face closer a second time and brushed
his nose against the boy's smooth brown cheek. Bob breathed in the boy's
scent, which seemed to have an earthy sweetness to it. The earthiness was
certainly the smell of the boy's body, but the sweetness...? Was it body
lotion, or deodorant...? Bob couldn't be sure, but it seemed light,
pleasant and natural, not artificial and overwhelming.

Bob savored the smell of the boy.

Once again he caressed the boy's firm body. There was no doubt that the lad
was healthy and fit. Bob ran his hands up and down the boy's torso and
reached under the lad's shirt to feel his warm, smooth, silky brown skin.

The boy quivered.

Bob unfastened the boy's low-sagging trousers and let them bunch around his
knees.

The boy was sporting a hard-on that made an embarrassingly noticeable tent
in his powder blue boxer shorts.

Bob tugged at the boy's boxers, fully exposing the lad's thick, ashy, brown
cock. It sprung up and down like a mahogany diving board.

Bob looked at the boy's face and could tell that, despite his dark skin
tone, the boy was blushing.

Bob sank to one knee so that his face was level with the boy's big
throbbing cock. A wet pearl of precum graced the youth's cockhead. The
musty unwashed smell of the lad's pubes wafted into the man's face,
arousing him further.

Bob unzipped himself and stroked his cock as he breathed in the manly scent
of the horny black teenager.

The boy's cock head seemed to float in air, provocatively, almost angrily,
in front of Bob – threatening to impale him – daring him to try to
dodge its menacing thrust.

Bob took a swipe at the bobbing black cock head with his tongue, tasting
the light, gentle sweetness of the boy's precum.

The throbbing cock bobbed up and down.

Bob took another swipe at the enticing brown object. Again he tasted earthy
sweetness as the throbbing brown object bobbed.

He repeated the action again and again, playfully licking the underside of
the cockhead – taking long, wet swipes at the boy's throbbing shaft –
licking the piss slit and cleaning it of its light lubricating precum, yet
never quite enveloping the whole dark organ in his mouth.

Bob had no idea what effect he was having on the kid – he was completely
oblivious. The only thing that mattered for him at that moment was the
dancing cockhead that bobbed tantalizingly in front of him like a piece of
chocolate candy on a string at a Halloween party.

Bob was completely lost in his playful game of taking swipes at the bobbing
cockhead, without actually sucking on the boy's cock.

But the kid was not oblivious. He looked increasingly frustrated and
impatient.

The boy bit his lower lip and glared aggressively at the man who was down
on his knees unwittingly tormenting him. The kid moved his arms and hands
in a jerky, halting motion, as if he wanted to grab the man's head, but was
afraid of what might happen if he dared do it.

He seemed torn between forcing Bob to suck his cock, which would show that
he was enjoying what was happening to him, and pretending to be indifferent
and aloof so that he could preserve his heterosexual pride and self-image.

The boy gritted his teeth and gave into the more powerful of these two
urges.

He jerked his hands forward and clutched both sides of the man's head and
shoved his cock down the startled man's throat.

He humped violently in the man's mouth.

Bob was unprepared for this response from the shy black teenager. He gagged
as the boy's cockhead hit the back of his throat repeatedly in a violent
but rhythmic motion. It wasn't until Bob realized what was happening that
he was able to relax enough to stop choking. Still, Bob found himself
gasping desperately for breath as the throbbing black organ completely
covered his tongue.

A thought flashed across his mind, what would his colleagues would think of
him if they could see him now, a respectable middle class professional, a
white man, down on his knees with a teenager's thick, black cock stuffed
inside his mouth, making him gasp for air?

The boy pressed on Bob's head. Bob's face was pushed against the boy's
peppercorn-like pubic hair. He didn't resist, he just breathed in the musty
teenage jock smell, which aroused him like an aromatic aphrodisiac.

Bob was startled by the fleshy taste of the boy's cock. He thought it had
the flavor of boyish ruggedness, an outdoorsy taste. It did not taste of
gentle, scented, pampering.

This was a raw, unadorned fuck tool. The boy tasted wholesome, organic, and
natural. There was a sexual urgency to his flavor, as if the boy had no
time to waste coating his cock with lotion. The boy was too much in a rush
for that, eager to impale something with this throbbing member that
demanded immediate attention.

And so the boy's cock impaled Bob, thrusting and pumping furiously in the
man's mouth to relieve the lad's impulsive sexual need.

Precum from the boy's cock now flowed more freely. Its pungent slightly
salty protein flavor mixed with Bob's salvia and coated the man's mouth.

The boy's grip on Bob's head was tight and his cock thrusts in the man's
mouth were unrelenting.

Bob almost felt that he could imagine what it would be like to be a teenage
girl on a date with this boy, and envisioned that his mouth was the girl's
pussy. Bob almost felt sorry for this imaginary girl, as the boy
thoughtlessly, mercilessly ravaged her virgin body with the thrusts of his
big, hard fuck tool – completely absorbed in his own pleasure, giving no
thought for the pleasure of the girl, like most male teenagers.

At this moment, in the boy's mind, the whole world swirled around him –
there was no one else in the room as far as he was concerned – the only
thing that mattered was the tension and the intense pleasure of his cock,
and his need to relieve this tension by dumping his cum down the older
man's throat – a man who, as far as the teen was concerned – didn't
really matter and wasn't even there, save for being the warm, wet, fleshy
oral receptacle he was using to get off.

The kid's hands clamped Bob's head, not allowing him to move or pull
away. Bob felt as though he was being raped. Indeed, the boy, who was now
completely under the spell of his animal passions, was raping the older
man's mouth for his self-absorbed teenage pleasure. If the older man could
see beyond the hairs on the boy's abdomen, forming a "happy trail," he
would see that the youth's eyes had rolled up in his head as he lost
himself in erotic frenzy.

Bob had no doubt that if he wanted the boy to stop, his pleas would go
unheard. And if, by chance, the boy managed to hear the man's pleas they
would go unheeded. For the moment the boy was transformed. He was no longer
Bob's teenage trick for the afternoon, getting paid so that he could buy
some dope, he was a boy in bodily need – and he was not going to let Bob
get away until those needs had been fulfilled.

Bob resigned himself to his fate and slurped on the boy's masculine
member. He tried to relax enough to enjoy being raped. Isn't this what he
had been dreaming about, after all? Wasn't this the experience he had been
longing for? There was edginess and excitement to this impassioned
experience that had spun out of the man's control.

The teenage boy wailed in the older man's mouth while Bob savored the
sensation of frenzied teenage cock thrusts down his throat and his own
powerlessness to stop the boy's thrusts.

How much closer, how much more intimate can you get with a boy than this?
What could be more intimate than sharing a boy's private sexual
frustrations, feeling the boy build toward a climax in your mouth – and
feeling the boy erupt in an orgasm when he finally releases his cum down
your throat?

If Bob had been longing to get close and intimate with this teenager, well,
it just couldn't get any closer or more intimate.

So, Bob went with the flow. He allowed himself to be used as if he were of
no more regard than a plastic fuck doll for the boy to work out his teen
passions. He resigned himself to the fact that he was simply there to be
used. If the boy got off in his mouth he will have served his purpose. Bob
saw himself as being reduced to living for the sole purpose of serving this
black kid's sexual needs and frustrations.

The teenager stood on the balls of his feet, hunched over and arching his
back like a dog in heat while he grabbed the older man by the ears and
fucked his mouth.

Had a woman been there to observe the scene she could not possibly have
appreciated the type of male bonding that took place at that moment. This
was raw masculine interaction. It was the reverse of what was usually
expected, as older men in ancient Greece would bugger younger boys in order
to usher them into manhood. This time it was a younger male, full of sexual
potency and raw energy, who was about to dump his seed in an older man's
mouth, giving the older man his youthful power, allowing the man to drink
from the fountain of youth.

The black boy whispered nastily, "Suck that dick, bytch," something he must
have learned by watching porno flicks or listening to hip hop. Bob didn't
like being called a bitch, but he couldn't help feeling aroused by the
teenager's order. His mouth tightened around the boy's cock, driving the
kid into orgasmic spasms.

The teen's cock throbbed in Bob's mouth; his body jerked as he pumped
thick, warm loads of cum down the older man's throat. Waves of heavy boy
juice flowed like gushing oil from the teenager's cock head. Pungent ropes
warm, white gravy flooded the older man's mouth, choking him as he
struggled to swallow it all at once. Bob was surprised; he never realized
how much semen a teenage boy's body was capable of producing. Now this
semen was a part of him.

When both Bob and the boy paused, and were finally able to catch their
breath, Bob's mouth was coated with cum. The white syrupy liquid trickled
out of the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. It was fresh
boy cum, and Bob savored it. It had a smell and taste that hinted of raw
oysters or bleach.

The boy came out of his trance and avoided eye contact with Bob. He looked
embarrassed and ashamed as he quickly re-did his trousers and turned to
leave.

"You don't want your $50?" Bob asked, holding two twenties and two fives in
his hand.

The boy looked startled. Apparently he had forgotten that this was all for
pay. He turned and snatched the bills from the older man's hand and mumbled
"Thanks."

Bob tried to repress a smile, "Anytime."

The boy turned to leave. When he was half way out of the door he turned
around one final time to face the man, "You think we can do this again? I'm
only askin' cause I'm kinda low on cash..."

Bob give the boy a knowing grin, "Right, because you're low on cash. Don't
worry about it. I'm always glad to help a cash-strapped boy, especially
when his horny teenage cock won't give him any rest."

The teenager left; clearly embarrassed that he hadn't convinced the man and
had comprised his straight identity.

Bob lingered in the rest room, enjoying the taste of the teen that was
still in his mouth. "These straight boys don't know what they want while
they are still young and cute," he said to himself, "and by the time they
figure out that it doesn't matter whether they're fucking a faggot's mouth
or a woman's pussy they are older, and are as ugly as sin."

He thought about this awhile, still savoring the flavor of the boy, and
then he washed up so that he would look presentable to the public.