The Bride and the Black Bartenders (2025)

The Bride and the Black Bartenders

by Stormbringer

Copyright 1999

Revised 2008, revised and enhanced 2025

 

Pamela’s breath hitched as Michael’s lips grazed her nipple, his tongue licking around the hardening nub, sending a shiver down her spine. The old inn’s weathered mahogany four-poster bed creaked beneath them. The early morning light spilled through the lace-curtained window, casting shadows across her flushed skin accompanied by a cool salt-tinged breeze. She felt the familiar ache between her thighs, a yearning that threatened her vow of celibacy. “Only one more day, stud,” she purred, her voice a mix of seduction and restraint, as she pushed him back with a playful smile. “Then I’m all yours.”

Michael growled with lust as he stared at his sexy fiance. She was wearing only low hanging pajama bottoms, her torso topless, flat belly undulating as she gasped as aroused as he was. Her nipples were hard, the one he’d licked more swollen and glistening with his saliva. He’d just been about to slide his hand under her pajamas when she’d pushed him back. This was the furthest he’d gotten with her, only the second time he’d seen her big perfect titties and the first was when he’d spied on her taking a shower. Mostly, they’d just felt each other up through their clothing. He knew she wanted it, but had to admit her willpower was impressive.

Michael had been perfectly happy playing the field with bar hookups and nursing students. He had no intention of settling down this early until his parents showed him a picture of Pamela Beauregard. Pamela was stunningly beautiful with long blonde hair and bright innocent blue eyes. The beautiful girl next door face was nothing compared to her body. She looked like a porn star had gotten lost on her way to bible study. He knew right then and there that he wanted to possess her before someone else did. Discovering she was borderline virginal was disappointing and thrilling when he quickly realized he could train her into being his personal sex toy. Their children were going to be gorgeous, but they planned on waiting until he finished his internship at the hospital before starting a family. Her degree in economics had gotten her an interview with Goldman Sachs so the plan was career first, family later. Plus, he didn’t want to ruin that body quite yet. He was going to have to wear a condom until she started on birth control, but he was looking forward to the day he could take her bareback.

Pamela, a Southern belle with a Princeton degree, was no stranger to discipline. Raised in Atlanta’s elite circles, she’d navigated exclusive private schools with a sharp mind and sharper wit. Her fourth-place finish at Princeton was a point of pride, though it came with scars. At 19, she’d fallen for a predatory Professor, a silver-haired scholar who’d seduced her with promises of love. His clumsy, condom-clad thrusts had left her sore and disillusioned, her virginity a sacrifice to a man who’d betrayed her with another student while telling her it was just sex. That heartbreak fueled her vow: no sex until marriage, only with a man who truly loved her enough to marry her.

Michael Winfield Scott, a dashing med student and descendant of the famous general, was that man—or so she believed. Their parents had orchestrated their meeting eight months ago, a calculated pairing of old Southern bloodlines. Pamela had resisted at first, still raw from her professor’s betrayal, but Michael’s charm won her over. His boyish grin and quick humor masked an ambition to outshine his family’s legacy, though his arrogance sometimes grated. As he stood now, his erection straining against his briefs, Pamela saw both the man she loved and the frat boy hot to get in her pants. “Come on, Pams,” he groaned, “you can’t leave me like this.” He stared hungrily at her body, a hint of lacy pink panties showing above her pajamas.

Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk. “Wait here.” She darted down the deserted hall to the bathroom; the inn’s hardwood floors cool against her bare feet. The hall was empty yet she felt like she was being watched, the eyes on the old portraits lining the hall walls followed her watching the jiggle of her large bare breasts. 

Michael smiled and pushed his briefs down, his six-inch prick bobbing before him rock hard in anticipation. He looked up above the bed at the old photograph of General Scott, his 5th great grandfather. The old general had supposedly slept here once at the old inn near Savannah. Michael was proud of his heritage, Pamela was more critical. Princeton had liberalized her a little and the General had been in charge of the forced removal of the Cherokee, not to mention a slave owner. She wasn’t a direct descendant, but connected to P. G. T. Beauregard, the general that had bombed Fort Sumter also a slave owner as were a lot of her ancestors. Lefty Princeton had her half convinced she owed reparations for slavery.

The photograph showed General Scott in his later years, civil war era, still in military uniform but old and pushing 300 pounds white sideburns running down his pudgy cheeks. His gaze was serious and stern. Ironically, Beauregard had served under Scott in the Mexican-American war and tomorrow night the old general was going to watch another Beauregard serve under a Scott. He heard Pamela’s footsteps in the hall and Michael winked at the old man hoping he was about to watch his descendant get his dick sucked from a gorgeous blonde.

Pamela returned with a jar of Vaseline and knelt before him. She stared intently at his bobbing dick, her expression a mix of curiosity and fascination. He sighed when he saw the Vaseline, knowing he wasn’t getting a blow job. Michael’s eyes widened as she stroked his six-inch prick, slick with Vaseline. She’d never studied a man so closely—Professor Langston’s paunch had obscured his smaller member. Michael’s penis was thicker, pulsing under her touch, and she felt a flicker of pride as he moaned. His fantasies raced: he’d bedded plenty of women, but Pamela’s near-virginal body was a prize he’d mold to his desires. Her hand job, though not the blowjob he craved, was a step toward breaking her in. He didn’t last long, his dick twitching and squirting out a teaspoon’s worth of semen on her hand. He raised his head, winking at his ancestor again. Pamela wrinkled her nose in distaste as she examined the sticky mess on her hand. She’d better get used to it because Michael planned on cumming all over that hot body. She rose, holding her hand up and quickly left the bedroom for the bathroom to wash up.

Michael walked across the hall to his room, dropped his underwear and wiped the vaseline of his spent dick with some tissues. He pulled on swimming trunks and grabbed a beach towel before walking down the hall, yelling through the bathroom door, “I’ll meet you on the beach!” before heading out.

**********

Pamela slipped into her leopard-skin bikini, the cups barely containing her full breasts, the thong exposing her firm ass. The skimpy suit had garnered her a lot of male attention sunbathing in Mathey Courtyard on campus including her Econ professor, the memory making her frown briefly. The suite’s full-length mirror reflected a wilder version of herself, a “Queen of the Jungle” ready to prowl. Her smile came back as she examined her sculpted physique, at 23 she was at peak perfection and she planned on staying this way as long as possible. “"Rrraaaowwwrrr!"” she growled, tossing a towel over her shoulder, her smile returning. The professor was behind her and a lifetime with Michael ahead. The inn, a relic of Georgia’s Colonial past, loomed around her, its creaky staircase and hall lined with paintings showing unsmiling, serious looking people. She descended, the ocean’s rhythm echoing through open windows. The inn’s staff were returning, setting the place up for the wedding. She smiled and greeted a few noticing the impressed stares of the male staff. She wasn’t paying attention as she rounded the corner toward the beach exit.

Pamela collided with a solid frame, nearly tumbling. Strong hands steadied her, warm against her bare shoulders, her breasts pressing into a hard chest. She looked up, her breath catching at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered black man with a smug smile, his dark eyes glinting like a predator’s. He slowly pushed her back, eyes boldly sweeping down her nearly nude figure, widening with appreciation. “Easy there, leopard queen,” he said, his voice low and teasing, nodding at her bikini’s wild print. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Let go of me,” she muttered with fear.

The black giant released her arms. “Didn’t want you to fall,” he explained, still boldly examining her body, his eyes finally resting on her heavy breasts.

Pamela’s cheeks flushed, her confidence wavering under his gaze, her nipples were pushing out, creating tents in her tight bikini top. His flat lips curled up as he watched them grow. She crossed her arms across her chest to cover her embarrassment. The black giant looked like an over-muscled street thug. He was bald with African features, broad lips and a flat ugly nose with big nostrils, dark black skin, well-defined muscles visible through his tight white tee-shirt, sweaty; the humidity making the tee cling to his muscular frame. She wondered what he was doing in their private inn, her mind quickly going to nefarious purposes like robbing her or worse. She glanced past him and saw another black man carrying a box filled with liquor bottles, equally well-built though leaner, a flat top, friendlier looking with an amused grin at her obvious distress also examining her body. The inn’s dim lighting cast shadows across their chiseled features, and she felt a flicker of curiosity beneath her unease. She’d rarely met men who carried themselves with such effortless confidence, and their presence made her hyper-aware of her revealing attire when normally she enjoyed showing off her figure. Both men were staring hard, not hiding the fact that they were looking up and down her body, admiring her hard well-rounded rear, V-shaped torso, fit stomach, and EE-cup bosom whose nipples were now achingly hard hidden behind her crossed arms. “I-I’m fine,” she stammered, taking another step back. “Just… watch where you’re going.” Her voice held more bravado than she felt as she brushed past, turning her body to squeeze between them, her heart racing with a mix of indignation and shame at the direction her thoughts had taken. Princeton had taught her to me more accepting of other races and cultures, but apparently not as much as she had thought. She opened the sliding glass door, turning to shut it and catching them staring at her rear end. She turned away, feeling their eyes still on her ass cheeks as she headed over the dunes to the beach access and her waiting fiancé.  

Mark, the taller man at 6 '6”, snorted, flat nostrils flaring like a bull’s, his eyes tracking her swaying hips and the flexing of each firm pale ass cheek split by the thong as she trudged through the sand. A former college linebacker turned bartender, he’d left football after a knee injury, now funding his business degree with gigs at a male strip club in Atlanta. He was the stereotype of the angry black man, but his arrogant masculinity and physical endowments made him a favorite among patrons. Will, at 6’3”, was his foil—fun-loving, quick to laugh, laid-back, with a musician’s soul. A guitarist who’d once toured with a jazz band, Will now between gigs, tended bar and stripped with Mark. Their shared love of weightlifting and easy camaraderie had led to countless conquests, preferably with married white women drawn to their physiques and ready to pay extra to see what was hiding under their bulging jockstraps.

“Damn, that snow bunny is stacked,” Mark said, his tongue practically hanging out as Pamela marched down the beach.

Will grinned. “You wanna fuck her?”

“Hell yeah,” Mark replied, his cock stirring at the memory of her soft white tits mashed against his chest. “You in?”

Will snorted. “Good luck hitting that, she’s the bride. That’s her fiancé out there.” He nodded toward Pamela, talking to her fiancé and pointing at the black men. Michael turned, trudging through the sand back towards the inn.

Michael burst into the dining room, the inn’s chandelier swaying slightly from the force of the slammed door. Pamela had been visibly shaken, recounting her encounter with the two Black men, touching her a little too long, their bold gazes, and his anger surged. He paused halfway through the dining area when he saw exactly how big the two men were. Standing at 5’11”, he knew he was no physical match for the imposing figures before him, but his ego—nurtured by a lifetime of privilege—propelled him forward. “Which one of you touched my fiancée?” he demanded, his voice sharp, though it wavered as he registered their towering presence.

Mark met his gaze steadily, his expression devoid of deference. “Chill dude, she bumped into me,” he said flatly. “I’m fine though, so no worries.” The black man’s lips curled up slightly, mockingly, but his eyes narrowed.

“Dude?” Michael snorted. “Address me as sir or Mr. Scott. What are you two doing here, this is a private function?” Michael pressed, attempting to reassert control, his tone laced with authority though his heart was pounding with fear. He also realized he was creating a scene.

“We’re getting the bar set up for tomorrow,” Will replied, his voice calm and direct, offering no pretense of submission.

Michael’s lip curled with disdain. “You’re the bartenders? I should fire you both.” He noticed their eyes harden, the bald giant’s muscles tensed. The second black man grinned like he had the nerve to find this amusing.

“Fine, we’ll just take everything back to our van,” said the smiling man, turning back towards the door.

Panic seized Michael as he calculated the impossibility of replacing them a day before the wedding. “Let’s not be hasty” he called out, his voice unsteady. “Just don’t behave above your station and we’re good.”

“You mean don’t get uppity,” growled Mark.

“Yes,” said Michael, nodding before quickly backtracking. “I mean no, that’s not what I’m saying. Just do the job you were hired to do and keep your hands off my fiancé.”

“Of course,” said Will, adding, “Sir.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Mark.

Michael waited a few seconds for the black giant to show him respect, decided it wasn’t coming and finally said, “Go finish your work.” He nodded and turned back to the door.

Mark and Will exchanged a glance, their amusement barely concealed as Michael retreated to join Pamela on the beach. Once he was out of earshot, Mark chuckled darkly. “White boy couldn’t backpedal fast enough,” he remarked. “No doubt telling his fiancée about how he put us in our places.”

Will nodded toward the beach, where Pamela twirled in her bikini for Michael. “What does that hot bitch see in that asshole?”

“Never had no dark meat,” said the bigger black man. Mark’s gaze lingered on her. “I’m still gonna fuck her. Turn out that white pussy for the black man.”

“How?” Will asked, skeptical.

Mark grinned. “Remember Tijuana?”

“How could I forget?”

“I got some knock-out drops.”

Will frowned. “That’s rape, man.”

“Not for her, no fun fuckin em’ limp,” Mark said, leaning in. “For him.” He nodded down towards the beach, the happy couple now standing thigh deep in the water, embracing and kissing.

**********

The inn buzzed with wedding guests, the deck overlooking the Atlantic alive with laughter and clinking glasses. The ocean’s roar mingled with the band’s sultry notes, the inn’s weathered beams groaning under the weight of celebration. Mark manned the indoor bar, wearing a white shirt and black bow tie, while Will served drinks outside on the deck, his easy smile drawing more tips than Mark.

People were talking about what a handsome couple, the bride and groom were, when Will overheard someone say that the newlyweds had the big old inn all to themselves this evening. The guests were all booked at a nearby hotel. His ears perked up at that, and the first chance he got he ran inside to tell Mark.  Mark had heard the news already, and said "That's perfect, we'll sneak back after everyone’s gone and if we get caught, we'll just say we were picking up some of our things."

"Ladies and gentleman, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Michael Winfield Scott."

The couple came in after a photo session with the ocean in the background. Guests gushed over the “handsome couple,” but Mark’s eyes were on Pamela, stunning in her white gown, its plunging neckline teasing her impressive cleavage. She was beaming and beautiful.

Pamela felt like a princess, hanging on the arm of her handsome prince. She’d noticed Mark’s gaze, intense and unapologetic, apparently, he hadn’t learned his lesson after Michael put him in his place. The second black man was checking her out, less predatory, but staring a lot. They were definitely acting above their station. On top of that, Rebecca, one of her bridesmaids was constantly getting drinks from the friendlier of the two black men. It looked like she was throwing herself at the man and he was flirting back. Rebecca had a proper boyfriend who wasn’t here, but there’d been a rumor she’d hooked up with a black guy once though she denied it. Pamela would have to send the other bridesmaids in to stop her from embarrassing herself.

Five groomsmen dragged Michael up to Will’s bar, the six friends throwing back a shot and then another. “Enough,” said the groom, starting to feel dizzy. His bros laughed. He couldn’t afford to get too drunk tonight. He leaned in and slipped Will a bill. “Keep my wife’s wine glass full,” he told the black man with a wink.

“Of course, Mr. Scott,” said Will. He poured six more shots, the men assuming one other had ordered it.

Michael threw back the shot, shaking his head to clear it. “Seriously, no more,” he said, smiling when he noticed Will placing a glass of wine on a tray and setting off to find Pamela.

Michael rejoined Pamela just as she finished her glass, Will instantly arriving to replace it. She noticed. “Trying to get me drunk, Mr. Scott?” she teased, kissing him. “I’m pretty sure you’re getting laid tonight.” He laughed, but his own head spun—he’d overdone it. He set his beer down and headed over to the bar to get a bottle of water. His frat bros cornered him and made him throw back another shot, a childish game to get the groom drunk. He’d need to avoid being cornered by them the rest of the evening and just stay by his bride’s side.

Will informed Mark that the plan was in jeopardy because the groom wasn't drinking anymore, he also filled his buddy in on the conversations he had overheard. “Get this, the redheaded bridesmaid’s got the black itch bad. She was trying to get me to go to her room at the motel before her friends dragged her away. She was tellin’ me the bride and groom ain’t had sex yet.”

“What?”

“Some bad relationship in the bride’s past. She held out on him.”

“Dayumn,” said Mark, slowly. “I thought the white boy wasn’t hittin’ it right, but he wasn’t hittin’ it at all. What a pussy. Bitch would have been chokin’ on my cock the first date before beggin’ me to fuck her.” Mark stared off into space. “I’m gonna break that pale princess in on her wedding night,” he muttered.

Will saw the giant tent forming under Mark’s trousers. “Mark, white boy quit drinking. Plan’s shot. I’m gonna give the redhead a call before I lose my chance.”

“Just text her a picture of your cock, bro. You can fuck her whenever you want. Tonight we’re turning out another white bitch for the black man on her wedding night.” He smiled an evil grin.

Will didn’t want to pass up on a sure thing, but he knew the look on Mark’s face. Will just liked to fuck white women, but Mark was obsessed with taking them from their white boyfriends and husbands and Mark wouldn’t be able to pass on a chance like this. “What are you thinking?”

"There’s still a chance," Mark reminded him.

At the champagne toast, Mark approached with two glasses, bowing slightly to Pamela. “For Mr. and Mrs. Scott,” he said, the first deference he’d shown to Michael all night, his voice smooth as velvet. She blushed, taking the glass, unaware of the drops he’d slipped into Michael’s. Michael barely noticed the bitter taste, lost in fantasies of breaking in his bride. He’d waited almost a year, cheating twice out of frustration and because he could get away with it, and tonight, she’d pay for every denied moment. Let her training begin. He took another sip and then tossed the drink back.

Their guests applauded.

**********

As the guests departed, the inn fell silent but its walls creaked and the sound of distant waves crashing on the beach could be heard. Michael pecked at some of the leftover food as Pamela hugged her parents goodbye. The caterers were returning in the morning to clean up everything so that the couple might get something to eat if they got hungry later on. Michael was a lot drunker than he had planned on and he stifled a yawn. He hoped some food in his stomach might sober him up. This past week had really worn him out.

Pamela waved to her parents and shut the door with a sigh. "Finally, we're alone" she said as she walked into her husband’s arms. She felt his penis harden in his pants and playfully gave it a little squeeze. He groaned, bending over to kiss her, reaching down to squeeze her firm well-rounded rear end. She moaned with the passion of their embrace. “Let’s go upstairs. I have a surprise.”

They held hands as they ascended the stairwell past the creepy old portraits of previous owners, all stern looking and unsmiling. By the time they reached the top, Michael was staggering, leaning against her. She wrapped her arm around him, helping him along, silently cursing his groomsmen for getting him drunk on his wedding night.

They arrived in the honeymoon suite. Michael was swaying, fumbling with his bow tie and Pamela decided to help him with it. She loosened the tie and moved her hands down his white shirt, unbuttoning as she went.

Pamela felt her arousal growing as she finished with the shirt. Waiting had been her decision, but it hadn’t been easy on her. She wanted it just as bad as Michael and was eagerly ready to make up for lost time. He took his shirt off, his chest was fit and lean, a paunch forming. Michael staggered undoing his belt. She reached out to catch him. “Sorry, I’ve been drunk plenty of times, but this feels different,” he mumbled an apology.

“Hang in there, my love. Don’t make me wait another day. Get a condom ready," she said in excitement. "I’ll be right back. I have a surprise for you." Pamela lifted her long gown and ran across the hall to the room Michael had stayed in last night. She stood before the mirror and unzipped the back of her wedding dress. She struggled out of the dress and looked at herself in her sexy bridal set in the mirror. She wore a small lacy white bra that pushed her large breasts up and revealed the tops of her half dollar sized nipples. Just under her navel she wore a white garter belt that supported her white nylons. Her panties were sheer and revealed her well-trimmed blonde bush. She ran a hand down her belly and into her panties, she was already wet with anticipation. Clad only in her lingerie and heels, she walked back to the honeymoon suite.

**********

Mark and Will jogged silently down the beach. They had left the inn, parked their van around the next block and hurried back down the beach. The paused on the beach access, heat lightening illuminating the dark old inn with occasional flashes. In the distance thunder rumbled. The only light on in the old inn was upstairs in the bride and groom’s room. Music echoed down the beach from the brightly lit hotel a mile away where most of the wedding guests were staying, apparently continuing the celebration.

The two large black men were mostly invisible in the darkness. They changed from their tuxedos to black tee-shirts and pants. They snuck up onto the deck and entered through the large sliding glass door, which Will had made sure was unlocked earlier. Mark had a flashlight and he shined it before them, the light casting eerie shadows across antique portraits, as they crept through the dining area towards the stairs up to the rooms. The floorboards creaking like whispers of warning, making them freeze and listen for noises from upstairs.

**********

Pamela walked down the dark hall to their room. She opened the door and posed. "See anything you like," she purred.  He didn't respond. Michael had stripped to his briefs and was lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his lips curled up as loud snores escaped his mouth.  That insensitive bastard! she thought. What kind of man passes out on his wedding night?

She climbed up on bed, throwing one nylon clad leg over his body, she straddled her husband. Pamela began rubbing her crotch against his limp penis. "Please honey, wake up, I need it so bad," she sighed as she tried to shake him awake to no avail. Angrily she dismounted and stormed out of the room with a groan of frustration.

**********

Mark and Will were about to climb the stairs when the hallway light on the second floor turned on. They scrambled for cover, and hid under one of the dining room tables. They heard the click, click of high heels coming down the stairs and peeked out under the tablecloths.

Mark couldn't believe his eyes at the vision that presented itself before him. He looked up the stairs at her white high heel then he let his eyes travel up her white nylon covered fit lean legs to her panties and garter belt. He reached beneath him, squeezing the growing bulge in his pants as his gaze traveled up her flat stomach to the breasts that were way too large for someone so athletically fit. He hadn't gotten the leopard bikini out of his mind and the slut-bride look was about to put him over the edge. Her blonde hair was still done up so that she looked every bit the conservative, elegant woman from the neck up, but from the neck down she had a body built for a big cock.

Any trepidations Will had about this plan fled when his eyes took in the blonde newlywed’s figure in the sexy lingerie. Pamela Beauregard Scott was a weird combination of beautiful innocence and stacked exotic dancer. Her big white titties had to be at least EE’s and judging by the way they bounced, they were big and natural. His fat eleven-inch cock was swelling fast and he assumed his friend’s foot-long monster was just as hard. He was right. Mark was reaching beneath him and undoing his pants so he could adjust his 12” dark black rod to make it more comfortable.

Pamela walked over to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. She seemed angry and frustrated. A broad grin spread across Mark’s face as he assumed the drug had knocked her husband out cold.

Pamela sat on a couch in the family room. She turned the TV on, watching the news as she slowly sipped her wine. The frustrated wife sat her empty glass down, her hand coming back, palm flat on her garter belt, she slid it down, fingers slipping beneath her panty, sliding through the wisps of blonde pubes. The sexy blonde threw her head back and moaned. She laid down, one foot on the floor the other on the couch, lifting her hips into her finger tips like a wanton harlot. She’d never been this aroused before, ready to get laid, but this wasn’t how she wanted to have her first orgasm. She wanted to cum with Michael and if she had to wait until morning then she’d wait.

A low growl grew in Mark’s throat. Will grabbed his shoulder just as he was about to burst out from under the table at the aroused blonde. “Stick to the plan,” he hissed. Mark relaxed, but the nostrils on his flat nose were flaring like an enraged bull’s.

Thunder roared in the distance. The heat lightning was turning into real lightning.

Pamela sighed and quit fingering herself. She stood, grabbing her empty glass before turning the TV off. Lightning flashed again, the upstairs light flickering. She walked back to the bar and picked up the bottle of wine. Instead of refilling her glass, she set the glass down and carried the bottle over to the sliding glass door watching the streaks of lightning flash out over the ocean. She took a swig from her bottle, slid the door open and stepped out on the deck just as thunder crackled in the sky.

Mark crawled out from under the table and peeked his head up just in time to see a flash of lightning illuminate the gorgeous bride in the darkness. She was taking another swig from the bottle. The wind was picking up, blowing through the open door and making the table cloths flutter, sending some napkins off the tables. “Come on,” he growled.“ They crawled out from under the table, keeping an eye on the beautiful blonde standing out on the deck, the wind whipping her bridal veil behind her. Lightning crackled in the sky behind her. Will stayed low and snuck into the kitchen, keeping an eye on the deck.

Mark slipped upstairs. The honeymoon suite’s door was open. He sneered with disdain when he saw Michael laying on his back on the bed, feet on the ground, trousers around his ankles, wearing nothing but white briefs. Mark grabbed the hapless husband and unceremoniously rolled him off the bed. He hit the floor hard, with a loud thud. He froze, listening for signs Pamela had heard, but the thunder booms were even louder and the wind was rattling the shutters, gusts whispering up the stairs through the open-door downstairs. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, “sir.”

Mark pulled his shirt off over his head, his well-defined linebacker’s muscles rippling, biceps flexing as he dropped the shirt on the floor. He stared down at the hapless newlywed on the ground. The white boy’s pale chest was fit at least, some abs, but his chest wasn’t as broad or as defined. His skin was mostly pale with some red splotches from too much sun yesterday. Michael kept his hair short, a crewcut, not bald like Mark, but they both were clean shaven. He pushed his trousers down, taking his underwear along for the ride. His huge black cock sprang up, already hard. His cock was his money maker, twelve inches of sculpted perfection, a thick black shaft crisscrossed with powerful blue-black veins leading up to a cut bulbous crown with a pronounced flare. Women paid well for a private dance where they could pull his bulging jock strap down to stare in awe at his cock. Most were willing to stroke it just to see it hard, plenty started sucking it right in the booth, and a third of them begged him to come back to their hotel.

Again, he glanced down at Michael Scott. Mark’s cock was sticking out a foot from his crotch, bobbing in front of him, the head already drooling precum. Michael’s white briefs were barely bulging. Mark doubted the little white dick was half as long or half as thick, a stroke of luck they hadn’t fucked yet. Mark allowed himself a rare smile as he climbed on the bed and took the newlywed husband’s place. He crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling fan while he waited.

Pamela closed her eyes and raised her face up to the sky just as it began to sprinkle, the rain and air smelling of sea salt. Her veil waved behind her as the wind increased, lightning flashing, thunder coming quicker as the storm approached. She turned and slipped back inside, closing the door just as the rain started pouring down. More lightning illuminated the dark stormy ocean. It was beautiful really, something primal about watching a storm roll in off the sea. She stayed watching more lightning crackle across the sky. Finally, she drained the bottle, feeling all the wine rushing to her head. She turned, noticing it was darker than before, nearly pitch black as the storm clouds rolled in.

Pamela swayed at the foot of the inn’s creaking staircase, the wine buzzing in her veins. Her bridal lingerie left her feeling naked and vulnerable. A shiver ran down her spine at the feeling she was being watched. A place this old had to be haunted, she thought. The stern eyed portraits glared disapprovingly at her nearly nude figure as she began to ascend. Thunder rumbled, shaking the old colonial beams, while wind howled and rain lashed the roof, a wild chorus in the stormy dark. “Definitely haunted,” she muttered.

Will stared from the dark kitchen, his own cock swelling harder. The bride was simply too hot, the sexist thing he’d ever seen. He reached down and squeezed his crotch trying to adjust it, but the only way his cock was going to feel comfortable was when he freed it. He hoped this plan worked. If it didn’t he was going to disappear when he heard her scream, if it did, well then they were going to turn out another snow bunny for dark meat. He waited until she was halfway up before slipping deeper into the kitchen. He shined his light on the pantry door, pulling it open. The fuse box was inside. He opened the box and flipped the master switch.

The inn was suddenly plunged into total darkness. Pamela froze in fear, her heart pounding. Why was the light out? Thunder rattled the inn. The storm must have knocked the power out, she assumed, trying to relax. She gripped the banister, its cold, rough wood steadying her wobbly ascent. She froze letting the flashes of lightning outside briefly illuminate the stairs before she took a few steps and everything went dark again.

The inn pulsed around her, its shadows flickering like living things in the flashes. Each step creaked, each flash allowing her to see before plunging her into blackness. Her heart raced, fear prickling her skin—she was alone, exposed, the lace grazing her thighs with every move, her stocking clad feet lifting for the next step. Lightning flashed, revealing portraits with hollow eyes that seemed to track her, their gazes heavy and knowing.

At the landing, the hallway loomed, dark and empty, the rains pattering almost deafening up here. There were no windows, but flashes from downstairs gave her glimpses of the hall, the paintings, and the doors. Drunk and disoriented, she whispered, “Michael?”—her voice lost in the thunder’s echo. The paintings’ eyes glinted in the next flash, and the inn seemed to breathe, its creaks a warning of an unseen presence.

Pamela slipped inside the dark room. There were brief flashes of light outside, but the storm was on the other side of the inn and the room remained dark. She tried the switch, nothing. Pamela shuffled toward the bed, tossing off the little veil and reaching behind her to unhook the bra. She sighed with relief when her heavy tits sprang free. They swung heavily as she bent over, unhooking the garters and rolling the stockings down. A sexy, erotic sight if the room was lit and her new husband had been awake to watch her strip for him. If she forgave him for passing out on their wedding night, maybe she’d be generous enough to show him what he missed. She pushed the belt and her panty down, stepping out of her underwear. Nude, she shuffled a few steps until her leg brushed the bed.

Will climbed the stairs, stopping halfway and sitting down, listening to the wind, the rain, and the thunder, but mostly for a scream. He was nervous, scared enough his erection went down. Pamela had been in the room a few minutes now and no scream. Still, he was prepared to run if things went South.

Pamela slid on the bed, laying down and sidling up to Michael’s sleeping form. She reached out, pressing her hand against his hard chest. “Mmm,” she sighed, reassured by his presence in the creepy old inn. She ran her hand up and down his chest, her palm sliding over the hard bulging ridges of his six pack. His musculature seemed more defined in the darkness. She slid her hand back up his chest. She moved her hand up to stroke his hair, jumping when he grabbed her wrist. “Michael! You’re awake?”

He forced her hand down away from his head, lower, pressing her palm down on his erect penis, pushing her down the length of his shaft. She closed her hand around the base. Pamela stifled a gasp. Michael’s penis felt monstrously huge. She’d jerked him off just yesterday and his penis appeared to have doubled in size. It was heavier, girthier, her fingers had met the last time she’d held it and now there was at least an inch gap between her fingers and thumb. She stroked up to the head, the corona of his glans was pronounced and hard, the tip felt as big as a golf ball. A little squirt of pre cum coated the tops of her fingers. “Michael, you feel huge,” she muttered. He grunted. She could barely hear him over the drumming of the rain on the roof.

Pamela slid down slightly, leaning over him, letting her hand slide down the unseen penis, wrapping her other hand on top of it and there was still room left over for a third hand and maybe part of a fourth. The darkness and wine had her mind playing tricks on her or maybe he hadn’t been fully hard two days ago or maybe he’d taken a pill. She slipped her hand beneath his shaft, one large swollen testicle filling her palm. She’d never paid any attention to his balls, but these too felt larger than the ones she’d glimpsed yesterday, heavy and full.

She moved the hard rod around, the head hitting her chin and leaving a sticky spot along it. She hadn’t realized the head of his penis was so close to her face, it shouldn’t have been, but it was. She pulled back, but Michael placed one strong hand on the back of her head and pushed her down closer.

The tip of his penis scraped along her cheek. “You know I don’t do that, Michael,” she said, trying to raise her head, but his grip remained firm.

“Suck it,” he ordered, his voice deep and commanding.

For some reason, her pussy quivered at this new dominant persona. Her nipples hardened, pulling on her areola as her arousal grew. He’d hinted he wanted one during their courtship, more than a few times, but she’d resisted. Tonight was special and she relented, a wedding present for the man she loved. She raised her head, pulling the steel hard shaft towards her lips. To love, honor, and obey, her vows, old fashioned, but her parents had insisted. They’d made the same vows at their Anglican wedding as had her grandparents, and so on.  Wives submit yourselves to your own husbands, as in Ephesians. She pressed her lips against the head of the huge penis and kissed it to signal that she was going to honor her vows, at least once, on their wedding night.

Pamela opened her mouth and pursed her lips against the tip, opening wider, as far as her jaw could open as she sucked the end of Michael’s engorged phallus. She bobbed her head, wanting to choke as the bulbous head filled her mouth. His scent filled her nostrils, musky and manly. The tip pushed against her throat, making her want to gag, she pulled back, a squirt of pre-cum, shooting across her tongue, igniting her taste buds. Surprisingly, it didn’t disgust her.

Michael’s penis exited her mouth, she licked around it, using the pause to catch her breath. She ran her tongue down his shaft, the skin slightly salty from sweat. His musky smell grew the closer her nose came to his crotch. It filled her nostrils. Michael smelled like a man and she liked it. She licked down further, until his pubes tickled her nose. She inhaled deeply, wishing her husband’s scent could fill her nose forever and smiling, tonight was their first night of forever. She licked back up to the head, twirling her tongue around the corona before opening her mouth and taking him back inside. She moaned with lust as she sucked the head, bobbing faster. Maybe this wouldn’t be the only time she did this for him. If he ordered her to suck it again, she would… obey.

Pamela adjusted her position, kneeling at Michael’s side as she bent over, slurping over his big penis. She forced her head down, feeling him push into her throat, her eyes watering as she suppressed her gag reflex. A low moan grew in her throat as she began to enjoy blowing her new husband. She’d lied to Michael; she’d done this before. The professor, her crush, her infatuation, had insisted. His penis, thin and barely pushing five inches, had been easy. He hadn’t warned her, his foul-tasting semen squirting in her mouth had disgusted her, but she’d thought she’d loved him. After catching him with another student, she’d vowed never to do this again, but Michael’s penis was something completely different and she knew he loved her as much as she loved him. She’d suck this giant dick as often as he wanted.

Her arousal grew until she couldn’t take it anymore. She slid her hand up the side of his body over his large bicep. Her fingers slipped under the pillow, fumbling around until she found what she was searching for. Her fingers closed around the condom packet. She pulled it out, still bobbing her head over the end of Michael’s penis as she ripped it open and removed the rubber.

She slowly pulled up, closing her lips around the glans and kissing it again before bringing the condom around to the head. She fumbled with the rubbery circle, afraid of dropping it and losing it in the blackness. She held the hard shaft steady as she struggled to roll the thin rubber down around the huge glans. It stretched tight, almost to the point she thought it might break before the rubber snapped back into her fingers. “It feels too small,” she gasped. “You sure you have the right size?”

He grabbed her wrist, fingers sliding up her hand until he took the condom. She pulled her hand away as he took over rolling the rubber down his penis. In reality, Mark palmed the useless condom into his right hand and dropped it over the side of the bed. “Get up here and ride it, girl,” he ordered.

Pamela swung her leg over Michael’s thigh and slid her body up his crotch, pushing down on his thick shaft. She slid her wet pussy along the shaft, feeling its heat, its throbbing power. Pamela thought she could get off just from this, pressing her crotch down hard into his shaft. She threw her head back and moaned just as lightning crackled outside the window illuminating the scene, her white hands resting on the hard muscular black chest as she rubbed her pussy along a foot long black cock. Mark saw her body light up, her pale skinned beauty, her giant tits thrust out as she arched her back, her nipples swollen and puffed out nearly half an inch. Pamela lowered her head just as the room was plunged back into darkness and the loud boom rattled the old inn’s walls.

She worked her way higher up his body, legs spreading wide around his hard stomach. The head of his penis had to have been as high up as his ribs. Finally, her pussy slid over the head and she pushed down, her lips spreading open over the golf ball sized tip, pressing down and taking half the tip inside her. The professor wasn’t anywhere near this big, she thought as she pushed back into the tip of Michael’s penis, feeling him slowly push into her. “Your penis is so big, Michael,” she moaned, pausing to let herself adjust.

“Call it a cock,” came a deep voice from the darkness.

Pamela hesitated, Michael usually referred to his penis as his dick, but cock seemed more erotic, dirtier. She liked it. “Your cock is so big,” she corrected, her voice a breathy whisper as she pushed down further, her pussy stretching to accommodate Mark’s girth. The storm outside raged, rain pattering furiously against the roof, each flash of lightning briefly illuminating the room. Her eyes remained closed, focused, lost in the throes of sensation, unaware that the hard, muscular chest beneath her hands belonged to the brutish looking bartender at her wedding, his dark skin a stark contrast to her pale fingers.

Mark grinned in the darkness, his large hands reaching up to seize her heavy tits, they were magnificent, the weight of them filling his palms. He squeezed firmly, thumbs brushing her swollen nipples before pulling them outward, eliciting a sharp gasp from Pamela. Her body trembled as she sank lower, taking more of his foot-long cock, the thick shaft stretching her impossibly wide. He bucked his hips upward, a deliberate thrust that drove another inch into her, and she cried out, her first orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Her pussy clenched around half his length, juices coating him as she shuddered, the pleasure blinding her to the truth revealed by the next lightning flash.

“God, yes,” she moaned, her head lolling back, eyes still shut as the storm’s rumble shook the inn. “I needed that.” Mark’s hands tightened on her nipples, tugging harder, and she responded by rocking her hips, determined to take him fully. With a slow, deliberate push, she felt the head of his cock breach deeper, her walls yielding to his size. The sensation overwhelmed her, and as she finally took all twelve inches, her body convulsed with a second, more powerful orgasm, that had her crying out with a newfound inexperienced pleasure. Lightning flared again, casting a fleeting glow on Mark’s African features, but Pamela’s closed eyes shielded her from the sight.

Will jumped slightly, prepared to run. He’d heard her loud cry, but couldn’t tell if it was a scream of fear or pleasure. He thought of sitting back down, but instead crept upstairs to listen at the door. It was open slightly and he caught a glimpse of the beauty straddling his black friend on the bed. He strained to listen over the storm, but what he heard next made him grin.

“I love your big cock,” she gasped, her voice raw with ecstasy as she collapsed against his chest, her breasts pressing into his hard muscles. The rain pounded relentlessly, thunder echoing her cries, while the inn’s creaking walls seemed to pulse with the primal energy of the moment, holding its breath for what might follow.

Pamela’s lips crashed against his with a fervor she’d never known, her kiss deepening with a hungry passion that eclipsed every previous moment with Michael. Their tongues teased, dancing in a slow, sensual duel, igniting a fire that coursed through her veins. Again, flashes illuminated the scene, Pamela’s milky white figure atop the dark shadowy one, their jaws working from their fervent kissing, large dark black hands squeezing the soft cheeks of her ass. She pulled back, breathless, and sat upright, her heavy tits thrust outward as she began to ride Mark’s massive cock. The storm outside roared, rain hammering the roof, lightning casting fleeting glimpses of her pale form atop his dark, muscular body. Each downward thrust drew moans from her lips, her pussy stretching to take his full length, and within moments, a series of orgasms rippled through her, each more intense than the last.

Mark leaned up, his strong hands cupping her breasts, squeezing them firmly as his tongue flicked across her swollen nipples. He sucked one between his lips, then the other, his mouth drawing deep, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. The sensation pushed her over the edge, her body convulsing with an even bigger orgasm, her cries mingling with the thunder’s growl. The inn’s creaking walls seemed to pulse in rhythm with their union, flashes illuminating the old photograph of General Scott’s eyes, like they were staring judgmentally at the couple’s passionate love making.

Suddenly, Mark sat up and swung around so he was sitting on the edge. Pamela instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips, perching on the bed’s edge. He shoved Michael’s limp form aside with a casual push of his foot, his hands gripping her ass to lift her up and down his throbbing cock. Their lips locked again in a passionate kiss, tongues entwining as he controlled her movements, driving her wild. “I’m about to cum again,” she gasped against his mouth, her voice trembling with need.

“Me too,” Mark mumbled, his breath hot against her skin. With a powerful thrust, he erupted inside her, a hot blast of semen hosing her fertile womb. Pamela’s eyes widened in shock but the sensation triggered a massive orgasm, her body shaking as waves of pleasure overwhelmed her core, her vaginal muscles squeezing her husband’s big cock, milking it for every drop of his voluminous seed.  Panting, she pressed her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the stormy dark. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I never dreamed it would be this good.” They rested, his cock softening inside her, and she leaned in, licking his cheek before whispering in his ear, “You naughty boy, did you change your mind about the condom? You trying to knock me up on our wedding night? This isn’t a good time for me.” She squealed as she felt him hardening again, a wicked thrill coursing through her as his cock reversed course.

Mark stood and flipped her over with a swift motion, cupping her legs in his arms as he kneeled on the bed, raising her hips, pounding her pussy with relentless force. Three more orgasms tore through her, each one leaving her gasping, her pleas of “Do it, give it to me” filling the room.

He growled, “Tell me to fuck you,” his voice a commanding rumble.

Pamela’s inhibitions shattered, and she screamed, “Fuck me, fuck me with that big cock. I love your cock! I love you so much. Knock me up.” They’d wanted to wait, establish their careers, travel and enjoy each other’s company before starting a family, but her wedding night was turning out to be so magical the thought of being impregnated only made it better. “Oh Michael,” she moaned, rising to meet his thrusts, “Give me a baby.” Her words fueled his thrusts, and with a final, deep surge, he came inside her again, the hot rush pushing her into another shuddering climax as the storm outside mirrored their wild abandon.

Pamela groaned in disappointment as her new husband slowly pulled his wonderful cock out of her well-fucked pussy. She was surprised to feel his hot seed splattering down on her body, large wads splattering on her tits and belly. His cock smacked down on her stomach, still twitching and throbbing, a steady stream of semen leaking out in a pool on her abdomen. Michael grabbed the base, smacking his floppy cock down on her stomach several times and squeezing several more tablespoon’s worth of cum on her. He rolled over and collapsed, her side of the bed jumping as he landed.

Pamela stretched in contentment, her hands running down her body. Semen was a sticky mess, but this felt different, like Michael had marked his territory by cumming on her, claiming her body as they consummated their wedding night. With so much semen, how could she not be pregnant? She found herself rubbing his semen into her skin, coating her hard nipples with his seed. The clump on her abdomen was already running down into her belly button to form a growing pool around her navel. She ran her fingers through it, rubbing his seed around her belly.

A steady trickle of it was pouring out between her legs and she decided she should try to find the bathroom in the dark. She leaned over, feeling out for her husband so she could plant a kiss on his lips. “Be right back,” she whispered. He grunted a response. She slipped out of bed and made her way to the hall door.

The inn hadn’t been modernized with plumbing in every room and the lone bathroom was at the end of the hall. She felt along the wall, flashes of lightning from the windows downstairs giving her little glimpses and helping her along. The rain was still drumming down on the roof; she didn’t hear the door creak or see Will’s shadowy figure emerge behind her as she felt around for the bathroom door. She tried the light switch despite knowing the power was still out. She scooped up a wad of toilet paper to try to clean up with.

Pamela rose from the toilet, her legs trembling from the wine and the night’s relentless passion. She found a washcloth, still wet from her morning shower and ran the cold clammy washcloth over the rapidly drying flakes of semen off her body before fumbling her way back down the darkened hallway. The storm’s incessant rain drummed against the roof, each lightning flash casting eerie, fleeting illuminations across the inn’s creaking corridors, its ancient walls seeming to breathe with a sinister anticipation, ancient painted eyes staring at the nude woman as she passed. She assumed Michael was spent and asleep. Guided by the cold, textured wall, she pushed against the open door to the honeymoon suite, the air heavy with the musky aftermath of their earlier encounter. In the oppressive darkness, she navigated toward the bed, her nude form sinking beside the figure she believed to be her husband. The inn’s shadows pulsed, its weathered timbers groaning as if complaining about the mating that had occurred in the room.

She nestled close, pressing her soft curves against his warm, firm skin, her hand resting on his chest. The musculature felt subtly altered—more robust, more chiseled—but she dismissed it as a trick of the dark. “Mmm, Michael,” she murmured, her fingers trailing downward, brushing over the hard ridges of his abdomen to his crotch. Her breath hitched as she encountered his erection, its thickness startling her, the girth straining against her grip. “You’re hard again,” she whispered, a blend of astonishment and arousal coloring her voice, her fingers struggling to encircle his shaft, the heat of it radiating into her palm.

The figure stirred, and a deep, commanding voice rumbled, “Suck it.”

Pamela paused, the authoritative tone sending a thrill through her. “Again?” she asked, even while yielding to the command. She slid down, kneeling beside him, her lips parting to take the girthy cock into her mouth. She’d enjoyed it earlier and it gave her husband pleasure so she began bobbing her head again. Will groaned softly as she labored, her jaw aching as she stretched to accommodate his size. Her tongue explored the head, tasting the initial bead of pre-cum—warm, slightly briny with a hint of sweetness. Her brow furrowed, wondering why his shaft was dry after their passionate love making. He hadn’t washed it or maybe he’d wiped it off with something when she was in the bathroom. His cock tasted slightly salty with a sweaty masculine scent coming off his crotch. As she bobbed, struggling to take more, she used her fists to stroke the rest of his shaft off. Michael was groaning, bucking his hips slightly so she sucked harder, encouraged that he was enjoying it and strangely, she found herself enjoying giving her man such pleasure. His size and girth was a challenge, it seemed even fatter than before, but she loved being challenged, so she tried harder fighting her gag reflex as she took him down her throat. She tired quickly, her jaw aching from being stretched so wide open. If he didn’t stop her soon, she was going to have to quit. Plus, his cock was starting to feel even bigger, like it was swelling. He tensed, and with a guttural grunt, he released, his semen flooding her mouth. Pamela jerked with shock, disgusted and slightly angry that Michael hadn’t warned her he was about to cum. The first wave was thick and creamy, carrying a rich, earthy flavor with a subtle nutty undertone, surprisingly pleasant against her palate. It wasn’t disgusting at all, she thought as her mouth filled with another load, she willingly gulped down. She was moaning by the time her mouth filled again, her taste buds savoring his thick rich seed. As he withdrew, a final burst splattered across her face, warm and viscous, dripping down her cheeks and chin. She licked her lips, savoring the taste, a mix of shock and delight at how much she enjoyed it, a stark contrast to the foul memory of her professor’s watery release. This wouldn’t be the last time she sucked this cock. She reached out and grabbed it, bending the shaft back to her lips and planting a kiss on the head to show her respect for it. She smiled knowing how she planned on waking her husband up in the morning.

Will sat up, his hands roughly seizing her hips, guiding her onto all fours with a force that made the bed creak loudly. Kneeling behind her, he positioned himself, his thick cock pressing against her entrance before thrusting in with a single, aggressive stroke. The sudden invasion stretched her pussy wide, a sharp sting giving way to a deep, overwhelming fullness as he buried himself in her pussy, stretching her out more than ever. The sensation ignited a large orgasm, her body quaking, her cries piercing the storm’s roar as she felt utterly claimed, her knees digging into the mattress, her hands bracing her on the headboard. He took her roughly, each thrust a deliberate act of dominance, his hands gripping her hips like a vise, using her body to chase his own release. The pace was relentless, his cock pounding into her with a primal urgency, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the dark. Yet, she reveled in it, loving this newfound dominant side of her husband, the way he used her like a vessel for his pleasure igniting a submissive thrill she hadn’t known she craved. Her breasts swayed heavily with each thrust, nipples grazing the sheets, heightening her arousal.

“I love this,” she gasped, her voice breaking with ecstasy, “I love your cock, keep fucking me.” He growled, her words spurring him on, and he wet his thumb with saliva, pressing it insistently against her anus. “No, that’s off limits,” she protested, tensing against the intrusion. A sharp spank landed on her ass, the sting radiating through her, and she whimpered, relenting as he pushed his thumb inside. The dual penetration—his girthy cock filling her pussy, his thumb stretching her anus—sent her spiraling into another orgasm, her body convulsing as pleasure and pain merged. She felt exposed, vulnerable, yet adored the raw power he wielded, her moans blending with the thunder outside.

Lightning flashed. The room lit up. Pamela’s pleasure filled eyes fell on the stern angry gaze of the old bloated general before the room was plunged back into darkness.

Will’s thrusts grew erratic, his grip tightening as he neared his peak. With a final, forceful plunge, he came, flooding her womb with a powerful surge of semen, the hot rush triggering a massive orgasm that left her trembling, her vaginal walls clenching around him. The intensity overwhelmed her, her mind reeling as she collapsed forward, his thumb and his cock springing free, wads of semen splattering down her back. Pamela groaned in satisfaction, gasping for breath, “I love you, I’ll do anything for you,” her voice a subservient confession of devotion to this imagined version of Michael. “You make me feel so good, my love.”

Her husband answered with another strong slap on her ass cheek.

In the darkness, she rose, disoriented, and stumbled toward the hall, seeking the bathroom once more. Unbeknownst to her, Mark had been seated in a chair in the room, silently listening and catching a flickering glimpse of the white beauty. He switched places with Will, resuming his position on the bed to await her return. Will listened down the hall, sneaking back downstairs when he heard the bathroom door shut.

Pamela stumbled back into the honeymoon suite, her body still reverberating from the night’s fervor, a satisfied smile spread across her face. The storm’s rain drummed relentlessly against the roof. The inn’s shadows clung to the walls, its ancient timbers creaking with a sinister resonance, as if bearing witness to the unfolding transgression. Assuming Michael remained asleep, she slid onto the bed, nestling close to the figure beside her. Her hand rested on his chest, the warmth and firmness offering a false comfort. “I love you,” she murmured, her voice soft and vulnerable, tracing the chiseled contours of his muscles. A flicker of reluctance stalled her as her fingers hovered, tempted to slide down to his crotch yet dreading another erection. He had to be spent by now. Curiosity prevailed, and she ventured lower, gasping as she found him rock hard, the thick shaft pulsing under her grip. She raised it gently, her voice quivering with awe, “How? Jesus, Michael, you might be too much man for me.”

“Get up and ride that cock, girl,” came the deep, authoritative command, sending a jolt through her. Obeying instinctively, she straddled him, lowering herself onto his girth. The stretch reignited her arousal as she took him in, her pussy enveloping his length with a slow, deliberate descent. He sat up, pulling her into a fervent kiss, their tongues entwining as his lips trailed downward, sucking her nipples with a voracious intensity that sent shivers cascading through her. She rode him slowly, savoring the fullness, her hips undulating in a rhythmic dance, the bed groaning beneath their weight.

“Is this the best cock you ever had,” he growled, his voice a resonant rumble against her skin.

Her breath quickened, the dirty pillow talk strangely exciting, pleasure mounting as she rocked against him. “Oh my God, it’s the best, it’s so good,” she gasped, her voice escalating, “your big cock is going to get me off again. Oh fuck me, Michael, I’m cumming. I’m cumming!”

The consummation of their marriage on their wedding night unfolded with an enchantment that surpassed Pamela’s every expectation, a union steeped in a magic she had scarcely dared to dream of. Overwhelmed by love for her husband, she surged toward an orgasm of unparalleled intensity. “I love your big cock” she cried, arching her head back in abandon, her pussy contracting rhythmically around her husband’s robust cock as the dam burst.

Downstairs, Will could hear her screams even over the drumming of the rain and the rumbling thunder. He opened the pantry door and flipped the breaker back on.

The light snapped on—sudden, blinding—flooding the room with a piercing brilliance. Pamela lowered her head, blinking through the glare, “I love you,” she sobbed, gazing at her lover, only for her world to fracture. Her body continued to convulse with pleasure, her vaginal muscles gripping and pulsing around the massive shaft beneath her, but her eyes, still adjusting to the sudden light, fixed upon his face. No! her mind shrieked. Impossible! Not Michael. Not her husband. A stranger… a nigg… the bartender she had bumped into yesterday, now lay beneath her, his muscular chest heaving, dark black skin glistening with sweat, his broad African features, flat nose, thick lips, gleaming ebony skin, alien and utterly horrifying. Her breath caught, a tide of revulsion rising to choke her, yet her hips bucked wildly, grinding down to the root of his thick cock, still ensnared in the throes of a potent orgasm born of her love for her husband, her body awash in ecstasy while her mind howled in denial. This isn’t real! This cannot be happening!

In that shattering moment of revelation, she screamed, “FUCK ME!” the words erupting from her lips involuntarily, a raw confession of pleasure as the truth seared into her consciousness. Her body betrayed her completely, riding him with ferocious intensity, his strong Black hands cupping her buttocks, lifting and lowering her over his enormous shaft. Her mind recoiled in horror—This is wrong! The races shouldn’t mix!

The inn’s judgmental portraits agreed, their stern, white-haired men—former plantation owners and Confederate officers—seeming to glare with outrage, their painted eyes condemning the mating of a Negro male with a white girl, their disapproval a silent roar that matched the raging storm outside and her own inner turmoil as the inn’s walls shook with another thunder boom.

He’s defiling me!—even as her pussy pulsed with rapture, eagerly milking his cock with desire for his seed, the forbidden thrill magnifying her climax. As the full reality crystallized—her white body impaled on a Black man—her horror grew, a scream lodging in her throat. In that instant, an orgasm atop her existing climax detonated, propelling her to a new, excruciating peak of lust. Her eyes, dilated with terror, locked onto his dark skin and African visage, the stark contrast burning into her soul as pleasure and revulsion melded into a torturous union.

Mark’s wicked grin emerged, his hands sliding up her hips, enveloping her heavy breasts, squeezing firmly as he twisted her nipples, taunting, “That’s it, white girl, cum all over that Black cock. That white pussy’s Black-owned now!”

His deep, commanding voice sliced through her, intensifying her anguish, yet she shrieked, “YES!” her mind roaring No!, and began humping him harder through her double climax, sobbing, “Fuck me! It’s so good!” Her body reveled in ecstasy, her pussy clenching tightly around his shaft, suddenly releasing a gush, her fluids drenching his Black cock as she squirted in abandon, her climax peaking.

“Damn, bitch, that pussy’s built for Black cock,” he grunted with evident satisfaction.

She collapsed forward, chest heaving as she gasped for breath, the aftershocks of her orgasm still trembling through her, her head hanging in shame, long blonde hair trailing across his chest. Her hands braced against his hard, rippling abdominals, the contrast suddenly less abhorrent as she admired the well-defined muscles, the sexy sculpted power undeniable. She started to run her hands through his sweat drenched black skin, brief thoughts filling her brain… exciting… sexy… before her temper flared.

“How dare you!” she shrieked, her voice fracturing with disgust and disbelief, she raised her fists, pounding his unyielding chest with futile rage, the impact reverberating through her more than him. He didn’t even wince, just grinned smugly. He flexed his cock inside her, a moan passing her lips before she caught herself about to ride him again. She stopped, bracing her hands again, “What?” she asked, breathing deeply. “How?”

Mark chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through her. “When we saw how drunk your white boy was, we didn’t think a bride should be alone on her wedding night.”

“We?” she echoed, her voice faltering, just as Will entered the room. Her gaze dropped to his groin, where his cock stood rock hard, protruding with an intimidating thickness, wider than her wrist, glans like a dark plum with a pronounced flare, a dark, veined marvel that bobbed as he approached. A jolt of recognition struck her: this was the cock she’d sucked, its girth stretching her mouth, before taking her from behind with relentless force. The one inside her now, Mark’s, she’d glimpsed his nametag earlier, was longer, though not quite as thick, a distinction that registered in her dazed mind. She gasped at the realization that her innocence had been taken by not one but two black men.

She stared at Will’s cock with a strange appreciation, its raw masculinity eclipsing anything she’d known, so starkly different from Michael’s modest penis or her professor’s small one. Will’s eyes roamed her incredible white figure, her pale skin contrasting Mark’s dark body, her heavy breasts swaying, her thighs trembling, his appreciation mirroring her own awe. Mark was staring up at the young bride in his lap with equal appreciation thrilled he could finally see the blonde beauty he’d just blacked.

“Wait,” she finally stammered, her voice cracking, “where’s my husband?” Mark tilted his head, pointing casually over the side of the bed. Pamela leaned over, her breath catching as she saw Michael sprawled on the floor, mouth agape, pants tangled around his ankles. An unimpressive bulge poked out his briefs, the discarded condom dangling absurdly from his nose like a mocking adornment. He looked ridiculous, a pitiful figure in the harsh light, the pallor of his pale skin made him look feeble, less masculine against the dark wood floor.

Her mind churned with conflicting thoughts. Concern flickered for Michael, her husband, the man she’d vowed to love, yet it warred with the absurdity of his sprawled form, the weak, pale skin that seemed almost childlike compared to the virile man beneath her. Disgust at his unmanly state clashed with a growing excitement for Mark’s dominance, his muscular frame a stark contrast to Michael’s less exciting, less potent presence. The man inside her had claimed her with a power Michael could never muster, and the realization stirred a troubling thrill, deepening her inner turmoil as she straddled the line between duty and desire. Pamela’s heart ached with a profound sense of betrayal, a wave of disgust washing over her at the realization that she had mated with a Black man, and loved it, yet she remained motionless, still impaled upon his unyielding, hard cock, unable to summon the will or desire to dismount. It felt so good inside her as the darker implications of her illicit mating began to surface in her brain.

Pamela’s breath hitched, a sudden whimper of terror escaping her lips as her eyes fixed on the dangling condom hanging from Michael’s nose. She sat up straight, her body rigid, staring down at Mark with wide, horrified eyes. “You came in me!” she cried, her voice breaking, this time she slapped the black man across his cheek hard enough he winced. “You came in me, you monster!” Tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening in the dim light, she slapped him again and raised her hand for a third blow.

Mark’s hand shot up, seizing her wrist with a firm grip, halting her assault. “You loved it, white girl,” he said, his voice a low, commanding growl. “You loved taking a Black man’s seed in that white pussy.”

His hips began to move, working his cock with slow, deliberate thrusts, reigniting the heat within her. “No,” she cried in denial, her voice trembling, her body tensing against the sensation, trying to fight her desire for it.

“You loved it. Your white pussy loves my big black cock,” he persisted, his tone unyielding as he maintained his steady rhythm.

“No,” she sobbed again, tears blurring her vision, yet the slow thrusts sent involuntary waves of pleasure coursing through her, betraying her protests. Her hips betrayed her further, beginning to hump back against his movements, her arousal mounting despite her resistance.

“You love big Black cock,” he asserted, releasing her wrist and grabbing her waist.

“NO!” she cried out, her voice a mix of defiance and desperation, but she could no longer fight the tide. Her body surrendered, rocking against him, the conflicting surge of shame and ecstasy pulling her deeper into the moment as the inn’s creaking walls seemed to echo her turmoil. “Oh… oh,” she gasped as her pleasure grew. “Fuck me,” she muttered.

“You want me to fuck you?” he grunted, increasing his thrusts.

“Yesssss,” she hissed.

“With what?”

“Fuck me with your big cock,” she cried. This time she allowed her hands to glide over the hard, sweat slick ridges of his broad chest.

“What kind of cock, white girl?”

“Black cock,” she gasped. “Fuck me with your big black cock.” She whimpered, her womb aching, the explosion coming fast. “Cumming!” she screamed, a quick orgasmic burst erupting from her womb.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Cum all over that black cock, you white slut.”

They slowed, allowing Pamela to catch her breath. She stared down at Mark, her eyes filled with hatred and desire, her body wanting him to fuck her forever. “I’m not a slut…MMMPPHH!” Will grabbed the top of her head, turning it to the side, her mouth open in surprise just as the knobby head of his cock passed her lips. She stared cross-eyed down the girthy length of the second bartender’s shaft as he worked the tip in and out of her mouth. This time she could taste the residue of their earlier lovemaking. He pulled out slightly, the thing spitting precum across her lips. She licked her lips, wetting them, then licked his cock, opening her mouth to take him in again. She bobbed her head over the tip, staring up at his body, equally well-built though leaner, his skin lighter than Mark’s more of a dark brown. He grinned down at her watching her suck the end of his cock just as Mark’s grip tightened on her hips and he began working his cock again. She was taking two men… two black men… one in her mouth… one in her pussy… like a… like a slut.

“Slobber all over that black dick, Mrs. Scott,” ordered Will. “You’re gonna want it nice and wet.”

Pamela rode Mark with a fervent rhythm, her hips grinding against him as she turned her head, eagerly sucking Will’s thick cock. The dual sensations overwhelmed her, her body trembling with each thrust from below and each slide of her lips along his shaft. Will’s voice cut through her haze, commanding, “Drool all over that cock, Mrs. Scott.” He pulled his girthy length from her mouth, holding it before her. “Spit on it, Mrs. Scott,” he ordered, his tone firm. She hesitated, then complied, a glistening stream of saliva escaping her lips, splattering onto his dark shaft. He rubbed it along his length with a satisfied mutter, “Good enough,” before moving behind them and climbing onto the bed.

Mark’s mouth latched onto her nipple, sucking with a hungry intensity, his hands gripping her ass cheeks and spreading them apart. A gasp of fear tore from her throat as she felt the cool air against her exposed skin. “No, not that,” she pleaded, her voice quivering, “you’re too big.” Her eyes widened in panic as she sensed the fat, knobby head of Will’s cock press against the tight, unyielding rosebud of her sphincter, its pressure sending a shiver of dread through her.

“I love breaking in a white ass,” said Will with a broad smile that made Mark chuckle.

The inn’s creaking walls seemed to amplify her terror, the storm outside rattling the windows as if in judgment, the stern old general’s photo muttering in outrage a word that filled Pamela’s thoughts… sodomy! Yet, beneath her fear, a conflicting heat stirred, her body still attuned to the pleasure Mark’s thrusts evoked. She tensed, clenching her anus to deny him access, her mind a battlefield of resistance and desire, as Will prepared to claim her in a way she’d never anticipated.

Will’s hands gripped her hips with a firm, unyielding hold, while Mark maintained his grasp on her cheeks, spreading them wide to expose her fully. Will pushed forward, the pressure of his thick cock against her sphincter fighting her resistance, pushing it inward before reluctantly yielding. Pamela gasped, wincing as a sharp pain radiated from her anus, overshadowing the pleasure still pulsing from her pussy. Tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening in the dim light, her body tensing as she braced against the unnatural intrusion. In that moment of despair, when she feared she could endure no more, her resistance crumbled, the knobby head of Will’s cock breached her, slipping inside with a sudden, searing stretch.

Will withdrew slightly, then pressed forward again, working his shaft deeper with deliberate care. The initial agony around her overstretched ring began to ebb, the pain gradually subsiding as the pleasure from her pussy reasserted itself, growing stronger with each thrust. As Will continued, sliding in and out and pushing deeper, the dual sensations merged—the pleasure in her ass amplifying the ecstasy in her pussy. A soft “Yes,” escaped her lips, morphing into a moan, her body surrendering to the overwhelming blend of pain and pleasure as the inn’s creaking timbers shuddered from a violent gale seeming to echo her reluctant acceptance.

Pamela thrashed violently in the throes of a powerful orgasm, her body convulsing as her ass clenched tightly around Will’s cock, while her pussy contracted inward over Mark’s shaft, desperately craving his release. A wave of weakness washed over her, her limbs trembling as she nearly collapsed under the intensity. Mark swiftly swung his hands around, supporting her beneath her ribs, holding her upright as they continued their relentless rhythm. They fucked her with alternating thrusts, their movements synchronized yet distinct, each penetration driving her further into ecstasy.

Mark leaned up, capturing her lips in a deep, possessive kiss. She kissed him back, moaning into his mouth, the sound muffled by their passion. The black men’s thrusts aligned, becoming a unified assault, and she could feel their cocks pressing against each other through the thin barrier inside her, igniting a disturbing thought that they had performed this act before with other women. Tremors racked her body as another orgasm approached, a low moan growing in her throat, her cries lost in Mark’s kiss.

“Cum all over my Black cock,” Mark growled against her lips, his voice a commanding rumble. Simultaneously, Will slapped her ass sharply, barking, “Cum, bitch!” The sting propelled her over the edge, and she screamed, her body convulsing with orgasm after orgasm, her pleas breaking through, “Please, stop, I can’t take much more!” Her voice was a desperate wail, yet her body betrayed her, surrendering to the onslaught.

Mark pulled her down firmly into his lap, his arms encircling her as his cock unleashed a powerful blast of semen into her fertile womb. At the same moment, Will drove his cock deep, emptying his balls into her bowels with a forceful release. The dual floods triggered one final, massive orgasm in Pamela and another squirting episode as her fluids unleashed over Mark’s pulsing cock. Pamela screamed, the inn’s creaking walls seemed to absorb her cries, the storm outside mirroring the tempest within her on this dark evening.

Will withdrew slowly, Pamela’s sphincter contracting tightly around the retreating cock, a steady trickle of semen welling up and running down to pool on Mark’s massive testicles, their dark surface glistening in the faint light. Mark flipped her over with a deft motion, pulling his cock out and climbing off the bed. He stood, his presence commanding as he said, “Meet us downstairs.” He bent down pulling his clothes out from under the bed. After a pause, he added as an afterthought, “Put your lingerie back on.” Pamela lay there, her body spent, uncertain of how long she remained motionless, the inn’s creaking silence enveloping her. Eventually, she rose, staggering down the hall to the bathroom, where she did her best to clean the sticky evidence from her skin, her hands trembling with exhaustion, grateful the light was on so she could see and that she had hot running water to wash up with. She’d take a long shower when they left.

Returning to the room, she slipped into her bridal set lingerie again, the white lace bra lifting her heavy breasts, the garter belt snapping back into place against her nylons with a soft click. As she descended the stairs, the black men looked up, their eyes tracing her figure with unabashed admiration. They were eating slices of her wedding cake, empty plates scattered around them, now dressed in casual tee shirts and pants. “Hungry?” they asked, their tones laced with a teasing edge. She shook her head, a mute refusal, her gaze dropping.

Mark set his plate down, a predatory glint in his eye. “I think I got another nut in me,” he declared, undoing his pants and pushing his underwear down. He sat down in an antique arm chair. “Come suck my cock,” he ordered, his voice brooking no dissent.

She stared at the long, dangling shaft, her mind protesting, “I’m exhausted,” she pleaded, though her eyes remained fixed on its promise.

“I said suck my Black cock, slut,” he repeated, his tone hardening. Against her will, Pamela found herself shuffling forward, dropping to her knees before him. She took the semi-hard head into her mouth, feeling it swell rapidly, her first clear view of Mark’s foot-long cock revealing its perfect beastliness, a full foot of thick, dark Black flesh, veined with prominent blue-black ridges, a masculine perfection that pulsed with raw power, its girth stretching her lips as she sucked willingly, gazing up at him with a mix of awe and submission.

Will finished his cake, watching silently as she worked. He felt his cock swell at the sight of the snow bunny’s willing submission to his friend. Pamela’s sucking turned into full-on cock worship, each descent filling her nostrils with his musky, masculine scent, a heady aroma that drove her deeper. Will set his plate down, excusing himself. “I’m gonna put the white boy back in bed,” he said, slipping upstairs, the couple ignoring him.

Mark grinned down at her. “You’re getting better. I’m gonna make a cocksucker out of you yet.” She moaned, taking him deeper, his coarse pubes nearing her nose as she bobbed faster, one hand working the base, the other kneading his heavy balls. He seemed to last forever, her back, neck, and jaw aching from the effort, but she continued showing her reverence for the throbbing black manhood. A memory formed, sociology class, a black professor writing a word on the chalk board, REPARATIONS.  She’d rolled her eyes, but by the end of class had been half convinced white people needed to do something to make amends to blacks. Mark tensed, then came, a hot flood of seed filling her mouth, several times. She moaned in ecstasy, pulling back to let several strands splatter across her nose and chin, the rich, earthy taste lingering as she savored it.

Pushing herself up, Pamela watched as Mark stood, buttoning his pants. “When you want my cock again,” he said, “Will and I dance at The Banana Hammock in Atlanta.”

She shook her head, resolute. “This was a one-time thing.”

Mark smirked. “It ain’t. White boy ain’t gonna cut it for you. You’ll crave dark meat again and come begging for it.” He pulled a card from his pocket—Marcus Magnum, bartender and dancer, The Banana Hammock (an image showed a large muscular banana laying on a hammock). He handed it to her.

“Marcus Magnum?” she asked.

“Stage name,” said Mark.

Will descended the stairs, grinning. “Bring your redhead friend,” he added, overhearing them.

“Rebecca?” Pamela muttered, recalling how Rebecca had thrown herself at Will during the reception.

“Yeah,” Will confirmed, “she’s got the Black itch bad. Bring all your bridesmaids.”

Mark chimed in, “I’ll see they’re plenty entertained with dark meat.”

“Do you have any white men?” she asked.

“A few,” answered Mark. “There’s the Italian Stallion, his cock’s as big as mine, but he’s gayer than a float in a pride parade.” He chuckled. “We specialize in well-endowed men so they mostly black. I like that jiggly brunette with the big tits.”

Pamela paused, a flicker of jealousy stirring, yet her mind drifted to planning a bachelorette party in a few months for Sue Ellen, the jiggly brunette, a winery tour of Northern Georgia for a dozen women, but now… She shook her head to clear it. She couldn’t do that to her friends. “No, this was it.”

Mark nodded. “We’ll see.” He turned to Will. “You take care of the white boy?”

“Yeah,” Will replied, with that grin that never seemed to leave his face, “I took care of him.

“You gotta have another nut in ya? She’s becoming quite the cocksucker.”

“I’m good,” Will said. “We should get going.”

Pamela followed them out, watching their black forms dissolve into the pre-dawn darkness. A faint light appeared on the horizon, the storm retreating behind her, its flashes and booms now distant. The wind whipped through her veil, a light sprinkle, mostly sea spray coating her skin as the inn’s silent judgment lingered behind her on this early morning.

Pamela ascended the stairs, her legs heavy with exhaustion. She headed straight down the hall to the bathroom, turning the shower on to let it heat up while she sat on the toilet, a steady trickle of semen leaking from her well-fucked pussy. She stared at the business card one last time before tossing it in the waste bin. She leaned down and unhooked her garters, rolling the nylons back down her legs. She unhooked her bra and slid her panty down to her feet. Nude, she stepped in the hot shower and went to work scrubbing the remains of her elicit lovemaking from her skin.

She wondered, was Mark right? Was she going to crave dark meat again? Feeling those big black cocks filling her white pussy with seed had been the most pleasurable thing she’d ever felt. She frowned… big black cocks… white pussy? Why was she thinking like this? Was Michael’s little white boy penis… his penis going to satisfy her after what she’d experienced tonight? They were off to the Bahamas for their honeymoon tomorrow and she guessed she’d find out. Maybe she and Rebecca could take a girl’s night out to the Banana Hammock? She couldn’t do that to her friends, her sorority sisters. Her hand slid down her wet belly, resting on her womb. Her friends and sorority sisters would turn their noses down on her if they knew she’d fucked a black man… two black men. Most of them would stop talking to her if she had a black baby. Her parents would disown her. She’d be nearly destitute with only her grandmother’s five-million-dollar trust fund to live off of. Her life ruined.

Pamela rubbed her wet belly. She’d be disowned, friendless, all alone if she had a black baby. Unless… maybe… she did move Sue Ellen’s bachelorette party to the Banana Hammock? She could book the presidential suite at the Four Seasons transforming the event into an opportunity to sway her friends’ perceptions.

As the hot water cascaded over her, Pamela’s mind wrestled with the decision. The idea of blacking her friends gnawed at her conscience, yet it also offered a path to acceptance. She imagined Sue Ellen, Rebecca, and the others succumbing to Mark’s charms and the dancers’ prowess, their initial shock giving way to curiosity, then desire. If they too felt the overwhelming pleasure she had known, their judgement might dissolve, replaced by understanding. She pictured some turning against her in disgust, others thanking her, grateful for being introduced to black cock. Some of them might even bare little mixed race playmates for her child.

Pamela toweled her luscious body dry, bending to retrieve her lingerie, the wedding night gift intended for her husband, her movements deliberate yet tinged with unease. As she stooped, her eyes caught sight of Mark’s business card nestled in the wastebasket, and her hand hesitated before reaching down to pluck it out. The judgmental portraits lining the hall seemed to track her nude form with their stern gazes as she moved, their silent scrutiny amplifying her inner turmoil. She paused, staring at the card, her thoughts a chaotic swirl. Today marked the first full day of her married life with Michael, a commitment she yearned to honor for eternity, yet the memory of a truly profound orgasm, and that astonishing squirting sensation, stirred a restless desire within her. Even the thought reignited a flicker of arousal, and she doubted Michael could replicate such an experience. A solution flickered in her mind: her bachelorette party, where she had unwrapped a present to reveal a giant Black vibrator as big as Mark. The girls had erupted in laughter at her stunned expression, a gag gift from Rebecca, or perhaps not, she reconsidered, recalling Rebecca’s sly grin. She hadn’t discarded it; it remained packed among her belongings. She resolved to assess Michael’s performance on their honeymoon; if it left her unfulfilled, she would unearth that Black dildo. It might serve as both a sanctuary for her sanity and a means to preserve her fidelity to her marriage, all provided she wasn’t pregnant. Opening the door to their suite, she tossed the business card back into the trashcan under an old antique writing desk by the entrance. The first thing she noticed was that the thunder must have shaken the inn so hard the picture of old general Scott was hanging at an angle. 

Her gaze then settled on her husband

She froze in her tracks, a gasp catching in her throat at the sight before her. Her husband lay face down on the bed, his hips elevated, his small penis rigid and protruding, a thin dribble of semen leaking from its tip. His underwear had been pulled down, exposing him fully, and Pamela’s horrified gaze fixed on the steady stream of semen pouring from his grotesquely stretched asshole, a sight that seared itself into her memory with indelible clarity. Worse still was the serene, satisfied smile spread across Michael’s face as he lay in his comatose state.

Pamela turned around and retrieved the discarded business card from the waste bin, walking it over and slipping it inside her purse. She’d contact Mark when she returned from her honeymoon.

Pamela Beauregard Scott had a bachelorette party to plan.

THE END