Black Men Always Know

How is it that black men always know what I am? What is it about me that tells them that I'm a sissy, and both my holes are available for their use?

Is it my shoulder length, blonde hair, that I keep in a bun? Is it my smooth-shaven face? Is it the tight jeans I wear that accent my round bottom and squeeze my little balls so tightly that it looks like I have a cameltoe, with my tiny dicklet barely noticeable? Maybe the crop-tops that I wear in summer, showing off my slim torso? Whatever it is, black men always know. One quick glance at me, and they know that they can use me.

For example, I was sitting at the airport Sheraton bar about a week ago, just minding my own business, when in walked a huge hunk of a black man. Tall, lean, and very dark, he sat across the bar from me and ordered a drink. As he took his first sip, he noticed me looking at him, and he made eye contact with me. I dropped my gaze immediately, and when I looked up again, he was still staring at me. I held eye contact this time, and he very subtly tilted his head and directed his gaze towards the men's room, then got up and headed in that direction.

That's all it took. The hook was already set, and I was right behind him as he entered the men's room.

He looked at me with a cocky smirk on his face, grabbed me by the arm, and pushed me into a stall. He pushed my shoulders down and I sat on the toilet. He undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants, unzipped his fly, and pushed his pants and underwear down past his ass. His huge black dick hung down below his impressive balls, halfway to his knees. I stared in admiration.

With his left hand, he took the back of my head, and with his right, he raised his stiffening cock to my mouth. I opened my mouth wide, but he didn't start feeding me right away. First, he took his cock and rubbed it all over my face -- eyes, nose, lips, cheeks, chin, even my ears. Then he started dick-slapping me, his black dick getting harder and harder the whole time, and starting to leave snail tracks on my face as his pre-cum started oozing out. I was moaning with pleasure at being used like a slut. I undid my jeans and pushed them down, then took two fingers and started jacking off my dicklet.

He pushed his dick to my lips, and again, I opened wide, and this time, he gave me what I wanted, and pushed that huge, coal-black cock straight down my throat. I would have actually enjoyed some time to taste it and tease it, but he wasn't having any of that. He just held my head and started fucking my face. I looked up at him, and he stared down at me, our eyes locked as he fucked my mouth and throat. My eyes watered as I held back my gag reflex, and he continued to use my face like a fleshlight. I tickled his balls, and within two minutes, I felt him cumming in my mouth. One spurt... two spurts... I swallowed what I could, but the man's balls were very full, and cum started dribbling down my chin. He pulled out, still spurting, and his cum splattered me in the eye and shot into my hair. He held his dick, indicating that I should clean it, so I sucked his cock clean and ate the cum that was still oozing out of his dick. I continued jacking off, and came on the floor as I cleaned him.

When he was done using me, he pushed my head away, pulled up his pants, zipped up, buckled his belt, and walked out. Never said one word to me the whole time, just facefucked me and left me sitting there on the toilet, dicklet in my fingers, belly fully of cum, and face and hair a gooey mess.

When I finally got cleaned up and went back to the bar, he was gone. I never saw him again. But it didn't take long for another black man to come in for a drink. We made eye contact, and he took a napkin, wrote on it, and dropped it next to my drink.

I looked at the note: "Room 704."

What happened in room 704 is story unto itself.