Jamal and Orla Ch. 05

Jamal was headed to basketball practice. Even though it was just a short walk, it gave his mind time to wander. The past couple of weeks had been crazy! What was with all these white girls? He gave his big nuts a scratch. He was getting more pussy than he'd ever had! All married, white, crazy sluts. These bitches just love dark meat.

First, the head nurse, who he was sure was going to call him into her office during practice again for a quick blowjob. Then was Arlene, the cock hungry wife who needed help with her box. Even his French teacher had got in on the action! He was still daydreaming about it all when Orla came barrelling down the hall.

Orla was many things. Smart, beautiful, confident. She was not, however, a runner. With her arms flailing around, and all the grace of a baby giraffe, she narrowly avoided the wall as she came around the bend into sight. Her feet slapped on the tiles, and her tits threatened to burst out of her blouse. She was determined, though. And she was close. She had no idea how long it would take her to stop.

It was pretty obvious to Jamal. There was no way she was stopping before she ran into him. He thought about catching her for a moment, but he wasn't sure if it'd hurt her. She was coming in fast, and it looked like she would take both of them out!

Just before she crashed, full force, into him, he took a quick side step. He didn't avoid her completely, though. Her arm jutted out, and she grabbed him, letting her momentum carry her around, and she ended up hugging him from behind. When she stood like this, the height difference really stood out. Big tall Jamal's ass was just a little above her navel. Her face nestled in between his shoulder blades. Tired out, she slumped, clasping her hands together in perfect place to feel the weight of his cock against them.

"Oh, ah, Good," she panted, "I, ah, found, ah, you."

"You sure did," he laughed, "You all right?"

"Oh, yeah," she replied, still breathless, but recovering. "Maybe, ah, yeah, I, oh," she took a deep breath. "Maybe I could be a little fitter. Phew!"

"Hmm," Jamal pondered, non-committally, "I can think of a few exercises we could do together."

"Oh, can you, now?" she asked, sliding her hand into his pants. "I wonder if they involve balls." She ran a finger down the side of his sack, feeling it twitch.

Two of Jamal's teammates ran past. Her hands were back in the open before they could look back.

"Hurry up, Snake," one shouted. "Coach is giving the last one there a bunch of laps!"

"Shit," he said under his breath. "I gotta go. See you tomorrow!" He started running down the hall.

"Do you want to meet me in town tomorrow?"

"Sure," he shouted back "10am at the fountain?"

"Sure!" she shouted in reply as he disappeared around the corner.

No car, no money, but Jamal had a promise to keep. It was about a five mile jog to the fountain, but the weather was fine, and he was fit enough to manage.

His clothes would suffer, though. By the time he got there, just about anything would be messed up. He decided to go dressed for running, not impressing. Not that he had much to impress with, and his mom would kick his ass if he wore his best to town, anyway.

He pulled on a t-shirt. It was plain, not very interesting, but in one whole piece. Not a hole to be seen. Which was more than could be said for his shorts. There were some fairly big holes in them, and if someone looked closely enough, they'd be able to see his dick hanging under them. Other than his team colours, he didn't have any better. Team colours weren't an option. Not in town. Not worth it.

He set off, keeping an even pace. No real rush, he figured, it'll take less than an hour. For the first mile, the only people he saw were the kids playing basketball, who called out to him to join in. Then there were the gang members, openly carrying their knives and brazenly trading in drugs. He avoided both. He only had one meeting in mind.

After about the second mile, the storefronts started to appear. Even this far from town, the streets were beginning to fill up. The weather brought out all kinds of people. They dressed for it, too. Honeys in tube tops and even bikini tops. Beautiful legs underneath torn off denim shorts or those skirts that looked like the sleeves of something George Washington would wear. He jogged on past babes with towels heading for the beach. Roller chicks skated past him, with guys drooling and whispering as they passed.

Jamal was a big, tall, black man, He had a striking appearance, despite his shabby clothes. Wherever he went, people paid attention to him. Some gave him scornful looks, holding their noses. Others looked on, appreciatively, at his tall, muscled form. But they all looked. He would have made an awful criminal.

With about a mile to go, the streets were really crowded. It was difficult to keep up the pace. He was constantly weaving through the throngs of people, ignoring the shouts of "slow down," and "Look where you're going!", as well as the occasional "Don't just run past, honey. Come show me how big you are!".

There were a few really close calls, too. Some girl stepped out of a store, carrying bags and chatting to her friends. Distracted as she was, she never expected a big black freight train to run down the sidewalk. Her friend looked up, but her reaction was to protect herself. She turned around and curled up, protecting her head like someone was throwing things at her. Both girls let out a yelp as Jamal snaked through their group. Basketball was a great sport, he thought.

Then he saw her, the sweetest rose in the garden. Perched on the side of the fountain like a beautiful bird of prey, ready to strike. She was wearing a brightly coloured dress, with a matching wide brimmed sun hat. The colors complimented her dark brown skin. The outfit showed off her curves, drawing attention to all the right places. Jamal started to feel awkward about his clothes.

"You made it!" Orla cried out, shoving through the crowd to reach him. She hugged him tightly. His clothes didn't even cross her mind.

"You look great! I wish I'd have known, I'd have worn my best clothes!" He complimented, not wanting to admit that he didn't have any better clothes. She looked him up and down, smiling.

"I don't mind," she winked, putting her finger through a hole in his shorts and tickling his cock. "I like what I see!"

When he leaned over and kissed her on the lips, they were in their own private paradise. But it couldn't last. The crowds jostled them, and the moment passed. Orla reluctantly leaned back. Jamal's kiss lingered on her lips.

"Get a cotton field," spat someone walking by, raising a laugh from some others around them. Jamal did his best to ignore it. Orla wasn't so good at that. She looked around for the culprit, fists clenching, shaking with rage. She couldn't see who had said it, however. Her shoulders bunched up, then sagged.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand. "I need to do something to calm down."

Orla took them to a little café, a couple of streets off the main strip. "Tease and Crumpet," it was called. A little brass bell rang above the door as they walked in.

There was a girl behind the counter, leaning lightly against the wall, reading a novel. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and she had more teeth than her mouth could contain. Her striped apron was tied tightly around her tits and waist, and from here, Jamal almost believed that she was naked under it. There wasn't a trace of cloth anywhere else.

"Good afternoon, Orla," she said in an unmistakable English accent. "It's simply splendid to see you!"

"Tara, Please tell me you have camomile." Orla sighed

"Certainly, sweetheart." The English girl smiled. She locked her fingers before folding the corner of her page. She placed her book beside the till and clapped her hands together, eagerly. "Right. What about Big Ben, here?" she asked.

"Uh, I don't know." Jamal answered, feeling a bit stupid. "W-water?"

"Water, darling?" she asked, "No problem. What kind of teabag would you like in it? Wait, let me see."

With that, she stepped out from behind the counter. Jamal was only slightly disappointed to see that she was wearing a tight pair of hot pants. She also wore heels at least six inches long, and nothing in between. Her legs were sleek and sexy and athletic.

"Even taller up close!" she muttered in amazement. She looked at him, seriously, breathing deeply. She took up a wide stance, arms out wide like she was walking a tightrope. Locking eyes with him, she hissed out a breath, slowly, bringing her arms around in front of her. Her eyes rolled back and then closed as her hands made contact with him.

"You want..." she paused, eyes closed, both hands touching his abs, as if they were telling her what would quench the big man's thirst.

Her eyes suddenly opened wide, looking right through his eyes and into his soul. Her hands slipped south as she began to topple forward. Jamal felt her hands close about his cock briefly. Sneaky, thought Jamal.

"My Secret Smoothie! What a treat! You're just giving to lap it up." Orla rolled her eyes.

"Fuck off with the English Druid shit, Tara," she chided. Her frown had softened already, though.

"I think you better get Orla her camel mile," Jamal said, oblivious to his mispronunciation. "She's about to blow a fuse!"

"No flipping wonder," laughed Tara, nudging Orla. "A mile on a camel! That has to hurt!" Orla suppressed a smiled.

"What?" Jamal asked.

"I'd bet that your arse hurts, Orla." Tara said with a smile, "It must just be hump after hump!" Orla couldn't suppress the smile this time.

"Orla," Tara winked at her and nudging her dramatically. She held up a tea cup and raised her little finger. "One hump or two!"

Orla laughed a little, looking sympathetically at Jamal. He was just confused. He didn't know what the joke was.

"It's camomile tea," she bashfully informed him.

"Hahaha! Camel mile!" the English girl laughed. "Come now. Sit, sit." she instructed. She led them both to a table near the counter. Jamal sat facing the door, just in case. Tara went behind to get the drinks.

"She's like that with everyone," Orla said, apologetically. "She doesn't mean anything by it."

"Don't worry about it," the big man replied, with a winning smile. "I can take a bit of ribbing. How do you think I got the name 'Snake'?"

"I thought it was from sports?" she guessed, showing her lack of basketball knowledge.

Maybe he made a face, or maybe she just realised how dumb that sounded. Either way, she recovered with her next move. She slipped off one shoe and ran the bare foot up Jamal's muscular leg until it slipped under his shorts. When she found the muscle she was searching for, she rubbed it lightly.

"Maybe this is the Snake, " she said with a sly smile. "Maybe they saw it and got rattled!"

"Careful," he laughed. "That thing's venomous. If you rub it the wrong way, sometimes it spits!"

"I don't," she whispered. Jamal's "Snake" lurched.

"Are you two still chatting about camels?" Tara asked, shattering the moment. She sniggered at her own joke, letting out a slight snort. Orla slipped her other foot into his shorts. He jumped.

"Everything OK, sweetie?" asked Tara, putting a steaming hot cup in front of Orla. Jamal could feel Orla's feet rubbing his glans. He tried to stay calm.

"Sure," he said, nervously. "You gave me a fright, is all."

"Great! That's just the effect I want to have on all of the men in my presence!" she joked. "They just stiffen up when they see me. Takes hours for them to soften to me, sometimes."

"It takes a bit more than that for Jamal to stiffen up," Orla said, still rubbing his stiffening cock. "They call him Snake, you know. Why is that, Snake?"

"Why indeed?" Tara pried, planting herself down beside him. She leaned over towards him and looked right into his eyes. It was disquieting. "Is it because of your tongue? Does it flicker like this?"

The seemingly demure girl then stuck her tongue out and flickered it up and down so quickly that it was a blur. Jamal was taken aback. She was almost licking his face! Not only that, but Orla's feet were still playing with his cock, and she was keeping time with that crazy English tongue. Jamal felt like he could just spill his seed right now.

The little bell over the door chimed. Sunday, Orla's grandfather, strode in confidently. He was flanked by two striking blonde girls. They might have been twins. Jamal couldn't see any difference. They even dressed the same. They were tee-hee-ing like teenagers and chattering in a sing-song language, clearly not English.

"Orla!" the old priest called out. "Perfect! I couldn't have found a better person!"

"What now, grandfather," she sighed, not missing a stroke with her feet.

"I need you to get these two and their husband's set up," he replied, leaving Jamal to wonder what they needed to be set up with.

"And you can't do it because?" Orla replied, irritably,her feet still rubbing Jamal's dick under the table.

"These two are a real handful." The girls twittered, and grabbed each other's asses. Did they understand what he had said?

"I can see that," Orla sighed again. Orla moved her feet, reluctantly, back to her shoes.

"Are you coming?" she asked, gesturing to Jamal. He made a face which failed to convey his feelings about having a massive hard on and a pair of balls so blue you could write a County song about them.

"No," Sunday said, firmly. "Jamal might scare them off. He's a big, tall, strong, black boy. We don't want to intimidate them."

"Grandfather!" Orla complained. "I asked Jamal out here! I can't just leave him!"

"I won't keep you long," Sunday soothed. He turned to Jamal "I promise to try my hardest to have her back within half an hour."

"You can keep me company," said Tara. Jamal jumped as he felt her hand on his crotch. "I'm sure it will slide right in."

"I'll be as quick as I can, Jamal," Orla said, obvious to the double entendre.

"N-n-no problem!" It was understandable that his voice quivered. The girl who he was supposed to be here with, who had asked him to come, was obviously stood watching as his cock was rubbed before her eyes. She simply raised an eyebrow, wondering what could have made him stutter. What would she have done if she knew that Tara's manicured hand was rubbing the same cock that she had been rubbing with her feet moments before? Jamal's nervous smile could not have done much to placate her. She walked towards him, her hips swaying seemingly in time with Tara's rubbing.

"Don't worry," she reassured him. "You're in good hands."

His life flashed before his eyes as she leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. He was having palpitations, and she felt it. She slid her tongue into his mouth, thinking that his heart was racing because of her. Really, it was because Tara was grabbing a handful of his cock, and he knew that if she caught her, his life would be over.

"The best hands," Tara tittered, slipping her hand down his shorts. "But where my hands are good, my smoothie is the absolute genuine article!" With that, Tara used her free hand to guide one of Jamal's hands down her shorts. Before Orla was even outside, Tara had made sure he knew what kind of "smoothie" she was referring to. Her pussy was shaved bare, and his fingers began to explore.

"I'll have him lapping up my smoothie before you know it!" she called out to Orla. Orla smiled back, naively, following her grandfather out through the door and out of sight.

Jamal's finger, guided by her hand, touched her clit, making her gasp. She had a hold of the base of his huge cock in her other hand, but could not free it from his shorts. She had no idea that it was sticking out of the bottom of them.

"I don't -" Jamal started. Tara cut him off with a passionate kiss, her tongue invading his mouth as she pressed his finger in, deeply, to her wet slot. Jamal's eyes widened. If Orla just looked back in the window, his goose was cooked!

Tara shuddered, and Jamal could feel the walls of her tight pussy clench around his finger. A moment later, she withdrew his finger from her pussy and brought it up to their faces.

"It's time for your first taste of my smoothie," she said with a naughty smile. Before he could reply, she was kissing him again, tongue and all, but this time his finger was in between their mouths, their tongues. The taste of her pussy in his mouth, and her stroking hand on his cock, he couldn't help feeling horny.

Her hand slipped out of his shorts. She had given up trying to free the snake. His wet fingered hand, though, she had no intention of letting go of. That hand was used to lead him out of his seat and further after that.

He wasn't fighting anymore. His horny cock was pointing at her ass, which he could see just about all of. Her shorts had bunched up at the top of her thighs when she was squirming and cumming on the seat. It may as well have been naked, and he was just enjoying the view.

She led him behind the counter before letting go of his hand. The door opened, causing the bell to ring. Jamal jumped in fright. Tara tutted, but immediately turned on her beautiful smile.

"Why, isn't it just Hazel and Harry!" she called out with a smile.

"Tara!" the girl exclaimed, excitedly. As she threw out her arms towards Tara, her big tits were pressed together. Jamal could see the outline of her nipples in the red one piece that was basically all she was wearing. A matching bandana, with her black hair flowing out from it and a few strips of red cloth on her legs finished off the ensemble. Jamal's cock was already standing at attention.

The guy, on the other hand, was wearing a full length, yellow trenchcoat and a brimmed hat.

"Dick Tracy again?" Tara chided.

"It's a good costume!" the guy moaned, defensively. Jamal assumed he must be Harry.

"Humphrey Bogart died twenty years ago!" she laughed.

"How do you like my Electra?" asked the girl, doing a tit bouncing twirl.

"You are positively dazzling," Tara complimented, "but I have no idea who that is." The girls both laughed.

"The usual?" Tara asked them

"Yeah."

"Superb," Tara said, turning to Jamal. "Jamal, man the till."

"What?" he asked, shocked.

"You have get the hang of it at some point," she declared with a surreptitious wink. "Especially if you're going to work here!"

"O-kay," he said hesitantly.

"Go on," she urged, giggling a little. She turned to the girl. Hazel was it? "You just can't get the staff these days."

They both laughed. Jamal noticed that when Hazel laughed, she brought her hands up to her shoulders and bounced a little. Her tits were such a wonderful sight when she did it. His cock twitched.

"Ask them what they would like to drink," Tara instructed. "I'll get some cups for them." she ducked down below the level of the counter and started moving things around on the shelves down there.

"Umm," Jamal started, nervously. "What do you want?"

"What would you like to drink?" a correctional voice came from beneath the till.

"Sorry," he said, winking at Hazel and her partner.

"What would you like to drink?" he parroted the line in a terrible mimicking English accent. Hazel laughed, loudly, stamping her feet. It was probably a bit much, but Jamal enjoyed the show.

"Don't take the piss," she moaned, slipping her hand up his shorts and scraping her nails around his sack. His cock felt like it was about to tear through his shorts, which were hardly the strongest thing around.

"What have you got?" asked the girl in front of the counter. Jamal froze. A huge fucking bone, he thought. As if she had read his mind, Tara took hold of the waistband of his shorts. The tugging motion made him look down.