Whiteboi goes to Harlem Pt. 08

Someone, somewhere eventually called mercy, and Mitch's agonisingly pointless meeting finally ended. He had no idea what the outcomes were, and he didn't know if any action items had been assigned to him. All he wanted to do right now was to escape from the meeting room. He walked back to his desk and continued where he'd left off, addressing the top priority emails from yesterday. He sat down again, wincing.

Mitch philosophised for a brief second, wondering if any email was ever so preciously urgent that it was indispensable. He shook the blasphemous thought out of his head immediately. That's the kind of unholy shit that could get a corporate unbeliever fired. Every email was important and precious in its own way, and he should've known better than to think otherwise.

He went back to his inbox, concentrating hard, eyebrows purposefully frowned down.

Tyrone placed his thumb on his tongue, tasting his pre-cum for the first time. He wasn't sure what it'd taste like, but he wasn't completely sure what he was expecting either. He'd fed billions, maybe trillions of unborn ghetto babies to hundreds of chicks, plus one whiteboi, and they'd all told him his pre-nut tasted sweet. He frowned. It didn't taste like candy to him.

He turned back to his laptop screen. The real estate agent was fucking her client in the ass with a massive strap-on. The client's mouth gaped wide open in anal bliss. Slowly, he stroked his massive black shaft. Another puddle of pre-nut emerged. He collected it with his index finger and licked it off again.

Mitch headed downstairs for lunch. It was a hot day in May, and summer was on the way. He ordered a burger, fries and soda, which he carried to the small park across the street. He was amazed that the Financial District had any parks left at all; surely this was trees, grass and land that could've hosted yet another office block. Money forgone.

The city moved around him as he quietly ate his lunch, thinking about his life. His ass cheek still stung a little, and he wasn't sure what to expect after work tonight. He knew he needed to go back to his apartment, but he hadn't heard anything from Trina. He wondered whether she'd come 'home' tonight, or whether she'd stay with a friend. He wasn't even sure if she'd gone to work today. Maybe she was at 'home' right now, waiting patiently for him, but he desperately hoped she wasn't. He checked his phone in case he'd missed a message from her, but there weren't any.

Tyrone held his fat, black shaft in one hand while his other reached for the mouse. He paused the real estate scene and went looking for something else. He came across a thumbnail of a black dude and a whiteboi walking down an alley. It looked interesting. He clicked on the thumbnail and the scene began.

The whiteboi invited the black dude into his apartment and they sat on the couch. The black dude was meant to be studying for a math exam, and the whiteboi was his tutor, trying to help him pass. The black dude couldn't give a fuck about the exam, all he wanted right now was to get his dick sucked. The whiteboi disclosed that he was bi, but that he was only into dudes with big dicks.

The black dude pulled his pants down, and the camera zoomed in as the whiteboi knelt down, his mouth open wide in admiration of the black dude's lengthy penis.

Tyrone boned up hard as the whiteboi took the black dude's long cock into his mouth. He bookmarked the page. He knew he'd be coming back to this scene again.

The black dude sat on the couch as his tutor knelt in front of him. He watched as the whiteboi sucked and stroked. Fuck, the way the whiteboi dragged his hungry tongue across the head of the giant BBC nearly made the black dude lose his shit.

"Fuck," Tyrone whispered, tugging his huge shaft. "This is good."

The black dude pushed the whiteboi's mouth off his cock, desperate not to nut too soon. He wanted something else.

Tyrone watched as the whiteboi pulled his jeans down to his ankles before bending over and spreading his cheeks to display his fat, juicy pussy. Fuck, this whiteboi reminded him of Mitch. He watched as the whiteboi showed his pale, chubby assets off.

Tyrone teased his erect nipples, tugging on his piercings. Fuck, this was one of the hottest porn scenes he'd ever watched in his life, and there wasn't a single pussy in sight. Unless you counted the whiteboi's fat pussy, that is.

Mitch finished his lunch and was in an elevator bound for the 30th floor.

Tyrone spat on his hand. He couldn't take his eyes off the whiteboi's fat ass. He knew he was gonna nut soon.

He watched as the black dude spread his tutor's fat whiteboi ass wide open, slowly teasing it with a thick, black, tattooed finger, slapping his cheeks. The whiteboi was seriously in heat. Nothing was gonna satiate him except for a BBC in his pussy, and a load of cum on his face. Fuck the math exam.

The whiteboi whimpered, desperately needing to get his student's black cock inside him. He told the black dude how much he liked big black dicks, and Tyrone nearly nutted.

The black dude jiggled the whiteboi's chunky, pink ass cheeks. He rolled a condom onto his shaft before inserting himself. The whiteboi moaned in pleasure and winced in pain as he felt his student's BBC penetrate him.

Tyrone lay back on his pillows and stroked himself as the whiteboi tutor moaned, feeling his student's thick black dick buried deep inside him. He wondered if Mitch had ever watched this scene before.

The whiteboi's pussy needed a short break. The tutor sucked his student's fat cock back into his throat for a moment, before mounting him in reverse cowboi. Tyrone watched the whiteboi's shrivelled dicklet bounce up and down as he impaled himself on his student's fat black cock. Soon enough, the whiteboi couldn't take it anymore.

Tyrone watched as the tutor sat on the couch next to the black dude and began stroking himself, illustrating the massive difference between his puny whiteboi dicklet and his student's huge black python. He watched the whiteboi sink to his knees, desperately needing a thick load of black cum. The whiteboi sucked and stroked, tonguing his student's thick, sensitive foreskin.

As Tyrone watched the black dude's load raining down upon the whiteboi's eager, upturned face and outstretched tongue, he grunted as his own thick, creamy nut spilled over his knuckles. His warmth dribbled and oozed down onto the mattress between his thighs as he imagined himself cumming all over Mitch's desperate face.

He lifted a hand up to his mouth and tasted his own nut for the first time. It tasted sweet. Not sweet like candy, but just a little.

He had nothing else to do today, so he wiped his hand clean, fired up the air conditioner, and went back to sleep. As he drifted off, he wondered why he wiped the rest of his nut off his hand when he could've eaten it.

He rolled over onto his side, feeling the cool, artificial breeze from the air conditioner waft across his torso. He heard Harlem rumbling beneath him as he enjoyed some light post-nut shuteye.

*

Down in the Financial District, Mitch finished lunch and went back to work. He ploughed his way through yesterday's workload and caught up on everything, as if yesterday never happened.

Eventually, 5 o'clock arrived. He logged off, taking a few important documents with him to read overnight, and left the building, heading back to his Upper East Side apartment.

He caught the subway back to the 77th street station, and trudged upstairs to the surface of the city. It was still warm. He walked three blocks north to his building, and hoped his apartment was empty. As he walked, he remembered with a pang of panic that he'd offered to find a hotel for the week, implying that Trina could have their apartment to herself. Fuck. That had totally slipped his mind.

Heading upstairs now felt like a gamble. He really wasn't in the mood for dealing with Trina, and he desperately hoped she wasn't there. If she was, he'd quickly pack some fresh clothes and leave again. He needed to be on his own, at least just for tonight.

He swiped his building access key, rode the elevator, walked down the corridor and turned his key in the door. His breath was shallow. Seconds felt stretched like elastic.

She wasn't here.

The apartment felt stuffy from the heat. He closed the curtains to block out the sunset before flipping the air conditioner on. Walking to the bathroom to take a long-awaited piss, he breathed a sigh of relief. Returning to the kitchen, he saw a note, written with a blue pen in Trina's beautifully large artistic handwriting, with every second line on the page left vacant:

'Hey Mitchell. If you happen to read this, you really don't need to stay at a hotel this week. I'm staying at Amanda's place in Chelsea. She's got a spare room. I won't be back here all week. I've taken what I need with me, and I won't bother you. So if you get this message, please stay here, and save yourself some money. I guess you need some space, and maybe I do too. I'm looking forward to talking with Amanda this week. I know you don't like her very much, but you don't see the side of her that I see. She's an awesome listener. I know I've been a bitch to live with lately, and I'm really hoping she'll give me a fresh perspective on some stuff. Anyway, I'll text you at the end of the week, and you can respond if you want to. I really hope you're OK. These past few days and weeks have been unsettling. I'm not sure where I am as a person right now, and I'm not sure where we are as a relationship either. I guess you're going through something similar? Hey, it's a good thing we don't have a cat to feed, right? Anyway, I'd like to talk with you soon, but only when you're ready. I've said some stuff I regret lately, but I'd hate for yesterday to have been a final goodbye. I hope, in your heart, you feel the same way too, even if we end up living in separate places. I just want you to know that I still love you, despite everything. Trina xxx'

The dot over the 'i' was drawn in red ink, as a love-heart. Mitch couldn't remember if he'd ever seen his wife sign her name like that before.

"Fuck," he sighed. "This is too hard." He wondered if she'd feel the same way about him once she learned what he'd done.

He undressed and took a shower. The sting on his ass was fading; his tattoo must be beginning to heal. The Jack of Spades was slowly becoming a part of him. His addiction to BBC was already embedded in his mind, and now his tattoo was embroidered onto his skin.

He gently ran a soapy hand across his ink, cleansing it. He washed his hair and the rest of his body, enjoying the feeling of warm water washing everything away.

He dried himself off, using an old towel to dry his ass cheeks, just in case. He checked; the ink was no longer bleeding. Naked, he walked back to the kitchen and reread his wife's note. Again, he noticed the red ink love heart above Trina's name.

"This is too hard," he repeated to himself.

Mentally, he needed to get away. An escape. He knew what would switch his mind off.

Porn.

He rummaged around in the depths of his sock drawer and found his big black dildo. He lay down on the bed, with an old towel placed under his ass cheeks just in case. He reached for his laptop and retrieved his bottle of lube. After drenching the dildo in lubricant (he was glad he put the towel down), he slowly wedged it in. He sighed lightly in submissive pleasure as he felt the thick plastic begin to press into him, then moaned in bliss as it filled him up.

He closed his eyes as he felt his pussy dilate and relax. He thrust it in and out a few times, and as the sensation swamped his senses, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Fuck yeah.

He was ready to fuck himself, but first, he needed something to fuck himself to. He navigated to one of his favourite clips. A whiteboi was helping a black dude to prepare for a math exam, but all the black dude wanted to do was get his dick sucked.

Mitch fucked himself, imagining he was the whiteboi in this scene. He wasn't sure whether to imagine if the black dude was Tyrone or Leroy. In his BBC-addicted mind, maybe it didn't even matter.

Twenty minutes later, he watched as the whiteboi sank to his knees in front of the big black dick. He watched as the black dude's load rained down upon the whiteboi's eager, upturned face and outstretched tongue, and he moaned the desperate, high-pitched moan of a submissive femboy as his weak, watery load wet his dainty fingers. He licked his hand, imagining he was eating the sexy black dude's thick, heavy nut.

He wondered whether Tyrone was familiar with this scene, but he doubted it. Surely Tyrone would never jack off to a male-only scene.

Feeling satisfied, he let the dildo pop out of his ass. He went to the bathroom and cleaned up, including sanitising his tattoo again. He felt a little hungry, so he went down to street level and grabbed a bowl of salmon ramen and a Japanese beer for dinner.

As he ate, he thought about how different it felt between when he fucked himself, and when someone else fucked him. He was in control of the pace and intensity when he fucked himself with his plastic BBC, but it was something else entirely to feel submissive, and to relinquish control to Leroy or Tyrone.

His ass still felt tender, and he didn't know how much longer it'd feel like this. He thought it best to take a few days to let his cheek recover, but he knew it wouldn't be long before he'd feel the craving for a real BBC again.

He remembered the documents he'd brought home from the office. He knew he had some reading to catch up on before work tomorrow.

While he wanted to be alone tonight, he couldn't help wondering what Leroy was up to.

He finished his meal, paid the check, left a healthy tip and went back upstairs. He opened the liquor cabinet and poured himself a triple of straight bourbon. He donned his reading glasses and got to work.

Wall Street never slept.