Written by sr71plt
June, 1974, Da Nang Airbase, Vietnam
God, he was big; one of the biggest. Shit, he could fuck. Panting, panting, I grabbed the metal legs of the cot on either side in a death grip, my cheek pressed into the rough woolen blanket, my eyes bugging out and my mouth slack and open in a silent scream, as he drove it harder, deeper inside me. Cruel. Rough. Just what I wanted. Just what I needed.
"Punish me," I murmured. "Cum inside me." He laughed.
My knees were trembling and I was about to collapse under the weight of the big black bull covering my back. Driving harder, deeper. For one long moment in time I no longer was in a half hut, half tent alongside the Da Nang airstrip. I was dancing on the clouds with the cock of a big black bull churning inside me. Far, far away from the periodic dull booms in the night, listening for the whistle of the rocket in flight, wondering if the next one would land on top of me—of us, before he could blast up into my stomach.
"Hurry. Now! Hurry. Give it to me, give it to me. Give me your cum," I gasped, daring not to yell it out as I wished to do because of the close proximity of the other huts. I threw both of my hands back to grasp his undulating buttocks and to press him close into me as he went rigid, muttered, "Oh shit, man, I'm coming," and then, with a series of jerks, did, creaming my passage deep.
He came off me and I rolled out from under him, both of us going sideways on the cot, our feet on the dirt floor, and our shoulder blades leaning into the rough wood of the hut's lower walls. We didn't say anything yet. He was finished; I wasn't. He half turned to me, placing the heel of a hand under my balls, with two fingers in my channel, finger fucking me as I jacked off my cock. If it had been Willy, we would have kissed at this point, while I was taking care of myself. But the sergeant, older than I was by a good six years, and all rank conscious except in the heat of it, when he aroused me with his race domination, was all business, all cruel domination when he fucked me. Of the two, though, he had the more solid body, and, although they were both horse hung, the thicker cock and the greater control.
He also punished me as I needed to be punished—for what I was.
There were times, like this, that I preferred Mel. The older man was more experienced and more in control. Whereas Willy could take me to the heights quicker and higher, Mel could make me dance on the clouds—and forget about where I was—longer. These days in Nam, the longer I could have my mind on somewhere else, the better. And he could put me firmly in my place.
When I'd shot my load, in an arc over onto the floor beyond my knees, we both gave a deep sigh. Mel reached over to the table at the bottom of the cot and rolled two joints, lighting both in his mouth, and then handing one to me.
"That was a quick one," he said. He was fisting his black, monster cock, which was showing signs that it wasn't satisfied for the night.
"We have time for another," I answered. "We were both keyed up. The rocketing has picked up. And it's coming too close."
"How long you expect we can hold out here, Lieutenant?"
"Haven't you heard, Sergeant? We're winning the war."
We both laughed. Watching him stroke his cock was driving me crazy. I fisted mine and languidly pulled on it as I took another drag on the joint. We both were naked from the waist down but still in our khaki athletic Ts. If it had been Willy, I'd have had his T off and would be sucking on his nipples now, and I'd be the one with a fist on his cock, ready, willing, and able to do it again. Willy was a young private, virile, always hard, always ready to go again. Proud of his ten incher and always ready to spike me. And passionate, a real lover. Even Willy knew there was a difference and reveled in it when he fucked me—him no longer the private and me the lieutenant.
Mel did it to get his rocks off and, like me, to push the war out of his mind for the seconds he was releasing his load—and to show me who bested who.
He saw me eying his shaft. "Quite a snake, ain't it?" he asked. "An anaconda."
"Yes it is. You're a man among men. I loved every inch of it."
"Nine. Willy's longer, but I'm thicker."
"Yes, yes you are."
"You know any white man or Gook here who is longer or thicker?"
"No, no I don't."
"You fucked by any white men at all? All I know you go under is Willy and me."
"Yes, just you and Willy."
"Is it because we're the biggest or because we're black?"
I didn't answer for the longest minute. "I think it's because you're black," I finally said. "I think it's because I want to be dominated by a black man. It's because you're hung too. But because you're a hung black man."
"Most white men wouldn't be caught dead under a black man, let alone let a black man do what I do to you."
"Yes, I think that's true—still."
"They don't know what they're missing."
"No, no, they don't."
"Willy or me your first black man?"
"No. My first was a good ten years ago, the summer of '64. Birmingham, Alabama."
Mel whistled. "You ran some sort of risk going under a black boy in Birmingham in those days."
"Yes, we risked it all," I answered, my mind going back to then and to my first black lover. It was on a blind date. It was going so well, once I was into it, and almost ended up so bad.
"Preferring going under black men have anything to with Birmingham in the summer of '64?"
"Yeah, maybe so. My form of protest—and of penance."
"Well, Mr. White Lieutenant, get down on your knees and suck this black sergeant's snake. Then I'll fuck you long and slow—and deep and hard and fast. But, no, white boy, better yet, you'll fuck yourself on it."
"God, yes," I whispered.
I sank between his spread thighs and took his thick, thick cock inside my mouth. When he was as big as I could take him—bigger than that, it seemed at the time—I came up into his lap, and sank as far as I could down on the cock, facing away from him, with my hands planted on his knees, because I knew Mel didn't want the intimacy, whereas Willy would want to do it face to face. With Mel palming my pecs in those big black hands of his, I fucked myself on his rod, sobbing at the thickness of it and sinking lower and lower on it until I could feel the coarse short hairs of his pubes scratching on my buttocks. As I bottomed on him, with a whistling roar of a rocket coming in almost too close overhead, the two of us exploded together.
"Get off my prick, whitey," Mel growled when we'd come together. He roughly pushed me off to the side. We both knew it was because I wanted that level of submission. By the time he'd pulled his shorts on and reached the door, he was back in military form, turning and saluting and saying, "I'll get the KP roster to you tomorrow morning, sir."
* * * *
Summer, 1964, Birmingham, Alabama
I hadn't known it was going to be a date, blind or otherwise. I certainly didn't know it would turn out as it did.
Nelson rolled off between my legs, where he'd just deposited a load inside my ass, quickly pulled on his jeans, and went over to the door and unlocked it. We couldn't go very long behind locked doors in this old motel, opened again just to accommodate the protestors from up north, or everybody would know what was going on in the room.
He plopped down in a wobbly straight chair and turned his eyes on me. I was still finishing myself, stroking my cock, legs still bent and spread from where Nelson had been lying between them.
"Put that away," he said. "Anyone could walk in here."
"You didn't finish me, so . . . ah, here it comes." And it did. I came, reached over the side of the bed to retrieve my T-shirt, used it to wipe myself off, and then reached over for my jeans. That's all either one of us was wearing. It was a hot, hot, hot August in Birmingham.
Nelson, a sunny blond, had an athletic build. I was slimmer, but I was well-muscled too from having been on the high school swim team. That's where we'd met—on the swim team at Jeb Stuart High School in Northern Virginia, although Nelson had been on the football team too, which accounted for his well-defined musculature.
He was always the dominant one. He was a senior, a standout jock, when I was a sophomore. I worshipped him. We were on the swim team together just that one year. But that was enough. He also was the rich one. He lived in the exclusive Lake Barcroft section; his father owned a string of bowling alleys across the Virginia and Maryland suburbs of D.C. The subdevelopment I lived in was nice enough, but my dad was military, and army officers didn't make great salaries then, so we spent more time at Nelson's house, which had a dock on the lake so we could both boat and swim in good weather. The money difference also meant he went to Penn State, where he'd made the varsity football team already and I was enrolled at the University of Virginia the next year. It was just as good a school at Penn State, but, with in-state tuition, at a fourth of the price.
We'd been fucking for two months, ever since just before I'd graduated from Jeb Stuart and not long before he convinced me to go with him on a protest trip down to Alabama, which was the "cool" thing for northern upper-middle-class white college students to do at the time. I pushed tradition in being released from high school and being eighteen. I'd fucked my prom date in the backseat of my dad's car and then gone bowling with Nelson, and he'd fucked me behind the mechanical pin setters, with pins bouncing around in front of us and the noise of the falling pins covering my cries of being taken as I leaned into the back of one of the machines and he fucked me from behind. I found I preferred Nelson's cock to my prom date's cunt, not that she wasn't willing and begging for it.
Everyone with money and a conscience—all white, of course—who was also young was going down to the deep south that summer to join in the civil rights protests. It was what would make men of us, Nelson had said.
I thought that Nelson fucking me was what had made men of us, but Nelson wanted me to go with him, so I did, both of us taking off in his new Buick Skylark convertible. I thought that name was prophetic as I saw this trip just as a "life's button" lark that Nelson had to punch. I didn't think about the danger of it at all. Truth be known, I didn't think much about it being to establish rights for blacks, either. I'd met a few blacks, but there were none in my life, school, church, or community. Nelson's family did have a black maid, though, and as far as I could see, Mamie was more of a mother to him than either one of his parents were.
Maybe that's what motivated Nelson to want to come down to Birmingham—or maybe it was just that it was what all white college students were doing—to protest more than just the suppression of blacks.
"We're giving a couple of guys rides to the concert tonight and there's a party of the workers afterward—to celebrate our last day down here."
"Fine," I said. And so that's where the double blind date started coming into the picture. There was a Peter, Paul, and Mary concert in downtown Birmingham to celebrate what had been a couple of weeks of protests that everyone thought were having a favorable effect in breaking the back of the white backlash in the deep south to new federal laws. The group of civil rights workers we'd come down with from the Mid-Atlantic states was going back home—all of us with colleges to get to. There was only a smattering of cars among the workers, with Nelson's being among the snazziest ones. I assumed we were giving rides to a couple of the white workers—all of those in our group were white and upper middle class. I was wrong.
"This is LeRoy and this is Clem," Nelson said, cutting through my shock that the pair he was giving rides to were black. One of them, LeRoy, a senior at Alabama A&M in Huntsville, was an ebony god, rich dark chocolate in complexion and just as handsome and muscular and chip-on-his-shoulder as he could be. The other, Clem, was a drifter, picking up work here and there, he said. A lot of seasonal harvesting work. He was tall and gangling and a much lighter chocolate than LeRoy was.
There were the four of us, separate, and a bit awkward with each other during the Peter, Paul, and Mary concert. Neither Nelson nor I had come into direct, individual contact with black men before, even though we were down here putting up a line of solidarity with them. We had marched, but even in the marches in those days in Birmingham, you could see a race divide in all but the spearhead group along the parade line.
By the party afterward, where there was booze and dancing and everyone was letting their hair down and their steam out at the end of a dangerous and nerve-wracking protest season, there was no divide between whites and blacks. The four of us drifted into being naturally paired up. LeRoy was with Nelson—heavily with Nelson, the two of them dancing close, drinking hard, and eyeing each other with intent. That left Clem with me. Somehow Clem had been apprised that Nelson fucked me, because he was getting friendly and frisky with his hands during the party. I, on the other hand, was tensing up. I knew I should relax and just hang, but this was all new and disconcerting to me. I didn't really know how to act around blacks. Despite everything I wanted to believe, they scared me a bit. And, other than Nelson, I didn't know what to do when a man wanted to put his hands on me, either.
We were partying in an old, abandoned plantation house, which was the best that we could book in a Birmingham that didn't want us there in the first place. There were a couple of groups of young, white thugs moving about the grounds, hurling insults at the house and making verbal threats. But we were in too great a strength in the house for them to do more than that. They'd probably also heard that we were clearing out the next day. Standing up for principles didn't cut it when we had to appear for classes the next week.
When we left the party, Nelson drove only partway down the road leading out to the main highway. He turned off on a track leading into a stand of trees and turned the car off. He and LeRoy were in a clutch immediately. Clem put an arm around me in the backseat as well, and I stiffened. I gave a little moan, though, when he pulled me into him, one hand on the back of my head, guiding my face to his for a kiss, and moved the other hand to my basket. He was rubbing me through the material of the jeans and I couldn't help but harden for him.
In the front seat, LeRoy already had at least his shirt off in the passenger seat and Nelson was in his lap, facing him, and pulling his shirt over his head. The shirt off, he lowered his face to LeRoy's for a deep kiss.
I covered Clem's invasive hand and moved it away from my basket.
"Don't pretend you're shy. You're hard for me," he said, pulling away from the kiss momentarily and gave a low, guttural laugh.
I couldn't deny it, but I could try to ignore that he had pointed it out.
I tried to give him nothing in the kiss too, but he pressed his tongue between my lips and I slowly gave way to him. The kiss became a lot more sensual and possessive. His body moved more over mine, signaling he was taking possession of me. I went with it; I couldn't help myself from doing so. He kissed so much better than Nelson did. Clem took my hand again and guided it to where I could tell he wanted me to touch flesh. He had his cock out.
"Touch it," he murmured, as he broke from the kiss. "I've got nine inches for you when it's hard. Make it hard."
"No." It came out in a low gasp. "I can't. We shouldn't."
"We can; we should. You came down here to empower the blacks. I'll show you what power is."
"Nooo," I moaned. But he'd put my hand on his cock, which was hardening. My fingers involuntary closed around it. He groaned at the small victory.
"Your other hand too," he commanded. "you can't handle it all even with two hands. Think of it all inside you." He took my other hand and made me grasp the cock above the handhold I had at the root of it. Sure enough, even with both hands, one above the other, I didn't reach the bulb.
"I haven't . . . ," I moaned.
"You will now," he growled. "You do it for white guys."
It had only been Nelson. I began to tremble almost uncontrollably. I looked into the front seat, where Nelson obviously was on LeRoy's cock, rising and falling on it, and they were doing a lip lock.
Clem took my mouth again in a deep kiss, and I felt him unbuckling and unzipping my jeans and pulling them off my legs.
No, no, don't. I might have thought I said it, but if I did, he paid me no heed. He was nearly on top of me, his head over mine, his face turned down to mine, a thigh over mine, pinning them to the seat. It was a position of control, and my body knew it and relaxed to it. He was going to fuck me. He knew it; my body knew it. I'd never been fucked by a black man before; I'd never been fucked by a nine-inch cock before.
But that was going to happen now.
He had a grasp on my cock, which was hardening for him, and he was stroking it. I had only one hand on his cock, but I found myself stroking it to the same rhythm he was doing with mine. His was lengthening and hardening. Throbbing to my touch. He was going to have me.
He pulled his mouth away from mine. "Suck it. Suck my cock," he demanded.
"Please. I don't—"
"What's the matter? This a game you're playing, coming down here to support my people, but my cock isn't good enough for whitey to suck?" He moved away from me, and using the hand cupping the back of my head, he pulled my face down to his lap. I moaned, but I didn't resist him. And then I had his cock inside my mouth, sucking it and gagging on it as the bulb hit the back of my throat. It wasn't thick but it was the longest cock I'd ever seen. I'd gotten some good looks in locker rooms, but nothing compared with this.
Guiding my head with one broad-palmed hand, he let the other glide down my back, over my T-shirt, onto the flesh of my naked buttocks, and into my crack. He was able to reach my hole, and, with a long finger, he entered me, moving the finger in and out, teasing me to open to him, which I did.
Nine inches. Nine inches. I knew I'd really have to open to him.
"Relax it. Open it to me," he muttered. A second finger went in and then a third. Remembering what I did for Nelson's cock as it entered me, I let my ass muscles relax.
"Good. Nice," he murmured.
The moon was out full, and I became aroused at the contrast in the hues of our skin. Although Clem's body was a light chocolate brown and the palms of his hands and soles of his now-unsandaled feet were as light as my skin, his cock was jet black. I shuddered at the up-close aspect of a jet-black shaft. I'd given Nelson blow jobs. I wasn't above that. And what I was feeling now was so much more sensual than anything with Nelson.
Now that I was into it with Clem, I treated his cock right—luxuriating in being able to suck it and grasp it with a fist at the same time. Rubbing the shiny blackness of it. The bulb was big and long, a pink color in stark contrast to the cock, and I played at pushing the foreskin of it down and then pulling it up, listening to him moan. I played with it as I let my fingers run down the thick veins of the silky black shaft. I opened my lips down to the rim of the bulb and sucked on like it was a lollypop. When I flicked my tongue on the piss slit, he lay back against the seat, his head thrown back, and groaned. "Yes, yes, just like that. You're good for a whitey, real good. Been teasin' me about not wantin' it."
Then, with a "Oh, shit, no more. You're gonna make me come," he was pulling out of my mouth, turning us, and pushing me down in the corner of the backseat. I no longer could see either Nelson or LeRoy above the top of the front seat, but the car was bouncing on its springs and the front seat was shimmering, so I guessed that LeRoy was on top of Nelson stretched between the two bucket seats up there and going to town inside him. Nelson had told me he went both ways. I guess this showed that he sure did. He was mouthing off something fierce about the size and attack of LeRoy. He cried out about coming and then all went still up there—but just for a minute or so before the rocking of the front seat started up again and Nelson was claiming he was being split apart.
What was going on in the front seat certainly wasn't tamping down my response to what was happening in the backseat. I had been prepared for the inevitability of being fucked. Now that Clem was getting around to it, I just lay there and let him have whatever he wanted.
Clem grabbed both of my ankles, wishboned my legs, raising them, and dipped his head down to where he, first, swallowed my cock and then my balls, and then was eating out my ass. I lay there, immobile and hyperventilating and moaned as he prepared me for nine inches, as I knew he was doing. All I could think of was that nine inches he had boasted he had.
And then they were inside me. He fed them into me slowly, but he gave them all to me—all nine inches of him. Clem hunched over me, right leg trapped high on the backseat cushion by his shoulder and my left ankle on his right shoulder, as he came in for the kill—entering, entering, entering me, as I writhed under him, trying, unsuccessfully, halfheartedly, ineffectually to pull away from his possessing lips, and moaned the invasion of the longest cock I could ever think of taking. When he began to pump, I tore my lips away from his, arched my head back over the side of the car, and cried out, "Oh, God. Oh, shit. FUCK ME!"
He compiled, but only for five or six minutes before coming inside me and collapsing on top of me, both of us panting hard.
In the front seat, a divinely muscular and naked LeRoy was sitting on the seat back on his bulbous and hard-muscled buttocks, his legs draped over Nelson's shoulders, his hands holding Nelson's head, as Nelson deep throated him.
"It'll be better out of the car," Clem murmured. "In a few, we'll go out under the trees and do it right."
Do it right? Do it again? With Nelson, who had never fucked me like that, it was one and done. This black master with a fire hose for cock was going to fuck me again? I moaned deeply, and he gave me a low laugh. I wondered how soon "again" was, but that was answered immediately—and wasn't going to happen out of the car. He was hardening again. And he was pumping again. Nearly ten minutes this time, and I had already come up his belly, when he released his seed a second time.
"That was nice. Your ass is sweet." Clem had whispered that. I didn't have the breath to say anything.
Nelson and LeRoy were moving into the backseat when, grabbing a lap robe, Clem was pushing me out of the car and guiding me further down the track to a mossy patch between the gnarled roots of a large oak tree.
Given the expansion of room, we sixty-nined on the blanket, rolling around to where he was on top, then I was on top, and then we were side by side in a tight ball, me unsuccessfully trying to deep throat his cock alternating with sucking his balls, and Clem eating my ass out.
All inhibitions gone with the wind. I couldn't get enough of him now.
Young and virile and black, Clem fucked me twice more under the tree, coming in prodigious explosions each time and leaving my channel awash with cum that dripped down my thighs. The first time was athletic, with him standing and fucking me in a modified missionary, with my torso drifting down to the ground and my palms on the moist earth. Then, after a brief respite of kissing and cooing, he put me on all fours, covered and mounted me, and rode me hard.
This fuck wasn't actually completed, because just as he was shooting, he was being pulled, cursing and screaming, off me and rough hands were pulling me up and away from him.
"What do we have here?" A young white guy, one of five surrounding us, two holding me and three holding down Clem, said in a sneery voice. "Is this a rape of a white guy by a nigger? This is a tree-swing offense."
The other four allowed as it was, and while two of the thugs held me, writhing and cursing, between them, the other three gave Clem a beat down. I think they would have killed him—and certainly think they intended to—if LeRoy and Nelson hadn't heard them, turned the headlights of the car on, which got the thugs' attention real fast, and moved, yelling like a whole military unit, toward us.
The thugs let loose of Clem and me and melted into the trees.
"Into the car," Nelson commanded in a breathless voice.
"I think he needs a hospital," LeRoy said, as he knelt over Clem's body.
Hours later, after a trip to the hospital to leave off Clem, who they'd only need to keep overnight, the other three of us, relieved, were in LeRoy's room over a barbershop in the black section of Birmingham.
Nelson was sitting off to the side on a straight chair, stroking his cock and waiting his turn again—with LeRoy or me, I didn't know. We'd already gone through several permutations.
The dark chocolate god, LeRoy, was bent over me, looking deep into my eyes. His knees were pressed up under my buttocks, raising my pelvis to him, his fists buried in the mattress at either side of my shoulders. My hands were grasping his buttocks, holding him into me. I was gasping with the deep reach of each of the thrusts of the longest, thickest, jet-black cock I possibly would ever take—although I would certainly search far and wide and compare the thickness, reach, and strength of thrust of black cocks. He had been fucking me for ten minutes. I had no doubt he could go for thirty more if he wanted to. I was fully open to him to do whatever he wanted—and he obviously wanted it all, just like any other man of any color did.
As if sensing I had totally surrendered to him, LeRoy started pistoning me harder, faster, deeper. I let my head loll over to the side, whispering, "Yes, give it all to me. Cum inside me. Fill me with your black seed. I am your slave."
I was destined to search them out from then on, service them, and let them do whatever they wanted with me as punishment and penance for being white.