She told me straight up on our third date. No hesitation, no sugarcoating. "I love black cock," she said, eyes locked on mine while her hand squeezed my thigh under the table. "Bigger, thicker, the way it stretches me out. If we're gonna keep fucking, you need to know that."
I didn't run. I got hard. That night she rode me slow, whispering how she wanted a real one, how she craved the contrast of dark skin against her pale thighs. I came fast. She laughed, kissed me, and said we'd find a way.
Two weeks later she brought home Marcus. Tall, broad, skin like polished mahogany. He didn't waste time. She dropped to her knees in our living room, pulled his cock out, and moaned like she'd been starving. It was heavy, veined, already half-hard and still bigger than mine fully erect. She licked the head, spit on it, and tried to take it deep. Her lips stretched wide. She gagged, pulled back, spit running down her chin, and went right back in.
I sat on the couch and watched. She looked at me while she sucked him, eyes glassy, one hand between her legs rubbing her soaked pussy. "Watch how good I take it," she said, voice thick. Marcus grabbed her hair and fucked her mouth harder. She choked and loved it.
When he bent her over the arm of the couch, she reached back and spread herself open. "Put it in," she begged. He didn't tease. He lined up and pushed. Her pussy lips parted around that thick head and she cried out, a long broken sound. Inch after inch disappeared inside her. Her belly showed the bulge when he bottomed out. She clawed the cushions and came almost immediately, shaking, juices dripping down her thighs.
Marcus didn't stop. He fucked her steady and deep, the wet slap of skin loud in the room. Every thrust made her gasp and beg for more. "Harder. Fuck me with that black cock." I stroked myself watching her get used, her tits swinging, her face pressed into the couch. She kept looking at me, mouth open, telling me how full she felt, how nothing else compared.
He flipped her onto her back on the floor. She hooked her legs over his shoulders and took every inch again. Her clit was swollen and shiny. She rubbed it while he pounded her, coming again with a scream that sounded almost painful. Marcus grunted and pulled out at the last second, stroking his cock over her stomach and tits. Thick ropes of cum painted her skin. She rubbed it in like lotion, then sucked the last drops from his head.
After he left she climbed on top of me. Her pussy was wrecked, loose and slick with her cream and his. She sank down on my cock easily and rode me slow, describing every detail again. I came inside her in under a minute. She smiled, kissed my forehead, and said, "Good boy. Next time you're gonna clean me up after."
We made it a regular thing. Different guys, sometimes two at once. She always came home to me, always told me everything, always let me have her when she was still leaking. The dirtier it got, the more she wanted me to hear it. The more she wanted me to see it. And I never stopped getting hard for the sight of my girlfriend taking black cock like she was made for it.
