blackeddisneyprincess

Your girlfriend has been canceling on you lately. Refuses to hang out with you. Won't say why. You've asked her time and again, and the best she's come up with is work. She just has to work long hours, she says. It's really demanding, she says. Wears her out, but it's a nice environment, and she's getting fulfilled at that place. So, what do you do? What can you do? The only thing on your mind is her body, since it's been a while. You know, been a while since you've done anything. The only thing on your mind is her warm mouth, her tight pussy, you want her in a bad way, and you decide to drop in on her workplace. The office is all but abandoned, and when you climb up to her floor, what you find isn't exactly what you were hoping for. The first thing you see is her ass. That ample, doughy ass, and it's being squeezed, handled, caressed, just not by you. No, it's her boss. That big, black, tower of a man. Her black boss. Her strong boss. Her powerful, rich, charismatic and superior boss. He's got you beat in every single department, and now you see just how much better he is than you. You just stand there, defeated. Feeling your little thing grow to an unimpressive couple of inches, watching your lovely girlfriend give herself to him. You see, despite the way he's touching her, she's not resisting. No, she welcomes him.

While being a good girl can mean a number of things, I like to think I've been a good girl for most of my life, if you know what I mean. Hardly stepped out of line, always listened to my daddy, but there comes a time when an innocent, blue-eyed white girl starts looking at other daddies too. If you know what I mean. In my case, it was the last place I thought I'd fine one, and it's something out of a bad movie, honestly. Living in Africa, in this white, sheltered, and honestly pretty racist bubble, there was an older guy at school my classmates liked to make fun of. He was just a couple years older, but like a janitor, handyman, fixing things in and around the school building, and my classmates were giving him a hard time about it. It wasn't actually racist much, but they poked fun at him, and I could tell it wasn't helping his confidence. I felt bad for the guy. Thing is, he wasn't just the janitor. He was also tall, big, and black. Imagine the kind of shit my classmates would have given me, if I'd stood up for this guy in public. I never stood up for him, in the end, but I did befriend him a bit. Walked down the road with him sometimes, and, yes, one time I also had him around the house. We had gone for a run together, since he was also into running, like me, and one harmless joke turned into an amazing experience.

I had joked about taking a shower together, you see. We were both tired, sweaty, and, apparently, crazy, crazy horny. I know I was, but from a rather wholesome place, maybe? I felt bad for him. I liked him. I wanted to comfort him, and I could tell he wouldn't say no, if I proposed something forbidden. Yes, forbidden. There's nothing wrong with white girls and black guys, don't get me wrong. If anything, that's the direct opposite of forbidden. It's beautiful, it's the future, and some people even believe it ought to be mandatory. It was forbidden in a different sense. In the sense of a soft, innocent, inexperience, teenage white girl about to be ruined for other men by a massive big black cock. I remember kissing this guy in the shower, slow at first, then fast. Hard. Hot. I must have been panting like a little bitch, tacitly begging him for what I knew he could give me. I knew, because I could see it, in the shower. I could see every vein, and every inch, every single detail that was about to make me cum.

It was so, so hot, and I figured if my classmates only knew, they wouldn't have started bullying him in the first place. Instead, they would have respected this guy. Been afraid of him, even. Been intimidated, because this guy was, yes, only a couple years older, but he put every boy in school to shame. He was huge.

With black guys, I've noticed a kind of natural, evolutionary, primordial attraction. Like I'm Eve, and they're Adam, if that makes sense? No words, no complications, just my naked femininity and his strong, virile, overpowering masculinity. Just my curves, my excitement, my fertility, ready and willing to be taken by his drive, his big, black cock and his potent seed. Really, when I'm with a black guy and we ditch the clothes? It's beautiful. It's raw. It's natural, evolutionary, primordial and entrancing. Hypnotizing, indeed. White girls know what I'm talking about, or they will, at any rate. White boys? Definitely not. Sorry, but you have no idea, have you?

Fucking black guys is more than just hot, raunchy, wild, passionate, mind-numbing, blissful, animalistic sex, you know? It's also romantic, beautiful, cute, and wonderful. Contrary to what some messed-up white boys might think, white girls and black men can have incredibly healthy relationships.

Doesn't mean they don't jump each other's bones all the time, though, and I do mean all the time. Fuck, I mean. The black guys I've dated? When we weren't eating or sleeping, we were fucking. I don't think they took me out on dates all that much. No, they just spent hours and hours inside my warm, wet pussy.

Where was I? Right. Healthy relationships! Yes, black guys and white girls aren't just aesthetically pleasing, leading the new cultural norm and looking damn good while at it, they make excellent couples. Modern couples. Healthy couples. Beautiful couples. They're the new dream, the ideal, the future!

Fuck, the black guys I've dated though? I mean, seriously. I'd spend days in between meeting them, just wishing time would go by faster. Wishing I were back at their place again, in whatever position, taking big, black dick over and over, cumming my mind away and begging them to fill me with thick, sticky nut.

Not all men were created equal. That's a fact. There's girls, there's white girls. There's white boys, and then there's men. Black men. Big men. Tough men. Men who know how to please me, how to fill me, how to fuck me and make me cum. Actual men. Powerful men. Black men. Let that sink in.

It's fine, though. Isn't it? It's fine, that I surrender to black men. It's totally fine, that I only let black men look at me, desire me, want me, lust after me. Why? Because they know they can take me. They know what to do to me. I know it, too. Yes, from experience. Yes, I'm talking about things you wish you could, but can't do to a girl like me.

With black guys, it's just different. There's an unspoken, public secret that we all love and cherish. They have what it takes. They got what white girls want, more and more, and can't get enough of. It's a guarantee, that a black guy will make me cum. It's a given, a promise, a truth that makes me so very fucking wet.

White boys wouldn't know the first thing about it. I'm sorry, but it's just the truth. Actually, no. It's the truth, sure, but I'm not sorry. I'm not, never was, never will be. White boys can just, I don't know, do something else. Fuck their fists, maybe. Pump it in front of their computers. Cum to porn. I don't care.

So, it's more or less official. In a few weeks, I'm going to see my boyfriend again. That's right, my boyfriend. My big, black, tall, strong, skilled, hung, boyfriend. Just thinking about seeing him again makes me so excited! Thinking about what he'll do to me makes me excited even more. Desperately, dripping wet, really.

Imagine, he's big, black, with inches and inches of big, black cock, and he hasn't seen me for months. Imagine, little old me showing up on his doorstep in a few weeks. Crazy, crazy horny, aching for it, begging him to black me for hours and hours. Right there. On the spot. It's going to be wild.

You get home after a long day at work. You're beat, you're hungry, and you'll be glad if you can see your pretty girlfriend again and maybe get her to fix you some dinner. She's preoccupied, though. If you can't tell by the sounds when the front door closes behind you, you soon find out by walking in on her and the black guy next door. He's huge. He's strong. He's hung, and he's making out with your girl. You? You're small. Puny. Useless, and your girlfriend knows it. It's been like this for a while, and your body is getting used to it. Her body is, too. In fact, she is as wet for the black guy putting his hands on her white body, as you are hard for what's about to come.

You can't explain it exactly, but it turns you on. It makes you hard, seeing your girl get so excited for another man. A bigger man. A better man. A black man. It turns you on, losing her to another guy. Drives you crazy, and desperate, watching her totally ignore you and surrendering to the will of a superior, black man.

White boys can be weird, jealous, into me or hard into being cucked. Sure, but black guys can be intense too. I remember one guy that was into all of the above, and he didn't feel the need to hide it either. I was making out with him at a party, I could tell he was hard, and I was getting wetter by the second.

The things he said, though. I mean, I didn't even know about all this stuff that much back then, but he just opened up and opened my eyes a little. He told me that I wasn't the only white girl into big, black cock. Told me it was a thing. Told me white boys liked it, too and loved losing girls to guys like him.

He told me how hard he was going to fuck me. How much he was going to make me moan, and how many times he was going to make me cum. He told me how every white boy at the party was going to be sick with envy, by the time they could hear him pound my pussy in one of the bedrooms upstairs.

He told me a lot more, after that. Told me I'd do nothing to stop him. Nothing to keep him from smashing my wet pussy over, and over, and over again. He got me to confess, as well. Got me to tell him that, yes I wanted it. Yes, I needed it. Yes, I wanted big, black cock and I wasn't going to let white boys stand in the way.

You've had a huge crush on her since forever. Since you first moved into the building, first saw her walking down the lobby, first heard her moans through the thin walls. You've wanted her. Badly. Ached for her. Needed her. You've jerked yourself stupid, night after night, imagining her tight, soft pussy around your cock. You've heard other guys fucking her, really, really pounding her, and you figured you'd have your shot sooner or later, since she's clearly putting out. One night, it's dead quiet on the other side of the wall, so you're planning to go out. When you get to the elevator however, your little dream's crushed into a thousand little, small-dick pieces.

There she is, the object of your lust. Your target. Your aim. Your little pervy project, making out with a black guy twice your size. That is, he's huge compared to you, and you have to force yourself not to imagine how massive he is in other regards. Not that you can pull that off, though. You can't help yourself, watching the slut next door make out with him. You know it. Instantly. This girl's black-only. She knows what she wants. She's chosen black, not you. Black men, not you. Big black cock, and not your little thing. You feel a gut-wrenching envy take hold of you, and yet you feel yourself getting hard, too. It all falls into place.

The moaning on the other side of the wall. The screaming, the grunting, the pounding and the rutting. The sounds of two people having passionate, filthy sex. Steamy, sweaty, hot, romantic, lust-drenched and cum-soaked sex. The kind of sex you've been listening to, is the kind of sex you'll never be able to give her. It's the kind she needs black guys for. The kind black men are able to give her. With that terrible stab of jealousy, you have to admit defeat. You know what it means. Every single night she's made you pump your dick and drain those white balls, it was the sound of a black bull fucking her lights out that made you nut.

Even when she breaks the kiss, she's yet to notice you. Just like there's a wall between your place and hers, she doesn't see you. To her, you hardly exist. She only has eyes for black guys. Only has eyes for real men. Only wants big black cock. You feel crushed, but you have to agree with her. You both know what she needs.

I've been into this idea of cucking a white boy, lately. Not just any boy, but like a boyfriend who enjoys losing me to bigger, better, badder black men. A boy who knows I love big black cock and encourages me to get plenty of it. A boy who puts my pleasure first. A boy who stays pussyfree while I get to cum.

I don't know, but picturing a lifestyle like that turns me on lately. Going through that routine of texting and teasing my boyfriend, getting his hopes up a little, before reminding him I'll never, ever fuck him. No, I meet up with black guys instead. I'm into black guys, instead. I fuck black guys. Instead.

Because, as I'm sure my white boyfriend will know, black guys have what it takes. They're charming, skilled, hung and just what I need. They have inches and inches of it, hours of stamina, and a very, very impressive volume of something else. If you're anything like the white boyfriend I imagine, you'll know what I mean.

I'm starting to think some white boys actually do like me, but I have a hard time imagining what a typical date would look like. You know, dinner and a movie doesn't cut it for white boys. At least, not the white boys I have in mind. Sure, I'd meet them in town, but not in the typical fashion, I guess.

I'd probably get some desperate, angsty text, asking me if we're still good to go. I fish my phone out of my purse, tell my white boy I'm not about to cancel on what's going to happen, and, sure, we'll meet up I guess. Not to really talk to each other or anything, though. No. Just to meet up and head to the nearest hotel.

Because, the hotel's where it's going to happen. In the very room my white boy will have wasted money on, I'll meet a man who's going to tend to my needs. A real man. A strong man. A black man. The boy is just there to watch. Cheer me on, maybe. I don't know. He wants to watch, so I'll let him.

I'll probably catch him peeking all the same, from the corner of my eye. Adore me, worship me from afar. Ogle me and imagine a reality where he, and not a black stranger, gets fill and fuck my pussy all night long. Such a reality's probably painfully precious to a sorry loser, but so very, very far from a possibility.

No, even in those final moments a white boy will have with me alone, studying my curves and my hips as I walk down the hallway, he'll wake up to the truth. I'm not going to fuck him. I'm not going to make him cum. I might not even look him in the eye, the entire time. No, I'm there to have real sex with a real man. A black man.

Those knocks might just slap the last hope out of that poor, small-dick white boy. Crush his dreams and make him face his decisions. He's dating me, in a way, but just to watch a black man fuck me in front of him. Sure, he gets to be with me, in a sense, but just to spectate, stroke, and admire a real man's work.

I doubt I'll be able to resist giving him one last look. A look of pity, to be brutally honest. I can't imagine what he gets out of it, watching a black man enjoy me in all sorts of ways. Ways he wishes he could taste and know. I don't get it, but it's fun. Turns me on. Makes me wet. Not for him, but for my black bull, of course.

Thank god for black bulls, especially those who are on board with this whole lifestyle. It gets me big, black cock, it gets white boys a chance to see sex up close, and it delivers black men hot, tight, warm, wet, soft, pink pussy, right on their doorstep. They don't need to make any effort, and they still get all the pussy.

Once I get down to it with my black lover, is likely to be the hardest part for any white boy dating me. Actually seeing it happen. Witnessing my lust, my abandonment, my hunger for big, black cock. I wonder what will sting worse, in that moment. Knowing another man's about to fuck me, or being totally ignored by me.

Because I will ignore my white boy. Yes, he's paid for it all. Yes, he's modern enough to encourage me to have real, rewarding, amazing sex. Sure, but he has no place in the bedroom, other than watching. He might as well be on the other end of a laptop screen, for all I care. When I'm fucking a black guy, he ceases to exist.

What else can I do? I can't help it. I'm a young, fit, fertile white girl. A ripe cherry. A juicy peach. I'm not going to deny myself, I'm not going to deny a strong, black man, and I'm not going to pretend I care about some small-dick loser watching me. He'll have his fun, I guess. I don't care. I just don't. I only care about big, black cock.