Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Actually, Mister Dorsett, the entire curriculum has been Eurocentric.” Shanice Campbell looked unimpressed as she peered at her laptop screen, where a rumpled looking high-school teacher was leading the class while wearing an unironed shirt. Mister Dorsett’s already-poor posture slumped even lower when he heard her speak up. Her posture was an aggressive forward lean. Shanice wasn’t about to let ‘the men’ keep her down, and her intense glare was as irrepressible as her trademark hairstyle of tight braids leading back into two explosive afro-puffs. 

“Shanice, it’s important to discuss such things,” Mister Dorsett sighed. He looked like he was deeply regretting the life choices that had led him to become a teacher. Shanice was one of his brightest students, but also one of the most challenging. He had expected to be teaching general knowledge to help with SAT scores, not an impromptu course in African studies. But Shanice wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was ebony-skinned, she was beautiful, she was a rebellious teen who brooked no nonsense from ‘the system’. He gathered himself and tried to defuse the growing bomb. “But this particular session is about the American colonial-”

“You ain’t lyin’ about that,” Shanice interrupted, and the faces of the other students of the Zoom call featured an assortment of eye rolls, as if to say there goes Shanice again. “Colonialism is what it’s all about, Mister Dorsett. If you read Ta-Nehisi Coates-”

“Isn’t he a linebacker for the Chargers?” someone blurted, and the largely-white classroom had an online chuckle. Shanice grimaced, sighed, and leaned back in her chair, muting herself so that her microphone didn’t send out her next statement to the class:

Cracker-ass muthafuckas.

She was seventeen and already yearning to get out from under her parents’ roof - she had plans to attend Morehouse of Spelman or Howard, if arrangements could be made. Her grades were middling, but she told herself it was because the lessons were wrong - history and culture and science from the point of view of people who had been slaveholders. For a while she’d been sure that her mom and dad, Ebony and Leon, would be able to foot the bill.

She winced as the sounds of an argument between her parents drifted through the walls of her room, which she now shared with her one-year-younger sister, Nia. This was a new arrangement - she’d had her own, spacious room as recently as eighteen months prior. Now, her African art, books, and clothing (which she had purchased from locally-owned black businesses) were sharing space with Nia’s piles of strewn Louis Vuitton bags, hot pink stiletto boots, jewelry boxes strewn with enormous hoop earrings, and leopard print dresses.

And just as Shanice was contemplating this sad state of affairs, in blustered the girl herself - Nia, in the flesh, wearing a fur-lined jacket and a miniskirt, designer boots, fishnet stockings, and surrounded by so many shopping bags that she struggled to carry them all. She was as beautiful as her sister, but in a different way - Nia was lighter-skinned, a pleasing shade of caramel, and extremely fashion conscious. Her figure was already exploding into the knee-weakening curves that their mother also possessed, less athletic than Shanice but with more in the breasts and just as much in the trunk. The mocha-colored half-moons of her behind made the fabric of her dress surge outward.

Nia was also boy-crazy, and told stories about her many hookups until Shanice never wanted to hear another. Usually, she judged these by what they were packing in their pants - and their wallets. She wasn’t above shaking and clapping her ass to get their attention either, a proclivity that made Shanice roll her eyes… but that produced undeniable results.

“Giiiiirl! I got a problem!” Nia lamented, moving over to the bed that was in her corner of the room, opposite Shanice’s bed. “I got a bad habit, cuz. I ain’t gonna lie. I saw this sale- it was like it called to me.”

Shanice rubbed the bridge of her nose with her hand. “Weren’t you supposed to buy school books?” she groused. “And, I’m in the middle of class, here. Another fifteen minutes.”

Nia threw the shopping bags on the bed and turned. “Yo’ ass is the one always sayin’ it’s a cracker-ass school that don’t teach shit,” she shot back. Freed of the shopping bags, it was easier to see her sleek dress and puffy coat with its mink fringe. The dress and jacket were both new, and Nia modeled it with a satisfied look on her face. She had no self-consciousness in front of her sister, thinking nothing of the way her round, bubbly ass-cheeks were accentuated by high hemlines… or her breasts, which seemed near-to-escaping from the low-cut front. “What do you think?”

You look like a ‘ho , was what Shanice thought, but of course, she spared her sister that particular criticism. The gaudy and hypersexual dress outfit was very ‘on brand’ for Nia, who straightened her hair and decorated it with a pink streak to match nails and lip gloss. “It’s you,” was the assessment that Shanice chose. It was nothing but true.

The two sisters shared knowing eye contact as another burst of yelling rose up from downstairs.

“Damn, still fighting like a muh’fucka,” Nia assessed. “They been at it all day?” She sat down on the bed amidst her pile of shopping bags. Handbags and underwear were more important to Nia than where her next meal might come from.

Shanice nodded and closed her laptop, leaning back in her chair. Her study lamp cast light on her graceful upper body, with a tight tee-shirt wrapping her bee-stung breasts, black with a white upraised fist decal. She wore less makeup than her sister, leaving her lips their alluring natural color beneath a gleam of chapstick, but she was no less attractive in her own way - and there was at least one department, her rear end, where she was Nia’s match. Her round ass was bountiful enough that her cheeks bulged in her grey skinny jeans. As she stood, they were low on her hips, revealing a black thong rising above, and the top of two thick, fat, black ass-cheeks like two hills. She capped off her ‘fight the power’ aesthetic with a pair of high-ankle Chuck Taylor runners.

“Something must be up. Something with the rent or the bills,” Shanice further confirmed.  “Dad is trying to keep mom calm but she’s not having it.”

“Pops is always fucking up the paper,” Nia lamented, swinging her feet in their heeled boots. “You know I can’t even have no allowance? No credit card or nothing. I had to go and get the hookup down the street. But his ass is still talking about muh-fuckin’ bills.” She pronounced it beels , her voice filled with sass.

Shanice wrinkled her brow and sighed. Nia had a stable of men that she rotated through, collecting gifts and doling out dates and sexual tension in return, occasionally bringing some back to their shared room for oral hanky-panky… much to Shanice’s annoyance. The fiery, darker-skinned sister had an idea that Nia sexualizing herself in this way wasn’t exactly the sort of ‘female empowerment’ that was needed for young black women - but they had been round and round on those arguments for years, and Shanice wasn’t eager to start another.

Besides, it was the parental argument that had the two girls concerned. 

Wordlessly, the two sisters listened closely as voices from downstairs rose again.

“I told you, you don’t know that for sure,” Ebony Campbell was saying, standing in the semi-dilapidated kitchen of their ‘new’ house. In fact, they were renting, and though she had too much pride to keep anything less than a spotless house, Ebony didn’t have much to work with. The kitchen table that her husband Leon was sitting at was pockmarked with dings and nicks. The linoleum floor was curling. And the dishwasher was on the fritz.

“John told me, if we needed a few extra days, he might be able to swing it,” Leon was saying. Both of them were agitated. He was in his slacks and what might have been called, in decades prior, a Cliff Huxtable sweater. She was in a smart beige business suit that hugged her in all the right places. She had been beating feet on the job trail all day - two interviews. Leon, a restaurant manager, had been scouting locations to reopen. Two years before, he’d run the successful Leon’s Soul Food, downtown by the stadium, feeling hungry subway commuters and people coming and going from the ballpark. 

COVID had put an end to the restaurant. Ebony didn’t blame her husband for that . But she did blame him for being in denial about it for far too long… and dwindling away their savings trying to work inside impossible restrictions, instead of pivoting to find different work. This, and the resulting lack of funds to provide for their two daughters, was a thorny subject between them that threatened to reignite daily.

They were going to come up short on their rent payment again - that was certain - and the freeze on evictions was long over. Nia had needed dental work, Shanice had needed school books. Now, Leon was explaining that their landlord, John Cody, had floated the idea of giving them a break - but he didn’t know the whole story.

She had already talked to John Cody, unbeknownst to her husband. And even doing so had made her feel dirty.

“Oh he’s just going to let us slide out the goodness of his heart?” Ebony said, eyes blazing. Her lashes were teased, her lips plump, the choker around her neck, dazzling. She had decked herself in perfect suspension between businesslike and sexy. Her long and shapely legs were hugged by sheer pantyhose beneath the semi-high hemline of office skirt. It matched her jacket, which could button up if she wanted to look severe - but only barely. Her large breasts were big enough that it was a tight squeeze. And of course, she didn’t feel at home unless she had matching six-inch heels. “And what’s John going to want for that?”

She knew what he wanted. And her frustration was born of that. She had wanted to avoid John Cody, not even look at the man. Especially in connection to her husband. But now, Leon was reengaging with him, bringing him closer.

Leon threw up his hands. “I don’t know. He knows I ran Soul Food. Some catering, maybe? Oers d'oeuvres for a party?” He gave a maddening smile of confidence and pride, as if they hadn’t had to pawn some of her jewelry to make the last couple of payments. Now, they were stuck in this ugly house in an ugly part of town, and… and...

Ebony spied a dirty plate on the counter and slid it into the sink with a clank, emphasizing her discontent. “Party!?” she spat. “We’re on lockdown, Leon!” She crossed her arms over her large breasts, and tossed her head to the side, looking away resentfully, allowing her long, straightened raven hair to fly about her shoulders, revealing her slender, gorgeous neck for just a moment. Her eyes were a pretty amber color, which her daughter Nia had inherited. Shanice, on the other hand, had Leon’s deep brown. “Instead of looking for handouts from that man… we have to get something going ourselves!”

She was angry at Leon. She was angry at herself. God, John Cody was coming over? In the next hour?

“I’m trying!” Leon said. And the argument proceeded, her being agitated, him not understanding her agitation, trying to calm her, thinking it would be okay. Ebony couldn’t bring herself to tell him that John Cody had already made an offer to reduce their rent payment. To her. The prior month.  

His price had been simple - and nasty. He would come to pick up the reduced payment, in person. And when he did… Ebony would dress as he liked. As to how much the payment would be reduced… she could decide. For wearing the outfit he wanted, the number was one-hundred. But that would still leave them short. However, for three-hundred...

She could hear his deep, confident voice all over again, in her mind. He had cornered her at the supermarket, as she had been forlornly running errands, searching out the cheapest ground beef. He was tall. Blonde. His hair was flowing to his neck, he seemed to perpetually have a five-o-’clock shadow on his strong jaw. Blue eyed, but not baby-faced. He’d been an athlete of some kind, before a knee injury, and he still had the physique. And in that grocery aisle he had towered over her. (At six-foot-ten, it was hard not to loom over a five-foot-six black woman, but the way he leaned and leered had seemed to be meant to intimidate.)

Most of all? He was white . He didn’t know her culture, he didn’t know her people. He was just a white man, a powerful white man in a position of strength. That made her nervous.

“Hey, Ebony,” had been his greeting. “Cookin’ up some collard greens and red peas tonight?” She had tried to laugh off the remark, ashamed as she was to be shopping for discount food in her yoga pants, athletic jacket and white undershirt. Her thick buttocks swayed and bounced in spite of her attempts to be modest - and his leering eye seemed to catch it all. It was next to the produce that he made his offer. Since he owned the house, he said, he could see to it to forgive some of the next rent payment. 

He had heard - and he said this with a smirk - that they’d faced some ‘business reversals’.

She had tried to refuse - a proud, black woman, blushing and shaking her head - but he insisted again - steamrolling forward in the conversation with all the force his muscled frame and relentless whiteness could muster. “I’ll come pick it up next week. If you’ll wear that blouse and yoga-pants number you’ve got. You know the one. With the plunging front.” He winked, joking but not joking. This wasn’t flirtation, it was expectation. She would do it, or there would be no more discounts on the rent. And with Nia needing two teeth capped, and Shanice buying textbooks seemingly by the truckload, she and Leon had been totally tapped. 

Then, the statement that really left her stomach in knots:

“Maybe I can forgive a little more. It depends on you, we can discuss it in private when I come over.”

Ebony knew what that meant, and she had at first stammered and then tried to make an excuse. “Well, my husband will be home in the evenings,” she said. She could smell his aftershave and see the powerful thickness of his bicep as he leaned against the produce shelf overhang. What a massive man! She thought of doughy, good-natured Leon… a different type of man from this prowling alpha wolf. But Leon was one of her people. They had come up together, shared the struggle of being black in America. John Cody hadn’t had to struggle. Ebony knew that just from looking at the man. She had a feeling, in fact, that he was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

“That’s fine,” John Cody said, and smiled again. “I’m sure we can find a way to ‘arrange’ things.”  Then, as quickly as it had come, the shadow over Ebony was gone. Her landlord eased up, straightened up, and took his leave. She glanced at his shopping basket. Steaks. Beer. Red meat for a predator. And as he walked away, she gave an exhale that made her big breasts rise and fall.

The rest of the month she had resisted picking up the phone to invite him in - sometimes, her thumb had been hovering over the green “Call” button, only to relent at the last second. She hoped she could find work, or Leon would be able to put some cash together. But she had worn her heels down on the pavement, interviewing and looking for a job. And Leon had been in denial, still trying to do something restaurant-related as the pandemic continued. 

But she had resisted. Resisted what would have been so easy - to show off her black body to this huge white bull, making financial problems disappear. She hadn’t weakened.

Only to find out that Leon… Leon, of all people… had invited John Cody over. Her dumbass husband, who had no idea of the arrangement, who thought John Cody was going to forgive hundreds of dollars of rent money out of the goodness of his white-boy heart!

Ebony kicked her heel sharply against the dishwasher, causing dishes to rattle. “Damn it,” she seethed. “Goddamn it, Leon. Why do we need someone poking around in our business? Makin’ us feel like we can’t handle our own shit?”

His face met hers with shame they both felt. Because we couldn’t. Not this month. Not last month either. 

Leon made one final attempt. “He’ll be here in thirty minutes, he said.” He breathed in, breathed out, made his case, hoping meekly and wearily that she wouldn’t explode in anger again. “Ebony… we should at least talk to him.”

She looked at him, said “fine,” and then walked away - heels punctuating her exit with staccato clacks. Ebony wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Only that they needed that money off the rent. Eviction wasn’t an option. The kids were just getting started up with school again. It was a crucial time. And… the embarrassment, the humiliation of being thrown out in the street… she wouldn’t allow it.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor as Leon looked at her from the dining room table, watching her go.

Ebony knew she had thirty minutes. Thirty minutes to transform from her business attire to something that would please her landlord’s eye. And so in the modestly-sized master bedroom she examined her cramped closet. First was the jacket. It had to go. She had a blouse that would be perfect for the occasion - leopard print, with a plunging neckline that perfectly accentuated her large, heavy breasts. Even at thirty-eight years old she still had an amazing body; her natural gifts were obvious, and she worked too hard with gym and pilates to ever be fat. She dropped the jacket, then paused as she looked at her bra. After a moment, feeling a tingling in her stomach at the inappropriateness of it, she took off her bra as well. Her nipples were big, raised, dark, beautiful.

She unfastened her skirt, going down to her black thong panties. Leopard-print heels joined the ensemble. Black yoga pants - her lowest-cut pair. The ones that rose only to the middle of her hips, cutting off only just above the fat mound of her pussy, so that one could see the skin darkening near her pubic region… and the top of her ass-crack, with the emerging whale tail of her thong. It even revealed her tattoo - right in her lower back in cursive - reading “Black Is Beautiful”.

Then the blouse. Animal print, no bra. Cleavage on display with the fat circles of her nipples poking with just enough subtlety to claim it wasn’t overt. It went down far enough on her midriff to cover her navel and her lower back - but she knew that if she bent over, it would ride up and show off her lower back with its tattoo and thong riding high on her hips. Well, that was fine. The cost of doing business. 

Hoop earrings were next. Her amber eyes glistened as she looked in the mirror, assessing herself, making sure everything was perfect, like a schoolgirl on her first date. She silently cursed John Cody for making her do this, and then her husband and herself for failing to make enough money to prevent it. The earrings were gold, gaudy, enormous. They reached all the way down to her shoulder, creating a perfect contrast with the silky smoothness of her straightened black hair, which ran down to her mid-back. Her daughter Shanice told her she shouldn’t straighten her hair - that she should let it go in it’s natural afro, or cornrow it out - but Ebony had been straightening her hair for years, since her days as an exotic dancer. She liked the silky feeling and the black sheen.

And now you’re about to show that off to this white man, like you used to do with those bustas at the club. You think your daughter is going to be proud of that?

She pushed the thought aside and checked her makeup. Still on point. But her lips were subdued, a job-interview look. She rummaged in her purse and produced some lip gloss that matched her dark skin tone, very glossy, making her big, beautiful black lips look moist, inviting. As if they were glistening with saliva, ready for a deep kiss… or to be put to work in service to some other sensual end. She puckered them, smacked them, looked at them again. Ebony Campbell had perhaps the biggest, puffiest pair of blowjob lips on planet earth, and she knew it. She felt pride swell simultaneously with that feeling of butterfly nervousness. This is what John Cody wanted to see, no doubt. It would get the job done. But god, she felt so degraded, doing this for him.

“Damn,” she grumbled to herself, then looked down. Leopard-print heels and blouse. Tight yoga pants showing every curve of her ass. She was ready. Downstairs, she heard the clatter of pots and pans as Leon made dinner. Mac and cheese - it was all they could afford. The scant ground beef she’d purchased was for tomorrow night, enough for maybe one hamburger each. The bank account was dry. And their financial rescuer, John, would be arriving right at dinner time.

“Fuckin’ white bastard,” she muttered, surprising herself with the racial viciousness of her emotions. Straightening her hair one final time, Ebony left the room, headed back downstairs.

The knock on the door came only a few minutes later. The kitchen table was pushed up close to the sink and counter - they had no room for anything else - and it was this narrow corridor where her family was standing. 

“Damn, mac n’ cheese again?” Nia was complaining. “I don’t want to eat this mess!” She sighed and gave a patented teenage eyeroll at her father. “Ya’ll owned a restaurant and this is the best we get? Didn’t you do no cookin’?

“I was the manager and owner,” Leon explained. “I hired the kitchen staff-”

But Nia was turned away, not already not listening, leaning one thick hip against the counter as she readied to squeeze in after her sister and fill her plate with unappetizing-looking mac n’ cheese. Ebony turned to see Leon’s dejected face at his daughter’s dismissal and lack of confidence in him, realizing how weak this financial situation made him look as a black man. She cared for him, and felt sorry for him… but she had to admit it made him seem weak to her, too. She felt guilty, but it was true. 

She contemplated this as the first sharp impacts of fist on door rang out.

Leon rose magnanimously from his seat, puffing himself up - just handling some adult business , his manner seemed to say. See? Pops can still handle things . But it was Ebony who reached the door first, opening it. 

John Cody was such a mountain of a man that he nearly filled the entire frame. “Mister Cody, thanks for coming,” she heard herself say, and already hated the fawning graciousness of it. This man was an intruder in her house. John was wearing a tee-shirt that showed off his muscled physique, and a pair of grey sweat pants. It looked like what he might relax in, casually, after a day of work. One massive hand gripped the door frame. The second… was holding a bunch of bananas.

Her heart skipped a beat. Bananas? Surely-

“Hey, Campbells,” he said, addressing both of them and stepping his way inside. Not waiting to be invited in, of course. He was exasperatingly amiable, walking and talking like he owned the place. “I picked these up at the supermarket. I figured since it was dinner time it would make a nice snack, you know?”

Ebony saw something else as he moved - a shadow in his sweatpants, the outline of a shape. Her heart started beating even faster. It was a tubular outline. Fat. Heavy. Like a length of kielbasa sausage secreted away along the inside of his thigh… but thicker. Longer.

God, it can’t be , Ebony thought. She prayed that Leon wouldn’t see it. That her daughters wouldn’t see it. John Cody was animated, his height and deep voice demanded attention, perhaps it would attract enough to spare them the awkwardness, the inappropriateness of his size. But her eyes saw everything . The outline of something that threatened to drag the string-tied waist of his pants downward with sheer weight. And this white man didn’t care who saw. He was flaunting it, right in front of them all.

Leon blinked, and looked momentarily taken aback as he looked at the bananas. Ebony watched him and saw that he was oblivious - both to the implied insult of the fruit, and the monster bulge in John Cody’s pants. “Oh, uh… thank you,” he said, lamely. John then took one of the bananas from the bunch and tossed it shortly to Leon, who caught it with unathletic awkwardness.

Ebony felt an awful dismay in the pit of her stomach as she watched her clean-cut, sweater-wearing black husband interact with this white giant. Dismay and rage. This racist muthafucker, she thought. Making Leon look so weak! Oh, how she longed to tell him to fuck himself. 

John, who had stepped inside and was making himself at home, took a look over to the kitchen and waved to Ebony’s two daughters. “Hey girls!” he called.

“Mista’ C,” Nia replied. She had pulled out her phone and could barely be bothered to pay attention. Shanice said nothing, only nodded a terse hello. But she was watching John Cody closely, and Ebony could see the consternation in her socially-conscious daughter’s face. 

She realizes this is wrong. A white man, massive, built… coming into our house… giving my husband a banana like he’s some sort of monkey. She senses something isn’t right about this!

Ebony felt helpless as they all left the entryway and walked into the kitchen. John slapped two long, plump bananas down on the counter. “Here you go, girls,” he said. “Got to get that potassium!”

Nia’s eyes lit up. “Fuck, yes,” she snarked, putting her phone down at last. “Better than this macaroni mess.” Ebony shot John a glare of death, making sure that Leon wouldn’t see. But John only smiled a knowing smile at her. There wasn’t much room, so Nia had to squeeze past Shanice, who was at the stove, in order to retrieve the banana. She turned away as she did, angling past, and for a moment, her big, round ass-cheeks, barely contained in their miniskirt, smooshed against her sister’s equally large, skinny-jean-stretching butt-globes, interlocking and squeezing against them. For just a moment, their buttocks dovetailed against each other, then released with a jiggle as Nia made it past.

Shanice looked doubtfully at the bananas, then at Ebony. Nia picked up a banana and started to peel it. Ebony noticed again how big this bunch of bananas was - how pale and phallic the fruit inside looked as Nia wrapped her lips around it. Those glossed-up, thick, heavy lips that she’d inherited from her mother. And John Cody, the bastard, was watching every detail. The moment that Nia slid the banana into her mouth, before the first bite, was particularly reminiscent of fellatio.

Ebony was so close to putting a stop to it, right there. Her pride and her husband’s pride was one thing - she and Leon had made their financial bed, and it was time to lie in it. But her children - her beautiful, black daughter, Nia - rejecting the meager food they’d prepared in favor of savoring, nourishing herself in a banana that a white man had given her, as if she was a chimp at the zoo!

And that’s just how John Cody was looking at her. Like she was a monkey. A banana-sucking, twerking, big-lipped… ghetto bitch! She opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

“Shanice, be polite,” she heard Leon say, and turned to him in astonishment. “Mister Cody is here to deal with some things in the apartment. You like fruit, don’t you? What do you say to a guest?”

John looked at Shanice with his maddening, confident smile. The thin, dark-skinned, afro-puff pigtailed teen with a Black Power tee clinging to her pokey nips, looking sideways at him with her skinny jeans low on those hips, her thong rising high, her massive hips and ass on display in profile. She put the macaroni pot down on the stove.

“Thank you, Mister Cody,” Shanice said, obediently. For all her bravado, she was a daddy’s girl, and believed in the black masculinity of her father. She was willing to obey him, because this was her father’s house. She walked over to where the banana bunch was waiting and picked one out, leaning against the counter next to her sister as she peeled it. There was a growling noise, and Ebony realized it was Shanice’s stomach. Her daughter wanted that banana, in spite of any concerns with the imagery. She was hungry; because the grocery-shopping had been light all month.

Ebony had never felt so humiliated as her daughters slid the bananas between their plump lips. There was nothing precisely sexual about their eating, but the way those plump, perfectly formed, puffy pairs of lips wrapped around the fruit was sinful all the same. She and Leon had been serving up the same boxes of macaroni for weeks. They had failed to provide… and now this massive white man was feeding her daughters!

In that moment, she was disgusted with Leon for failing to provide. And with herself. When she looked up, she saw John Cody leering, first at Nia and Shanice, and then at her. His eyes wandering over her tits, her ass, her thighs.

“We were just sitting down to dinner,” Leon interjected, blustering with self-importance. “But if you have a few minutes now, we could go out on the stoop and talk.” The house was cramped, and Leon didn’t want to be seen or heard begging for a rent adjustment - he had at least that much self-respect. But John shook his head and crossed his beefy arms.

“Actually,” he said, “I thought I would take care of that maintenance order for the upstairs bathroom first.” He gestured toward the staircase. “I saw Ebony at the supermarket the other day, and she reminded me. So she can show me what’s up.”

Leon blinked, taken aback at being cut out of the negotiations, but not wanting to jeopardize things. “Uh, yes,” he agreed. “The fixtures have a few leaks, but - well, won’t you need tools?”

“I’ll take a look now and come back with my stuff and the replacement part,” John Cody said, with a practiced liar’s smoothness. He again nodded his head, with its mane of blonde hair, toward the stairs. “Lead the way, Big Momma!” 

The playful term of racial endearment came out like a joke, and Nia chuckled to herself upon hearing it. 

“Yeah,” Ebony said. “Let me show you.” But her voice was as tight as her pants. She did not like the way Nia was laughing. Not one bit.

By the time they had reached the landing and rounded the corner to proceed to the second floor, Ebony had started to convince herself. Black people - black women - had always faced challenges like this in America. If she needed a hundred dollars off the rent, and needed to flash her titties a little to make it happen, so what? It was her body, after all. This was no different than beating her feet bloody on the pavement, looking for work. She was doing what she needed to do to provide for her family!

This way of thinking helped - a little. Yes, John Cody was a pushy, arrogant, massive white man. But Ebony Campbell had always been something of a man-eater, wrapping boys around her little finger since she grew her famously large breasts. High school, the workplace, it didn’t matter.

I can handle him , she thought, and the dark feelings that had crowded in on her on the ground floor started to dissipate a little. When John had been tossing bananas to her family, she’d felt helpless and ashamed. Now, one on one, she felt more in control of the situation. He’s just another white muthafucker in a long line of ‘em.

“You wore the outfit,” he said, as they reached the upstairs hallway. “That’s good.”

“This is nothing special,” Ebony insisted. “These are my normal clothes.” It was only barely true. She had dressed up like a black barbie for him. But damn if she was going to admit it. They approached the upstairs bathroom, and downstairs, Ebony could hear the clank of a wooden spoon in the macaroni pot as someone got a helping of mac n’ cheese. The voices of her husband and children rose and fell. What were they talking about? The image of Nia and Shanice, their plump, moist, beautiful black lips wrapped around those bananas, flashed in her mind. 

He fed your kids.

Shut up.

Let them eat of the white man’s bounty. Since your black husband couldn’t provide.

Shut up.

What else is he going to do before it’s done?

And to that, her answer was, nothing I don’t let him do. He had something special in his pants, that was for sure. She had seen it. John Cody was a mountain of a man, muscled, athletic, and maybe his cock was as impressive as the rest of him. But she had seen big cocks before. Before settling down with Leon, Ebony had gone through a phase where it was all her and her girlfriends cared about. They had called themselves the Niners , meaning no man with less than nine inches need apply. She’d had her fun, fucked her way through her early adulthood, and then she’d met Leon.

Did John Cody have more than nine? It seemed likely. That bulge was big, and the man was nearly seven feet tall. Big hands, big feet, big cock. 

Leon had six inches. But their relationship had never been about that. The feeling of trying to judge a man’s cock through his pants - how long had it been since she’d done that, or even thought about another man? God, nearly twenty years. And even though she looked better at thirty-eight than eighteen, the picture of a busty, thicc black MILF, Ebony had avoided the temptation of seeking out any extra male attention. Their marriage was strong.

Had been strong. Lately, the financial strain…

A thought rose in her mind. I’m not jeopardizing our marriage, I’m saving it. These bills, the arguments - they’re the real problem.

She almost believed it as they rounded into the bathroom. 

The small room was clean - they had too much pride not to keep a clean house, even if the property was run down - but that was all that could be said for it. Some of the tile was mildewed and cracked even with all of their scrubbing. The bathtub was old-fashioned. Sometimes, when running the hot water, it took a long time to get warm - and once it did, the hot water didn’t last long. The house’s water heater wasn’t much to speak of. Right now the problem was the toilet. Unless they reached in and physically stopped the counterweight, it would run constantly. They had put in a maintenance request two weeks prior.

She turned and leaned against the wall. He had followed her in. She was struck all at once at how enormous a man he was. He had had to duck under the door frame just to get into the room. His tee-shirt was climbing to the rippling muscles of his upper body like a second skin. Standing tall, her head only came up to his chest. Again, she found herself comparing him to Leon. Steady, comfortable Leon. After fiery relationships with jocks and “playas” that had ended badly, Leon had seemed like the safe bet. He was respectful of women, and they had, at the time, both worked in the restaurant industry. Him as a maitre de, her as a server. Leon was almost six feet tall. And in his younger years he’d been fairly trim. But now-

“Turn around,” John Cody prompted. “Let me see you in it.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Ebony said, immediately.

“I said it was up to you. You choose what your rent is going to be this month.” He smiled that maddening, confident smile. “That’s a lot of power.”

Ebony looked to the side, ashamed. Then, slowly, she straightened up. Not making eye contact, concentrating on a task which she now saw as work, she did a slow pirouette near the wall. She knew what she was showing him. She heard nothing but the sound of her heels on the tile as she turned, and the muffled voices of Leon and the kids, from downstairs. She felt a tingle in her stomach. Shame. Nerves. She knew what she was showing him. Her tits wear heavy in her animal-print blouse, showing a valley of cleavage from the front - and the silhouette of bulging, round size from the side. Even when she turned completely around, her breasts were large enough that the sides of them could be seen around her slender back.

But when she turned around, the main event was her ass. 

It had always been Ebony’s trademark. The envy of her girlfriends. And with age and early-morning workouts, it had only gotten bigger and better. She didn’t bounce it, didn’t clap it… even though she could . She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. It was enough to show him, in those black yoga pants. Each thick buttock was more than a handful for him, even with his giant’s stature. And just from looking at those cheeks, a man would know that his fingers would just sink in, that the jiggly ebony (Ebony) flesh would fill his palm and squeeze between his digits. And if she bent over just a little, the yoga pants were tight enough to show every detail of her asscrack and even the folds of her quivering pudenda.

She stayed upright. Started to complete her pirouette.

“You’ve got a great body,” John Cody said. His voice was a deep anchor, holding her in this situation.

“Thank you.” It was something to say.

“Hold up,” he said, but she didn’t stop turning. He repeated himself, but she completed her turn, facing him again.

“What?” she asked. But she knew, even before he spoke.

“I wanted to enjoy the view a little more.” 

Ebony’s lip twitched. She had specifically avoided lingering in a position where he could ogle her ass. But it had always been her blessing and her curse to enchant men with her booty, and now it seemed things were headed in that direction.

“What’s that worth?” she brazenly asked, her face a little uncertain. The crassness of bargaining with this white man, using her black body, was tying her stomach in fizzy knots.

“Something,” John replied, and he gave that confident smile again. He was handsome - for a white man - and that was another unkind cut. She didn’t want to think he was handsome, didn’t want to think of him as anything other than a rude, racist interloper. “We’ll see. This arrangement is going to involve some trust.”

Ebony looked at him for a moment, searching for any sign of deceit or manipulation. But the offer seemed earnest, ugly as it was. She turned, slowly, steeling herself. And this time, she placed her palms against the wall and arched her back a little. Just as she knew it would, her blouse pulled up in the back to reveal her thong, and the ‘Black Is Beautiful” tattoo on her lower back.

God help me , she thought. She heard Leon, Shanice and Nia laugh at something at the dinner table. As far as they knew, she was upstairs, dealing with the home repair issue. And in a way, that was exactly what she was doing.

She put her hands on her ass, her long, pearlescent nails fanning out on the tight blackness of her tights. Lifted. It was like watching rolling hills move. She let her ass pile up in her hands, showing the weight of it, the size. And then she let it drop. 

WHOP. The sound of her cheeks clapping together was loud and sordid. Her cheeks jiggled and wobbled with the impact. Again, her stomach buzzed with butterflies at the sound, and the action, and her lewd pose under the gaze of her towering, muscled white landlord. 

“Mmm, that was great,” John Cody said. “Do it some more.”

She wanted to make the case that once was enough. But Ebony couldn’t bear to argue with him, about degrees and minutes and increments of flaunting her black body, she just wanted to get it over with .

She started bouncing. She started twerking. She arched her back braced against the wall, not caring about her dignity but just throwing ass . The sound of her thick, clapping cheeks grew louder. And in time, she wanted it to be louder, so it would drown out the distant sounds of her husband and children, their muffled voices still slightly audible - Nia talking about wanting to get her nails done at the fancy Vietnamese place, Shanice talking about how she needed to buy some new books. And Leon saying he was going to reopen the restaurant soon and everything would be fine, the money problems were temporary.

I’m twerking for a white man. A white man who came into my home and treated my husband and daughters like they were… monkeys at a zoo. A huge, tall white man with that big bulge in his pants… all while Leon, Nia and Shanice are just downstairs!

“Pull those tights down,” John Cody said, and this time Ebony whimpered as her body obeyed his deep baritone voice. She reached back, gripped her gossamer waistband of the thin material and slid it down. Her ass exploded from its confines. Two beautiful, brown, monster ass-mounds, ready for his inspection. Her thong cut a path between them and all but disappeared from their sheer volume. Big, smooth, perfectly-complexioned examples of MILF negritude.

“Don’t be shy,” John Cody said. His voice was half-serious, like it was a game to him, which maddened Ebony all the more. “Show me something.”

She twerked, making her cheeks open and close, and she knew that the slightly-darker color of her asshole was visible around the edges of that thong, each time her ass opened up for him, he could see every detail. 

“Spread ‘em,” John Cody said. “Come on, Ebony.” She did. She reached behind herself again, gripped her cheeks and spread herself, barely able to keep her butt-mounds open with her hands they were so massive, showing off her pussy and asshole through the scant strand of her thong. She bit her lip in frustration and anger, her stomach had long-since passed butterflies and moved on into a constant swarming tingle.

And was there a tingle elsewhere, too? None that she would admit. 

She moved her hands, let herself close up, turned to place her back against the wall. He was smiling at her, she looked up at him furiously. “I want… two hundred more off for that,” she spat, keeping her voice low. “This ratched shit is so fucking nasty.”

John Cody looked at her steadily and she saw the authority and alpha-dog side of him creep into his expression, even if his maddening smile never left. “Not much work for two-hundred, babe,” he said. “But say I’m feeling generous. Even if I am… I think we both know you’re still going to be short.” He crossed his arms. “So what are you going to do?”

He gave the smallest look down, and one again her attention was drawn to his sweatpants. Up close, she saw the thickness of that bulge. God, it was big. Heavy enough to lay across the seam of his crotch and make the wool stretch.

Ebony’s gorgeous light-brown eyes flashed. “I’m not going to suck your cock!” she hissed, not wanting anyone to hear. “Haven’t I done enough?”

John Cody shrugged. “Alright. So with just two-hundred off, it’ll be nine-hundred by next week, then.”

Ebony’s heart raced. They wouldn’t have nine-hundred by next week. Right now there was a hundred dollars in the family account - and that was going for food for the week. Leon’s parents were dead and he had no siblings. She was estranged from her family, no help there. She had friends and acquaintances, but nobody she could trust enough to ask for hundreds of dollars. And it would be so humiliating to be put in that position, begging friends for cash!

John Cody turned to leave. He took one giant’s step toward the door before Ebony reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Wait,” she hissed, grimacing, then looking around. The door was shut, but she still felt watched, still felt guilty. “Wait. Goddamn it.” She dropped to her knees, looking up at him. “Let’s go this over with. But you got to take care of the rent, you understand? I ain’t doing this for you.” Her voice was sassy, trying to reclaim her pride, take control of the situation. “You gotta knock something off. A big chunk.”

“Sure,” John Cody said. “As long as you do a good job.”

She clicked her tongue at that, and reached up to take a hold of his sweats, her thumbs running over the drawstring. “And don’t you dare say a word of this to anyone,” Ebony went on. “You keep your eyes off my daughters and me, and keep this to yourself.”

“Focus less on that,” John replied. “And more on doing what you need to do.”

Ebony began to pull the sweats down John’s powerful hips as she looked up at him viciously. “Don’t tell me how to take my of my fam-”

“...ily.” Her words weakened and died in her mouth. John Cody’s penis didn’t just get revealed as she pulled his sweats and boxers down to the knee. It didn’t just fall out. It flopped out. At first, Ebony could barely comprehend what she was looking at. The big, fat length weighing in John Cody’s sweats, that she had assumed was the entire length of his penis, was but one segment of a monster white penis that was folded over on itself just to fit in his clothing. She had planned to stop lowering his pants at his knees… but she had to lower them further just to reveal the whole thing.

His penis hung past his knee. It was thicker than her arm. The massive cockhead seemed the size of a softball. He had a pair of massive, heavy nuts, too - stretching his scrotal skin down with their weight, each one larger than her fists, one hanging slightly lower than the other. They lay fat and happy and percolating against his inner thigh. 

It was a monster . It had to be nearly two feet long.

“Oh… my god…” she breathed. Her stomach fluttered. The thick scent of musk, cock and maleness filled her nostrils, hitting her like a wall. She breathed it in. She licked her lips. She felt her body and mind reacting to the massive cock, as if she were a puzzle with the pieces being rearranged. She had been so angry, so ready to spit in this white man’s face for his bullying and effrontery in her home. The way he looked at her daughters. Dismissed her husband. Made her twerk and spread her ass, the way he made her coon for him.

No wonder he looked at Nia and Shanice. Because he *can*. Because this cock… he can do anything. Anything he wants.

She reached out slowly through the air. 

“Bigger than your husband, huh?” John remarked.

Ebony looked up at him desperately. Their eyes met. She tried to summon the strength to defy him again, tell him he was just a cracker, a trailer trash hillbilly, and to get out of her house. But his cock seemed to radiate power and superiority. It was like an aura, penetrating her at every angle. In the end… she nodded her head.

“Yes,” she said.

“Bigger than any black man?”

“Yes.” She longed for it to be a lie. But she was sure it was true. She wondered if her daughter Shanice, who had so much black pride, would feel the same if she saw this… this…

Her hands touched it. It was thick, throbbing, warm.

… White Godhood .

Why had that phrase come to mind? What part of her had generated it? She felt so ashamed, so vulnerable. She had been the sassiest black MILF, the one you didn’t want to mess with. But now… confronted with such a massive white penis… she felt so submissive. Her hands tried to encircle him. With one hand it wasn’t even close. With two, she was barely able to encircle his shaft. When she lifted it in the middle, it was heavy and half-hard enough to droop on both ends. And the scent of sweat and sex and cum… it was growing even stronger. 

She lifted the knob to her face. His pisshole seemed the size of her mouth.

“Kiss it,” John Cody instructed. Her mind was a haze, a fuzz of sexual stimuli. But her black body obeyed. She leaned in and pressed her big, puffy dicksuckers against his slit. Though the kiss was chaste, it still created an obscene image. She extended her tongue and it slid into his slick piss-pipe. Ebony groaned. God, his size… so massive that his piss-pipe could take almost her entire tongue! 

She used one hand to support his cock as she kissed, and reached under with the other, taking a hand and gripping his balls, letting those big, churning nuts pour over her palm. They were so heavy, and seemed to thrum with power as she hefted them, like a machine was working within, producing more semen, more breeding power. It seemed so intertwined with his bullying, his position of societal and legal power over her. This was a man who could have her and her family thrown out in the street. He owned her home - she was paying for the privilege of staying. First with money… now with her black body.

It was a match made in heaven. Her big, spongy DSLs pressing against his fat cocktip. After a few further moments she kissed her way down his shaft, letting the hanging behemoth cast a shadow on her shoulder, and lifted his testicles to her mouth, planting a sloppy, saliva-glistening kiss and dragging her tongue over the circumference of the smooth, heavy nut, letting that scrotal skin pile up, sucking the loose flesh into her mouth.

“Bigger than your husband?” he asked her. Confident. Knowing. There was no uncertainty in the question, it was more like the job interviews she’d been attending for months. Background? Education? Experience? It was a test question.

“Yes,” she said, dutifully, partially muffled. 

“By how much?”

“A lot.” She began to suck, tasting his sweat and musk, unable to get her mouth fully around his fat testicle. She suctioned it, hollowing out her cheeks to show beautiful cheekbones, covering his balls with spit that connected to her lips in strands. She made oral popping noises as her mouth disengaged and re-engaged with his flesh. His hand moved down and his fingers slithered into her clean, sparkling mane of black hair. Normally she would have beaten a man with her shoe for daring to touch her hair - considering what it cost to have it straightened and styled, it was off limits. Even Leon wouldn’t dare touch her there. Yet now, he was controlling her head, pressing her harder into his sack, making her kiss and worship and suck it.

She felt his male power, his whiteness. As she slurped her lips on his big, hanging sack she felt those nuts churn and twitch, pumping out fat curds of wad. The tingling between her legs, ignorable before, had become urgent. Without thinking she let her blouse fall from her shoulders so she could knead and pinch her nipples. Her areolas were dark, stretchy, and puffy. Her thumb and forefinger converged to tease first one, then the other, still sporting their long, off-white nails.

He was getting harder. The slumping, flopping donkey dick she’d revealed was now perpendicular to John Cody’s muscled crotch. His abs were cut, she could see his iliac clearly defined on each side. He had thigh muscles like tree trunks. She couldn’t help comparing him to Leon. Leon, who had grown soft and slightly pudgy in his manager’s chair over the years. Leon with his Cliff Huxtable sweaters. Her husband was a house cat. This man was a beast.

“It’s time,” he said. “Open your mouth.”

Ebony shuffled back and looked at what he had for her. It was, frankly, frightening. “It’s… it’s too big,” she whimpered, still keeping quiet. The door was shut, her family still downstairs, but god, if they somehow heard, somehow suspected… it would be the end of everything. “My jaw can’t open that wide.”

“What’s too big?” John Cody prompted. His tone was serious. “ What is?”

“Y-your cock.”

“You can describe it better than that,” he went on. “You’re a creative woman.”

“Your… huge… white… cock,” she breathed, staring at it. She felt overwhelmed, almost dominated just by its very presence. “Your… big… donkey dick!” She heard herself, heard how breathy and submissive she sounded, and hated it. She squinted her eyes shut and hissed through her teeth. “God damn you!”

When she opened her eyes again her look was fierce. “Just do it,” she growled, still low in the voice but also in the tone. Purring. She was fed up. Fed up with his teasing, and more than anything, fed up with the way her body was feeling. She needed it to be over. To come to a conclusion. The power dynamics, the racial miasma between them, had become so thick she could barely breathe. “Just fucking do what you’re going to do!”

His hand took her head and pressed her mouth to his cocktip. Overwhelmed, Ebony let him take her, control her, opening her mouth as wide as she could. Her jaw creaked. That musky, monster cockhead stretched her lips open, flattened her tongue down, and burrowed to the back of her mouth. She made a lewd, gurgling noise as she drooled around him. She sank down, her thick ass-cheeks resting on her calves, legs splayed. He shoved another inch in, she could feel that battering ram prick helmet at the back of her throat, the ache in her jaw of his sheer size and girth.

She dry heaved. Nasty glottal noises came from her throat and her eyes went wide, tears pooling in them. Spit and throat slime first leaked, then splattered from the corners of her mouth and down her chin. Her mouth was forced by the fat shape of his shaft into a tube shape. 

I’m going to die… I’ll choke to death , Ebony thought, her mind racing and her body on fire with both need and shame. He’s like a horse… a bull… he’s prying my throat open… reshaping my mouth… I’m going to pass out!

But she held on, and looked up the shaft with blurry, tear-streaked eyes toward him, seeing his pendulous balls hanging low and fat. Huge, smooth, lathered in her spit. Shining in the light of the bathroom’s overheads. He must have so much fuckin’ nut in there , she thought, her vision darkening with black spots from a lack of oxygen. If he doesn’t choke me, he’ll drown me . This man was looking at my daughter’s asses. This white *bull*. God, what would he do to them? I have to distract him. Have to keep him away. Even if… even if...

He took a firmer grip on her head and started to drag her up and down the first quarter of his shaft. “Don’t give up, Ebony,” he seethed, clenching his teeth as he moved her effortlessly with his powerful hands. “This is only the first few inches.”

Ebony felt fear and dismay. Only the first few inches ? It felt like she already had a donkey cock reaming out her throat! He pulled on her hair and forced himself in. His prick jammed into the back of her throat, too massively thick to go further. Ebony heaved again… and then made a nasty, gagging noise - GLUUUUUUUUUUUARRRRK! - as she sprayed fat strands of saliva and throat-slime down onto her own exposed breasts. 

Her head game had always been so on point. She had taken care of Leon with ease, and even her bigger boyfriends back in her younger days, she’d managed to drain them dry without so much as a hiccup. But now she was finding out what it was like to be resized by a true alpha bull. Soon, long, shoelace-thick stands of spit and cum were hanging from her chin as he pounded away at the back of the throat. She heard her jaw click and creak, and every time her body rebelled, she horked up another blast of spit, spraying all over his shaft and her own heavy tits. 

Dimly, she thought about how loud she was being. What if her family heard her, choking like a hooker, getting her throat reshaped. She wasn’t giving head, John Cody was taking it. She lost count of the number of times the low, choking, vomit noises rose up from her throat, as he brutally shoved his monster cock into her mouth over and over.

Gluuuuuuuuuuuurrk!

Huaaaaaarrrrrk!

Nnguuuuuuuuuurrhg!

She felt her throat changing shape, her cheeks stretching to take him in. He really was resizing her. And there was something else. The feeling between her legs, that swarming buzz of tingling bees that had descended from her stomach to concentrate between her thighs. The oxygen-deprived feeling of throating this massive cock was almost euphoric. Ebony had let her arms hang limply down as he used her, but now they galvanized, reaching out for his knees, gripping him, holding him, connecting the two of them.

Her eyes blazed up at him, red and tear-filled, as he skulled her. A true face-fuck that left no doubt who owned her throat and mouth. She could feel the massive bulge of his cum-tube flattening her tongue and thrumming as cum wads pulsed within. She could feel the leaking of his hot, thick pre-cum down her throat - so much it was like he was pissing. Her belly was warm with it. ‘

A crescendo was building. For both of them. Ebony reviled it. Hated it. But she couldn’t stop it.

“There’s… nnngh… one more thing I want from you,” John Cody growled, coring out her throat with those short, battering strokes. “One more thing... and the rent goes to zero this month.”

Zero? Free? God, it would save them. It would allow them to turn it around. But…

“You… know what it is,” he went on. “You’ve known since I stepped in the door.”

He had come in holding bananas.

Treated her husband like a chimp.

Ogled her daughters’ asses like they were a couple of monkeys.

Lorded his power over her.

Forced her to twerk her black ass in his face.

Made her suck his massive white cock.
He owned her house.

He walked around like he owned her, too, and her family.

Yes, Ebony knew what he wanted. But to give it to him would mean the end of her self-respect. She told herself it was for her family. But the heat in her belly held a secret reason as well, one that she could no longer deny.

He pulled his cock from her mouth, massive strands of saliva and cum connecting her bee-stung DSL’s to his twitching knob. He began to jerk his meat just inches from her face.

“What do you want?” he growled at her.

“F-fuck. Yes. Cum on my face!” she said. Trying it on for size. Coming to the precipice.

“Come on!” John spat. “Come on, you know you want it, bitch!” 

Her pussy was on fire. It was urging her on now, as much as he was. Her hand descended between her legs. She looked up at him with her messy face and her tear-laden eyes. 

“Please, cum on my face… M-Master!” she quailed, and John Cody growled and raised a hand, and slapped her in the face, slapped her like a hooker, making her eyes water even more. God, this white man was treating her like a black whore. A dark-skinned dick sleeve for his cock. And the impact on her face, the disrespect, the degradation, finally lit the fuse.

Her pussy was about to explode. A degrading, soul-snuffing orgasm was building, had been building since the moment she saw that monster bulge in John Cody’s pants. If she tried to keep it in, it would break her apart, even more than his cock had. She growled, she purred, she embraced the hot feeling where his palm had lit her up .

She addressed him with every bit of intensity she had left. A bad, black MILF bitch, in heat . “Empty your balls on my fucking nigger face, God!” And even if she’d had more words, they would have been lost. Because as the N-bomb dropped from her mouth, the first burst of thick, chowdery white semen exploded all over her mouth, lips, nose, and forehead, absolutely burying her in a mask of white. And at the same time, a supernova went off in her pussy. She felt every muscle in her reproductive regions contract and quiver. A bolt of pleasure beyond anything she’d ever felt with her husband - or with any black man - ripped through her. 

She squirted powerfully, sinfully, degradingly. Soaking the floor, and her thong, splattering everywhere. She groaned through the cream like an animal. And in the moment, her thoughts were not of her husband, her daughters, or their financial security, but of massive, cum-spewing, impregnating, slave-raping white monster cocks. Eighteen, twenty, twenty-four inch bulls like John Cody, running a train on her. Bleaching her. Filling her holes with whiteness.

In this moment of ecstasy she knew she was a slut for the biggest, most virile white cocks. And nothing could ever change that. John Cody hadn’t just reshaped her throat, he had reshaped her mind . All of a sudden, orgasm still making her twitch, she knew she needed to taste him, and leaned forward with her mouth open, extending her tongue. He erupted into the back of her mouth with finger-thick, jelly-like ropes of glistening white semen, filling it to the brim almost instantly, making her swallow.

Gulp.
Gulp.
Gulp.

She swallowed again and again, taking in his whiteness, his superiority. Nourishing herself on it. She found she loved and craved the thick texture and the sex-loaded taste. So much strong-smelling sperm, laden with his swimmers, being taken into her black body. The warmth and heaviness in her belly was so nasty . She kept swallowing. Kept sucking. She could hear his groans and harsh breaths as he subsided, as his last shots leaked out onto her tongue and down her chin, and she settled down in turn, her orgasm fading by degrees until it left nothing behind but a satisfied tingle in her sensitive clit.

She was a mess. Absolutely covered in cum. Face, tits… it was even dripping down over her taut, toned belly and onto the tops of her thick thighs. For a moment, they only regarded each other.

“Alright,” John Cody said, after a beat. “I guess that takes care of this month.” She leaned over her, bracing his massive arm on the wall, looking down. For a moment, she thought he was going to call her a nigger. But he only used her name, as if saying goodbye. “Ebony.”

She blinked. John Cody straightened up, stretched, and moved to tuck his monster cock back in his pants. Ebony felt dazed. Things were now happening too fast. Was any of his cum splattered on his pants? Would it seem strange, for him to return downstairs while she remained, cleaning up? And those weren’t even the most urgent questions.

“Don’t-” she blurted, and he turned back from the door, which he had been moving to open. “Don’t say anything stupid to Leon,” she finished. 

John Cody only smirked. “Okay,” he said.

“And… don’t look at my daughters,” Ebony went on. Her voice was picking up speed, returning to the sassy black MILF she’d been before entering the bathroom. “You just… stay away, you understand? This was a one-time thing.”

She hoped to see understanding on his face, or a nod, or something. But he kept grinning that knowing, bullying grin. And then he said words that chilled her… and made her tingle all over again, in the hateful way she wished she could ignore.

“We’ll see,” said John Cody, and he opened the bathroom door. The sounds of Leon, Nia and Shanice drifted up from the kitchen. “We’ll see, Ebony.”

He exited. The door closed. Ebony slumped against the wall, looking up to the ceiling. “Motherfucker,” she whispered to herself, and it came out sounding like muthafucka , the urban side of her voice that she lapsed into outside of her job interviews. She repeated it. “Nasty… white… motherfucker!”

She closed her eyes. Thought of Nia, with her fashion-conscience, lightened hair and sassy ways. Thought of Shanice, with her upraised first tee-shirts and headstrong “black power” attitude. And thought of Leon, and his earnest attempts to provide for the family, and be a husband to her and a father to the children.

Yet hanging over it all, dominating her thoughts, was that massive, flopping, hanging white penis. Ebony rubbed a thumb over her clit and it tingled. She thought of Nia and Shanice, sucking on bananas. Flecks of the mushy fruit on their puffy, full lips like cum splatter. She moaned with dismay at her inability to put this white man from her mind. He had treated them like coons .

“Stay away, cracker,” she whispered to herself. “One time thing. Never again.”

Slowly, on wobbling heels, Ebony rose and started the process of cleaning up.