Licorice-Centered Milk Chocolate

Hulking Marine sinks between opened legs, grinning face dipping out of sight. Arching back and gasping again, as thick tongue rims, flicks in, and then invades. Grasping close-cropped kinky black hair, immediate impulse to push away, quickly replaced with desire to hold in closer. Twitching to the dancing of the tongue. Big, thick finger snaking in, thicker than some men’s cocks, exploring, searching. Agony in the brief seconds found to center. Writhing as it finds the spot, tweaks, rubs, and quickens the flow. Panting, moaning. Can’t . . . get . . . breath. Electricity, sparks, release and flow. Low, hoarse laughter from between trembling legs.

Muscle-bound milk chocolate Marine, with his jet-black monster cock and plump balls, standing between spread legs, his massive chest and arm muscles bulging and undulating, glistening in the strobing of light through the languidly moving blades of the overhead fan. A big grin on his square-cut face, capturing and placing my hands so I feel the awesome length and thickness (and the bulbous, purple-black cap and popped-out blue-on-black veins) of his hardened cock. Fearful fingers getting the measure of the beast, all the more imposing in its blackness against his otherwise milk chocolate, while he tells me quite clearly and graphically—and breathtakingly—what he is going to do with all that manhood and how much pleasure he is going to get out of me and expects me to get out of his cock—to the point of making me tremble in anticipation (and having the added pleasure that, out of all those he could pick to fuck this day, he is here with me).