At your friend’s house

Isaiah leans back on the worn leather couch, his eyes fixed on the flickering screen of the gaming console. The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the television and the occasional flash of lightning outside the window. Raindrops patter against the glass, adding a rhythmic backdrop to the tense game they’re playing.

"Dude, you're lagging," Jamal states, his fingers flying over the controller as he tries to outmaneuver Isaiah in the virtual battlefield. Jamal's voice is tinged with frustration, but there’s a hint of excitement too. They've been friends since childhood, their bond forged in countless hours of video games and shared secrets.

"Just a little rain delay," Isaiah chuckles, his focus unwavering as he counters Jamal's moves, "You know I always come back stronger after a setback."

The doorbell rings, interrupting their game. Jamal glances at Isaiah, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "That must be Carla. She said she might stop by."

Isaiah nods, his interest piqued. Carla is an attractive girl in their class, her skin pale white, and her dark red hair cut short enough to make her look especially tomboyish. More importantly than her looks, however, is the fact that Carla had finally said yes to Jamal’s proposition for a date. They’d been on two now, and Jamal had proudly told Isaiah earlier today how they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Carla is Jamal’s dream girl, and Isaiah was happy for his friend, and yet he worried for him as well.

Jamal is black, his skin dark and hair curly, and in this white-dominated world Isaiah has never seen a girl look twice at Jamal. Isaiah, meanwhile, as a white boy with long blonde locks of hair, has had the girls clamoring for his attention his entire life, he’s even caught Carla looking his way multiple times in class.

Isaiah worries that Carla is merely stringing Jamal along, hoping to use Jamal as a way to get closer to Isaiah since everybody knows he and Jamal are attached at the hip like brothers from different mothers.

As Jamal gets up to answer the door, Isaiah can’t help but feel a surge of anticipation. He suspects that Carla has a bit of a crush on him, and the thought of being in the same room with her while Jamal is present stirrers something deep within him.

Carla then enters the room, her short scarlet hair slightly damp from the rain, her cheeks flushed. She smiles at her boyfriend Jamal, before her gaze shifts to Isaiah, lingering just a bit longer than necessary, "Hey guys, hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

"Nah, we were just about to take a break," Jamal replies, trying to hide his eagerness, "Want to join us?"

Carla nodded, her beautiful green eyes sparkling, "Sure, what are we playing?"

As they settle into a new game, the atmosphere in the room shifts subtly. Carla sits close to Isaiah, her shoulder brushing against his occasionally. Jamal doesn’t notice and says nothing, choosing instead to focus on the game, though his movements do seem a bit stiffer, less fluid, as though he can sense that his girlfriend’s attention isn’t on him.

Isaiah can hear as Miss Johnson enters the room, the sound of her heels familiar to him as he’s been over to Jamal’s house many times throughout their childhood. Miss Johnson, a single black MILF, has of course flirted with Isaiah, the white boy who is over at her house 24/7, countless times throughout his life, but he’s always done his best not to indulge her desires, as he knows it would damage his friendship with Jamal, even though Isaiah is well within his rights as a white boy to do whatever he wants with any woman that strikes his fancy.

“Well Well Well! If it isn’t the gorgeous Carla, I’ve heard so much about you dear,” Miss Johnson introduces herself to her son’s girlfriend, before her gaze makes its way back over to Isaiah as she says, “I hope you treat my son well. I know he… has his inadequacies… but I’m sure you can find ways to look past that. Besides, he has such good friends like Isaiah here. I’m sure you will all be such great friends. Be nice to Carla, will you boys?”

Isaiah and Jamal both nod, before Miss Johnson heads back to the kitchen, leaving Isaiah alone with Jamal and Carla to continue playing games.

Midway through the game, Carla leans closer to Isaiah, her breath warm against his ear, "You're really good at this," she whisperers, her tone soft and inviting.

Isaiah feels a rush of adrenaline, both from the game and from Carla's proximity. He glances at Jamal, who is still intently watching the screen, then back at Carla, "Thanks, I've had a lot of practice."

The game ends, and Jamal stretches, yawning exaggeratedly, “I'm gonna grab some snacks. You guys want anything?"

"I'm good," Isaiah replies, his attention still on Carla.

"I could use some chips, if you’d be a dear and grab them, my sweet," Carla adds, her eyes meeting Isaiah's as Jamal leaves the room to grab some snacks, and hopefully please his hungry girlfriend.

Alone for the moment, the air between them thickens with unspoken desires. Carla moves even closer, her hand now resting lightly on Isaiah's knee, "So, what else do you like to do besides gaming?"

Isaiah swallows, his heart pounding, "I guess it depends on who I'm with."

Carla laughs softly, her fingers tracing small circles on his leg, "Is that so?"

Before Isaiah can respond, Jamal returns with a tray of snacks and drinks. He places it on the coffee table, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the closeness between Carla and Isaiah, "Everything okay here?"

"Yep! Just catching up," Carla replies, her voice smooth as she pulls away slightly, but not enough to break the connection entirely.

Jamal nods, though his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, "Cool, cool."

As they resume their game, the tension in the room is now palpable. Isaiah can sense Jamal's jealousy, but he can also feel Carla's growing desire. It is a dangerous mix, one that excites him more than he cares to admit.

During a particularly intense round, Carla's hand once again finds its way to Isaiah's thigh, her touch more daring this time. Isaiah glances at her, his breath quickening, before she gives him a sultry smile in return.

Isaiah tries to justify it to himself. He tries to tell himself that he isn’t doing anything wrong. He isn’t being a bad friend to Jamal, he’s merely letting Carla do what she clearly desires. Besides… if he actually stood up right now and rejected Carla’s advances, all that would mean is that she’d break up with Jamal. The only reason she even said yes when Jamal asked her out was because she wanted to get closer to Isaiah, so if she can’t do that she’ll just break up with Jamal and start pursuing another white boy in their class.

And just like that, Isaiah has found a way to justify it to himself. Jamal loves Carla, and Isaiah wants to prevent Carla from breaking his best friend Jamal’s heart, and the only way to do that is to make sure Carla’s needs are met. Carla, like all girls in this world, has a strong need for white cock, and Isaiah will provide for that need as long as she doesn’t break up with Jamal.

Jamal, caught up in the game, doesn’t notice the exchange between Carla and Isaiah. But when he does finally look up, his eyes narrow slightly, sensing something amiss, “You two are awfully quiet, and sitting pretty close. Everything alright?"

"Just focused," Isaiah replies, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Carla giggles with her confident tomboyish laugh, her hand now boldly stroking Isaiah's inner thigh, “We're just having a good time, aren't we, Isaiah?"

Isaiah nods, his throat dry, "Yeah, definitely."

Jamal watches them, his expression unreadable, “Well… don't let me interrupt your fun then,” as he has likely begun to realize the position he is in, incapable of doing anything to prevent his girlfriend from doing what she’s doing, as cucking non-white boys is viewed as morally correct within the world they live in.

The game continues, as the real battle unfolds right there on the couch. Carla's actions become increasingly bold, her intentions clear. Isaiah is torn, enjoying the thrill of the forbidden while also aware of the hurt it is causing Jamal.

As the final round approaches, Carla leans in, her lips brushing against Isaiah's ear, "I think we should quit with this foreplay and just show Jamal how much fun we can have together," she murmurs, her voice a seductive whisper.

Isaiah's pulse rises, his body responding to her suggestion. He looks over at Jamal, who is still engrossed in the game, then back at Carla, "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Carla's smile is wicked as she presses closer, her hand moving higher up Isaiah's thigh, “I think you know."

The game ends, victory declared on the screen, just as defeat in reality is declared for exclusivity in Jamal’s relationship. Isaiah turns to face Carla, his resolve wavering under her seductive gaze, "Are you sure about this?"

Carla nods, her eyes burning with desire for white dominance, "Absolutely."

Jamal, finally looking up, gets a full and complete view of the intimate scene unfolding before him. His jaw tightens, and yet he says nothing, his eyes darting between Carla and Isaiah.

Isaiah takes a deep breath, his decision made. He leans in, capturing Carla's lips in a passionate kiss, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer and into his lap. Carla moans softly into the kiss, her toned white athletic form pressing against his.

Jamal watches, his fists clenching at his sides, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. He knows it’s wrong to intervene when a girl is just innocently enjoying herself with a white boy, but the sight of his girlfriend and his best friend consumed by passion is agonizing.

Carla, after a long long moment, breaks the kiss, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction, "See, Jamal? This is what you get for dating a white girl. We belong to white boys like Isaiah."

Jamal's voice is strained as he asks so innocently, "I thought you liked me, Carla."

Carla shrugs, her attention already returning to Isaiah, "I do, but you know the rules. White boys come first. They can do things to a woman that non-white boys like you could never even comprehend. Girls have needs you know."

Isaiah can’t help but feel a mix of triumph and guilt, his body thrumming with arousal as Carla's hands explore him freely. He glances at Jamal, whose eyes are filled with a mixture of anger and resignation.

As Carla begins to shimmy her shirt up and off herself, to allow her ample chest to swing in Isaiah’s face, Jamal's mother enters once more, carrying a basket of clothes down the hallway. She pauses, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight of Carla lovingly clinging onto Isaiah, her son Jamal looking on helplessly at them.

"Oh, my! What a lovely sight," she exclaims, her tone approving, "Isaiah, you certainly know how to entertain our Carla."

Jamal's face reddens, his embarrassment clear, “Mom, please..."

Miss Johnson waves a hand dismissively, "Don't be shy, dear. It's perfectly natural for a beautiful white boy like Isaiah to attract all the girls, even yours."

Isaiah smiles, feeling the weight of his privilege in this moment. He takes Carla's hand, pulling it towards his pants before placing it directly onto his throbbing white cock, "Thanks, Miss Johnson. We'll try not to disturb you too much."

As Carla lowers herself down to Isaiah’s knees and begins proudly unzipping her new master’s jeans, Jamal sinks back into the couch, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His mother places a comforting hand on his shoulder, "It's alright, son. You knew the rules when you started dating a girl while also having a white friend. Just be glad she and Isaiah are still letting you date her and call her your girlfriend."

Jamal sighed, his eyes downcast, "I guess you're right, Mom. It's just hard to watch,” as Isaiah’s pale white cock springs out from his jeans, before slapping directly onto Carla’s eager and horny freckled face, her tongue immediately extending out to get a nice big lick of her new white god.