Black Jack's Honeymoon

"And there was where I was born," Black Jack said, pointing at a small shack, that looked like it'd been abandoned for fifty years, on the edge of a Louisiana swamp.

"You sure?" Elizabeth said. They'd been looking for hours.

"Mmmhm," Black Jack said. "Fuck. It's been so long."

They entered the old shack, the door barely hanging on. It smelled stale and abandoned. They went through the 300 square foot room, a small stove in one corner, a bed in the other with a table. Black Jack opened the drawer. Inside was a picture, of a middle aged Black woman with a baby.

"Momma," Black Jack said simply, his eyes wet, taking a moment to compose himself. "Thank you for this, Elizabeth. Now, I have one more favor to ask of you."

"Yes, Black Jack?" Elizabeth said, still in awe.

"I want to breed you here. Same room I was born. I want to breed my bitch, right here, right now."

"Oh ... Black Jack ..." Elizabeth wanted to say no. They were staying in a luxurious hotel in New Orleans. But she surrendered to the moment, and she got onto her hands and knees on the ratty old mattress. She felt her Bull Husband's cock push into her soft, silken folds, burrowing deep, so very deep, so much deeper than Douglas had ever been ... and fucking, thick, strong strokes, of a homeless man who was now on top. He fucked her for an hour, both of them focused on their own pleasure in this old shack, and when Black Jack came, he knew he'd be a father once again.