Collard Greens

It was a feast fit for a king, Elizabeth thought. A bit on the nose, a bit stereotypical, but almost a lifetime of homelessness, Black Jack didn't have a lot of patience for being typecast.

He munched heartily on his fried chicken, on his collard greens, on his fried chicken, on his cornbread. Underneath the table, Elizabeth gingerly unzipped his trousers. She gingerly pulled out his cock, flaccid but still impressive. She gently placed kissing along the rim, letting her long, wet tongue slide out to caress his large sac. He was slender still, and she figured he'd always be such. Years of homelessness had its toll after all.

She placed her soft white hands on his Black thighs, leaning down to lick from his coal black star to the tip of his growing cock. Then she wrapped her lips around it, gliding her glossy lips up and down his stiffening tool. He grunted, but did not stop eating.

Soon she was fully invested in sucking her husband off, taking his long fat pole deep into her throat. He finally pushed a grease-clad head into her raven mane, skullfucking her until he started feeding her thick ropes of salty cum.