Into Their Home

"Nice place," D-Train said, looking around the stately-apportioned abode of the Abbots. "Real nice." Chris Abbott poured a glass of Henny on the rocks for D-Train.

"Thanks," Chris said. "Emily decorated it. Babe? You ready?" He called out, and Emily emerged. The bottle blonde was nervous, wearing a purple negligee, her pert breasts and tight flat ass accentuated as best it could. Despite it all, prime white pussy was a rarity for D-Train and he whistled low. He walked over confidently to the young white wife, kissing her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth, causing to moan audibly.

"I am now," Emily said, as D-Train picked her up into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom. He was muscular and cleaned up, bearing none of the stink and residue of his day job, stripping his clothes off and exposing that magnificent Black cock of his.

He was already mostly hard, and Emily fellated him the rest of the way. She'd never be a skilled oralist, D-Train thought, as he peeled off her negligee, but she was white. That went a long way for a ghetto thug like D-Train.

He mounted her, making sure the angle was right as her husband, Chris, tugged down his boxers and started to stroke his six-and-a-half-inch pecker. Emily moaned again, feeling that big cock enter her, transfixed by the contrast and the taboo and swirling emotions of her husband watching her get fucked. She creamed almost immediately on D-Train's big cock, her eyes rolling back into her head.

"Yes," Chris whispered, tugging himself to his first orgasm. This was what he wanted. No, this was what he needed.