Pocket Protector, But Not Much Else

Shalonda had gone back and forth on the right white guy to bring home. But there was something about Seymour. The nerd was just so fucking against type for what she should be interested in, she thought. She'd drive her mom crazy by dating a white boy that was so fucking white.

So she had the white boy in her room. His pants were off, and his large cock was dangling between her thighs. She made him keep on his button up shirt, however, with his telltale pocket protector. His bowl haircut irritated her, but seemingly everything about him that irritated her just made her more wet.

Her tight pussy clung to his thick pink prick as it plunged in and out of her hole, the balls loudly slapping her asshole. She clutched his shirt, wrinkling it, scratching his ivory flesh. And her heels locked into his gangly white ass when he came, seeding the best pussy he'd ever earn. She brought him down for a kiss.

"You're coming South for Thanksgiving," she told him simply.