With pleasure!

Taylor let out a soft, breathy moan, as he straightened up slightly, reaching back with both hands. His fingers, long and pale, wrapped around the base of the black plug. He didn't pull it out right away. He began to slowly rock it, twisting it gently, the movement making the muscles in his butt flex and quiver. Each slow rotation seemed to loosen him further, a deliberate, tantalizing preparation to pull the large, black intruder out.

Then, with a deep, steadying breath, he began to pull.

The plug was enormous, you could clearly see as the thickest part of its bulbous head stretched his rim to the maximum, Taylor let out a guttural groan, a mix of strain and ecstasy as his muscle catches around it. He pulled slowly, relentlessly, and inch by thick, black inch emerged from his body. You watched, completely mesmerized, as his asshole was forced open by the toy. Finally, with a soft, wet pop, the plug came free.

Taylor's hole was utterly wrecked, it was a perfect, gaping O, a dark, glistening tunnel that tried to close but seemingly isn't able to anymore. It looked permanent, a complete and permanent rearrangement of his body for a single, specific purpose. You were overwhelmed, your mind struggling to process the raw, graphic reality of it.

The plug in Taylor's hand was slick and shining with a thick coat of clear lube. And there was something else, a milky, white substance clinging to the middle of the shaft, but you didn't have time to process what it was.

"Fuck, look at that," Dior groaned, his voice a deep, sexy rumble of pure satisfaction. "Look at that beautiful, loose pussy. That's how a white boy's ass should look like. Always ready, always open." He shifted on the couch, the movement causing his own very noticeable bulge to strain against the fabric of his trunks. "Now, pull 'em apart, slut. Let our guest see all the way inside, show him how good you are for me."

"Yes, Sir," Taylor breathed, his voice thick with drunken lust as he set the plug down on the couch table and reached back, his hands digging into the soft flesh of his own ass. He pulled his cheeks apart, opening himself even wider. The gesture was one of absolute submission.

As Dior gave the command, his free hand moved to his own crotch, slowly massaging the thick length of his clothed cock. The movement was confident and shamelessly visible. And as Dior squeezed his dick, something crazy happened. The swollen, dark head of his cock, glistening with a bead of clear pre-cum, actually pushed its way out of the leg of his swim trunks. It was just the tip, but it was more then enough to show how well endowed the black man was. The head was a thick, blunt mushroom of deep, purplish-brown flesh. It looked powerful, alive, and utterly alien from your own smaller, paler member or even Taylor's or Justin's caged dicks.

Your eyes darted between Taylor's gaping hole and the peek of Dior's monster cock. It felt like you could see right into Taylor's body, see the wrecked, pink interior that was now his defining feature. "Doesn't it like... hurt?" you asked, your voice cracking. "Will it even... close again?"

Taylor chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his body. "It definitely doesn't hurt. Not anymore at least its just casually so loose afterso much training. I just feel.. full and satisfied." He looked back over his shoulder at you, his eyes hazy with pleasure. "And yeah, it closes, well... mostly. But the more you train it, the more it remains lose and ready. It learns to stay open, to be prepared, I told you, it's a muscle and it's always all about training."

"It's permanent enough though," Dior added, his voice a low growl. He leaned forward, his hand leaving his own cock to trail possessively up Taylor's naked thigh. His dark fingers stopped right over the black fist tattoo on the pale skin, rubbing it a little, like he was reminding Taylor who was in charge. The gesture was possessive as hell. "Once a pussy learns its purpose, it never truly forgets, it's always a little looser, a little more eager than it was before. That's the whole point, to mark it and to make it mine."

As if on cue, something shifted inside Taylor's gaping hole and a thick, white, flowy substance began to slowly drip out. It wasn't a lot at first, just a single, pearly drop that clung to his rim before stretching and falling onto the couch cushion. But then another followed, and another, a slow, steady trickle of thick, white fluid.

"Fuuuuck," Dior groaned, his eyes widening as he watched the spectacle. "Shit, I forgot about that." A wide, predatory grin spread across his face. "I came so deep inside you earlier, guess some of it was still waiting for its exit." He looked from Taylor's dripping hole to you, his eyes burning with a triumphant fire. "Now that's sexy. Watching my own cum drip out of my boyfriend's well-used, gaping pussy. There's nothing better then that."

Not even an hour ago, you had Jamal's cum all over your hands and even on your face. But this was still different, it was like a claim. A part of your brain, the part that still clung to old rules and definitions, screamed of disgust and felt uncomfortable. But another part, the part that was rapidly taking over, the part that was throbbing in your own trunks, just... checked out, it accepted it and was even deeply fascinated by what was going on infront or you.

"It's... a lot," you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Is it?" Dior chuckled. "That's just a little preview, it's in our genes to properly breed a hole. Just wait until you're the one leaking." He watched the thick white fluid continue to ooze out of Taylor's hole, his expression one of intense, carnal pride. "As much as I love to see you dripping with my DNA, we can't let all of that go to waste, can we, boy?"

"No, Sir," Taylor whimpered, his body trembling.

Dior picked up the discarded, slick plug. "Hold still." He used the tip of the toy to scoop up a glob of his own cum that was trickling down Taylor's skin and then, with a deliberate movement, he began to push the plug back inside. He didn't just shove it in though, he twisted it, using it to push the escaping cum back into Taylor's body, sealing it deep inside. Taylor moaned, pushing his hips back to meet the intrusion, his body eagerly accepting the plug and the load.

Once the plug was seated firmly back inside him, Dior gave his ass one last, possessive slap. "Good boy. Now get over here."

Taylor turned, his face flushed and his eyes shining with adoration. He practically crawled into Dior's lap, straddling him on the couch. As he moved, you saw the spade on his forearm again, a matching piece to the others. It was like he was covered in these signs, all pointing to the same thing. All pointing to Dior.

They immediately began to kiss, a deep, passionate, and messy kiss. It was like you had ceased to exist from one moment to the next. They were completely consumed by their lust for each other, their hands roaming over each other's bodies.

"God, you're so fucking sexy when you're all open and full of my seed," Dior murmured against Taylor's lips.

"Only for you," Taylor breathed back, his hand sliding down Dior's chest to his crotch. He grabbed the thick outline of Dior's cock through the trunks, his fingers far from being able to close around its massive girth. Then, he did something that made your own cock twitch again. He hooked his fingers under the leg of the trunks and pulled the fabric up, pushing it aside to get a better grip.

The movement revealed half of Dior's thick black cock. It was even bigger than you had imagined, impossibly thick, a dark, veiny column of flesh that rose from his groin. The head, now fully exposed, was a fat, glistening dome of purplish-black, slick with a river of pre-cum that dripped down the shaft. It was like a weapon, a tool of pure, unadulterated masculinity.

Taylor began to stroke it, his hand moving up and down the revealed portion, slicking it up with the pre-cum, while one of Dior's hands snaked around to grip Taylor's bare ass, his other hand seemingly having found the metal cage and toying with it, shaking it gently.

You couldn't watch anymore, you felt like a voyeur, an intruder on a scene so intimate, that you had no place in it. The awkwardness was kind of suffocating.

You stood up quietly, your movements clumsy, and backed away towards the door. They didn't notice too lost in their own world of shared pleasure.

You slipped out of the room and closed the door, the thumping bass of the party washing over you like a wave. But you couldn't escape the images burned into your mind: Taylor's gaping hole, Dior's peeking cockhead, the slow drip of white cum. You weren't sure how to feel about any of it. You were horrified, and you were more aroused than you had ever been in your entire life. You had to get out of there. You had to find Jamal again.