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I was scared, terrified even, but more than anything I was excited. Some deeply buried, incredibly powerful force that demanded I take action. We walked in, grabbed a table in the back and ordered some drinks. He was wearing baggy blue jeans and a white v-neck muscle shirt.

His arms were massive, and his pecs stood out like he'd been chiseled from stone. He helped me out of my seat, positioned it so that its back was to the rest of the bar, then sat down in it himself before pulling me into his lap. Tyrell was rubbing my thigh with one of his big, strong hands and I could feel the heat radiating off of his cock through the two layers of fabric that separated it from me. "I'm not sure we're ready to have you come back to our house, if that's okay.

Something raw and powerful that sent me over the edge.

As Tyrell kept talking, kept saying filthy things to me, I worked myself to orgasm staring at the picture of his hard cock on Cam's phone. I took Cam by the hands, kissed him on his sweet lips, and we went to bed beaming.

Even in the dim bar light, I could see the outline of that huge cock through his jeans. Those beautiful eyes seemed to darken ever so slightly. I giggled like a schoolgirl when I landed in his lap, then I gasped like a virgin when I felt his hardening cock against my thigh. I can get us a hotel if you'd like." I heard Cam say.

I bit my lip reflexively, unable to stop staring at it. His grip on my hand tightened and he raised one eyebrow at me. "A hotel could be fun." Tyrell said, slipping his hand up my dress. " "I like hotels." I blurted out as his big fingers found my exposed clit.

My body shuddered, I all but flooded my pyjama pants, and my mouth let out an involuntary squeal. "See you two tomorrow night." He hung up suddenly and in the post-orgasm clarity, I started to wonder what I was doing. Two weeks ago, we'd looked at minivans for Christ's sake. When we arrived at the bar Saturday night, I was practically trembling.

Tyrell said I could pick something, as long as it was filthy. "I can't hear you." Tyrrell said in an almost sing-songy way. All I could think about was the huge step we were about to take together. Before that conversation, I'd always thought of it as a pillowtalk fantasy, something just to get us both in the mood. Cam actually wanted me to hook up with a black guy, a hung black stud. My husband of four years wanted to watch me get fucked by a huge, black cock. If anything, he seemed to be even more excited than me.I dropped to my knees, pushed my fingers inside myself and moaned loudly. "Cum for me, you little white Slut." I'd never been much for dirty talk, but there was something in Tyrell's voice that made it work.Two swirling orbs of warm brown that I almost immediately got lost in. He and Tyrell were still talking, but I couldn't hear anything over my own pounding heartbeat. I walked to the bathroom, stood in front of the mirror and pulled my dress down.

I stared at myself for a long time before fishing the marker out of my purse.

He strode through the room exuding an aura of unshakable confidence. Then he guided my hand down to the crotch of his pants and placed it on his throbbing cock. "The little Slut's so wet, I'm not sure we'd make it all the way there." Tyrell said matter-of-factly.