Too Black for Baseball

So it was Greg's second trip to the stadium--his second time in the rear seats. He remembered convincing himself to go, thinking that a good way to fight memories of a traumatic experience, is to put yourself right back in the same spot it happened and stay still your fingers stop shaking and the images fade away. Greg found it easier to relax as there were only empty seats around him. But that also made him think about Miss Fattie and her husband. Wouldn't it be great if they were both right beside him again, with the stadium, basically to themselves? Maybe some fun with a swinger's wife would be even more calming to Greg's nerves.

The thought made him look down to his meaty, black cock. It stood hard and ready. He refused to jerk off after the first game, knowing that doing so could stamp sex scenes onto his brain like hours of porn. Greg believed that he still had power over his lust. Keeping his dick out in the open was shining, shiny black proof.

But Greg wasn't gonna give up cumming for the rest of his life. Like a baseball player, having a bat without a hit just didn't make sense. He sighed and grabbed his belt-less shorts to put his joint away. Then he froze, noticing the two girls sitting beside him.

They couldn't have missed a cock so huge. Especially one attached to a man so black and huge himself. Of all the empty seats in the stadium, they chose to sit right next to him--the guy who had passed out with his dick in a hand. Fucking college kids. Maybe they'd been to a few games before, or dicks in public was a norm for their age.

Greg was glad he wasn't as bugged out as he had been at the first game. There was so few people around, so much room to move. And he was about to do so, but something about the girls tickled him.

One was a thin, giggly blonde, the other, almost identical in body type, but in a redhead version. Greg thought back to his college days--the few months he spent in a university--remembering his struggle to quickly reach manhood and leave the stupidness of youth behind. The girls seemed the opposite, passing a cellphone back and forth, having the dumbest conversation he'd ever heard: some boy who was so cute, some girl who was so ugly, the professor who liked looking under skirts, the other professor who liked blowjobs after class.

Greg was done. He bid a silent goodbye to the idiots, turned to leave, but was stilled with an Aryan hand over the roof of his penis.

It was the blonde that sat closest to him. She wore grey bike shorts, a white cutoff top, no bra--her friend, of course, in the same getup, but orange above, blue below. And both had canvas slip-ons over their feet, no socks. The redhead did have a bit more of a tan. Greg feared for the blonde as she was pasty-white as eggshells. The girls were quite a ways out of his league, but the blonde's molesting hand said there might be a chance of something.

Strangely, the girls continued to pass the phone back and forth, giggly, googly in conversation, the blonde still mindlessly fiddling with Greg's dick as she would've been with a strand of her hair. They were females so he tried to find his horniness and really get into the event. But as soft as the girl's palm was, she was treating his manhood like a stairway railing--only necessary for support.

Greg struggled to turn himself on. He thought back to Miss Fattie and her words, "just let them have fun". That gave a jolt to his dick, but now, the college kids having fun were the ones touching him. And even highly educated, at their age, they could only be more horny than experienced.

The redhead joined in the fondling, reaching over her friend to play with the tip of Greg's dick, then slid her hand the long path down to his balls and tossed them around. They were both so out of tune, pulling, pinching in silly directions, hands and fingers getting stuck in his pubes--no smoothness, no rhythm. Greg got pissed when both of them began rubbing their fingers over his dick-crack, without caution, almost slicing it wider as they stuck their long nails inside. And the bitches made the ugliest faces when just a teaspoon of precum bubbled out in brownish clumps, plastering their pretty little fingers.

That's how cum works you idiots, Greg screamed inside. The sperm dies at the top and only stays white at the bottom of the barrel. Seeing his nut while losing his erection was quite terrifying. And Greg had barely felt any pleasure over the girls' claws. After so many months without ejaculating, he refused to have an awkward experience. So he closed his eyes and searched for Miss Fattie.

Her fat naked foot.

Her bald pussy.

Her fruit juice.

Her ease with public displays of affection. Her smirks at America's twisted youth and their inferior genitals. Her husband who got off, on her getting off to other men.

Back, to her well trained, middle-aged, pussy, forever wet and erupting--a volcano easing a reservoir filled deep with miles and millions of gallons of the muskiest fem-cum known.

The smell of that cum.

The hot sun above.

The humidity between her ass cheeks.

That asshole of hers, so ready, plump and colored like it was full of bee stings.

"Oh fuck!"

The voice snapped Greg's eyes open. He wished it had been Miss Fattie, but the high pitch labeled one of the girls. They were both silent, watching Greg's dick with eyes so wide they might never close. He didn't have to look down to know how hard he was--it could be an iron spear that was sticking out of his groin. And he could feel every, fucking inch of it.

But when Greg looked down, he felt sadness plunge to his heart. It wasn't just the dick that fascinated them, it was the mess of cum that it left behind.

Dammit!!! He ejaculated while lost in thought, an orgasm too far away to feel. Brownish goo was splattered everywhere: on Greg's sweat-soaked shirt, his arms, the seat-back ahead, the one beyond. Some of the nut had hit the two girls--the blonde had a pearl of it stuck in a corner of her mouth. Greg watched as the dimwit closed her lips and swallowed.

The flavor seemed to have altered the blonde, giving her a savage disposition, a starved rage. She moved to Greg, seemingly on route to his lips, but was quickly blocked by her pal, as the redhead put her mouth on his cheek and sat back with a clump of sticky, brown nut on her lips. She quickly sucked it all in as the blonde licked over her face and tried to force her tongue in her pal's mouth. The redhead was being stingy, so she dropped down and wrapped her mouth over Greg's dick, then sucked him shiny clean.

There must've been another patch of brown jizz on Greg's black balls, because the redhead leaned over her bud's lap to eat. Maybe a former bud, as the blonde grabbed a clump of her red hair, holding her back while fingering the hairy testicles, stealing the prize with her cum-dirtied, incriminating fingers.

What's wrong with these bitches? Greg thought. There's no way these chicks got so sex-nutty without ever swallowing a load. He smiled, thinking it might just be the load itself that got 'em. Maybe Greg had that super sperm. Jellied catnip.

But he struggled over something even more puzzling: how was he still so damned hard? It seemed like he had some kind of orgasm, and it should've been at least ten minutes before he could get hard again. There was certainly a benefit to months of abstinence.

Seeing his cock standing so high and powerfully made Greg a bit jealous. The girls got a mouthful or two, he only had a stained shirt for the event. So long without sex . . . he wanted a rush as well.

Greg put a hand behind the blonde's head and helped his dick go a bit further into her mouth. It went a little too deep. She gagged, chocked herself for a few seconds, then pulled off. Her and her friend laughed raucously, playing with the drool that dripped out of her mouth. Then the redhead gave it a shot and almost reached the same suck-level. Then they both took turns, swallowing Greg's dick to the point of vomiting. It was a "fuck the black guy" moment--both them and the dick the only things that mattered.

A finger in their assholes might remind them that cock had a human being behind it, Greg thought. But there was one person watching him--the naked chick on the girls' cellphone, left on a seat. She was staring into her own phone from every angle, struggling to get a better view of what was going on.

He clipped the phone to a seat-back and angled it downward, pointing to where the two white chicks were sucking his cock in tandem. The bitch on the cellphone tore off her pajamas, spread eagle on a bed and held her camera high so anybody watching could see her digging up her snatch for gold.

Sadly, Greg felt his dick begin to soften. He was disconnected from the girls--like a big, fat, black and lifeless dildo. And it wasn't just him who had feelings, his dick was trying to speak its needs, though no one listened. But Greg heard loud and clear. And on this last day of baseball, another game was about to take place--two versus three, African versus Aryan, the referee, jerking off in a dorm room miles away. Batter up.

Greg pulled away from the girls, grabbed the blonde with both of his hands, "mistakenly" putting a thumb between her ass while he picked her up over his head, his thumb now pushing a tent of her shorts and panties through the hole, and placed her to kneel on the seat to his left. He then grabbed a handful of hair at the back of each girl's head, preparing to aid them in the coming task.

Some baseball player hit a ball somewhere and the crowd below went wild. Greg put the redhead's mouth on his dick and pushed down hard-- then up, down, up, down, deeper each time, teaching the bony, college fuck how to suck dick like a pro. He turned to the blonde and looked into her blue, sparkling eyes, and continued to watch her till she truly saw his greasy, nasty, mug.

She got hypnotized and started licking his face like it was made of black chocolate smeared over melted donuts. The blonde sucked his lips hard, ran her tongue over his teeth. Greg pulled up his dirty, wet shirt, put it over the blonde's head and pulled her in to suck on one of his nipples. He felt too much of her teeth and mushed her face deeper into his fat to enforce the rules.

The redhead had found her way, impressing Greg with how deeply she sucked his dick--all the way up and back in a smooth, slobbering motion. He set the blonde free, pulled her stubborn friend's head up and showed her his other nipple. The redhead jumped on it, sucking like it was the smallest dick in the world. And she seemed to appreciate the privacy he gave by covering her head, lovingly gobbling over the fat-folds of skin. Greg turned to the blonde.

"Open your mouth bitch."

She seemed offended, he really didn't care. They had been the offensive ones--maybe even racist, treating the man like shit and the dick like gold. Had he been white, Greg knew there'd be more love in things, talks of future get-togethers: walks in the park, shopping with proud displays of hugs and kisses, dinners with their fucked up, delusional parents, who would loudly boast of their highly educated daughters and their eternal virginity.

The blonde opened her mouth. Greg waited . . . watched the bitch with thoughts of her miserable parents, and spit on her tongue. And she . . . fucking . . . liked it. It wasn't a fetish. She definitely heard her friend's newly acquired cocksucking talent. The spit would make an education much easier for her.

And Greg spit again, and again, and again, till a pool of gunk rested in the bottom of her mouth. He made sure not to spill a thing as he led her to his dick and pushed the mucous filled gabber down, down, deeper than she had previously gone on his cock--on any cock. And he face-fucked her only by inches: two inches up from the base, then down. And she wasn't a dumb blonde--the fucking Ivy League slut didn't gag once.

Make it the best day of your life, Greg told himself.

So he brought Miss Fattie back into the picture, placing her and her husband on seats close by. She was wearing the same exact outfit she had been at the first game, tank top, skirt and sunglasses, but was now laid back against her husband, her legs spread wide and resting on the neighboring seat-backs. That fat, bald and delicious pussy of hers was just out in the open, still dripping, the plump, pink asshole barely visible within her awesome mass. Greg wanted to make them proud. Fuck the kids, he wanted the adults to just have fun.

With the couple fresh in his thoughts, Greg felt his dick go straight out of this world--harder than anything found on the planet earth. The blonde started gagging and Greg forgave her. No chick could handle that. He pulled her up, her friend's lips off of his nipple and put them both on the same side. They were ravenous, wide eyed, crazed with lust, but obedient, waiting for Greg to make the move. He bent them both over--the blonde kneeling haphazardly over the seats, the redhead standing, ass out in invitation.

Greg tore off their flimsy shoes and checked out their bare feet. They were pretty, clean, lickable, cummable, but there wasn't any time for the fetish. It seemed like more people had entered the stadium and the formerly empty areas were filling up quickly. No one was spending any real time looking in his direction, and on some levels, Greg didn't give a fuck if they did. But pussy wasn't worth problems. He wanted to feel as good as possible and leave that quickly.

Greg tore off the blondes fragile bicycle shorts, leaving them and her panties irreparably damaged. She was going home butt naked for sure. And like one, wicked bitch, she reached over and tore off her friend's shorts with the same lack of compassion.

He checked on Miss Fattie and saw her bent over, that cherry asshole of hers now the dominant focus as she spread her cheeks, putting a smile on two faces. The third smile was her husband's, and he reached under with the arrow-hand and fucked his fat wife's fat pussy slow, then harder, making her juices run down her legs and over the soft soles of her feet.

The college girls were restless as fuck, glaring behind Greg, probably wondering what he found so much more important than the pussies right in front of him. He wasn't about to tell 'em. Greg jerked his shaft a few times stuck his meat into the blonde.

He only went twenty-five percent deep. The pussy was unbelievably wet, but way too tight for any brutality . . . yet. The blonde was already screaming while he carefully fucked her. Tears poured out of the redhead's eyes as she watched from the side, stabbing her pussy with four fingers. Greg checked on the girl in the cellphone. She must've fallen off the bed with her phone--the skewed view showed her on the floor, fucking herself with a fat, pink dildo.

"Stupid bitch," Greg said, grabbing the phone and tossing it over a couple of seats.

There was no room for any other dick right now--not even a fake one. He could smell the girls' pussies heating up. Greg knew he'd have to go deep to pull that Fattie scent out of 'em. He wished he could rush the process as the blonde's tickling pubes were bugging the shit out of him. It didn't have to be completely bald, they just needed to shave. . . .

His dick told him to shut the fuck up. Pussy is and always will be pussy.

The redhead was fucking herself way too hard--Greg feared the kind of damage those nails of hers could be doing. So he pushed her hand away, hooked two of his fingers into her soaking pussy and pulled her close. He then let his shorts fall, grabbed the horny bitch's head and rammed her face between his ass cheeks.

The best thing about a man's ass is the lack of destinations. Once the redhead's tongue came out, it went straight home, poked his rectum and danced: in deep, side to side, out and circling, sometimes disappearing into her mouth as she sucked on his ridges. Miss Fattie laughed out loud, watching the redhead munch away while her husband thumbed her own asshole, a toothy smile on his face.

They wanted Greg to go inside the blonde's tightest entrance. He refused. The girl's asshole felt dry under his finger, he didn't think spit and pussy juice could open it up wide enough for his dick. But just to be sure . . . Greg popped out of the bitch and slapped his wet dick between her ass a few times. Every strike made the blonde squeal, her nasty cum combined with the abuse was making the asshole open wider . . . and wider.

The redhead had grown tired of Greg's asshole, pushed him back, jumped over and on top of her friend. She spread her cheeks wide and glared at Greg, while the blonde angled her head to lick his ass off of her face. He obliged the slut, this time, pushing fifty-percent of his penis inside her pussy.

Cum started bursting out on the first drive, four fingers were no match for a long dick. The redhead screamed like he broke something. He pulled out just in case, but she reached back and pulled him back in, kicking his legs with her bare feet, telling him to FUCK HER. Greg did, but slapped her ass red to let her know the dick belonged to him. Be nice bitch.

The blonde was struggling to pull herself out from under her friend. She got her ass up high enough, but started two-fingering the upper hole, her ego telling her that the dick-slaps were nothing--her asshole could take the monster.

Stupid girl. There was no need for such pain. Instead, he pulled the redhead back and put her face between her buddy's ass and let her feed. She ate the blonde's hole like ass was everything--tongue-fucking, tongue-fucking, tongue-fucking, her wet, red hair flopping wildly as she raced to match the speed and power of a good man's hips.

And the girls were getting way too loud. Their moaning sounded like animal torture. Heads in the crowd turned to their direction. Greg pushed the redhead back over the blonde, reached over and pressed their faces together to lower the volume.

The crowd cheered as he went seventy-five percent deep into the girls. He was ready to go, shivering in fear, but refusing to leave before a nut was fully busted. Greg tried, but couldn't go any deeper. So he rammed his hips as hard as he could, pulled out, jumped in the other pussy, back and forth, treating the bitches the same way they had treated his dick.

Their moans were only slightly stifled as they stayed locked onto each other's mouth. Greg felt bad about how red their asses were, his slapping thighs did more damage than his hands. Who could ever fuck them the same? The way they were pressed into each other seemed more than sexual, like two people lost at sea, holding each other as they both moved towards the final hour. He may have made a couple of lesbians.

More people were entering the stadium. Greg had to cum quickly. On his last day of baseball, he had to cum now!! But damn, it seemed too far away.

Greg felt hands reach from behind and ease him back a bit as his fucking slowed while he lost his breath. He didn't know if the hands were real or imaginary, but he knew by their fiery touch on his shaft that they belonged to Miss Fattie. She was telling him to slow down, stop giving away all the pleasure . . . relax.

And he allowed her to pull his dick all the way out to only fifteen percent entry. She wanted him to do a tip-rush: just enough dick inside to cover the head and an inch behind it, no more pumping, spooning--scoop that dong around like a chef mixing a pot of soup. The pleasure, all yours.

Greg did just that, quickly, but not too fast, going from blonde to redhead, their pussies so swollen, his slight entry was still enough to keep 'em singing. And . . . he . . . was going . . . TO CUM!!!!!!!!

Greg struggled to get the sweaty, white bitches to sit upright as they both slipped in their own juices. The blonde kneeled on a seat, the redhead bent a bit, keeping herself right at her friend's level. Both of them breathed heavily, with a bit more respect for Greg as they watched his eyes just as much as they watched his dick. They kept their mouths open wide, tongues hanging out, waiting for whatever was about to come out of him.