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A High Country Tale VII: Pound Cakes

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Simple. Luke Cevennes meets sexy newcomer chef-of-color. An alleyway. A Grace Jones medley. And an extra pair of hands. The combination adds up to a memorable tryst neither is likely to forget... Luke Cevennes, M.D. He liked the way it sounded even after a decade and a half of wearing the mantle. Jeremy Kell, Ph.D. That rolled over Luke's tongue with more flavor than any name in his world. The sexy Jamaican immigrant actually swept him off his feet nearly two decades before. The two fit each other. Luke and Jeremy's best friends, Jake and Calumet, likewise professional and accomplished, lag in years by a decade but the bond between the four: as deep as the Mariana Trench. Traversing the 21st century as a new age American family, the two interracial couples complement each other in ways the majority of people could only look upon in wishing. Hi-jinks, ribaldry, a touch of activism plus candor and humor, all souffled with a smattering of profundity, gel into a roving epic, from America to Europe to the Caribbean, on the shores of WWII Normandy, to Blue Mountain in Jamaica, up the wuthering heights of the Rockies, and down the alluvial plains of the American deep south as these self-deprecating, refined yet lusty menfolk wend their way, together, while luring the flotsam, jetsam and A-listers of Humanity along, on the sojourn that is their Tree of Life. Enjoy Chapter Seven...

Erotica / Romance
Zachariah Jack
n/a 2 reviews
Age Rating:

Pound Cakes

Damn, those feet were big.

Exiting the downstairs doorway of Telluride Hardware and Feed Emporium, I was absorbed in my thoughts when the hefty hooves ruined my concentration.

The Nike Cross-trainers were not new, nor were they rare. Rather, the presumption of the size of the dwellers within them was what captured my attention. While many would dispute the notion that big feet infer a full set of like-sized appendages, I beg to differ. Living with size 13 and 17 extra-wides in my home, and aware that the largest feet on record in the NBA, Roy Tarpley’s, whose size 25 immeasurably-wides still held Ripley’s record for something, I knew the veracity of the general concept. Just google that name, and add the word dick.

I traipsed up the stairs before me while my eyes stayed glued to the ground supporting those big’uns. Upon reaching street level, I broke away from them reluctantly. That reluctance melted, however, at my realization that the biped being they supported was an entity rarely encountered in the wild…or Telluride town.

A gangly, obsidian-skinned, double image of the foxy musician, Jon Batiste, stood with impressive feet planted, knees slightly bent, arms akimbo, nostrils flared, stomach flatly absent, onyx eyes checking me out.

Oh, he was licking thick dark lips, too, I noticed, upon raising my own eyes from the nicely bulging crotch to encounter this overtly cocky Pan-like creature. His first words stuck with me. “You be the Doc with the bookends, a’ight?”

For a second, I thought I was being mocked. His face was not looking directly at me, rather at an angle, which made the cock-eyed scrutiny seem other than sincere. It morphed quickly to mischievous when his brilliant white teeth broke out from under the tongue licking those succulent lips.

So I responded in kind. “What’s up with those ‘bookends’, bra?” Though non-committal, by my downward nod, he grasped the fact that the comment referred to his feet. I was gratified the guy had noticed me, but still unsure of any intent, stuck to an impersonal tack.

“I seen ya’ with those two fly mens a couple days back—ya’ll was in the bistro where I’m workin’ right now. Kinda stood out. And, your hands was playin’ all ’round those studs…Wassup with ya’own self?” Ahhh, now it came clear. My men and the proclivity of mine which was hardly held in check here in the liberal bastion of the mountain town full of ‘misfits’. It did define me, I supposed.

And nobody overlooked my men. Both mature studs made plain our close-knit connection by their own body language, maybe more than I did. I will admit, my hands did tend to rove over their ‘fly’ presences…

Both big, deeply pigmented hands made the next statement: one wrapped around the bulge I had been assessing moments before and the other fisted itself toward me in a friendly bump request. The smile dipped on one corner as he clarified his intent. I bumped back and his fingers blossomed in retraction.

God, I loved the innate sultriness so many men-of-color radiate. Especially when they are tail-chasing. This one was manifesting the trait exceedingly well, I noticed, and my junk pitched upward by the comprehension.

Did I mention that the rascal was pinching a short, fat blunt between one dark thumb and long forefinger? He motioned me around a corner into the adjacent alley, using the blunt as a carrot. Little did he know that the bulge was much more my ‘carrot’ of choice. Or maybe he did know. Either way, I followed like I had a nose ring attached to his jeans button. I was feeling an oncoming event. No one was around that I could see, so what the hell?

Mystery dude lit up as he hoofed it, and the smoke left a definable trail to the back corner. He drew me leftward into a narrow dead end, his body language conveying a certain familiarity with it. A throbbing undertone of base drifted down from the small open window above us. The window vented a bar behind the wall the man stopped to lean against. The accompanying melody imbued the small semi-enclosure with an erogenous channeling of Grace Jones’ song ‘Walking in the Rain’.

Turning around to me, he cocked his leg up, foot on that wall, balancing on the other. The enwrapping hand still lightly massaged the noticeably bigger bulge. This act and the smile said a lot. The blunt went to his lips, lit end pointing inward, offering a more intimate share of the herb. I answered by matching my mouth to his.

His full lips were moist. They brushed mine as we anteed things up a notch. His dick-rubbing set of digits altered to outreach, grasping my package. The thing blossomed in time-lapse as he unbuttoned my 501’s. Only spreading the opening, he then leaned down and grasped the edges of our sweaters, slowly raising both of them over our heads in an upward motion. His tongue licked my taut abdomen all the way through that progress and as both cleared our heads, he engulfed my mouth, tonguing it open.

My heavy dick punched its way out from the front gap in my bunched boxers and poked his sable belly. Day-ummmm, I gasped. This man was able and steroidal in his tightness, and I think I felt a fucking lightning bolt jolt my dick head. He traded our places with his hands on my waist, now pushing my back up against the wall.

That versatile tongue vacated my mouth and descended once again in the reverse manner it had licked me up, this time guzzling down over my cock. Stopping only upon reaching my loins. The back of his throat provided a perfect endpoint and he ground into me greedily, teeth biting the phatted root.

Experienced in the trade of cocksucking, the veteran raised up off of me as he recognized my too quick approach to the precipice. “As good as advertised, sexy man,” he hissed in my face. Did he mean me, or himself, I wondered? His crotch contacted mine and I honestly didn’t really care what he was packing by this time. The head was good enough. He apparently meant me, since he was back down on the dick in a fast second. Very clearly ready for the load.

He rivaled my Jeremy in his talent. Not. But, a distant second, no less. With only a few dozen full strokes, I came. He anticipated the timing, backing off of it for a moment. Watching me spurt the first two jets of jism up to my own mouth level, it roped my lip. His devilish grin sent shivers up my spine. This was a bad boy, I suddenly apprehended. He managed to get his mouth back over my dong quick enough to swallow a full helping of protein, despite the watching, and I luxuriated in the hot wetness while his tongue cleaned up. I licked my lips.

We sat still for a minute, then the doppelganger unhurriedly stood up. He had loosened his pants and freed his piece while sucking. To let it breathe, I supposed. On rising up, I felt a limber cock rubbing up my calf and thigh. Next, delving under, then pulling against my scrotum. The warm member sideswiped past my asshole on the way. It rasped along my stomach, then pressed between us as he sucked my face now, passing me some cum-laden saliva, as nasty as he could.

My dick had no chance to wilt, springing back up between his own smooth upper thighs to his balls after he passed over it with his own on the way up.

He stopped oiling my mouth with his, “Don’t be lookin’ down there at my junks. Not ’til I tell you…Doctor.” Uh-Oh, I thought. Intoning that title wasn’t a real good omen.

My questing born-again hard-on managed to contact his perineum and close-by asshole. The hot stud rubbed suggestively over it, teasing my just-erupted and still oozing piece. “Dat ain’t gonna be happenin’, beastie-boy…dat hole be a exit only. Get it gone from ya’ head, now,” he warned. But, he never moved from the contact.

My dick opportunely dry-pumped the spot while he lit up again, trading tokes to the slow grind rhythm of the ongoing Grace Jones medley. ‘Nightclubbing’ filled the surrounds and we absorbed the sexy beat between us.

Blunt now down to a nub, the no-name cocksucker placed it on the tip of his tongue and pushed it as far down my throat as he could. I downed it, hoping it wasn’t all I soon swallowed. “You ‘bout to be my cravin’ bitch, oreo-man. Seein’ all that creamy white boy ass ‘tween yo’ two mens got me goin’ t’other night. I’m a-wantin’ to feel you all up on the insides.” He didn’t stutter in my ear at all.

Ooooh, that sweet talk always gets me. And, it just got better. He pulled out a little packet, white powder familiar. Handing it over to me, he told me “O-za Kay-za, bottom boii. On my mark, now, you gonna be removin’ yo’ mistaken boner from unda’ ma’ nuts, where it done been fakin’ itself out, and you gonna go to descendin’, slow-like, with yo’ damn eyes closed, and durin’ the trip you’s gonna be thinkin’ ’bout how you’s gonna ‘sprainkle’ this all along my shaft after you’s be slickin’ the thang all up, good and nice—it gonna be stickin’ to it a lot better that way. Then, you’s gonna be lettin’ me lift those creamy legs up and I’m gonna crack that private li’l cookie jar you got goin’ back there, bitch.” As this all sank in, he dipped a good scoop up on a long pinky nail and sucked it in one flared Batiste-like nostril, staring at me while he did it. The other hand’s fingers searched out my pucker.

My dazed perceptions got the message, “And keep those damn eyes shut.” I understood and I was ready.

“On mark….…Beee—yutch,” was all else he said.

I followed the precise instructions, taking care to rub my dick all the way down his thigh and calf on the way for my introduction to the mystery piece rubbing between us. I kept my chest sliding down against his cum-laden chest, too. Getting down to a crouch, eyes closed, I searched for the hard prick with my tongue. Sucking it into my curious mouth upon locating the piece—it wasn’t too tough to find—I said a mental ‘Hi’ to the long, smooth stalk. It went in easily, an insistent push the only evidence of his hyped desire.

The nice dick was cut, with a huge flanging head that explored the inside of my cheeks on the way in. I spent a good several minutes slathering it, liking the feel of the full bush surrounding the pole, contrasting it to the total smoothness around Jeremy’s dick. Unable to deepthroat Gai’s full eleven inches precluded that huge one from a common comparison to this one. My mental state of stoned was now enhanced by an extra small bump from the man’s proffered pinky ‘spoon’ and, knowing what to do, I did. Sucked it in. The powdered pinky then erogenously rubbed my inner lips and teeth, leaving them tingling. My sucking was improved by the application. I doubled down on the rhythmic stroking.

When the music mix segued to Grace’s ‘Pull up to the Bumper’, I managed to focus, letting loose my new favorite dick of the moment. “OK, you can open those eyes, now, boii.” He was certainly keeping watch on the effort from above, slapping my face a few times with it, slobbering me up.

I carefully poured the remainder of the packet, as instructed, along the top ridge of an utterly stunning upward curving deep black penis. I had never seen such a darkly hued dick before and up close as it was, it appeared blue-black. Large, tortuous veins scrolled down the sides. The huge swollen crown kept threatening to throw off the powder by its happy jumping. I was forced to roll a finger around the top curve of the base to control its excitement but finally managed without wasting too very much.

I next spat in my palm and slimed my waiting hole with it, reaching between my legs from my crouch. I couldn’t wait to put the beauty where it obviously belonged. For the time being, anyway.

Standing, I allowed the mystery man to hook my knees, one by one, over his elbows. Strong arms lifted upward, pushing my back up the ancient brick wall. Our noses met. “I’m goin’ in for some cookie dough, now, bitch.” The throbber aligned right nicely in its curving anatomy. We both studied the other’s eyes for emotion as it slowly, surely sank inside my juicy asshole. “Those pretty bitch eyes sure are getting’ big…Doctor…and I’m thinking it ain’t all because o’ that powdery frosting on top o’ my fine black dick…huh?”

Nodding, I felt the curved end reach its length—only slightly shorter than my true man’s—and we sucked face while it was getting acquainted. My arms wrapped around his neck and drew him in to me. Liking the feel of the brillo bush tickling my ass globes, we grinded together as Grace broke into ‘Use Me’. It was hot. The cold weather made both our nipples extra hard but the heat of our hooked bodies kept the chill at bay.

“Tell me what they call you, Dick Man,” as I stared at him fucking me.

“When I pump yo’ ass full of sperm and send you home to Daddy with it drippin’ out, you call me Ezra—Ezra Pound. You gonna have me a baby and I am gonna have visitation rights, now, you got it, bitch?”

As we rocked my socks off there against that wall, I felt the scorching connection between us where the ultra-black dick was poling my ass. It was being rubbed. By fingers not belonging to any of our hands. All four were currently busy upstairs.

It was startling but felt jood. Ezra felt it too, and our eyebrows both arched up. Looking back over the slim man’s shoulders, we spied a miniature, nappy-headed ebony male kneeling down between Ezra’s legs, checking the action and adding to it. He looked up at our altered movements and threw a familial grin up at our surprised faces. Couldn’t care less by his intervention. “Boy, I told you to wait in the car, didn’t I?” the big-dicked man demanded. No response. “Well, didn’t I?” Nothing but crickets.

Grace broke into ‘Nipple to the Bottle’ and it dawned on me the rhythm between us hadn’t changed. Neither had the small alien hand stroking our connection point down there. Ezra looked back at me, shrugged and grinned, like, ”What can I do?” We picked up the pace.

The connection between us was palpable and I devolved into the music and the strokes. Ezra pounded my ass for ten more minutes, telling me all the disgusting words he could think of, most comments ending with “bitch”. I bounced with the flow and crested before he did, spewing cum all between us again, smearing our bellies and chests.

That finally did it for the slim man, and I felt the sharp punch of his fat black dick into my gut where it seated itself, convulsing unseen shots of cum up inside me. The midget’s alien fingers excited the whole effect.

Ezra Pound sucked my lips into his while he groaned at all the various sensations. Forbidden thoughts pulsed through the both of us…and maybe a third. In the midst of it all, we felt hot stabs of prickly hot goo erupt over both our asses; our eyebrows jumped again. So did our dicks.

We pumped together long past the climax point, feeling the erotic drippings underneath our connection, broiling in the blissful afterglow. The leer and evil-esque look had been replaced by satiation and he kept up the tonguing for several prolonged minutes. Extra fingers were still busy massaging the last pumps of his dick, keeping the slippery action going down below.

“You are pregnant, bee-yutch, and I be the Daddy, now—what’s those two mens o’yours gonna be sayin’ bout that, do ya’ think?” He posited, rubbing my nose with his. And smiling.

“They’re gonna want your number…Ezra Pound. You free night after tomorrow?”

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