“Let him join us..!!!” shouted Sabrina, which rendered both men looking at each other in surprise.
The three decided to have a threesome that night, only that it was a different one.
They started again. This time, it was Rusty who was lying at the bed. Sabrina and Larry kissed each other in front of Rusty, while standing. Larry placed his finger at Sabrina's vagina and poked through it, faster and faster. It made Sabrina kneel down the floor in weakness.
Larry then headed to Rusty, who was watching them and was already having a hard-on. It was what they needed anyway, for Rusty to have a hard-on and be able to inject his rich sperm cells through Sabrina's pussy.
Larry went atop Rusty, who was already masturbating, he kissed Rusty for the first time, biting each other's lips, twirling each other's tongue and exchanged saliva. Sabrina watched in confusion while she beside Rusty's feet.
Larry then pointed his huge cock at Rusty's mouth and let him “feed on it”. Rusty gave him a blowjob, the cock was reaching Rusty's throat and at one point, he nearly vomited. But they continued.
Meanwhile, Sabrina was also giving Rusty a blowjob. Rusty was the star of that night, apparently. But their purpose of doing such an act was to have Sabrina pregnant. Larry was reminded of it and decided to pull his dick out of Rusty's mouth.
“Plooook”, the removal of the dick produced a quick sound.
Larry laid beside Rusty. Sabrina was then interrupted by Rusty. She had Sabrina laid down and be the “bottom”. Pointing his huge dick and scratching it against Sabrina's clitoris, Rusty then exerted an effort. His dick got buried inside Sabrina's pussy immediately as it was already very wet.
“aaaaahh shiiiit..”, Sabrina and Rusty moaned together. While Larry was kissing Rusty's ear and side of the neck, Rusty was fucking Sabrina. It was effective, Larry was there to arouse Rusty and let him fuck Sabrina.
Larry would sometimes play on Rusty's left nipple, pinching it and poking slightly. It gave a very good sensation to Rusty, who was very aroused that time.
Rusty's motion became faster, a sign that he was about to explode. Larry was still kissing Rusty in his neck while Rusty was using his elbows to support his whole body.
“Aaaaaaah fuck you!!!! shit...oooooohh”, Rusty shouted, giving his last thrust against Sabrina who was also moaning that time.
He exploded inside Sabrina's vagina and was very tired and gasping for air. The cum was flowing outside into the bed sheet. It was a “creampie”.
It was successful, after two weeks, Rusty was informed that Sabrina was already pregnant and most of her friends in Facebook were already congratulating the couple. No one knew about what happened between the three though.
Meanwhile, Rusty and Larry continued being best friends and beyond that. During the time of Sabrina's pregnancy, Larry would go to Rusty's house to have sex with him and release the lust they were feeling. Rusty was a good sucker and Larry liked it. Sometimes, he would have Rusty swallow his load and their favorite activity was anal sex, Rusty played the bottom part.
They almost became lovers and Rusty was contented with that setup, though he knew it would soon end and that they could never be “legal lovers”.
Larry and Rusty’s secret remained a secret and never reached Sabrina’s knowledge.
When Sabrina gave birth to a baby girl, Larry's visits to Rusty became less frequent. Sabrina and Larry's relationship became stronger with their baby Monroe. They became a family; Larry loved Monroe as his own child and assumed he was the real father of it to begin with.
The gap that once plagued Sabrina and Larry disappeared and was replaced by constant laughter, love and affection to each other, and now, with baby Monroe.
It was okay for Rusty, every time he was seeing Monroe, his godchild; he was being reminded of that lustful night that happened between him, Monroe's mother and Larry.
One day, while playing with her doll, Monroe asked her parents suddenly and out of nowhere, “Mom, when am I going to have a younger brother or sister? I think I would love to play with our new baby.” the innocent Monroe gladly asked her parents.
Sabrina and Larry stared at each other, confused of what to say, Sabrina just bit her lips and winked at Larry. I think Larry got the message.
--THE END--
I Own My Bully Now
On the day before he leaves home for college, Steve Evans is forced to fight for his life when a mysterious terrorist attack leaves half the city's population dead...and the other half, undead. He manages to find sanctuary, but someone else is already there -- James Stanasila, the bully who made Steve's life a living hell back in high school. After the grueling day he's had to endure, Steve makes it very clear to James that he won't be pushed around anymore. “You’ve wanted this sweet ass for years, right?” Steve stepped in close and ran a hand up the front of James’ T-shirt. Reaching the collar, he twisted up a fistful of cloth and gave it a sharp tug. “Well, today’s your lucky day– because today, you’re going to get it.” He released James, giving a little push that made the big guy stagger a bit, and stood back. “Well?” Steve said, arching one eyebrow. “I don’t see you getting naked. What’s the matter, tough guy? Afraid of letting the little homo see your dick?”
****
When he left home this morning to put some valuables into his safety deposit box at the bank, Steve Evans had no idea he would wind up spending the afternoon running for his life...from zombies.
Well, okay – he thought they were zombies. They were, at the very least, some kind of weird mutation that had once been normal human beings. Up until this morning. Something had happened while Steve was in the vault. He didn’t know what, exactly. He had just given one last look at his prized possession – a mint-condition first issue of X-Men – and had placed the comic book in its protective sleeve into the security box for safekeeping. He had a few other titles in there, as well, but of lesser value. Steve considered it his emergency fund, something he could sell off if he ever found himself in dire financial need. Tomorrow, he would be leaving home and headed off to start his first day of college at Colgate. It’s not that he didn’t trust his parents to protect his assets while he was away. Steve just believed in taking precautions. To him, life was a game of chess and he prided himself on always thinking a few moves ahead. It came in handy, too, like when he found himself having to navigate the city streets, taking alternate routes that would afford him a better chance at avoiding the zombies.
Yeah, about those zombies…
Steve remembered hearing a low, muffled whistle and a dull pop. The lights in the vault had flickered and then went out completely. Luckily, Steve had his backpack with him and had been able to fish out a small flashlight which he used to make his way back to the lobby – and that’s when he came upon a horrible discovery.
Everyone inside the bank was dead. Well, except for Steve. His pale blue eyes scanned the room, taking in the full scope of it all. Tellers and customers alike, young and old, appeared to have dropped in the spot where they had been standing or sitting. Some lay on the floor, others draped over desks or sagged in chairs in the waiting area. One older man, who had been in line at the time, had fallen across the velvet ropes attached to the permanent metal guideposts, and now hung there, suspended like laundry on a clothesline.
At first, Steve wondered if there had been a robbery. He moved among the bodies, checking each one for any signs of life. Nothing. No bullet wounds or blood, nor any other signs of a violent attack. He hadn’t noticed any odd odors, either; nothing chemical in the air, to indicate that they had been gassed. “So what did this?” Steve wondered aloud, raking his thin fingers through his short, wheat-colored hair.
He walked over to the windows, drawn by the incessant shrill of car alarms, and looked at the street outside. Right in front of the bank, a truck and a sedan had collided head-on. More bodies littered the sidewalk. A bike courier on his side, still holding on to his cycle’s handlebars. A woman and her two children, ice cream cones
melting beside them in the late August sun. It all seemed like something right out of an episode of The Twilight Zone.
Then Steve caught sight of movement. A man lying a few feet from the bank’s entrance had begun to stir. Heart racing, Steve pushed through the door, rushing out to help even as the stranger got his legs under him and wobbled a bit. “Hey,” Steve called to him, “are you okay?”
When the man turned around, Steve had recoiled in shock. He had read enough comic books, watched enough television shows, and was a big fan of Romero’s work, but not even Tom Savini could have come up with such a grotesque makeup job. Looking like someone who had survived third-degree burns before being exposed to flesh-eating bacteria, the guy had a half-melted, half-eroded face. His hands had the same open-blister appearance.
At that moment, the woman and two children had regained their feet and turned their attention to Steve. Like the man, they had the same disfigurements. Same with the cyclist, now upright and looking Steve’s way. Whatever happened only affected living tissue, Steve thought, but it left hair and clothes intact.
As the fallen started to rise around him, they also began to move toward Steve.
Okay, yeah...that wasn’t good.
Whirling around, Steve raced back into the bank, shut the door and turned the bolt to lock it. The people inside the building had not moved. He frowned. “Inside, they’re dead…outside, they’re un-dead.”
Steve had no time to consider this further when he heard the zombies thumping against the door, trying to get in. Time to put aside the questions and focus on getting the hell out of here. Quickly, he located the bank guard and relieved him of his hip holster, gun and baton. Steve wrapped the heavy leather belt around his own waist and cinched it as tight as it would go. Shouldering his backpack, he drew the revolver. The gun weighed far more than the one that came with his old Nintendo NES, forcing him to hold it with both hands.
Armed for battle, he found his way out through the building’s back door, to the employee parking lot. That’s where he ran into Martha, one of the bank’s elderly cashiers. Steve had known her for twelve years, when he opened his first savings account at the age of six. Recently, Martha had started working the afternoon shift, and had probably just arrived when The Event (as Steve began to call it) had occurred. Steve’s heart ached as he watched the old woman totter toward him, dressed primly in her skirt and matching blazer, with her perfect silver beehive and her messed-up face, wailing and reaching for him. Steve had no choice. His hands trembled when he brought the gun up and took aim.
All those hours Steve had logged in playing Call of Duty may have prepared him for the sight of flying brain matter, but not for the pistol’s recoil or the deafening explosion. He could not afford to stand around waiting for his ears to stop ringing or his shoulder to stop aching. He had to keep moving. But where to?
That’s when he thought of home, and his parents. If they had been outside, they would be zombies. If they had been indoors, they would be dead. An anxiety attack hit and Steve stumbled over to the side of the nearest building where he puked out what was left of this morning’s breakfast burrito. Afterwards, he slumped against the brick wall, wrapped his thin arms around his narrow body, and struggled to calm himself. “I have to know,” he muttered. “If they’re dead, I need to bury them or…something.” He sniffled and stood up straight. “And if they’re not-dead? I need to take care of that, too.”
The sounds of roaming zombies drawing closer gave Steve the motivation he needed to get going again. On foot, it took an hour longer than usual to get back to his house from the bank because of all the detours he had to take. He wound up killing three more shambling mutants along the way. One came out from behind some hedges as he passed and managed to grab his sleeve before he smashed its head in with the guard’s baton. That little burst of adrenaline helped.
Once he reached his street, he saw more members of the undead wandering around aimlessly. One was Scott, the postal carrier for their neighborhood, still wearing his pouch full of undelivered mail and leaving a trail of envelopes in his wake. Steve winced at the grisly scene of his neighbor, Mr. Hernandez, cut in half by his own riding mower now idling a few feet away. Steve gulped. He gripped the pistol as he proceeded up the steps to his front door. He paused, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. “You can do this…you can do this.” His fingers trembled before closing around the brass handle. Slowly, he pushed the door open and peered inside.
He found his father first. Dad had been sitting in his recliner, reading the morning paper. He could have been asleep. But he wasn’t. Steve knew he wasn’t. An empty coffee mug dangled from his left hand, its contents spilled out onto the carpet. Dad was dead. Steve bit his lips but a sob still managed to break free.
Now, he had to find Mom. Still reeling with grief over his father, Steve felt his feet moving, carrying him through the house. The first place he checked was the kitchen. He found his mother’s recipe index open on the counter, and the card for his favorite cake pulled out. Knowing Mom, she had planned to make that for him as a going-away surprise, before he left for college. She even had some of the ingredients ready: flour, sugar, cocoa…everything except… “Fresh mint,” Steve observed. And knowing Mom, she would have wanted to use mint from her herb garden out back. Steve turned to the window over the kitchen sink. Mom used to stand here and watch him play as she washed dishes. It had a clear view of the entire yard, including the garden by the shed. The shed door stood open. A cool breeze stirred the fruit-patterned curtains and he heard the ring of a clay pot hitting a wood floor. That sound came from inside the shed. Steve’s eyes widened. “Mom!”
He hurried outside, but his pace began to slow halfway across the lawn. Just because he heard a crash didn’t mean his mom was alive. Could he handle seeing her, dead like his father? Taking another deep breath, Steve started to step forward into the shed when suddenly, his mother burst out, wailing and moaning, mottled hands groping the air as she stumbled toward him. Steve shook his head in denial. “Oh, no.” Tears blurred his vision. “Mom…no…” Only when her cold, distorted fingers latched onto his throat did Steve force himself to bring the gun up between them, the barrel pressed to her chin. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered, and squeezed the trigger. He collapsed beside her body on the cool green grass and just lay there, sobbing and stroking his mother’s golden hair.
The sun had set by the time Steve got up again, forcing him to find his way around in the dark. He went back inside and came out with Dad’s emergency flashlight. Setting it on the patio table, he retrieved a tarp from the shed and used it to cover Mom. It took more effort to get Dad out of the house. Steve wound up putting him on a sheet and dragging it out to the back yard. Soon, he had them side by side. He didn’t have the strength to bury them, but the least he could do was cover them both and put some rocks on the tarp to weight it down.
It was after midnight before Steve could leave them and go into the house. He closed everything up, locked doors and windows, and retreated upstairs. He needed a bath. There was still hot water in the tank, so he lit Mom’s decorative candles and took a shower by their low, flickering glow. He washed away the zombie blood and the dirt and sweat, but he couldn’t rid himself as easily of the things he had seen and done that day.
Dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a fresh tee shirt, he ventured back downstairs to see what he could find to eat. Not that he wanted to eat, but he knew he probably should. The fridge had a good seal so even hours without electricity the food inside had remained cool. It wouldn’t last long, though. Steve put himself on autopilot and just went through the motions of cooking up some eggs and sausages on the gas stove. He tried not to think about his parents lying dead out in the garden.
On his way back through the living room, he saw the paper his dad had been reading. He stopped, frowned. The headline read ‘Government Receives Mysterious Terrorist Threat.’ The article went on to speculate about unknown biological weaponry being develop
ed by enemy forces. Steve felt a chill run along his spine. Is that what caused all of this? Could that be the whistle and pop he’d heard while in the vault, some kind of bomb being dropped somewhere near town? And how wide-spread was it? Just in this area or all across the nation? Without electricity, phones, or Internet access, he had no way of knowing.
He climbed the stairs again and wandered into his bedroom. With a weary sigh, he dropped down across the bed. One minute, he was getting ready to embark on a new quest for knowledge to secure his future with a college education. Now, he had to wonder if the future even mattered anymore. Should he just join Mom and Dad in the garden and eat a bullet? Or should he fight this, and be like the heroes in all his beloved comics. “Well, I sure as hell can’t stay here,” he said to the autographed photo of Mark Millar sitting on his desk. “Any suggestions?”
The photo, predictably, did not reply.
Steve stared up at the ceiling. God, it was so quiet. You never realize how many little sounds make up your everyday life – the whir of a computer fan, the rumble of a furnace kicking in – until there’s a power outage. But this went beyond that. This reminded Steve of those days immediately following 9/11, when all air traffic had been suspended. He never noticed the sound of jets flying overhead until they had stopped. It had been an eerie thing to experience. He couldn’t hear any planes right now, either. Or cars. Jesus, was he the only one who survived? Was he going to be like the guy with all the books who breaks his glasses just when he realizes he had all the time in the world to read? Steve did not want to be the last man standing. There had to be others out there, people who were protected like he had been. Should he try to find fellow survivors?
Interracial Romance: Gay Romance: Bound By His Own Desires (MMM Endowed Black Men Bondage Threesome Romance) (A Billionaire's Freedom Book 3) Page 98