Interracial Romance: Gay Romance: Bound By His Own Desires (MMM Endowed Black Men Bondage Threesome Romance) (A Billionaire's Freedom Book 3)

by Dayna, Bethany

  “You’ve done this before,” James said, a heavy edge of accusation to his breathy words.

  Steve grinned down at him. “What, you think you’re the only guy who ever watched gay Internet porn?” Withdrawing his fingers, he scooted up and positioned himself over James’ cock. He wasn’t about to admit this was his first time, that he was about to give his prized cherry to a guy who used to make him feel like shit. Right now, with the rest of the world gone to hell, Steve didn’t care about that. Right now, he wanted this man’s cock in his ass, to ride it so hard he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week.

  He knew he had to relax. Mind over matter. Breathing deeply, Steve pressed down. He felt the tip of that big cock breach him, felt his sphincter stretch to accommodate the thickness of it. There was pain – that was to be expected, he supposed – which subsided quickly into discomfort and then became just an amazing sensation of fullness. Steve braced his palms against James’ chest and used it for leverage as he pushed back all the way. Panting, he looked down and saw James staring up at him in wonder. The normally furrowed brows titled upward, and the always-scowling lips softened and parted. He was just too gorgeous, and Steve hated himself for desiring him. He had to look away.

  Large hands reached up and touched his chin. Startled, Steve felt the gentle tug and allowed James to turn him back around to face him. James’ eyes glimmered in the low light as he stared up at Steve. His hands moved down over Steve’s slender neck, skimmed over his shoulders and down his arms until he reached his wrists. “C’mon,” James said, jerking his head and grinning. “Fuck me, Steve.”

  It was the first time he used Steve’s name to address him. Not “homo” or “pussy” or “nerd.” A smile pulled at Steve’s lips. He leaned forward and then sank back again, taking James’ cock deeper into his ass. A few slow, even strokes felt good. Encouraged, Steve bit down on his lip and picked up the pace. At some point, James’ hands found their way to his hips, and Steve could feel fingers pressing in, steadying him. James began to thrust upward, meeting Steve on each down-stroke. “Oh god!” Steve gasped. Sweat beaded on his face and rolled down the center of his back. His own cock bounced and slapped against James’ stomach. The chair creaked under them. James was grunting and moaning through clenched teeth. The whole time, he watched Steve as he was told.

  Suddenly, James surged upward. He lifted Steve off him with little effort and pushed the chair’s foot rest down to bring it back into an upright position. He dumped Steve onto the seat, on his knees and facing the back of the recliner. Steve gasped at the abrupt change. What the hell is he doing? Before he could open his mouth to say something, he felt the blunt head of James’ cock against his ass. Steve cried out as James pushed into him again. One brawny arm circled his waist while the other slid up his back and anchored between his shoulders. James started fucking Steve in deep, rapid strokes. His balls slapped against Steve’s. This was Steve’s darkest desire, fulfilled: ever since that day when having James’ dick in his face gave him an erection, he sometimes fantasized about James taking him like this. Usually, the scenario played out in the boys’ bathroom or in a locker room, sometimes even over one of the lab tables in Chemistry class. But bent over a recliner in a big box store during a zombie apocalypse? Well, anything can happen. Steve moaned and dug his fingers into the back of the chair, bracing himself for the pounding James was giving him. “Yes!” he wailed. “Ohh, god! Fuck me! Fuck me, James!”

  He felt a hand close around his dick. Jesus, James was giving him a reach-around. Guess he’s not such a bad guy, after all! The hot grip on his cock sent Steve over the top for a second time. His outcry echoed through the store as he came. That seemed to help James along, because his strokes turned short and deep, until finally he stopped altogether. Steve felt him shudder, heard his long, low moan, and felt the cock inside him jerk and pulse. They were both out of breath and sweaty. When James pulled out at last, Steve groaned. Slowly, he managed to climb off the recliner and stand up. Oh, yeah – he was going to be very sore for a few days. But it was worth it. He turned around to face James. “You,” he said, still trying to catch his breath, “disobeyed me.”

  James shook his head. For the first time ever, he grinned – a real, genuine smile, something Steve had never seen him do, before. “I was lookin’ at you the whole time,” James said.

  “That’s good,” Steve said, nodding. “Now, come on. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” He pointed a warning finger at James. “Don’t make me kick your ass.”

  “You’re such a bully,” James said, and slapped Steve on the ass before sauntering off.

  Steve watched him go and snorted in amusement. The zombie apocalypse had changed everything, all right. Some things for the worst, and some... Steve admired that muscular body as it walked away. Well. It had changed him – that much was certain.

  And he liked it.

  I Want Candy

  Candy winced as her music started. Normally she didn’t mind getting out on the dance floor and strutting her stuff. She was probably the liveliest dancer at the club, and she loved her job. But that night, the club was filled with a bunch of drunken assholes who had something snotty to say about every one of the featured dancers. Two of the girls had finished their dances in tears. One was in back screaming at the assistant manager, demanding that he eject the party, and Candy was up next.

  She knew she was going to get hammered by these guys just like all the other girls who didn’t live up to their drunken standards. But Candy was used to attracting assholes, even out on the street. At five foot nine and three hundred pounds, she was the sort of girl who got mouthed off to all the time.

  She’d always been a fat girl. In grade school the kids made fun of her, shoved her into the bushes at the playground, and made her cry on a regular basis. In high school it looked to be more of the same until the day Kevin Kaminski called her “fatso” and actually spit on her. That was the day she took her lunch tray, the one with the salad (no dressing) and carton of skim milk and slammed it into his head. She spent the rest of the day cooling her heels in the school office, and bought herself a candy bar and a bag of chips from the vending machine while she waited for her mother to pick her up.

  “Candy, I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” her mother had said once they reached the car. Her svelte mother who starved herself to fit into a size twelve, and called herself a whale.

  “Nothing’s wrong with me, Mom,” Candy told her. “I’m fine as I am.” She knew this because while she was sitting there, glaring at Kevin, daring him to say a word as she ate her candy bar, she had promised herself that nobody else’s opinion of her would ever matter again. Kevin had spit on her, but she was the one getting suspended; that was what taught her that the scales were tipped in their favor, not hers. Pun very much intended.

  She began to dance alone in her room because she liked to dance. Her mother had said that going out on the dance floor at her weight would have been grotesque, so Candy danced. She taught herself all the dances the kids were doing, then she took some of the money she earned as a clerk at the pharmacy, and bought herself ballroom dancing lessons.

  The teacher told her she was a natural, very light on her feet. Buoyed up by his praise, Candy invested in belly dancing lessons. Her mother told her it was trashy so Candy took some advanced classes and got to be very, very good. And finally, once she started college, she started taking ballet lessons.

  The other girls laughed. She expected that. It had happened with every dance class she’d ever taken. Three weeks in when she was the most advanced student, when she could do things the others couldn’t, they weren’t laughing anymore. Her teachers loved her. None of them ever said, “Candy why don’t you try losing some weight?” They all said, “Watch Candy, she’s got it down cold.”

  After finishing her undergrad degree, she took half a dozen years off to care for her mother who had had a stroke thanks, Candy was sure, to those diet pills her mother had abused for years. When Alic
ia died, there was no money left for Candy to go back to school, so she decided she’d try to earn some money doing what she did best, dancing. She auditioned for the owners of several clubs until she found one who liked the way she looked.

  “Y’know we get all kinds here,” Bridget said during the interview. “Some men like big girls, some like small ones. Some like ‘em black, some white, some Asian or Hispanic… whatever. If a girl can dance, then I’ll give her a chance.” And by God, Candy could dance and so could the other girls Bridget hired. Her club had a great reputation for being fun and exciting, and filled with confident women who loved their work.

  But that night, Candy didn’t really love her work. She didn’t love it that Alvin, Bridget’s assistant manager, was more worried about the guys making the scene than about the girls who made that club what it was. But Candy was on, and she would, by God, do the best job she was capable of doing.

  She strutted out to the strains of I Want Candy and the regulars all applauded. She winked or waved at some of the guys she knew, and because she never backed down from a challenge, she went right to the front of the stage and danced for the assholes, shaking her big boobs and ass in their faces and shocking them into momentary silence.

  It couldn’t last. It wasn’t long before they started yelling, “Hey lard ass, get off the fuckin’ stage!” or “If I wanted to see a hippo dance I’d watch Fantasia!”

  Candy blocked it all out. She’d heard it before and once you’ve been hit with words a few times they start to bounce off you. She danced her heart out, and contemplated a nip slip, which was only occasionally allowable and only then under extreme circumstances like getting the audience on your side.

  But before she could engineer it, something hit her arm, something wet and stinking of alcohol. One of the guys had dunked his handkerchief in his drink and lobbed it at her. Grateful it was nothing worse, she picked it up and danced her way to the front of the stage where she picked out the idiot who had thrown it pretty quickly. He had this look of expectation on his face, a kind of slack-jawed “did ya see what I did? Haw haw haw” look.

  Candy danced right up to the edge of the stage, swinging the wet handkerchief in one hand and smiling like she thought what he’d done was the cleverest thing since Einstein had said, “Hey… E really does equal MC squared!” And the minute he leaned forward to say, “Get your fat ass off the stage bitch,” she hit him with it, snapping it as hard as she could across his nose and cheek.

  Fucker screamed like a little girl.

  There was a moment of stunned silence and then the guy jumped up and grabbed for Candy. She jumped back, ready to take him on. She’d had a few self-defense courses along with all the dancing. Knocking Down a Drunken Dickwhistle 101 was her best class.

  But before he could scramble up onto the stage and get smacked into next week, two of the other guys from the group grabbed him and threw him back onto his table. They weren’t gentle with him either, and when the rest of the drunks protested, the two of them stood there at the foot of the stage like guard dogs, daring the others to make a move.

  By then the assistant manager had gotten his head out of his ass and called the bouncers who started sweeping the party out. The two men who had intervened picked up their jackets and followed their brawling, puking, stupid friends out. But they both turned and looked back at Candy.

  One of them winked at her, and she couldn’t help it, she smiled at him.

  Someone started the I Want Candy track again, and Candy swung into her number for the second time, to the wild applause of the rest of the crowd. They loved a tough, no-nonsense gal who could take care of herself, and swing her ass like it was on ball bearings.

  The next evening when Candy rolled on in to work, Bridget was at the bar. She motioned Candy over.

  “So, do you want to tell me what went on last night? Alvin is blaming you.”

  “Me?” It was Kevin Kaminski all over again. “If he’d done his job and bounced those assholes, when they started hassling the girls, there might not have been an incident.”

  Bridget studied her and smiled. “That’s what I thought. I hear you’re fearless. I like that.”

  “I don’t let anyone put me down,” Candy replied.

  “Quite right. Go get dressed, love.”

  That night, just to be cheeky, Candy pulled a sexy cop outfit out of her wardrobe and put it on. It was a skintight black dress, open to the waist and just barely covering her breasts, with a skirt that only barely fell below her pussy, and under it a black thong. Her knee-high leather boots went on over black stockings, and she had a cap that she’d gotten off a real police officer (It made her something of a legend among the girls to have talked a real, live cop out of his hat.) a badge, nightstick, and handcuffs. Candy had been known to drive the audience wild just by playing with the nightstick.

  When she strutted out on stage in her uniform, she could tell that a lot of the audience had heard about the previous night’s events because there was a huge wave of applause and cheers. That was Candy’s candy. She loved it when they loved her. She would dance her heart out if her audience returned the favor.

  She moved around the stage, utterly absorbed in her dance, and the crowd ate it up. They cheered her and urged her on. She owned them.

  She danced her way to the front of the stage planning to shake her boobs in the face of whoever had the best table, and faltered for just a moment when she saw the two men from the previous night, the ones who had pulled the drunk off the stage and stood between her and the rest of their pals.

  They were looking at her like she was a steak dinner.

  She turned and flashed them a little ass, then looked over her shoulder and winked at them just to let them know she remembered who they were. Then finally as the song came to an end, she made her way back up front and wrenched open the dress to reveal the thong, and a tiny string bra that covered her nipples but not much else. She whipped a little squirt gun out of the front of her thong, aimed it at the men and squirted them with a little diluted cologne. Rose and vanilla.

  The audience went nuts. They were on their feet clapping and shouting Candy, Candy, Candy! And the two men in front clapped harder and shouted louder than anyone else. It was incredibly gratifying.

  Later, after the first show ended, Candy put on a demure little black dress and went out to talk to some of the customers. After stopping at a few tables to say hello to people she knew, she made her way over to the table where the two rose-and-vanilla-scented guys were sitting.

  “You boys smell good,” she observed. They actually stood up to greet her and offer her a chair. She didn’t normally sit with people at the tables, but this time she made an exception. “I wanted to say thanks for stepping in last night. I didn’t want to have to go down to the police station for kicking shit out of your friend.”

  “We’re really sorry the fair-haired one said. He looked like a Norse god, and Candy felt a little tingle in her pussy when she looked at him.

  “We’re both embarrassed by the way the others behaved and we should have done something to stop them earlier.” This from the other, more boy-next-door number.

  “You probably should have, yeah,” Candy agreed. “When they started making the girls cry.”

  Both of them looked so abashed that she said, “Come on, it’s over. I’m not mad and the girls aren’t either. It’s all part of the job. But why on earth did you two come back? Weren’t you afraid I’d kick your asses too?” She grinned at them. “Or were you hoping I would?”

  The Viking said, “The latter. I’m Michael, by the way. Mike. And this is Liam. Could we buy you a drink?”

  “Thank you. Just some club soda. I have to go on again soon.”

  Liam waved the waitress over and gave the order. Mike said, “We were hoping we might persuade you to come out somewhere with us either after you finish here or on your day off.”

  “Are you boys asking me out on a date? Both of you?” Candy asked.

&nbs
p; The two of them exchanged a grin. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “Intrigued enough?” Liam asked.

  “Let me think about it for a while.” She hadn’t had an offer like that in… well, in ever. Because she understood them to be saying that if she took one of them on, she took them both. Or as her grandmother used to say, “Glory! It’s an embarrassment of riches.”

  She used the cop outfit for her second show, but this time she left the squirt gun in the dressing room and gave the crowd some nightstick action. When she started rubbing it across her thong-encased muff, she could hear men all over the room moaning happily. Then she reached around, stuck it between her thighs, and gave herself a nightstick cock which she stroked right at Mike and Liam. I know what you’re wanting, and I’m the girl who can give it to you.

  She sent a note out to their table after the show asking them to come backstage which they did, fairly quickly. Candy was still in costume, taking off her makeup when they arrived, and the other girls were in various stages of undress, though none of them ever minded pretty guys seeing them naked. And they put on a show for the boys, bending over to pull on stockings, and showing off their snatches, rubbing up against the boys while reaching for something they didn’t really need, asking for help with bra hooks. Candy was trying not to laugh as each of the girls made a play for them, and each failed and left the dressing room.

  Once they were alone, she turned and stuck her leg out. “Can you help me get my boots off?” she asked, and they both rushed to help her. Then she rolled the stockings down to her knee and asked them to finish the job, which they did.

  She got up and stripped off the dress and hung it up in the wardrobe. “You boys have something special in mind, don’t you?” she asked. “A troy.”