One night a few years ago I attended the wedding of a fag hag’s friend. My fag hag asked me along as her date when her “guy of the week” backed out. Since I’m always interested in free alcohol and a dancefloor, I accepted.
While my friend socialized, I spent my time fluttering around the packed reception hall looking for hot guys. Almost immediately, I saw an incredibly muscular black male around my height (5′10″) whose upper body was straining the seams on his fitted and expensive suit. He looked something like this:
Instantly, everyone else disappeared from my view, including the chunky blonde white girl on his arm. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He felt like the center of gravity in the room, and everything seemed to swirl around his intense confidence. It was mesmerizing.
So I positioned myself in his field of view nearby, smiled, and noticed that his rum and Coke was nearly empty. So I went by him casually and told him that I was getting another drink and asked if he’d like me to fetch one for him as well. He looked me over in a moment of eternal tension, smiled cautiously, and said, “Sure thing, man.”
When I returned with his drink, his date had conveniently disappeared into the restroom with her friends. Perfect opportunity. After asking his name (Sam) and about his association to the mostly-white wedding party, I segued into asking him about his weightlifting. Turned out he was a bodyguard for a well-known televangelist and also a highway patrolman, which led to more animated conversation.
Once his girlfriend returned, I pleasantly excused myself, but remained in the area. Every time his drink ran low, I arrived with a refill. Sam quickly realized that I was treating him with more respect and honor than his girlfriend. He clearly liked the attention. So by the end of the night, Sam asked me to call him.
After a few weeks of occasional texting, Sam asked me to come to his condo downtown early one Friday night. The place was jaw-dropping: exposed brick, open, loft-like floor plan, Brazilian hardwood floors, granite countertops, and perfect accent lighting everywhere.
Sam was cooking beef tips in some sort of reduction with asparagus, mushrooms, and onions, as well as some rice with tomatoes and cilantro. I was immediately embarrassed; no Man should be cooking for me. However, I kept silent (it was his house, after all), instead offering to set out the dishes on his long, knotted dining room table. After I finished, Sam offered me a glass of his Merlot, which I gladly accepted (I was terrified).
Then Sam did something distinct to change the nature of our friendship. He put the spoon down and said, firmly, “Here, finish cooking this.” I took the spoon and began working while Sam went over to the breakfast bar and sat down. From there, he watched me work for him as he sipped his wine.
Conversation over dinner was pleasant enough, although my heart felt like it skipped every other beat. We mostly talked about religion. But Sam wanted to talk about something else.
“I really appreciate that you’re submissive,” he said casually. I tensed noticeably. Sam liked that reaction. “The way you were getting my drinks at the wedding and paying attention to me … I really like that in a person.”
It was one of the few times in my life when I simply couldn’t speak. I tried to smile, some weak and awkward smirk as my mind searched for the proper response. “Yeah, well I’m glad,” I mumbled, adding, “I just like to be nice to people, I guess.”
“Uh huh,” Sam said, standing up. He put a hand under my right armpit. “C’mon,” he said, almost growling.
Sam led me into his huge, dark bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, and the lights outside streamed across the king-sized bed in the center of the room. Once inside, he turned and pulled me to him. His body was huge, like the Earth; being held by him was like being held by boulders. I’ve been blessed to be with many well-built Men, but Sam was by far the largest. My hands reflexively began to search his muscular frame.
The whole time Sam watched me, a smile crossing his face. “You like that?” he whispered in my ear. My mouth was too dry to answer.
Sam lightly picked me up and placed me on the bed. Casually, he took off his clothes; first, the maroon Oxford shirt, then the tight jeans, and finally the yellow bikini brief, until he was standing in front of me completely and gloriously naked. Then he gently fell onto the bed next to me.
“Now it’s your turn,” he ordered, nudging me on the back. Waves of body image insecurities flooded through me. How could I strip down in front of this muscular black god and reveal my puny, even pudgy white body? I was terrified, but I had to comply.
I skipped the sensual strip tease, opting instead for a quick “get it over with” approach. But as I finished, Sam said, “Stop.” I stood there naked, waiting for him to kick me out of his condo.
Instead, Sam smiled. “Stand over by that window.” Although confused, I complied. I felt even more exposed next to the open window, light from the street illuminating my unformed body.
“Perfect,” Sam muttered to my astonishment. Then Sam smiled so brightly that I could see his straight teeth through the darkness. “Come over here.”
Once in bed, Sam immediately grabbed my head and forced it down on his huge, fat cock. He fucked my mouth from multiple angles, every time his strong hands were around the back of my head or around my throat.
At one point Sam was sitting in bed, with me on my stomach in between his legs servicing him. Sam reached down and began spanking me. At first the hits were light, but they quickly evolved into vicious swipes. After every few, Sam would run a finger between my ass cheeks and gently probe by hole. I would arch my ass into the air, grinding into his exploratory fingers. Mainly, though, I didn’t want him to hit me anymore.
“You like that, huh?” Sam growled as he watched me writhe on the bed under his command. I mumbled in agreement as best as I could with an eight inch cock in my mouth.
Sam pulled my head off of his cock and slammed it firmly into the mattress. He climbed around behind me and began poking the fat head of his cock at my tiny little ass pussy.
“You want that, don’t you bitch?” Then another hard slap on my reddening ass.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my face held in the blankets and my body balled up against Sam’s immovable mass. I could feel Sam working his cock against my rebellious hole.
I began to feel panicked. “What about a condom?” I coughed into the mattress.
Sam’s only reply was to push his enormous cock into me in one long stroke. The pain was incredible, but nothing compared to what it felt like to have Sam then hold me down and angrily buttfuck me. He certainly wasn’t gentle, punctuating every few thrusts with another stinging slap.
“Uhhhhh, bitch, you’re so fucking tight.”
I felt like I might pass out, unsure of what to do. Then, suddenly, Sam’s home phone rang. “Aw, shit,” Sam bellowed as he pulled his cock out of me. I collapsed on the bed, turning to watch his enormous frame bound across the room to the phone. After a few short muffled sentences, Sam slammed the phone down.
“Been an accident on I-270, and I gotta go,” said Sam as he hurriedly picked clothes from the floor and forced them over his bulging body.
As he finished dressing, he came to the bed and loomed over me. “Stay here. I’ll only be gone two hours. I want to finish in you when I get back,” he said, staring directly into my eyes. My tiny cock leaked precum at the command.
After Sam left, I shivered in his bed. Eventually I went into the bathroom, where I discovered my asshole was bleeding slightly from the intrusion. I looked at my burning ass in the mirror; it was slashed with finger-like red marks.
My mind was racing – did Sam just try to rape me? Does he practice safe sex? If he’s this violent on the first visit, what might the future hold?
Terrified – and yet unsure of my true nature as a fag – I collected my clothes and ran out of Sam’s condo. I never heard from him again. A year later I went by his place, only to see a realty company sign in the window.
Rarely a month goes by that I don’t think about Sam and the way his natural Alpha instincts led to one of the defining encounters of my life. Had I been a better, more secure faggot at the time, I might’ve found myself in a fulfilling relationship faithfully serving a glorious god of a Man. My own fears and lack of personal insight prevented that from happening.
But I still have the memory, and it helps to motivate me even today.