“Come on. It’ll be fun!”

I was being dragged by the hand by my new friend, Morgan, off to who knows where in Manhattan—some obscure part populated by older and smaller brick buildings.

Me? I was still reeling. Not fully present. Finding oneself twenty-one, freshly kicked out of a blended family, napping when I could on park benches in the summer heat, not eating regularly; all of it can do that to a person.

I was trying to reconcile, reorganize—center myself through the one thing that still moved me, literally. Dance.

Dance schools, studios, performing arts unions—I’d been trying anything that might lead to a paying job in dance. I could express myself in movement in ways I just couldn’t otherwise. Having a good body and looks, even being compared at times with the Greek god Adonis, given my medium-length curly blonde hair and somewhat similar name of Aden, I maintained hope of finding work in the performing arts.

Trying another Actors’ Equity Chorus audition, I waited on the standby list, but auditions for the day closed.

Leaving in dejection, “Hey there, hot guy,” I heard from behind. “You look, and smell, like you could use some help.”

“That’s direct,” I replied. Turning to look, this woman was a stunner. White, slender with straight black hair past her shoulders, she wore tight, faded bluejeans and a white halter top wrapped around her shoulders and sides, loosely tied in front. Parted down past her cleavage, it revealed generous portions of her moderate, natural breasts with pronounced nipples raising the fabric, unrestrained by any bra.

“Well, am I right?” she asked, hands confidently on her hips.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” I responded, my eyes focused on her torso, mesmerized as much by her as surprised by her offer.

“Name’s Morgan. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.” Taking me by the hand, she lead me toward the exit.

“You regularly take on charity cases?” I wondered.

“Only the best-looking ones.”

“I’m that good, eh?”

Glancing at me, “You show potential,” she replied. “One of us noticed you at an interpretive dance school audition. Liked what they saw. They were able to ID you by phone, have a private eye trace you, and I’m here to reel you in.”

“Wait,” I said, pausing us at the front doors to the outside. “Who is us? Is any of this real?”

“We’re an art-lovers’ colony of sorts. Quiet, inviting only those one or more of us like. You’ll still be evaluated, but someone or someones plural are interested in you.”

“Are you one of them?”

“Not really. I’m just here to get you.”

“That’s a shame,” I felt bold enough to reply.

“You’re not to know who yet,” she continued, ignoring the flirt. “Buuut, ‘ya got any better offers today?”

“Not really.”

“Then let’s go.”

Growing dizzy from hunger, I no longer objected.

—————

Soon, Morgan stopped us in front of a four-storey red brick building. Unlocking and opening one of its large wooden doors, she led me into an enclosed alleyway between single doors along each side to a well-ordered garden courtyard with a table, some chairs, even its own waterfall in a far corner tumbling amid large rocks.

I noticed several people in the shallow pool at the base of the falls, though. Naked people . . . who were fucking. One pair was a young woman bent over being fucked doggy style by a fit but silver-haired man old enough to be her father, while nearby a dark-haired man was braced against a boulder, enjoying his cock being sucked by either another man or a short-haired woman immersed up to their shoulders, kneeling in the pool. Elsewhere, a muscular man had lifted up his smaller female companion high, her legs spread wide across his forearms as he lowered her onto his arching penis.

“Remember to focus not just on movement, but passion,” a male voice growled. “Dance, even sexual, should be passion! . . . Ah, our initiate. Very good, Morgan. Go, join your friends. They have been waiting for you.”

Feeling very dizzy between hunger and now a long walk, I watched with disappointment as Morgan left across the courtyard. All was not lost, though, as she reached down her front to undo the knot of her halter top. Turning in between two other females—a redhead and a brunette, who were clothed in dark bedsheets arranged like Ancient Greek or Roman garb, each baring a breast—Morgan unwrapped her top, offering her own perfect breasts and erect nipples to be suckled by her two companions. Welcoming each of their heads with an embracing arm, the fabric of her top now hanging loosely at her sides, she gazed at me boldly.

“Morgan’s a confirmed lesbian,” I heard the male voice say behind me. “But she’s an exhibitionist. A great performer, working nights in the best clubs.”

“So, no chance with her,” I sighed.

“Not likely.”

I turned to see a dark-haired, mature man wearing a loose white shirt opened to reveal a sensuously-haired chest, along with gray tights that displayed a large erection oriented sideways within.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’m gay, and new guys, especially good-looking ones—they just get me going.”

Wooziness overtaking me: “I . . .” I could barely say before I collapsed. Everything went black.

—————

I woke to the feel of fresh sheets against my bare skin. I was clean, in a king bed, nude.

Opening my eyes and stretching, “You’re awake.” I heard that male voice say. “Here, sit up against the pillows and have some oatmeal. Best thing after not eating in a while. Was a starving artist myself once.”

Seeing him now in a thin, gray, V-neck sweater and black boxer shorts, “You know my story, too?” I said, taking the bowl and spoon he offered.

“Morgan said she told you you’ve been ID’d, checked out, and watched. We even had your blood tested while you were out to make sure you’re disease-free. Our benefactors interested in you are very careful. They have to be. They’ll be watching you during your evaluations, but you will not see them or know who they are until the time is right.”

“They gonna sponsor me as a dancer?”

“They want to adopt you, as a concubine. You’re that good-looking to them, and frankly to me, too.

“You’d want for nothing with them. Never again know hunger, poverty, anything but luxury. Even I’m a little envious at what they’re offering you. But I’m older than the youthful Greek god they say they’re desiring.”

Laying the bowl and spoon down at my sides after just a few spoonfuls, “Sexual servitude? In America?”

“They want to make you family.”

“Family . . .” I sighed. “That’s become almost a swear word to me.”

“I know, at least in part. Got kicked out by yours. Stepfather, right?”

“Actually, my shocked mother. Said she didn’t know me anymore after catching me in bed . . . being fucked by my stepfather. He seduced me, calling me his Adonis, saying I was the ‘best-lookin’ guy’ he ever saw. Said waiting until I was twenty-one was the hardest thing he’s done, and that he half-decided to marry my mother so he could get to me.” Chuckling with irony, “I don’t know whether my mom might have thrown him out, too.

“He had a hairy chest. Even though I like women, I’m partial to hairy chests. Have been since my birth father held me when I was a child. He died of cancer when I was eight. It was innocent, pure. But the best love I’ve known.”

Looking aside nervously, “You like hairy chests?” my host asked, his hands lifting that thin sweater. “How ‘bout this?”

Turning to face me, “First time I’ve mowed it in a while,” he said. “For you. I-I can sleep on the couch if you like.”

Spellbound, “No. I like it, and you.”

Rising from bed, the sheet and quilt dropped from my naked body. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Every dark hair on his pecs and abdomen was now perfectly groomed. His black boxer shorts were draped just below the outer ends of his nicely-defined, V-shaped Adonis Belt of ligaments and obliques. Angling downward, his erection was visibly stiffening within the shorts, its cockhead emerging against his exposed right thigh.

Moving to embrace him, “I don’t know your name.”

“Artois,” he breathed.

Our arms seizing about each other, our noses and lungs sucked air as we kissed. He being the stronger, “I trust you,” I offered. “I had un-oiled sex with my stepfather.”

Artois grimaced in gratitude, even moaning. Tightening my grip about his shoulders, I lifted and wrapped my legs about his waist. His boxers falling away, he moved his hands under my thighs. Then with supreme effort, he lifted me up in front of him as I had seen his strong student do with their companion. Swinging my pelvis forward as he lowered me, his large penis found its mark, impaling my dry, unprepared but rubbery anus and rectum. I cried out in exquisite agony.

He leaned back, moving his hands up my lumbar muscles. I ground my cock against his rippled abdomen, while also flexing on his penis stuck fast within me. Working our bodies and mouths against one another, orgasm swelled among us. Throwing our heads back, we roared our climaxes, me gushing against him and he inside me.

“I love you,” I said intensely, “and must fuck you more.”

Turning us, falling backward on his bed, Artois offered himself for whatever I desired.

Eventually spent, resting in a bed within a nude male’s embrace, I was home. Wonderfully home.

—————

Mornings became fabulous. Sometimes I’d wake first, admiring his hairy body in the morning sun streaming through the windows. Other mornings I’d wake to Artois admiring my almost hairless body.

During the day, he would train me in the arts of love and dance. Just not ballet. “Too formal, stiff,” he said.

One day, as I rested, collapsed on a sofa in the apartment we shared after an intense session, he came through the door. “I’ve found a female who has agreed to test you. Now, if you’re ready.”

“Not train me?”

“Test you,” he repeated. “I’ve trained you, and the benefactors are very satisfied with your performances with me. They just want to see you with a female, and that female wants to see you in this,” he said, holding forth a thin, red piece of clothing.

I just smiled.

—————

Soon emerging down the outside stairs from our second-floor apartment into the garden courtyard, “I knew one of my halter tops would look good on you,” I heard. “Especially the red one. Makes you look such the bad boy.”

Walking towards Morgan, she rose from a chair beside the courtyard’s wooden table. Wearing a blue halter top, it revealed generous portions of her breasts as always, while her red one was revealing my pecs and subtle male cleavage.

As I arrived, she looked at me with a smile. “Well, you finally get to do me.”

“You’re volunteering,” I reminded her.

“Think you can take this lesbian?”

“You’re gonna scream like a bitch in heat.”

“You’re over me then? Preferring handsome guys now over beautiful women?”

“You prefer beautiful women over handsome guys.”

Looking at the community members around us, “We got a show to do—if you can get it up,” she noted, grabbing my still flaccid cock through my jeans. “Or is groomed body hair needed?”

“You have some groomed hair.”

“But you gotta get to it.”

“Rumba, when the music starts,” I said to her. “Play Flamenco!” I then called more loudly.

Rapid guitar music started playing. I spun Morgan around, embracing her from behind.

“Ooo, brutish Latin dance moves,” she noted. “My favorite.”

Reaching inside her top, I squeezed her right breast as the other hand clawed her mons within her jeans as we kissed.

“You found my fur.”

Withdrawing that hand as fast as I inserted it, I spun away setting up for the next move.

“Wait, you found my fur. No one just pets my pussy then leaves.”

Dropping my pose as the music played, “Despite us having a resident dance master—whom I’m enjoying an intimate relationship with—you don’t know dance, do you?”

“I’m an exhibitionist. I know seductive self-presentation,” she said, tracing her hands down her sides. “I mind-fuck the audience.”

“Time to learn something new,” I said, spinning us back together. “Let’s try simpler.

“Play some tribal drums!” I called. “Go predator,” I coached more quietly to her.

“I. Am. Impressed,” she said before we parted and turned, ready to hunt passion, and each other.

The drumming began subdued around us. Morgan and I circled each other, cat-like, in the courtyard. Working out solo to this music, I knew its timings and cues.

The drums boomed. I struck, grabbing her from the side. My hand at her jaw jerking her head back, I kissed her sharply before pressing her backwards against the table.

Bracing herself, her legs instinctively parting, “You want your pussy tended?” I said. Moving in front, my hands grasped her jeans either side of the fly. Ripping that fly open, I sent its black buttons flying. Like me, she wore no underwear. Moving back to her side, extending the fingers of my right hand down her groomed pelt, I lightly fluttered the middle one over her clit and upper labia.

“Oh God,” she breathed, closing her eyes. The drums thumped. I plunged that middle finger inside, causing her to roar. Morgan turned, surging against me. Grabbing the strips of thin fabric covering my pecs, she tore them, shoving the rest down but leaving it around my waist like a crimson sash.

Hooking two fingers inside, stroking the front of her vaginal wall just right, I sent her into a crippling orgasm, causing her to collapse.

“HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT?!” she roared in ecstasy, unable to control her shuddering body.

“Penises and periniums work much the same as pussies,” I quietly replied, dropping with her.

Her orgasm subsiding, “Your turn. Up against the table.”

Both of us standing again, looking at me, she reached behind her neck, undoing the halter strings before shoving the garment down and stepping out of it. She then stepped out of her jeans and shoes. Standing naked before me, “I want nothing in our way.”

Pouncing, she now pressed me against the outdoor table, savagely kissing me as her hands went for the hem of my jeans. Ripping my fly open, she shoved the jeans down from my pelvis. Dropping to her knees just as fast, she began hungrily consuming my swelling cock.

No one had ever sucked me so hard. Removing her mouth as her right hand maintained intense stroking around my shaft, “Cum for me,” she growled, glancing up at me, “and then work to cum again inside me.”

Grabbing her head, angling it upward, I rammed my cockhead down her inclined throat. Her hands gripping my hips hard, I knew Morgan would need a breath soon. Reaching for a quick first orgasm, I shuddered, my cock pumping cum down her throat.

Withdrawing my penis from her mouth with flourish, I bent down. Lifting Morgan by her armpits as she caught her breath, I laid her prone upon the table. Spreading her legs, I dropped between them, orally attacking her womanhood with more light, teasing strokes of my tongue and lips on her clitoris.

“STOP!” Morgan screamed, writhing. “FUCK ME!”

Rising, pulling her rump to the table’s edge, I rammed my cock inside her sopping ladyhood. Grabbing and pulling Morgan up by her armpits again, I held and fucked her tight against me. Her body flexing in opposition, her breasts oscillating against my chest—she continued screaming out her consuming orgasms, her fingers clawing my bare back.

Finally, I bodily quaked against Morgan, my penis erupting inside her.

Standing inclined together, our limbs about each other, both of us sweaty, breathing hard—she and I finally pulled back to gaze at each other as cheering erupted around us.

“You . . . You have me reconsidering my sexuality, my orientation,” Morgan said breathlessly, draping her body and head about me.

Out of love rather than lust, “What would you like?” I whispered into her left ear amid her sweat-drenched strings of black hair.

“Fuck me some more,” she invited. Raising her head to share our gaze once more, “Gently.”

We kissed, thrusting slowly.

—————

“Bravo! Bravo!” we soon heard. Loosening our embrace, Morgan looked behind me to see who it was.

Breaking from me, she slid my cock from her vagina, nervously closing her thighs while still seated on the table.

“Aden,” Artois said, also behind me, “meet your benefactors, Marcus and Nicole Dubois.”

Turning my own head, I saw an older Black man dressed in a pinstripe suit with an open-collared white shirt, and a young Black woman, her straight, ebony hair drawn back into an elegant ponytail, wearing a black halter dress that generously revealed unrestrained breasts beneath the way Morgan’s tops did.

Neither looked familiar, but I had heard the name. “Y-You mean the Duboises involved with fashion, real estate, venture capital and now clean energy?”

“The same,” the older man replied. “You’re more informed than most. I am further impressed.

“As Arty has told you, we naturally need to be careful. But Nicki and I, we have unique desires, appetites—ones we would like to satisfy on a lasting, stable basis, with a future.”

“With a concubine?” I said in open question.

“Concubine to me,” he clarified, “husband, and sire, to Nicki. We’d like to share you. We’ve been looking for someone who could be comfortable with such an arrangement, endure with us as part of it. Be as much mine as hers. We have searched among the broad-minded, aware and caring arts and artist communities for some time. When Nicki saw you at a dance school audition we sponsored, she just had a feeling about you, wanted you checked out. You seem, shall we say, more caring yet still masculine, handsome, and more available to assume a new life than anyone else we’ve looked at.

“You are free to refuse, maybe take up a life with new friends here.”

“Artois?” I asked.

“I prepared you, and loved you, for this,” he said.

I then glanced back at Morgan, still sitting on the table nude, sweaty, freshly-fucked with a bright red sex flush across her upper chest, seductively biting her lower lip and looking as warmly at me as I had ever hoped.

I now hesitated, maintaining our gaze.

“But,” Mister Dubois continued, shedding his jacket, passing it to Artois before undoing his cuff links, “perhaps you might like to evaluate us. It’s only fair. . . . Nicki, let’s show Aden what life with us might be. Seduce your could-be husband, while I,” he said with a sigh, looking my nude self up and down, “sample he who could become concubine to me.”

Turning on her seductive charm, the young, very dark Negress in her even blacker, revealing dress approached me.

“H-Husband?” I stammered as her ebony hands moved to stroke my far paler but flushed chest.

“Husband and sire to me, concubine to him,” she said with a distinct African accent, while the man spoke with an American one.

“Remember, we are also students of Arty’s and patrons of this community,” Nicole and I heard. Turning my head at least, I saw Dubois completely nude beside me, possessing a mature, dark, alluring frame, including an oh-so-seductive, salt-and-pepper-haired front, and a thick, sausage-like penis with luscious hanging balls, wreathed by more hair.

“Sir, may I explore your body and cock?” I breathed, already beginning to embrace and kiss him.

“Call me Marcus, even Daddy,” he invited. “Nicki does.”

“Daddy . . .” deeply moved, I brought both arms around him as we continued to kiss. “This is what I’ve wanted.”

“Your home, Son. Nicki and I, we want to be your family. That we can fuck one another—it’s just icing on a perfect cake all too few get to enjoy.”

Feeling fabric being parted on my left side, two firm, natural breasts with erect nipples and coned areolae pressed, almost embraced, my left lower ribs between them. Moving my right arm around her, I turned my head to kiss Nicole, Nicki. She would be wife to me now, mare to my stallion and future mother of our mixed-race children, heirs to an empire. And I was suddenly its prince, unimaginably rich. A private god, concubine and mate? It seemed the least I could do in return.

Breaking away from me on my other side, “Let me fuck you,” Dubois said, “Seeing you perform, and now being with you like this? I need to cum. Bad.”

“Not until I prepare you, Sir, the way our teacher has taught.”

“Call me Marcus or Daddy.”

Descending to orally worship his haired front, “Right now, I want to call you Sir.”

As I moved to take that wonderful, dark penis in my mouth, my new daddy gripped my blonde hair and began to thrust.

Backing away to admire us, “I’ll let you boys go first,” we heard Nicole say. “Gets me hotter. But I’m next.”

“And I think I’ll get off this table,” Morgan added.

“Stay where you are, Ms. Morgan,” Marcus invited. “Your breasts and body, they feel good against my back.”

“Okaaay,” she cautiously accepted, wrapping her arms around Marcus’ midsection. “Still leaking cum.”

“You’re fine.”

I glanced up at her now looking over Marcus’ shoulder down at me. “Aden, I could never give you what these two are. So, go for it. You have my blessing, and slight envy. Maybe I’ll visit as the naughty maid at times.”

“Executive assistant,” Marcus corrected, straining as he began orgasming into my mouth, “even dominatrix, with private wing access. Nicki has wanted to try being a lesbian sub, even pony girl.”

“Now that I can do. Accepted,” Morgan replied as Mister Dubois shuddered within her grip of him from behind, his hot male cum filling my mouth. “Swallow it, Aden. All of it,” she added, peering down at me again over his naked shoulder.

I could only give a thumbs up in reply.

As soon as I pulled back, Nicole stepped between Marcus and myself. Dominantly spreading her legs within her black dress, thanks to the slit displaying her entire right leg from the hip down, and wearing no panties, she squatted, grabbing and mounting my still-erect penis as I sat inclined back upon the courtyard gravel beside the table, propped on my arms. Embracing me as we wantonly fucked, I savored the look and feel of her pointed ebony breasts brushing against me.

Sensing movement near us, I turned my head to see Morgan walking away, without picking up her clothes.

Fucking, Nicole and I looked at each other with concern, both of us cumming nonetheless.

—————

That evening, I was moved by chauffeur to the Dubois estate on Long Island just outside New York City.

Introduced to our private wing, it had its own living room with a variety of fine furnishings, including two French chaise longes and a long black ottoman, intended for intimate activities. Our bedrooms were beyond. The one I would share with Nicole was off to the right, but I would sometimes be invited to sleep with Marcus to the left. Both of course opened to each other, allowing for one big suite.

I marveled for a good while, settling into a routine that would have been unimaginable before.

Today, though, was a Saturday. The cleaning staff had the weekend off, and Morgan was scheduled to visit, even spend the night.

At Morgan’s suggestion by phone, we decided to have a farm theme, especially when Marcus told us of his farming roots growing up in Illinois.

“Bib overalls, and nothing else?” I noted, seeing Marcus emerge from his room wearing them.

Unbuttoning the left shoulder strap, as well as across his midsection and down the fly, he revealed his haired front down to the penis. “You like?”

“Me take,” I replied, moving in for some male passion. Easing Marcus upon the long, low, padded ottoman, I orally aroused and soon mounted him.

“I like your black leather straps,” he said, admiring the harness I was wearing around my otherwise nude torso and waist, even grabbing it as I worked myself above him, sitting on his cock. “Can’t tell whether you’re a stallion or centurion.”

“Haven’t put the hooves on yet. Let alone the bridle and bit,” I replied, savoring the delicious feel of his thick penis sliding in and out of my rectum between my spread legs. Lowering myself upon his revealed chest, “Thank you for this. All of it,” I sighed, moving to share a kiss.

“We have you to thank, just as much,” we heard Nicole reply, emerging from our bedroom wearing her pony girl harness and tack.

“Mmmmm, she looks good enough to fuck, doesn’t she, Son?”

“She does. ‘Scuze me, Dad,” I said, rising from him.

“I’m good,” he replied. “Had a quiet cum in you without either of us realizing it.”

Approaching the harness-clad Black woman who was now truly my wife after a quiet ceremony, “Hey,” I greeted, putting an arm around her back as I couldn’t help admiring her pointed ebony breasts framed in even blacker leather straps.

“Hey back,” she replied, gently embracing my harnessed back and flanks as well from the side. “I know this will be the first time with you and Morgan since you moved here. But I want you to give her your all. Don’t hold back because of me. I love seeing you fuck both Daddy and Morgan.”

“My princess,” I couldn’t help admiring.

“Your Nigerian princess, brought here, just like you. Let’s practice,” she invited, getting down before me on all fours, offering her dark, harnessed back and ass, ponytail butt plug and all.

“His cock’s clean,” Marcus assured nearby, sitting up on the side of the ottoman to watch Nicki and I go at it. “I took him.”

“I trust you both. Ohhh,” Nicole sighed as I straddled her upturned ass, penetrating her vagina and beginning to thrust.

Just as I was establishing a rhythm I could sustain for a while, the door opened.

“Starting without me, eh?” Morgan said, seeing Nicole and I mounted doggy style. Shedding a new white jacket to reveal her usual, almost breast-baring white halter top, “You two, on me, now.”

Compliantly separating and walking towards her, Nicki and I began embracing and kissing Morgan from opposite sides.

Turning her head to share kisses with me as my left hand undid the knot in front binding the wraps of her halter top, “I can’t really be much of a lesbian anymore,” Morgan confessed. “You and that filling, consuming fuck you gave—it’s wrecked me.”

“Wreck her again, Husband,” Nicole said to my surprise. “We have plenty of time, and she’s hungry; kind of like we each once were, just for sensuality instead of food.”

“You sure?” I asked, uncertain whether to continue kissing Morgan while nonetheless fondling her breasts, now fully exposed as the wraps of the halter top dropped open.

“We’ve talked,” Nicole answered, skipping ahead. “Polygamy is common in Nigeria. Part of our culture.”

“I want to move in with you,” Morgan said between us, still looking at me.

“We are changing the staff to Nigerian,” Nicole assured both Morgan and me. “They’re more trustworthy, and used to arrangements like this. Morgan, you are also getting a ring, and a ceremony with a Nigerian Celestial Church of Christ priest.

“Actually, let’s wreck her together,” one of my now two wives decided. “First you, then me. You males can watch. Morgan has told me females can fuck and cum longer. So, I’ve been wanting another woman in our lives we can trust.”

“Well, this is a surprise,” I replied.

“Sur-pri-ize,” Morgan answered in a sing-song way with unusual weakness. “No theatrics or drama this time, ‘kay? Just fuck and make me cum in comfort before she does. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. Those people at the courtyard? They’re nothing compared with you, or what I can train Nicole to be.”

Loving Morgan as also my wife, I quietly posed, stripped and pleasured her before our audience of two—who were now family to us—soon fondling her breasts more while fingering her cunt.

“You do fingering sooo right,” Morgan breathed, almost collapsing in front of me.

The two of us gazed at each other. “Siri,” I called, “play some tribal drums.”

Biting her lower lip, tearfully overjoyed, “Just fuck me,” she whispered.

Lying her upon the long ottoman while Marcus and Nicole watched and the music began thumping, I went predator upon Morgan anyway, rhythmically spreading and mounting this enticing but once unapproachable lady who wanted me even more than I originally wanted her.

Treasuring the feel of her body, breasts and cunt beneath me, I was soon cumming inside her as she orgasmed, holding me tightly in tearful appreciation.

“Sit us up. Get behind me,” Morgan then whispered. The two of us repositioning on the ottoman facing our audience, she spread her legs as my cum began dribbling out between her sopping labia, beckoning Nicole with a curled finger.

“Kneel,” Morgan gently commanded as Nicki came to stand before us. “Suck his cum from me, hooking your tongue inside as far as it can reach. All of it. Slowly. Then, we will breed you to your stallion, properly.”

“It will be my pleasure to serve,” our harnessed Nigerian responded. Lowering herself, she moved her dark head with its pony bridle and black leather ears between Morgan’s spread thighs, beginning to lick the furred mons and labia presented.

“This I am liking,” Morgan sighed, relaxing against me, my arms bracing us up, as we resumed kissing.