I wonder if he tans?

Pulling himself up out of the pool was the darkest-skinned Black guy I’d ever seen. Not chocolate, not mahogany, just, well, black.

Like everyone at Bunny’s Naturist Sun Club, he was completely nude, and as he sprang athletically out of the pool, the sunlight glistened on his magnificent muscular torso and full, firm buttocks.

It’s hard to imagine he could get any darker.

Lying on my front, I started to apply some sun cream to my back. And struggled. Deliberately. It was a trick I’d learnt watching other girls at Bunny’s when they wanted some male attention. ‘Damsel in distress’, the oldest trick in the book.

Sure enough, within ten seconds, his low, rumbling voice: “Can I help you with that, Miss?”

“Oh, thank you, how kind; it’s so hard to reach all the nooks and crannies on one’s own.” Without looking up, I held out the bottle behind me.

I’d been coming to Bunny’s all summer. The atmosphere was fun and friendly with a flirty vibe. There were two pools, lush lawns and some shady woodland trails. The clubhouse was large and luxurious with showers, lockers, and a little cafe serving drinks, and there were cabins for overnight stays.

At 18, I was one of the youngest girls here, but it was a sexy, mixed crowd, mostly couples, and I felt safe and playful wandering naked throughout the club. I’d brought my boyfriend Paul once, but he hadn’t enjoyed it, probably a bit self-conscious due to him being, at best, modestly endowed.

My new friend started at my ankles, moved up to my calves, and then his large, strong hands were at my thighs.

“Miss, please don’t take this the wrong way, but could you part your thighs a little more, please, so I can make sure you’re properly covered with the lotion?”

“Are you asking me to spread my legs for you?”

A moment’s pause and then a deep bass chuckle: “Well, yes, I guess I am!”

And with a little giggle, I did just that, moving them much wider apart than needed and slightly arching my back to give him a perfect view of my shaven haven. “Is that okay?” 

He let out a little sigh. “More than okay, Miss.”

“It’s Sarah.”

“I’m Clyde,” and he knelt down beside my lounger. He started to smooth the cream into the top of my thighs and then up onto my bum, working it in deeply all over my cheeks and into the deep cleft between them, his fingers brushing my anus in a way that I wasn’t sure was technically necessary.

“Are you here with your cuck?”

My cook? What on earth is he on about?

“Er, no,” I replied, baffled. “I’m alone; I might grab a sandwich in the cafe later. My boyfriend’s away for the weekend, so I thought I’d come and work on my tan.”

“And it’s coming along very nicely, I must say. Not quite in my league yet, but you’re getting there.”

I gave a little snigger, which I knew would make my booty jiggle. “Yeah, well, I think you had a head start.”

After quickly moving up to do my back and arms, he gave me a crisp little pat – was it a spank? – on each butt cheek and was finished. “Right, that’s you done, peaches. Happy tanning. Let me know when you’d like me to do your front.”

Cheeky.

I lifted my shoulders slightly to turn my head to thank him.

Oh my fucking God!

“Whoa, Jesus, Clyde, wow, that is… do you have a permit for that thing?”

“Er, yeah, sorry, I, er, I’m not used to being nude in public with my hands all over a beautiful girl’s perfect ass, and it just, well, it’s got a mind of its own.”

The ‘it’ he referred to was his gigantic penis, fully erect, vertical and now three inches from my face. It wasn’t just the length of it or the girth; it was the sheer volume of the thing.

All along the underside ran a thick vein pulsing in time with his heartbeat, a fat pipeline pumping blood up to his swollen cockhead, itself bright pink, contrasting beautifully with his ebony shaft. Hanging down almost to the ground were balls the size of turtle’s eggs.

I just about managed to keep my composure. “Hey, look, no need to apologise; it’s only natural. It’s a nudist club after all, so it’s not like I’ve never seen an erect penis before. And you can hardly hide that thing.”

“I can think of a pretty good place to hide it.” He gave me a salacious wink. “Seriously though, Sarah, are you staying for the party tonight?”

“Party? Tell me more?”

“It’s called ‘Be an MC’; it’s held here every last Friday of the month. I’m staying over in one of the cabins.”

‘Be an MC’? Must be some sort of karaoke thing.

“Oh okay, I didn’t know that. I don’t usually come on Fridays.”

I didn’t. I’d normally be out for drinks and dinner with Paul, but he was away all weekend on a cricket tour, so I was at a loose end.

“But yes, that sounds fun; I love a good sing-song.”

He looked a little puzzled. “Er, okay, well, see you later then. I’m going for a dip; I think I need to cool down,” and he dived gracefully into the pool.

I basked in the sun, my skin warm and glowing and my pussy wet and throbbing deliciously.

My God, he is a big boy. That must be three times the size of Paul’s.

As I dozed off, I remembered asking Paul a few months before about the rumour that Black men were very well endowed. He’d become quite flustered, angry even, and since then hadn’t been able to get it up. I was trying to be patient, but it was becoming frustrating in more ways than one.

…

When I woke up, it was nearly sunset, and the crowd around the pool was thinning out. No sign of Clyde. I kicked into my Crocs, grabbed my towel and wandered back towards the clubhouse. There was a definite party vibe in the air now, the usual muted easy-listening muzak replaced by pounding hip-hop beats.

The place was packed. There was something odd about the crowd, something unusual. At first I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but as I got closer it struck me: ninety percent were guys, and nearly all of them were Black. If this was karaoke, then it must be R&B night.

In the clubhouse window there was a poster for the party. Not ‘Be an MC’, as I’d thought Clyde had said, but ‘BMFC’. A picture of a hung Black man, completely nude, flanked by two blonde nymphs wearing only stripper heels. Underneath the words spelt out in full:

BLACK MAN’S FAN CLUB

Oh! I don’t think Paul would approve of this.

Inside the place was jumping. Naughty by Nature’s O.P.P. was blasting out, and the dance floor was filled with gyrating bodies. Most of the women wore slutty lingerie, and the guys were nude or with tented towels that made their arousal obvious.

I felt suddenly vulnerable, conscious of my nudity and my youth, and decided to grab a quick shower and head home; this looked too intense for me.

Abruptly, a pair of rough hands grabbed me from behind, groping my naked breasts. I felt a thick, hard penis pressing against my bottom and a low voice in my ear, his breath thick with alcohol: “You want this BBC, don’t you, slut?” He spat the last word out with menace. Alarmed, I tried to wriggle free, but he was twice my size and had my arms pinned at my sides. A rising panic gripped me as he pushed his cock against my anus.

“She’s with me.” Out of nowhere, another voice: familiar, commanding. My would-be assailant released me from his clutches and backed away, subservient and mumbling, “Sorry, bruv, I didn’t know.”

“I sensed he wasn’t your type,” he giggled.

“Yes, thanks Clyde. Although flatteringly enthusiastic, his seduction technique rather lacked finesse. I’m going to hit the shower; would you mind escorting me? I feel like a baby antelope surrounded by a pack of hungry lions.”

Again his infectious chuckle, “Come on then, Bambi, seeing as I’m the one who put all that sun cream on you, it’s only fair I wash it off.”

There was a single shower room at Bunny’s, unisex. After all, we’d seen each other nude all day, so there was not much point in segregation. I was pleased to find it empty. I stood under one of the dozen showerheads and hit the timer valve. Clyde took one opposite.

The sexual tension was almost tangible. It was one of those momentous occasions: a fork in the road, two separate destinies, a choice made once and made forever. A quick shower and home to wait for Paul’s return? Or… the other road? There was never really a doubt; our path had been chosen when we were out by the pool without us even knowing.

Clyde was watching me intently. I tried to hold his gaze, tried to resist temptation, but it was useless. I had to see it again. My eyes dropped down, and there it was. At rest now but still a thing of beauty, awesome in the literal sense, the length, breadth, the heft of it, resting on and curling over two capacious black sperm barrels.

What was meant to have been a glance turned into a look, a long look and then a stare. One second became five, then ten, and when I eventually dragged my eyes back up to meet his, he knew; we both did.

I took my nipples between my fingers, twisting and rolling them as the warm water cascaded over me. The effect on Clyde was immediate: a jolting movement at the root of him and then a rapid thickening and lengthening as he watched me brazenly pleasure myself. Within a minute he was fully erect and coming over.

I turned and braced my hands against the tiled wall, my bum pushed out in provocation. His hands came round to work my nipples, and I felt the underside of his enormous shaft press against my booty cleft.

“Spread your legs,” a whisper, but an order too. I let out a little gasp. He moved his hips back briefly, pulled his erection down to horizontal and thrust it through the gap at the very top of my thighs.

This time I cried out with pleasure as his curved shaft settled perfectly against my groove. My outer lips smeared wet kisses along his length as he started to slowly move back and forth, his helmet nudging my swollen clitoris at the top of each long stroke.

All those weeks and months of frustration that were coiled up inside me were about to be explosively released. Within moments my legs started to tremble and my cunt exploded in an orgasmic eruption – sudden, violent, and devastating. My legs buckled, and involuntary squirts of juices splashed onto the shower room floor as the overwhelming ecstasy made me completely lose control.

I would have collapsed had Clyde not held me tight. Limp and still shaking, I was swept up into his muscular arms, carried out of the shower room, and with his huge erection leading the way like a meaty jousting lance, we went through the clubhouse and out into the night.

The cool night air brought me back down to earth.

Where are we going? Is he taking me to my car? To his car?

And then – with a thrilling delight – I remembered his words by the pool, ‘I’m staying over in one of the cabins.’

I was his now. He was taking me to his lair to claim me.

Inside the cabin he laid me gently on the bed, coming down on top of me as we fell into each other’s arms to kiss. And what a kiss. Clyde’s lips were soft and full as we touched at first just gently, then open-mouthed, our tongues meeting, entwining and exploring.

“Spread your legs,” he said, this time with a playful smile; it had become our private joke.

Clyde’s engorged crown was nestled between my labia. I reached down and encircled his girth with my hand. The size of him was daunting.

“Baby, you’re so much bigger than my boyfriend.”

“Than your ex-boyfriend,” the words delighted me. 'YES,' I thought emphatically, and dropping my hands down to his bum, I pulled him into me.

As the flared bulb of his cockhead pushed against my entrance, he briefly stopped to tell me:

“Sarah, I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” every cell in my body was screaming to feel him inside me.

“Please, Clyde…”

He put a finger against my lips: “I’m not going to fuck you; I’m going to make love to you. Make. Love,” the two words spoken slowly and with reverence.

It felt like I was having an orgasm in my heart; my pussy dilated, wet, receptive, and ready to be filled.

My legs wrapped around his waist, and my hands tightened their grip on his smooth, full buttocks. His engorged tip tested my tightness, gently but insistent. We held each other’s gaze, my eyes wide open in astonishment as he pushed past my tiny opening and into my molten depths.

Seven, eight, nine inches of him, filling me in places so deep inside, I never knew that they existed.

I let out a disembodied alien noise, half scream, half whimper, an involuntary wail, and then ‘Oh! Oh! ‘Ooooh’, each cry a little louder, higher and in time with his relentless rhythm.

Almost immediately I felt something building within me. A fuse had been lit, a timer set. Seismic movements in secret places, something erupting, something unleashed, a breathtaking escalation of unbelievable sensual pleasure that built to an almost unbearable crescendo before detonating deep within me, my cunt exploding uncontrollably as juices squirted out again, the warm, gushing liquid soaking Clyde’s thick pubic jungle.

“Yes, Sarah, cum for me, keep cumming, and show me how much you love my big Black cock.”

I was teetering on the edge of an abyss, on the brink between ecstasy and agony, pleasure and pain.

As the first tidal wave of it subsided, Clyde continued with his merciless lovemaking, his balls banged against my bottom, and his luxuriant bush nestled against my smooth mound at the end of each long stroke.

With only a few moments' respite, I felt another biblical orgasm building within me, and now I was crying out and screaming with a brazen, shameless lust: “Fuck me, my king, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME and flood me with your seed.”

This seemed to be what Clyde had been waiting for: my total submission, my transformation into his baby, his bitch. His tempo increased, and he started to emit his own primal grunts as his climax approached. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, until finally, with an almighty roar of triumph, his whole body tensed, every muscle flexed, and with his cockhead pressed hard against my cervix, he powered out an initial fountain of sperm and then another and another, each jet making my eyes widen with the force and volume of his ejaculation.

Our bodies jolted in time to the rhythm of his pumping spasms as Clyde flooded me with his essence, an endless torrent flowing into my inner sanctum.

Hundreds of millions of his sperm washed into my uterus. The most powerful, the alpha male, the king of kings, found my waiting egg and entered her with the same unhesitant confidence that Clyde had entered me. I felt the spark of new life, the moment of conception, the miracle of creation happening deep within my womanhood.

Finally Clyde’s flow abated.

“I’m pregnant.”

He looked into my eyes, into my soul, sensing the weight of the moment, then kissed me. Another deep kiss where it seemed as if our hearts embraced, and I felt him hardening and thickening again already, filling me, stretching me, his juices overflowing as he moved inside me deeply, another volcanic orgasm building for us both.

…….

Sometime in the early hours, both slick with sweat, we collapsed into each other's arms. Clyde was finally spent and empty; I was saturated, my pussy sore and hollow where his size had left a gaping void. An ocean of his sperm, a soothing balm, seeped out from my red raw teenage cunt lips.

I rested my head on his shoulder, tracing patterns on his chest with a fingernail.

“Look,” a deep breath, a leap of faith, and I continued, “it’s probably inappropriate to ask, but what’s the deal with you? Married? Single? A girl in every port?” I didn’t have the nerve to look at him; too much was riding on the answer.

“Well, if you’d asked me that this morning, I would have said ‘single’, but now I hope that I can say ‘engaged’?”

This time I did turn, suddenly, shocked, delighted and in disbelief. The question implied was best answered without words. I kissed him, a kiss whose meaning could not be misinterpreted.

Clyde followed me home in his car, the sun just rising over the empty Saturday morning streets. What I needed to do in the house didn’t take long, and I was soon back outside. I chucked my stuff onto the back seat, climbed in beside him, and off we went along our newly chosen path.

….

Sunday night

“Honey, I’m home.” Paul had expected Sarah to be up to welcome him back from the cricket tour. But then he’d expected her to answer his texts all weekend too; that hadn’t happened either.

“Sarah! Sa-rah.”

He dumped his kitbag in the hall and listened. Silence and darkness. She must be in bed.

At 9.00pm?

The bed was empty, and so was Sarah’s side of the wardrobe… With a rising sense of panic, he went back down to the living room, confused and uneasy. Had she been kidnapped? Had they been robbed? All looked normal; the TV was still there, no windows broken.

And then he saw it.

On the mantelpiece.

An envelope written in her flowing hand;

‘Dear Paul’