I woke up late on Saturday, sunlight flooding through the curtains and the gentle beat of reggae from the market in the distance.

Sissygasm. I took it in the ass and came like a girl.

The memories of the night before were racing through my mind. What had really happened, and what were just wild dreams? It was hard to separate fact from my fiction. The pleasure that the plug had given me was real enough, as my aching anus and empty balls reminded me, but surely – no! I hadn’t cried out loud for Dwen’s big Black cock to fuck me? Role play was one thing, but I couldn’t have Sarah thinking I was gay!

She came into the kitchen as I was making coffee. Proudly naked and breathtakingly beautiful in the morning light, my heart surged. My caged cock strained to follow, the power of its desire to become erect pulling the ring forward and so squeezing my balls like the hangman’s noose.

The design was demonically brilliant. I was like a rampant stallion whose gallop was restrained by the jockey’s firm pull on the bit.

We kissed. I was suddenly bashful, remembering that she’d uncovered something deep within me.

“Last night was magical, Paul. I’m so proud of you, my beautiful boi. You gave yourself to me completely.  I wasn’t sure you’d be ready, but now I know that you are.”

“Come on,” she said, giggling, “you’re covered in sex juice! Let’s shower,” and she led me by the hand to the bathroom.

“Hunni, won’t we need to take this off?” I looked down at the tiny cage.

“No, don’t be silly; we can wash you with it on. It’s not coming off until I go home tomorrow.”

I noticed that the two keys still hung on their chains around her neck.

The prospect of another twenty-four hours of denial was daunting, but at least the previous night’s unspeakable debauchery had totally drained my balls.

I had to go to work for a few hours, so I gave Sarah £100 and told her to treat herself to a new outfit.

“Oooh, thank you, babe!! I want to get something really sexy to wear for Dwen tonight.”

She must have seen a shadow cross my face as she quickly added:

“Oh babe, don’t frown. I just mean I want to look my best in front of your friend and colleague. I want you to be proud of me,” and she kissed me on the cheek.

Yes, of course, I berated myself; she’s just nervous and wants to make a good impression.

I got home about 5.00pm. Sarah was like an excitable puppy.

“Babe, Brixton has so many great boutiques. I got lingerie and a minidress in a place called ‘PAWG Parade’, and there’s an amazing men’s boutique called Boi-Zone." She handed me a little bag. “It’s run by a lovely gay guy called Franklin. He has a great range of gym gear and underwear. Perfect for showing off your sexy bottom.”

Sarah went to the bedroom to get changed into her new outfit.

When she’d gone, I looked in the bag. Inside was a tiny pink jockstrap. I wandered through to the bathroom and tried it on. The pouch comfortably cradled my encaged minidick and still-sore balls. The rear straps were tight on my plump butt cheeks. Embossed around the waistband were the letters B-O-O-T-Y-B-O-I.

My bum was exposed and beautifully framed by the pretty pink fabric. I stroked my own smooth cheeks. My ass seemed to be getting bigger every day.

The pumps of lust started up in my perineum. My fingers found my nipples, already erect and oh-so-sensitive as I twisted them.   

I gazed at my reflection.

I look like a sissy.

… Why do I feel so horny?

Just harmless role play.

…Our little secret.

What would Dwen think?

…He already knows.

Startled, I realised Sarah was at the door watching.

Her new outfit was a gossamer-thin, translucent minidress made of a viscose material that clung to her every curve. The hem was a centimetre below her pussy and the neckline a centimetre above her nipples. Her underwear, clearly visible through the dress, consisted of a minuscule pair of lace thong panties and a 1/4 cup open bra that pushed up her firm, young tits and left her nipples on display. Like mine, they were erect.

The ensemble was completed by silver, lace-up thigh boots.

She had her hair pulled high into a carefully messy pile, with tresses hanging down around her neck and shoulders. Smokey eyeliner, and her lips were painted crimson.

I was dumbstruck. She looked at once at the pure, innocent virgin princess and the wanton, brazen slut.

An angel on my shoulder whispered,

She’s your perfect virgin sweetheart.

While a devil on the other said;

She’s done all this for Him.

Around her neck were the two keys on their chains, resting between her perfect breasts.

She came to join me in front of the mirror. She touched my bare bum. “You look very fuckable”, again her language staggered me. I gulped, and the cage’s ring strengthened its chokehold around my balls.

She did a slow 180-degree turn, parted her legs, and then bent forward at the waist. The dress rode up slightly, and I could see her bare young pussy mound, only just covered by the tiny strip of white lace panties. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at me in the mirror.

“How do I look?”

She looks like a stripper.

She looks very fuckable.

She never dressed like this for me.

“Sarah, you look beautiful.”

“Come on then, babyboi, I’m ready for Dwen.”

…

We were meeting him at a pub called ‘The Cricketers’, a five-minute walk away.

It was a warm summer’s evening, and the streets were buzzing with a simmering, sexy vibe.

Sarah’s outfit didn’t seem too out of place. All the white girls seemed to be dressed in revealing attire, as if trying to outdo each other to show as much flesh as possible. Micro mini skirts, hot pants and playsuits were everywhere, often in see-through fabrics and always teamed with killer heels. Black guys hung around street corners, enjoying the fashion parade and calling out suggestive remarks.

As we approached the pub, I saw Dwen was sitting outside. He wore a red, gold and green fishnet vest and loose white basketball shorts.

When he saw us coming, he rose to his feet. The sunlight was behind him, and through the thin nylon shorts, the large, dark shadow of his genitals, hanging low between his legs, was brazenly obvious. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Oh fuck me,” Sarah whispered involuntarily. Her tone was reverent.

She started to quicken her stride, then broke into a trot.

I watched her from behind. 

Watched her running to Dwen.

Watched her ass bounce and clap under the see-through stripper dress. 

He took two paces forward, and as they met, held out his hands for her to take them. Their fingers entwined.

“Here she is,” his deep bass rumbled, “Princess Sarah. Damn girl, you look fine.”

Her hands went onto his pecs and then spread out over his shoulders before slowly sliding down his bulging biceps. She leant forward, up on her tiptoes, and they kissed.

On the lips.

And it lasted just a little too long.

She turned around to look at me. I tried to read her expression.

It was gratitude.

She was thanking me for bringing her to him.

They broke their embrace, Dwen and I high-fived, and he gave me his usual little playful clip round my ear.

“Damn, boy, why did you keep me waiting so long to meet this hottie?” His big hands were around her hips, fingers drifting down to the top of her knickers, tracing the line of the waistband from her hip to the small of her back. I saw her shiver and catch her breath.

Dwen broke the silence: “Come on, let’s go inside.”

After the bright summer sun, it was cool and dark in the pub. Dwen led us over to a corner booth and motioned for Sarah to go in first. Her hand brushed his chest again as she wriggled into her seat, and before I could move, he’d jumped in beside her.

“What are you waiting for, Paul? Go get the drinks, boy! Rum and Coke for me, and Sarah’s going to have ‘Sex on the Beach’.”

Sarah rarely drank much alcohol, so I gave her a quizzical look. Her eyes were defiant, and she made a dismissive walking motion with her fingers as if to say, “Come on, run along.”

When I got back to the table, athletics was on the TV. The men’s 100m final.

“I’m rooting for Clyde Kingston,” Dwen said. “he’s from Barbados.”

The camera zoomed in on Clyde. He wore a blue lycra bodysuit which left nothing to the imagination. “Oh my God”, Sarah gasped, “is that thing real?” The outline of Clyde’s penis was unmistakable under the skin-tight suit. It was down against his left thigh, almost to the leg hem, just 2” short of his knee.

My face flushed pink as I realised what she was referring to.

“Sarah!” I hissed.

“Yeah, it’s real enough,” said Dwen, ignoring me. “Clyde’s been blessed.”

Sarah was still staring at the screen. Her arm moved a little under the table. “Dwen, why are all the sprinters Black?”

“Sarah!” I started to protest, but Dwen raised his hand to silence me. “It’s ok, Paul, it’s a good question. Let me explain. Those of us of Afro-Caribbean heritage are descendants of Africans, brought to Barbados and Jamaica by rich white men from England in the 1700s to work as slaves on the sugar plantations.“ Sarah and I were fascinated as Dwen continued;

“The plantation owners selected the strongest and most muscular slaves and allowed them – and only them – to breed. The result, over many generations, is what you see today. Afro-Caribbean men are tall, muscular and athletic, which is the reason we dominate the sporting arena.”

Sarah’s mouth was open in amazement. "Dwen, that’s incredible. So basically your ancestors were treated like thoroughbred horses?”

“Yes, babe, that’s right,” he replied, his hand moving behind her back then sliding down to the top of her ass, “and that’s not the only thing we’ve got in common with horses.”

It took a second to sink in before she squealed and looked at me, scandalised and excited. “Oh, so it’s true, then!” I knew what she meant. I knew where she was taking us. “The rumour!”

I stayed silent; my caged boy's bite starting to strain painfully against its enclosure.

Dwen chuckled. “What rumour’s this, Sarah?” he said, knowingly.

She turned to face him, her left hand on his bulging bicep and her right hand reaching under the table;

“The rumour that all you Black guys are, you know”—she paused for a second and glanced at me—“well endowed.” She spoke the words slowly, savouring them.

“Judge for yourself,” Dwen said, daring her.

Another fleeting glance at me, and her right hand moved beneath the table.  Her eyes widened. Dwen shifted in his seat, looked down at his lap, and let out a low grunt. 

As Sarah’s arm moved rhythmically beneath the table, she looked down, and her mouth dropped open in amazement. She glanced at me again and widened her eyes. My balls are now throbbing.

Dwen’s eyes had rolled back in their sockets, and his legs were spread out wide.

I remained mute and motionless.

A real man would intervene.

Sarah looked down beneath the table, hidden from my view, and bit her lip. She looked back at me and held my gaze.

Eventually, she broke the spell. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

I expected Dwen to get up to let her out of the booth, but he didn’t. “Come on then, sexy, scoot your ass over.” She half-stood and started to squeeze over him. She was leaning forward, and her wonderful tits were right in my face, her big nipples almost popping out of her dress.

As she tried to wriggle past him to get out of the booth, he grabbed her hips and held her there. She yelped in surprise (in delight) and wriggled some more.

Is she struggling to escape?

Or grinding her panties on his huge Black dick?

She managed to rise up a little, but he slammed her back down onto his lap, and she cried out aloud this time, her head tilting back and her mouth wide open. Dwen’s hands were under her dress, gripping her ass, bouncing her up and down on his lap. She had her hands on the table to brace herself; she was squealing and writhing, eyes wide with astonishment, her tits were out of her dress by now, and all the time her eyes were on me.

Eventually, she broke free, managed to dismount him, adjust her attire, and escape. As she strutted towards the toilet, I could see her inner thighs were glistening with her wetness.

After we watched her go, Dwen turned to me slowly. “Paul, I need a drink.” And he pushed his empty glass across the table.

Still speechless, I wandered to the bar in a daze.

When I returned, there was another Black guy chatting to Dwen. As I approached the table, he turned to greet me.

“You must be Paul. I’m Franklin.” He held out a massive hand. He was an imposing figure. 6’4” and evidently a bodybuilder. Shaven-headed with a luxuriant beard; silver hoops hung from both ears.

Franklin… The name rang a faint bell….

“Hi, yes, I’m Paul. Pleased to meet you.” He crushed my little hand in his iron grip.

He wore a skin-tight, semi-sheer T-shirt that bore the emblem of rainbow-coloured interlocking circles with upward-pointing arrows. His skin tone was jet black, and the complementary contrast with the tight white shirt was striking.

His enormous pecs bulged beneath the see-through material, and I saw that his nipples were pierced.

“Have we met?” I asked him, flustered and a little perplexed.

“No, but I’ve heard so much about you.”

“From Dwen?”

“No”, he started, “from…” But at that moment, I heard a girlish squeal of delight and the fast clip-clop of high heels running across the pub.

It was Sarah. Franklin turned and opened his arms to receive her.

“Peaches! Get over here, girl!”

She jumped into his arms, and they did a big theatrical ‘mwah mwah’ air kiss and then both broke into laughter.

“Babe, this is Franklin from Boi-Zone, the gay boutique I told you about.”

“Oh yes, of course!” I tried to sound nonchalant. I’d imagined gay guys to be effeminate and slightly camp. Franklin was all man.

He moved closer and cupped my face in his massive mitts. I was rooted to the spot.

“Peaches, you weren’t lying. He is a very, very pretty boy.”

A pause. Franklin moved even closer. He stared deep into my eyes as if searching for something.

Turning his head an inch towards Sarah, he said, “Are you willing to share him?”

“He’s all yours!” She flashed back.

A tingle went down my spine. After a moment, which seemed like a lifetime, the 3 of them burst out laughing. Franklin gave me a slap on the ass. “Don’t worry, babyboi, I’ll be gentle with you,” cue more guffaws from them.

I managed a nervous little false laugh, but I needed a moment to compose myself.

Just flirty fun with friends.

Role-play.

I made my excuses and headed for the Gents.

When I got there, the only cubicle was engaged. Peeing with the cage on wasn’t easy standing up. I had to pull my tracksuit trousers down to my knees and then scoop the entire package of balls and cage out of the jockstrap and take aim as best I could.

Just as I was finishing, my heart fluttered as I heard the door open behind me and another guy come in.

It was Franklin. He was holding two drinks and bopping and swaying in time to the thumping music that had started up in the pub.

“Help me out here, Paul,” and he gave a nod down to his crotch.

Surely he couldn’t mean what I thought he meant?

“Er, shall I hold your drinks?” I suggested.

“No one touches my drinks and lives to tell the tale, boy. Just take my dick out; I need to piss!”

His eyes burnt into mine, and again he nodded downwards.

“What?”

“Paul, stop being a pussy! I’m not asking for a blow job; just take it out and aim it, for fuck’s sake.”

Slowly, I dropped to my knees, unbuttoned his jeans and lowered the zip. I looked up at him; he returned my gaze impassively, his hips still swaying in time with the beat.

I reached inside. My hand brushed past the dense jungle of his bush and touched the root of him.

The thickness

My hand moved further down, exploring his seemingly endless length. I spread my fingers wide and tried to extract it. He was too big, and his crotch was too tightly packed.

I reached in with both hands now, gripping him as best I could, and heaved it upwards.

The weight.

“Come on, boy, get on with it. I can’t hold back much longer.”

Eventually, it sprang free.

I still had both hands wrapped around the shaft. I was shocked by his size. I had thought Dwen must have the biggest cock in London, but Franklin’s was substantially larger, especially in terms of girth.

Kneeling before him, bewitched and enchanted by his magnificence, I suddenly felt a swelling deep within him, a powerful flow rising quickly along his trunk.

A second too late, I realised what was happening. The eyehole on his tip opened wide, and a hot torrent of his pungent piss splashed into my face. My mouth opened in an involuntary scream, and his juice hit the back of my throat before I was able to frantically direct his massive Black fountain towards the urinal.

He let out a deep grunt of relief, and I licked my lips to savour the last few drops.

As he was in full flow, I pulled back on his skin to fully reveal a humongous purple cockhead, the ridge of which stood out half an inch proud from the shaft.

Emboldened now, I squeezed him. I felt him throb and heard him moan.

His dick was rapidly hardening and lengthening, pulsating with pumps of blood. As the jets of piss subsided, he was rising up to his full size: an awe-inspiring 12” Black penis with a beautiful upward curve.

The last spurts of urine shot out of his bellend in sync with the squeezes of my hands.

As he turned toward me, I pulled him down to be horizontal. It was a struggle to lower him; such was the power of his erection.

One last burst of his golden water sprayed into my face before I – after taking one last look at his bulbous glans – stretched my mouth as wide open as I possibly could, closed my eyes in ecstatic anticipation, and…

The cubicle toilet flushed.

Oh fuck.

Franklin dropped his drinks and rammed his foot-long organ sideways back into his jeans. I jumped to my feet, my knees wet from the urine-soaked toilet floor, and we made our escape just in time.

When we got back to the table, Sarah and Dwen were nowhere to be seen. There were a few empty glasses and full ones for Franklin and me.

The vibe in the pub had changed. Hip hop music blasted out, and the lights were low. An impromptu dance floor had opened up with a flashing strobe light above it.

Franklin sat in the booth but didn’t move over to let me in. “Come on, sexyboi, get that ass up here, you little tease. I’m not finished with you by a damn sight.”

I glanced at the dance floor; momentarily illuminated by a flash of the strobe, Sarah and Dwen were dancing. He stood close behind her, and she was gyrating her bottom against his crotch. They were in their own little world, oblivious to Franklin and me.

I knew what he had planned. I pushed out my ass and started to move across to him. My balls were in agony; the ring pulled as tight as a noose as my penis tried to surge upwards in its cage.

Immediately, he grabbed my hips and slammed me down onto his lap. I let out a high-pitched, girlish scream of pleasure, the sound masked by the pounding bass music. His bulge was enormous and solid. He raised me up and ripped down my trousers, exposing my bare bottom and pink jockstrap. I heard his hot voice in my ear: “You look very fuckable,” and I consciously opened my cheeks so that as he slammed me down again, his cock went right into my cleft and pushed hard against my hole. I gasped and yelled again. His deep voice whispering in my ear, “I’m going to breed you, bitch.”

“Oh my God!”

Sarah must never know.

I glanced over at the dance floor, now pitch black until another flash of the strobe revealed Dwen seated and Sarah poised above him, facing away, her dress pulled up and ass exposed.

The light died, and Franklin’s hands were up my T-shirt. His huge fingers grabbed my erect nipples. Pleasure flashed through me like the light of the strobe as he pulled and twisted them both.

“My femboy,” he rumbled into my ear as I felt that Black monster throbbing against my hole.

The dance floor was once again lit up for a split second, and this time I saw Dwen’s shorts grotesquely tented by the enormity of his erection, Sarah lowering her bare pussy towards him, her knickers round her ankles.

We were plunged into darkness again. Franklin had unzipped his jeans, and I felt the heat and the size of his huge snake against my plump bum cheeks.

I reached round to hold him. Hot, rock-hard and unbelievably thick. My hand moved right down to his base and squeezed him, eliciting a primal grunt of lust.

He dribbled spit down into my arse crack and lifted me up once more.

The strobe blinked on again, and I saw Sarah kneeling at Dwen’s feet. His shorts were round his ankles. She had both hands around his swollen pole, which was glistening wet.

With sweat?

With her drool.

Her mouth was open as her head descended towards his swollen tip.

Darkness fell again, and Franklin lifted me up, and holding the waistband of my pink jockstrap, he positioned my virgin boihole against the head of his giant cock. I prepared myself for him as best I could. Remembering how the massive plug had stretched me, I willed my pussy to gape to take him.

Just at the moment when he was going to pull me down onto it and ruin me, suddenly all the lights came on and the music stopped.

“Last orders!” yelled the barman.

In a panic, I climbed off Franklin into the corner of the booth and frantically pulled up my trousers. I’d just about recovered my dignity and composure in time to see Dwen heading towards the bar and Sarah tottering over toward us.

She was slick with sweat, her dress now completely see-through and her knickers nowhere to be seen.

“You two boys getting acquainted?” she asked with a cheeky tone. Her lipstick was smudged.

“Errr, yes,” I stammered. Under the table, my hand was wrapped around Franklin’s fat cock. I gave him a final squeeze before letting go.

How much did she see?

“Franklin was just telling me how he gets so big.” I blushed scarlet. “In the gym, I mean!” I blurted out.

“Yes, I noticed he’s MASSIVE,” she said with a saucy wink, glancing down as the big man was trying to force his unyielding elephant dick back into his jeans.

Dwen came back with one last round of rum cocktails. His heavy cock was still half hard and swinging around scandalously under the thin nylon of the shorts.

"Damn, what a night. Paul, this girl can really move!”, and he spanked her bottom, to her delight.

Dwen raised his glass to toast;

“To snowbunny Sarah, Queen of Brixton!” And we all clinked glasses, laughing.

Feeling pretty tipsy, Sarah and I said our goodbyes and drunkenly staggered home, arm in arm. Each with our own memories, each with our own secrets.

…

We woke up late the next morning and had to rush to Victoria for Sarah to catch her train.

It had been a wonderful visit, we both agreed, and she arranged to come again in two weeks' time.

After a long and lingering goodbye kiss on the platform, she jumped onto the train just as it was pulling away. My God, what a girl. What a woman! She’d had an astonishing sexual awakening and felt privileged to be part of it.

After the wild adventures of the previous night, my balls felt full again and my cock throbbed with lust…

In its cage…

There was a sudden unease in my mind.

Something terrible.

Something secret.

Something forgotten.

OH FUCK NOOOOOO!!!

As she leant out of the window to wave goodbye, I was left frozen with horror at what I saw.

Sparkling silver in the morning sunlight, two keys on their chains fell from the front of her shirt.

I sprinted down the platform shouting, then screaming out;

“Sarah, the key, PLEASE GIVE ME A KEY!” but my voice was lost in the noise of the station, and she simply blew me a kiss and disappeared back into the train.

…to be continued…