Chapter 6: Ride
The descent was a slow, breathtaking conquest. She lowered herself, the broad, plum-dark head of his cock spreading her tender, well-used entrance. She took just that, the thick corona lodging inside her, a blunt, stretching anchor. The sensation made her gasp, her bright eyes fluttering shut for a second before opening to find his gaze.
Her body, poised above him, brought her immense, pale breasts level with his face. As she hovered, they hung down, those two colossal, round orbs of soft white flesh enveloping his view. The deep, sweet cleavage brushed his chin, the soft, cool weight of them resting against his cheeks and forehead. The scent of her skin, of clean sweat and faint, girlish perfume, filled his nostrils.
“Damn,” he grunted, his voice muffled by her flesh. His large, dark hands came up from the velvet, his fingers spanning the narrow curve of her waist. He could feel the toned, sexy slimness of her stomach, the delicate ridges of her ribs beneath her ghost-white skin. His thumbs nearly touched in front. “This some premium, all-natural packaging. My wife’s frame ain’t this slim. This is a custom, limited edition chassis.”
Encouraged, Courtney rocked her hips minutely, letting the thick head grind inside her. She moaned, her hands coming to rest on his hard chest for balance. “You like how my tiny white waist feels in your big black hands?” she breathed, the race play now a natural, hungry part of her vocabulary. “It’s so small… compared to your… your black foundation pillar.”
“I like it,” he confirmed, his grip tightening, pulling her down a fraction more. “Fits the hands like a custom grip. Now, let’s see how this slim white model handles the main product. Take a test drive. Show me the suspension.”
Biting her full, pink lip, Courtney obeyed. She pushed down, taking a few more inches of his long, thick shaft into her body. The stretch was profound, a delicious, burning fullness that made her head drop back, her long auburn hair brushing the backs of his thighs. She rose up slightly, then sank back down, establishing a slow, tentative rhythm.
“That’s it,” he urged, his hands still firmly on her waist, letting her set the pace. “Easy on the clutch. Feel the transmission engage. Your little white engine’s takin’ on some serious black horsepower.”
She rode him like that, a slow, rising and falling motion that took three, then four, then five inches of his impossible length. Each time she sank down, a soft, wet sigh escaped her. Each time she rose, the cool air of the boutique kissed her slick, stretched flesh, a shocking contrast. Her breasts swayed heavily with the motion, their soft, pale undersides brushing his chin and mouth.
Outside, Summer watched the silhouette with a frantic, jealous hunger. The girl was upright, kneeling, a tall, curvaceous shadow. The man’s shadow was a dark baseline beneath her. As the girl moved, the vast, rounded shadows of her breasts swayed like pendulums, engulfing the shadow of the man’s face. Summer’s own hands were busy, one twisting the fabric of her blouse over a hardened nipple, the other tucked into her trousers, fingers sliding through her own soaked slickness. He’s letting her do all the work, she thought, her own hips pushing against her hand. Just lying there, getting his face smothered by those… those nice handfuls. My QQ’s would cover his whole head. They’d swallow him.
Courtney’s rhythm grew more confident. The slow, steady piston of her hips took more of him. Six inches. Seven. The deep, filling ache was transforming again, becoming a central, throbbing point of pleasure. She was reclaiming her body, mastering the invasion, learning the exact angle that made sparks fly behind her eyes.
“You’re… you’re so deep,” she moaned, her hands braced on his chest now, her back beginning to arch as she took more. “My tight white customer service tunnel… it’s stretching to fit the whole black… delivery.”
“Keep goin’,” he said, his voice a low rumble against her breast. His hands slid from her waist to grip the swell of her hips. “Ain’t at full capacity yet. I need a complete product demonstration. All the way to the warehouse floor.”
She pushed down, past the point of earlier resistance, into a new, breathtaking depth. Eight inches. Nine. Her internal muscles fluttered wildly, trying to accommodate the girth and length. She was panting now, her pale skin gleaming with a fresh sheen of sweat, her huge breasts bouncing with her efforts. Finally, with a cry that was both pain and triumph, she sank all the way down until her ass met the solid cradle of his hips and thighs. Ten inches of his thick, dark cock were buried inside her, a full, monumental presence that touched the very end of her.
“Fuck! Your black… your black support beam!” she cried out, frozen at the bottom of her stroke, fully impaled. “It’s in my white foundation! All the way!”
“Now that’s a proper installation,” he grunted, his own control strained by the tight, hot, clutching depth. “White retail space fully occupied by black infrastructure. Now show me the daily operations. Run the inventory cycle.”
For ten full minutes, she did. She established a slow, deep, rolling rhythm, riding him with a focused, sensual intensity. She would rise up until just the head remained inside, hovering there, letting them both feel the imminent loss, then sink back down in one smooth, devastating slide, sheathing him completely. The wet, sucking sounds were loud in the plush room.
Then she would stop. At the bottom, fully seated, she’d grind her hips in a slow, circular motion. She’d rotate her pelvis, feeling the broad head of his cock press and nudge against every sensitive inner wall. The circular grinding was its own exquisite torture, a deep, internal massage that drew ragged moans from both of them.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his hands moving from her hips to grab the full, round curves of her ass. His large, dark palms squeezed the firm, pale globes, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Work the product in. Rotate the stock. Make sure every shelf in the white warehouse feels that black inventory.”
“I’m… I’m stocking it deep,” she chanted, her voice dreamy with pleasure. She leaned back a little, bracing her hands behind her on his powerful thighs. This new angle made his penetration feel even deeper, and it thrust her huge, round breasts upward and outward. They jiggled heavily with each circular grind of her hips. Seeing them there, offered so blatantly, she reached her own hands up to grab them. She squeezed her own soft, pale flesh, her fingers kneading the enormous, round shapes, pinching her own hard, pink nipples.
The visual was utterly debauched: her tall, pale body leaning back, his dark hands gripping her ass, her own hands mauling her incredible breasts, and the thick, glistening connection between them where his black cock vanished into her white body.
Outside, the silhouette transformed into something even more obscene. The girl’s shadow now leaned back, the profile of her enormous, round backside pronounced in the man’s grasping hands. The shadows of her own hands were at her chest, cupping and lifting the massive, swaying shadows of her breasts. The merged shadow at their hips was a persistent, thick knot. Summer’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. She had unbuttoned her blouse fully now, her own QQ-cup breasts spilling out of her lace bra, her fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples with a rough urgency that mirrored the girl’s inside. She’s leaning back… taking it so deep… God, I’d bounce so much harder. He could really grab my ass. It’s bigger.
“Yeah, play with the display models,” Jovan growled, watching her hands on her breasts, his own grip on her ass tightening. “They’re the flagship feature. The main attraction. My wife’s display is… standard issue. These are the premium, attention-grabbing units. Make ‘em bounce for the customer.”
“They’re bouncing for you,” she panted, her circular grinds becoming faster, more desperate. The coiling tension was back, a familiar, terrifying, wonderful fist clenching deep in her core. “My huge, white… sample rack… it’s bouncing because your big, black… customer loyalty program… is pounding my white rewards center!”
“Talk that shit,” he said, a fierce grin on his face. His hips gave a tiny, involuntary upward thrust, breaking his rule of letting her do all the work, so turned on by her words and the sight of her. “This na’s loyalty program is about to pay out. You feel that dividend building?”
She did. It was a tsunami this time, built from ten minutes of deep, controlled riding and grinding. It wasn’t a single wave but a whole rising ocean of pleasure. It flooded her, unstoppable and all-consuming. Her rhythm broke, her movements becoming frantic and shallow. Her hands fell from her breasts to clutch at his thighs, her nails digging in.
“It’s… it’s too much! The black… the black settlement is cracking my white foundation!” she screamed, her body beginning to tremble violently.
The orgasm erupted. It was seismic. Her back arched violently, every muscle in her tall frame locking tight. A raw, shattered scream tore from her throat, echoing off the velvet drapes. “FUCK! YOUR HUGE BLACK PILLAR! IT’S COLLAPSING MY WHITE WAREHOUSE!”
In the throes of it, with a final, convulsive spasm, she lifted herself completely off of his cock. As she rose, breaking the wet, sucking connection, a hot, clear jet of liquid released from her. It wasn’t a trickle. It was a splashing arc that glittered in the boutique lights, soaking his stomach, his still-throbbing, slick shaft, his gigantic, hairy balls, and the already-drenched green velvet beneath them with a sound like a fountain.
It was a splashing arc that glittered in the boutique lights, soaking his stomach, his still-throbbing, slick shaft, his gigantic, hairy balls, and the already-drenched green velvet beneath them with a sound like a fountain.
She collapsed forward, her huge, soft breasts smothering his face again, her entire body quaking with residual tremors. She panted into his neck, her mind a white-noise hum of shattered sensation. “I… I flooded the stockroom,” she whispered, dazed.
“Minor spillage,” Jovan grunted, his hands sliding up her slick back. “Happens during high-volume transactions. Don’t mean the store closes.” He gave her ass a firm, possessive slap. “Reset the demonstration. The product’s still on the floor.”
The slap on her ass was a stinging punctuation mark. It jolted her from the dazed, liquid aftermath of her climax. She lifted her head, her long auburn hair sticking to her sweaty neck and his chest. Her bright eyes, glazed and unfocused, blinked down at him. The thick, wet presence of him was still there, a persistent, throbbing demand against her inner thigh.
“Reset,” he repeated, his voice a gravelly command. His large hands on her back were not gentle. They guided her upward, forcing her trembling thighs to straighten, lifting her slick body off his until she was kneeling upright again, his shaft, glistening with her release, standing thick and obedient between them.
She swayed for a moment, utterly spent. Then a new, raw hunger flashed in her eyes, hotter than the shyness that had been there before. The “minor spillage” wasn’t an end. It was a reset. The transaction was incomplete. With a shaky inhale that lifted her immense breasts, she reached down and guided him back to her entrance.
The second penetration was smoother, a wet, knowing slide. Her body, thoroughly opened and sensitized, accepted the broad head and thick shaft with a shuddering sigh of recognition. She sank down slowly, taking him inch by reclaimed inch, her head falling back as she filled herself with him once more.
Outside, Summer watched the silhouette reassemble itself. The girl’s shadow rose, a tall, curvaceous column, then slowly lowered, merging once again with the dark baseline of the man. The wet, slick sound of re-entry, audible even through the door, made Summer’s own fingers push deeper inside her soaked panties. She’s going again, she thought, her own breath hitching. Right away. She can’t get enough of that black pole. My God.
For fifteen minutes, Courtney rode him with a determined, rhythmic intensity. This wasn’t the exploratory, hesitant pace of before. This was workmanlike, a dedicated testing of the product’s full capabilities. She moved in slow, deep strokes, then shifted to tight, shallow circles, then long, dragging lifts that made her inner muscles cling to his length.
The sounds were a lewd orchestra. The wet, rhythmic slap of her pale ass against his thighs was a steady drumbeat. Their breathing, his a low grunt, hers a sharp pant, provided the wind section. The velvet bench groaned softly beneath their combined weight. The air in the plush room grew thicker, saturated with the tang of sex, the sweet note of her perfume now thoroughly mixed with the muskier scent of their sweat.
“That’s it,” Jovan grunted, his hands resting on his own stomach, fingers laced, letting her conduct the entire symphony. “Stress-test the merchandise. Check the durability. My wife’s gonna want a product that lasts.”
“It lasts,” Courtney panted, rising up until just the tip remained, her tight white entrance fluttering around the dark crown. “Your black… your black structural support is very durable. My little white showroom is testing its… load-bearing capacity.” She sank down, a full, deep plunge that stole her breath. “It’s holding. It’s stretching, but it’s holding.”
Halfway through this phase, his hands finally moved from their idle position. They came up, those large, dark palms, and settled on the soft, heavy undersides of her breasts. He didn’t grab them roughly at first. He simply held their incredible weight, feeling the solid, soft mass of them, the way they shifted and jiggled with every one of her movements. His thumbs traced the hard, pointed peaks of her nipples, back and forth, a maddeningly light touch.
“Premium materials,” he commented, his voice husky. “Natural fiber. High-grade. The display on this model is… exceptional. My wife’s version is more… synthetic blend. Firm. These got a natural swing to ‘em.”
His touch electrified her. A fresh, sharp gasp cut through her rhythmic panting. Her movements, which had been steady, became less controlled. She began to chase the feeling of his thumbs on her nipples, arching her back to push her breasts more fully into his hands. “They’re… they’re all-natural samples,” she moaned. “Big, white, natural samples for you to… to evaluate. Do they pass the black customer’s inspection?”
“Inspection’s ongoing,” he said, and finally squeezed. His fingers sank deep into the pale, yielding flesh, his grip firm and possessive. He kneaded the soft, colossal orbs, shaping them, his dark skin a stark contrast against her ghost-white complexion. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching just to the edge of pain.
The sensation was a lightning rod to her core. Her careful, varied rhythm shattered. With a sharp cry, she planted her bare feet flat on the carpet on either side of the bench, her long, toned thighs coiling like springs. She stopped the deep, rolling motions and began to bounce.
It was a frantic, piston-driven motion. She used the powerful muscles in her legs and ass to drive herself up and down on his shaft with reckless, hungry abandon. She became a machine of pure need, slamming herself onto him, taking him to the hilt with each downward crash. The wet, slapping sounds intensified, becoming faster, harder, a percussive frenzy.
Slap-slap-slap-slap. Her ass smacked against his thighs. Squelch-squelch-squelch. Her soaked, stretched flesh yielded and gripped his pounding length. Her breasts, still trapped in his squeezing, kneading hands, became a wild, bouncing blur of pale flesh, impossible to fully contain.
“Yeah!” Jovan barked, his own composure cracking under the savage, relentless pace. His hands clamped tighter on her breasts, anchoring himself as she rode him like a storm. “Now you’re demonstratin’! Now you’re showin’ the product’s performance under extreme conditions! This white retail outlet can handle the black traffic!”
“All the traffic!” she screamed, her voice breaking with each brutal impact. “Send it all! My deep white loading bay can take every inch of your black freight! Pile it in! Pile it deep!”
Outside, the silhouette was a frenzy of violent motion. The girl’s shadow was a blur, pounding up and down on the stationary shadow of the man. The shadows of her enormous breasts, still gripped by the shadows of his hands, became a chaotic, bouncing storm. Summer was panting openly now, her blouse and bra pushed down, one hand roughly pinching and twisting her own nipple, the other a frantic, slippery piston inside her trousers. The bench is shaking, she thought, delirious. The whole wall is shaking. He’s letting her destroy herself on it. He’s just holding her tits. I’d make the whole store rattle.
Ten minutes of this furious riding passed in a wet, pounding haze. Courtney’s thighs burned, her calves screamed, but she didn’t stop. She was a thing of pure motion, driven by a need to feel him impossibly deeper, to fuse them together with the force of her descent. Jovan’s grunts became sharper, more urgent. The steady, low rumble of his voice tightened.
His rhythm beneath her, which had been perfectly still, finally betrayed him. A sharp, involuntary upward thrust of his hips met one of her desperate downstrokes. The collision was profound, a deep, grinding impact that made her shriek.
“Shorty,” he growled, the word strained, his fingers digging bruisingly into her soft breasts. “This n’s… quality control is about to sign off. The final approval stamp. You ready for the official certification? The permanent inventory transfer?”
Her bouncing slowed, but didn’t stop. She switched to deep, grinding, circular pumps, milking the sensation, understanding him perfectly. Her eyes, wide and desperate, locked onto his. “Yes,” she hissed. “Give it. Give me the black stamp of approval. Mark your inventory. Put it deep in my white storage files.”
“It’s coming,” he warned, his jaw tight. A tremor ran through the muscles of his stomach and thighs. “Gonna certify this transaction. Deep.”
At his words, she didn’t slow down. She intensified. Reaching one hand behind her, between their sweat-slicked bodies, her small, pale fingers fumbled through the coarse, dark hair. She found the heavy, gigantic orbs of his balls, drawn up tight. She cupped them in her hand, feeling their immense, hot weight, the taut, vulnerable skin.
She squeezed them gently, then with more pressure, urging him. “Here,” she pleaded, her voice a raw, broken whisper against the wet slap of flesh. “Put it here. In my deep white archives. Fill my little white catalog with your black… your black signature. Please.”
“Beg for it,” he commanded, his eyes dark, his control fraying at the edges.
“Please!” she cried, her grinding becoming frantic again. “Give me your black certification! I want it! I need your thick, black approval inside my empty white files! Don’t hold it back!”
“Louder.”
“PLEASE!” she screamed, the sound tearing through the boutique, raw and unchained. “COME IN MY PUSSY! FLOOD MY WHITE WAREHOUSE WITH YOUR BLACK INK! MARK IT! CLAIM IT! I WANT TO FEEL YOUR BLACK SETTLEMENT IN MY FOUNDATION!”
Her screams were not just heard by Jovan. They pierced the dressing room door, clear and desperate, flooding the hushed boutique.
Summer, pressed against the wall, heard every word. A violent, silent climax ripped through her at the sound of the girl’s begging screams. Her body stiffened, her own fingers working in a final, frantic rhythm as she imagined the hot, claiming flood the girl was so desperately pleading for.