Courted and broken into by the toolmaker.

Hey, fellas! I'm not going to deny to you that ever since I've known people, I've always had a big crush on mulattoes and blacks (my previous story doesn't let me lie) of the same sex. Finally, men with darker skin than mine who, for the most part, being strong and well-groomed, always inhabited my craziest fantasies. That's because, unconsciously, I recognized that when they give a good kick from behind, they end up making us understand what a man is who makes us groan and delirium, with pleasure, in their huge roles. With respect to them, I would understand how much everything has a reason to be. In the last week of August 1994, I started working in a machining company, in the neighborhood of South Guanabara, Joinville Area. We were introduced by my sister, Diva, my only sister, and there's almost enough to say; she was there to help you see the craziest fantasies.
Well, let's get to the point. I tried, most of the time, to be a discreet passive, but when we were introduced, by Diva, I almost had a seizure when I saw that man show. He said he wasn't really an ordinary black man; he was some kind of black amulatto or dark mulatto. I don't know. The only thing I'm sure of is that he left me with four flat tires. The guy was simply what you might call the "god of ebony". He was about 1.78m, 83kg, bruised body (with very well defined chest), with a dragon tattooed on his left shoulder and a huge snake to give (I was lucky to find out that he had "<unk>" between his legs - a really big one and as big as it would please me better). Stop it, you bitch, you're breaking my heart! Ah! You're embarrassing me, you're making an inseparable fuss to introduce myself to them. So, when my ex-Gypsy friend makes me, it's the same old-fashioned, gypsy voice that guides me.
Go on, bitch, tell the rest of that story because the reading public doesn't have time for your jokes.
- Right, now you've said it all.
Returning to the subject, after I saw that male monument, I breathed, I disguised and we exchanged a delicious smiling look; it was how we knew each other, for a long time. Without more or less, on the morning of two days later, that abused Negro came to me and whispered that he was skimming (was it really just for a piece of clothing?) for a blouse that I had worn on the day we had been introduced to each other and that he really wanted to exchange it for his wristwatch. In the afternoon, I communicated to the Diva about what had happened in order to know her opinion on the matter. The little mulatto, since it was mine and she already knew the brother who had the palm of his hand, said to me:
- Dani, I know my brother. He's talented, intelligent, has a respected profession; he could be earning rivers of money. However, he's not devoted to it as he should be; he said he overstays me nights, drinks, gamblers, women and transvestites. I'll be very frank with you: my brother is not to give a point without a knot. He's divorced from his wife. He likes as much pussy as a man's ass. I'm almost sure that this blouse story is a lame excuse to eat you. So if you cut, boy, relax and go to the fight. Don't worry, because what we're talking about has been confidential on my part here. Besides, whatever you may need I'll be here to help you.
However, in the utmost cynicism, I tried to disguise:
- Just so you know, Diva, I'm a sword, not a dick or a fag for someone to put their hand on my ass.
Diva, with that "deceive me I like" face, retorted with a mocking face:
All right, Dani, let's get to work, but I'm telling you, the girlfriends that went out with him told me that the Negro has a footprint like that.
Super distressed, I decided, by telepathy, to consult the Gypsy:
Friend, is everything I've heard about Diva and Dirceu true?
A week later, we were on a Friday morning, everyone in the production (including Dirceu) was beating the punch card there at eight o'clock to start working. I, who did, among other things, the conference and the affixing of the cards, daily, faced the insolence of Dirceu who, giving a discreet and dirty look at my ass (I was wearing a half-straight tactel trousers that highlighted his thumb), insisted on the same schism:
- Do you want the shirt with me or not?
Wanting to put an end to that misery, I gave in.
- Okay, switch, where?
- After the point, meet me in the locker room.
Guys, I don't know what happened to me, I ran over there and waited for the boss, and in a few minutes, I was there, in front of him, taking off my shirt, and smiling from ear to ear, handing it to the handsome guy, saying,
- Here's what you wanted so much, take! He, handing me the watch as agreed, gave a tasty smell on my neck saying:
- Looks like the owner of the outfit is as fragrant and delicious as she is, huh?
Like a stubborn whore and playing hard to get, I answered almost as one licks the kisses of pure horny:
You think you can get away with this, don't you?
- Boy, you haven't seen anything yet. I'm not fucked. Fucking is something you have to know how to do with the right person and at the right time and place. You have to be careful, because the person who wants you the most pleasure may be closer to you than you can imagine. You know how it is, the line goes on... Finally, I even make an effort to respect you but your ass blows my mind.
I spent the morning restless, and during lunchtime in the dining room, Diva immediately wanted to know:
- What's the matter, Dani?
- What did you say, Diva, don't travel!
With a laugh, however, she tried to help me by saying in a low voice (so as not to attract the attention of others):
"Boy, I wasn't born yesterday. I've been going to the grocery store for over ten years, and I know you've got one of the greediest mouths in the world. My brother's a sword to give and take. And I'll tell you, a man who eats usually smells anal passive (he whispered). And your perfume, fortunately for both of us, has fallen in love with his beacon.
I finished my lunch, thoughtful, but already at the beginning of the afternoon I gave the points to the mulatto:
I've been thinking about what you said... okay, Diva, I'll admit, I'm a little tired, but I don't want to blow the whistle.
Well, the first thing you have to do is set up a meeting with him.
- Diva, Dirceu even gave me the address of the box office where he lives, he said that when I needed it, the doors would be open for me and so on and so on.
- So, boy (monk), why don't you take advantage, invent a reason and go there tomorrow?
- Good idea, Diva, sometimes I don't know how to thank you.
Like I said, we're here to help.
Out of sheer anxiety, I counted back the afternoon and the day, and telepathically, I decided to ask the gypsy:
- Oh, my friend, now what I do:
Didn't Dirceu invite you to his house to watch nude women's magazines?
Yeah, but then saying he wants to set me up is another story.
With an ironic, impatient laugh, she exploded:
- Logical. Both Diva and I are just wanting to make fun of you; Dirceu is inviting you to play self-love. Wake up, daughter. You're blind, deaf, dumb or what, huh? It's more than in the face that the only game he wants to invite you is to "play hole". The male is very keen to plant his black mandiocona in that tasty ass of yours (for a morning, afternoon, or the whole night) that nature has given you. And you, your bitch, are crazy to give.
- But for once, you're right.
As Dirceu had left early, in the evening, when I got home, I called him asking if the proposal was still standing. With a silly laugh, he confirmed that not only she but there was something else that was still standing. On the recommendation of Gypsy, so as not to give offence to my male, I made a <unk>duchinha<unk> on the ass and shaved all of me.
On Saturday morning, all perfumed, in a nylon T-shirt and shorts of the same material (without a skirt), I took a circular and stood in front of his house, which was about five kilometers from mine. People, what was that carpet? A cubicle, it is true, but everything clean and tidy. He said, opened the door of the pantry and came to greet me, with a smile of those, saying:
Let's go inside, the house is poor, but cozy and honest people.
I reciprocated, with another well fed, almost as if mesmerized by the sympathy of that older man (he was 35 and I was 21 at the time).
Dirceu asked me if I would accompany him on a wine. I of course, naturally and happy of life, I accepted. For a few minutes, we talked, about politics, football, etc. Then, as was to be expected, the chatter turned to sex. The thing was beginning to get good. The bastard began to flip through and showed me a magazine in which he showed a Negro, with a stick of duns 23 cm and in the range of 40 years, eating, of everything that was manner and position, the ass of a white boy in the range of 25. of the perfect. At that time, I was already well at ease and with my arms and elbows resting on the floor of the room, I did not make a request and wanted to know if Dirceu would make me as pleasant as the caudillo of the photos. and showing me a 22-cm jeba (I had already checked the whole air!), I looked at the magazine and said:
- You want to take the test?
Without a second thought, I got down on my knees and fell face down on that obelisk, licking, kissing, finally using my tongue and lips as best I could to suck out of that wonder all the nutrients that a passive woman needs to fuel her desire.
Leave my asshole well licked, bitch, and then I'll bust your deer ass with it!
Then that nasty nigger gave me a lady lick on my reins, causing me to shiver. With the pike facing the ceiling, he grabbed me, back and waist, making me sit on that other-worldly thing. Folks, I went into a trance when the tip of my head went into the little door of my ass. It hurt a little bit at first, but after he had jammed the rest I almost went to the clouds. With my spoon spraying on my male, I went up and down as much as I could; I saw stars every time the tip poked the bottom of my tail and visited my intestines or when the balls hit my butt. We varied the joke. It was like he smashed my rabbit's fiddle on the floor, head to toe, another to toe, and finally, for the fourth time in a row, answering to the question of whether we were ever going to be able to get into the shadows of my rear. It was the best thing I had ever felt, literally, coming out of the bottom of my cockpit, and saying, "Hey, that's the best thing I've ever had!"
If she complains, you can stick her face in it and keep firing bullets, but if she dies, she dies happy and content.
At these words, Dirceu began to pump, even more intensely, accelerating the strokes of his pause inside my donut. In moments, when my butt already felt that buoy pulsate, my nephew let out a (last) scream. He said that it was the "time of the good" and that I should wait for it, in the same position and with a receptive mouth and tongue. In the sequence, the two lucky ones were toasted with strong jets of cock that, by the intensity and sweet palate, seemed to have the splendor of a commemorative champagne and that, still, would reach my cheek, my left eye, my face and hair. My tongue strove as much as it could, in an act of contortionism, so that my mouth could taste every taste of the Angeliques. With a wide nose, with a smile (from the ear) more than the ear.
As it was approaching midday, we took a bath (which, of course, if the soap fell, it would be here that it would catch) and, by telephone, we asked for a pizza and soda. After lunch, I thanked Dirceu for everything, which was good while it lasted, only that I would have to go away to do some chores for my family, etc. It was all a bitch trick. Whether he fell or pretended to believe it, I don't know. I can only say that, as it rained a lot outside, Dirceu said <unk> - what a wonderful place! A week in a hurry?!<unk>. I stumbled, without him having to insist too much. In short, my ass continued the whole afternoon, wrapping that black cockroach in the most diverse and comfortable positions: in the house, on the sofa, in front of the mirror and in the shower-box during which we took a hard shower together, and I was sure that you would thank me for that; it's a wonderful thing to do, and I'm sure you'd be grateful to me if you didn't get out of the kitchen in such an awkward way; it's a lovely time, and I'm sure you wouldn't have a black cockroached me by opening your hand in such an awkward way.