Blackmailing Mom’s Black Bull

Dressed like a slut, I seduced Mom’s abusive black boyfriend and filmed every thrust to blackmail him out of her life.

Tags: fiction, gay, interracial, femboy, blackmail, domination, humiliation, hardcore anal, deep fisting, sex tape

* * *

I still couldn’t believe the words had actually left my mother’s mouth. We were sitting at the kitchen table, the same scarred oak one we’d eaten cereal at every morning since Dad walked out six years ago, and she was beaming like a teenager. “Dante proposed, baby. I said yes.” Her eyes were shining, mascara already threatening to run. I stared at her, fork frozen halfway to my lips, the pasta suddenly tasting like ash.

Dante. The six-foot-four wall of muscle with the deep voice and the gold chain that never left his neck. The same man who’d left faint bruises on Mom’s upper arm the one and only time I’d met him. The same man whose laugh had made my skin crawl even before he’d called me “little lady” in that condescending drawl. I’d seen the way he looked at her—like she was something he owned. And now he wanted the paperwork to prove it.

“Mom, he’s… he’s not right for you,” I said, keeping my voice gentle even though my pulse was hammering. “He’s rough. You’ve come home crying twice this month alone.”

She waved a hand like I was being dramatic. “People fight, sweetie. That’s normal. He’s just passionate.”

“Passionate doesn’t mean putting his hands on you.”

Her smile faltered, then hardened. “You don’t know him like I do. And honestly? The way you’re talking right now sounds pretty racist, you know that?”

The word hit like a slap. I blinked, stunned. “Mom, this has nothing to do with—”

“Save it,” she snapped, and suddenly her eyes were wet. “I’m happy for once. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to scream that I’d seen the way he watched other women at the restaurant that night, that his “passion” had left fingerprints on her wrist. But the tears were already spilling, and I couldn’t do it. I swallowed the rest of my words, muttered something about needing air, and left her sniffling into her napkin.

That night I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my soft, smooth thighs pressed together under the sheets. My body had always felt like a traitor—five-foot-six of delicate curves that made strangers call me “miss” even in baggy hoodies. Shoulder-length dark hair that fell in silky waves around a heart-shaped face, large brown eyes too wide and innocent for my own good, plump lips that looked permanently bee-stung. My skin was a warm tan-white that flushed easily, and the extra softness that settled on my chest gave me these subtle, perky little mounds that would fill an AA-cup bra perfectly. Down below, my slender five-inch cock and tight balls were the only reminder I wasn’t the girl everyone saw. I hated how much I loved the mistake.

I couldn’t let her marry him. I just couldn’t.

The plan was pure bitch energy, and I owned it. I texted Miles—my best friend since middle school, the lanky genius who could hack a security camera before breakfast. Need everything on Dante Washington. Bars he hits, any dirt, the works. Tonight. He replied in under five minutes with three emojis and a thumbs-up. By eight-thirty he’d sent the address of a dive bar on the east side where Dante apparently held court most nights. Perfect.

I stood in front of my mirror and went full slut mode. The short leather jacket hugged my narrow waist and stopped just below the undercurve of my chest, leaving my flat tummy and the bottom swells of my soft little breasts on display. A tight black crop top clung to those gentle curves, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide how my nipples poked when the AC hit them. Below that, denim short-shorts so brief the bottom of my thick, plush ass cheeks peeked out with every step. Underneath, sheer fishnet pantyhose wrapped my smooth legs like a second skin, and over them I’d pulled on the tiniest black thong that barely contained my tucked package. My chunky, heart-shaped ass jiggled softly inside the shorts, the fishnets making every curve look obscene. Five-inch stiletto pumps made my calves flex and my hips sway like they had a mind of their own. Party makeup—smoky eyes, glossy pout, fake lashes—turned my already pretty face into something that screamed “fuck me.” I looked like the kind of girl who got into trouble on purpose. Exactly what I needed.

It was nine o’clock when I pushed open the heavy door of the bar. Smoke and bass-heavy music wrapped around me. The place smelled like beer and bad decisions. I scanned the room and there he was—Dante, leaning against the scarred wooden bar like he owned it. Black skin gleaming under the low lights, shoulders stretching his tight gray T-shirt, thick arms folded across a chest that looked carved from stone. His beard was trimmed sharp, gold chain catching the light every time he laughed at something the bartender said. He hadn’t noticed me yet.

I clicked across the floor on my heels, heart hammering, and slid onto the stool right beside him. The bartender barely glanced at me before pouring a vodka cranberry. No ID check. Small mercies. I kept my eyes on my phone, pretending I hadn’t clocked him at all.

My fingers shook only a little as I dialed Miles. He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey babe,” I said, voice pitched soft and wounded. “Yeah… I’m at the bar like we planned. No, he’s not coming. He… he dumped me. Over text. Said I was too much.” I let my voice crack convincingly. Miles played along on the other end, feeding me lines about how I deserved better, how he’d always thought my ex was trash. I let a fake sob slip out, wiped at my eye with the back of my hand. The call was our signal—he’d start the stream from the hidden cameras the second I confirmed contact. I hung up, ordered another drink, and stared into the glass like it held answers.

A deep voice rumbled beside me. “Damn, shorty. Sounds like you might need something stronger than that cranberry shit after a phone call like that.”

I turned my head slowly, letting my big brown eyes meet his dark ones. Up close he was even more imposing—towering over me, the scent of his cologne and faint sweat making my stomach flutter despite myself. His gaze dragged down my body, lingering on the way my crop top stretched across my soft little chest, the exposed strip of tummy, the fishnet-wrapped thighs pressed together on the stool.

I gave a shy little smile. “Yeah… guess I do.”

He grinned, teeth bright against his dark skin. “Name’s Dante. And any man dumb enough to let a fine-ass thing like you go over a fucking text message don’t deserve the title.” His hand landed on my thigh without asking, heavy and warm, fingers stroking the fishnet right below the hem of my shorts. “Look at you. All dressed up like a present nobody bothered to unwrap. That ex of yours must be blind.”

I laughed—high, breathy, exactly like the dumb bitch I was pretending to be. His jokes were crude, his compliments borderline dirty, but I ate them up, tilting my head so my dark hair spilled over one shoulder. “I’m just visiting from out of town,” I said after a while, letting my voice go a little slurry like the drinks were hitting. “Booked a motel a block away. Came here for the weekend to… you know. Surprise him.” I shrugged, letting the leather jacket slip off one shoulder. “Guess the surprise was on me.”

Dante’s hand squeezed my thigh, thumb brushing higher, dangerously close to the edge of my shorts. “Motel, huh? That’s a shame. Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be sleeping alone tonight.” His voice dropped lower. “Why’d he really dump you? You cheat? You too freaky for him?”

I bit my glossy lower lip, leaned in until my mouth almost brushed his ear. The leather of my jacket creaked softly. “Actually… I’m not exactly a biological girl,” I whispered. “I’m trans.”

He pulled back like I’d slapped him. “Bullshit.”

I kept my eyes locked on his, heart racing. “Cop a feel if you don’t believe me.”

For a second the bar noise faded. His dark eyes narrowed, then flicked down to my lap. The hand that had been on my thigh slid higher, calloused fingers slipping under the frayed denim of my short-shorts, pushing past the fishnet and hooking into the tiny thong. I felt every inch of the invasion—his thick digits brushing the soft, hairless skin of my inner thigh, then finding the delicate pouch of fabric that barely held my slender cock and tight little balls. He cupped me fully, thumb rolling over the small shaft through the silky material. My cock twitched involuntarily against his palm, half-hard from the adrenaline and the sheer filth of the moment.

Dante’s face went through about five expressions in two seconds—shock, disgust, confusion—before something darker and hotter took over. “The fuck…” he muttered, voice rough. “You got a little dick on you. Sitting here looking like the finest piece of pussy I’ve seen all year, and you packing a cute cock and balls under these tiny shorts? That’s some twisted shit.” His fingers squeezed gently, almost experimentally, rolling my smooth sac. “Most bitches would kill for an ass like yours, and here you are hiding a clit-dick. Fuckin’ wild.”

I should have been mortified. Instead heat flooded my cheeks and my hole clenched in anticipation. His words were cruel, but his hand stayed right where it was, stroking me through the thong like he couldn’t quite stop himself.

He leaned in, breath hot against my ear. “You for real right now?”

I nodded, biting my lip harder. “Dead serious.”

Dante exhaled slowly, fingers still lazily fondling my trapped package. “Shit… I should walk away. But look at you—those big doe eyes, that fat juicy ass spilling out your shorts, those soft little tits begging to be sucked on. You got me harder than a motherfucker.” He gave my balls one last possessive squeeze, then pulled his hand free and tossed a couple bills on the bar. “Show me this motel room of yours, baby. I wanna see what else that pretty mouth can do besides lie.”

I slid off the stool on shaky heels, pretending the two drinks had me tipsier than they did. “Okay,” I breathed, voice small and eager. “It’s just a block away.”

The night air hit my bare legs as we stepped outside. Dante’s hand stayed glued to the small of my back, guiding me like he already owned me. Every click of my stilettos on the sidewalk made my chunky ass jiggle, and I could feel his eyes burning into it. The motel sign flickered ahead—cheap, neon, perfect. We climbed the stairs to room 214. I fumbled the keycard with trembling fingers, hyper-aware of his massive frame behind me, the heat rolling off his body.

The door swung open. I stepped inside first. Dante followed, and the second he cleared the threshold he kicked the door shut with his heel.

The lock clicked loudly behind us, sealing the cheap motel room in a hush broken only by our ragged breathing. Dante’s massive hands were on me instantly, one tangling in my shoulder-length dark hair to yank my head back while the other clamped around my narrow waist, pulling my soft, supple body flush against his hard frame. Our mouths crashed together in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of whiskey and raw need. His thick tongue shoved past my glossy lips, claiming my mouth like he already owned every inch of me. I moaned into it, my smaller hands sliding up the front of his tight gray T-shirt, feeling the ridges of his abs flex under my palms. The leather of my short jacket creaked as he shoved it off my shoulders and down my arms, letting it drop to the threadbare carpet. My crop top followed a second later, yanked up and over my head, freeing the gentle, rounded swells of my chest—those soft, girlish mounds that bounced lightly with every frantic breath I took.

He growled against my lips, “Fuck, look at these pretty little tits on you,” and his rough palms covered them completely, squeezing and kneading the plush flesh until my nipples stiffened into tight peaks under his thumbs. I arched into the touch, gasping when he pinched one hard enough to send a sharp spark straight to my core. My own fingers worked frantically at his belt, popping the button on his jeans and dragging the zipper down. The heavy denim slid off his thick thighs, and his massive black cock sprang free—nine thick inches of veined, throbbing meat that slapped heavily against my fishnet-covered stomach. God, it was huge, the dark skin stretched shiny over the swollen head already leaking a bead of precum.

Dante kicked his jeans and boots aside, standing completely naked now, every inch of his powerful, dark-muscled body on display. He sat back on the edge of the sagging motel bed, legs spread wide, that monstrous cock jutting up like a challenge. “On your knees, baby,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. I obeyed without thinking, the carpet rough against my fishnet-wrapped knees as I sank down between his thighs, my high-heel pumps digging into the floor for balance. My chunky ass rested on my heels, the tiny denim shorts still clinging to my hips but riding up so the bottom curves of my plush rear spilled out.

I wrapped both soft hands around the base of his shaft—my slender fingers barely meeting around its girth—and stroked upward slowly, feeling every pulsing vein. Leaning in, I dragged my pouty lips along the underside, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses from his heavy balls all the way to the leaking tip. My tongue swirled around the fat crown, lapping up the salty precum before I stretched my glossy lips wide and sank down, taking the first few inches into the wet heat of my mouth. Dante groaned, one big hand fisting my dark hair. “That’s it, suck that big black dick, you little freak. Never would’ve guessed a pretty thing like you was hiding a clit-cock under those tiny shorts.”

I hollowed my cheeks and bobbed deeper, working more of his length past my tongue until the head nudged the back of my throat. My eyes watered, but I pushed further, gagging wetly around him as my throat convulsed and squeezed. Saliva spilled from the corners of my stretched lips, dripping down his shaft and over my fingers as I pumped the base in time with my mouth. I pulled back with a gasp, strings of spit connecting my bottom lip to his cock, then dove down again, forcing myself to swallow every inch until my nose pressed against his pelvis and my throat bulged visibly. Dante’s hips bucked, fucking my face with short, rough thrusts while he held my head in place. “Goddamn, that throat’s tighter than most real pussy. Keep gagging on it, bitch—milk me with that slutty mouth.”

For long minutes I venerated him like that—hands twisting and stroking the slick shaft, lips sliding up and down, tongue fluttering along the underside, throat opening again and again to take him impossibly deep. My own slender five-inch cock strained painfully against the tiny thong and fishnets, the head poking out slightly and leaking onto my smooth inner thigh. Dante noticed, his free hand reaching down to flick the sensitive tip. “Look at that pathetic little thing twitching while you choke on real dick. Cute as fuck on a body this fine, though. Bet it’s never made anyone cum, has it?” I whimpered around his cock, the humiliation burning hot in my cheeks even as it made my hole clench with need.

Finally he pulled me off with a wet pop, spit dripping from my chin onto my soft breasts. “Enough. Get on the bed—hands and knees, ass up.” He hauled me up by the hair and spun me around, shoving me face-down onto the mattress. I scrambled into position, knees spread wide on the cheap sheets, back arched so my thick, jiggly ass pushed high in the air. My shorts were still on, but Dante ripped them down my fishnet thighs in one yank, leaving them tangled around my ankles along with the thong. The cool air hit my exposed hole and my dangling little cock and balls. He knelt behind me, big hands tearing open the fishnet before spreading my plump cheeks wide. “Fuck, that’s a pretty pink hole on a fake bitch like you.” Then his hot, wet tongue was there—lapping slow and filthy from my tight balls all the way up to my puckered entrance. He licked and sucked with obscene hunger, tongue pushing inside me, swirling and stretching the rim while his beard scraped my smooth skin. One thick finger joined his tongue, then two, scissoring me open as I moaned and pushed back, my soft little tits squished against the bed.

He ate me like a starving man for what felt like forever, fingers pumping deep, tongue fucking in and out until I was dripping wet and loose. Then he rose up on his knees, lined that fat black cockhead against my spit-slick hole, and pushed. The stretch was brutal—nine inches of unrelenting girth splitting me open inch by inch. I cried out, fingers clawing the sheets, but he didn’t stop, gripping my curvy hips and driving forward until his heavy balls rested against mine. “Take it all, you little whore. This ass is mine tonight.” He started thrusting—long, powerful strokes that made my chunky cheeks ripple and clap with every impact. His hand cracked down hard on my right ass cheek, then the left, spanking me red while he fucked me senseless. “Look at that fat white ass bouncing on black dick. You were made for this, weren’t you? Hiding that tiny cock and pretending to be a girl just so you can get wrecked like the slut you are.”

The pain melted into white-hot pleasure as he hammered my prostate with every deep thrust. My slender cock swung uselessly beneath me, leaking steadily onto the sheets. Dante reached around and wrapped his fist around it, stroking roughly. “This pathetic little clit-dick is so fucking cute. Bet it’s never felt a real man inside before.” He slapped my ass again, harder, the sting blooming hot as he railed me faster, the bed creaking violently under us.

After what felt like an eternity of that pounding, he pulled out with a wet pop and flipped me onto my back like I weighed nothing. He stood at the edge of the bed, grabbed my ankles and shoved my legs up and back until my knees were pressed to my soft chest, feet in the air. My hole was exposed completely, winking and glistening. He lined up again and sank in deep in one smooth thrust, the new angle letting him bottom out completely. I gasped at the intense fullness, the head of his cock grinding right against my prostate. He held my ankles in a bruising grip and started fucking me with slow, deliberate strokes at first, letting me feel every thick inch sliding in and out. “So deep in this fake pussy,” he grunted, eyes locked on where we were joined. “Look at your little cock twitching every time I hit that spot. Pathetic and pretty at the same time.”

Gradually the thrusts grew harder, faster, until the headboard slammed against the wall. My soft body jiggled with every impact—my rounded chest, my plush thighs, my chunky ass. Sweat glistened on my tan-white skin as I moaned shamelessly, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being completely dominated.

Dante suddenly sat down on the edge of the bed, still buried inside me. He pulled me up into his lap so I was facing him, my smooth legs wrapped around his thick waist, arms looped tightly around his broad, dark shoulders. My hole was impaled to the hilt on his cock. I braced my knees on the mattress and started riding—lifting and dropping myself with desperate rolls of my hips, using my thighs to bounce on that massive shaft. Dante’s big hands clamped onto my plump ass cheeks, kneading the soft flesh and spreading them wide as he helped lift me, slamming me back down. “Ride that dick, baby. Work those thick cheeks.” Every downward plunge ground my prostate perfectly. My slender cock rubbed against his hard abs, the friction building until I couldn’t hold back. I came hard with a broken cry, my little cock spurting thin ropes of cum across his stomach while my hole clenched rhythmically around him.

He didn’t let me rest. Scooting backward until he was centered on the bed, he kept me in his lap but spun me around so my back was to his chest, my smooth tan-white thighs straddling his thick dark ones. His massive black cock stayed buried to the hilt inside me, the fat head grinding against that sensitive spot deep in my core with every tiny shift. I stayed seated for a moment, breathing hard, feeling the way my chunky rear was spread wide over his pelvis, the heat of his skin against mine.

Then I leaned all the way back, arching my spine until my shoulder blades pressed against his broad chest and my head tilted onto his shoulder. My knees stayed bent and planted wide on the mattress, thighs splayed open so my slender five-inch cock and tight little balls swung freely in the open air between them. The new angle pushed him even deeper, the thick shaft stretching my walls in a completely different way that made my toes curl inside the high heels still strapped to my feet. I rolled my hips experimentally at first, then started riding in earnest—lifting with my thighs and dropping back down in smooth, filthy circles that made my plush ass cheeks ripple and smack softly against his lap.

Every downward plunge sent sparks shooting up my spine. His cock dragged along every nerve inside me, the swollen head bullying my prostate on the way in and grinding it on the way out. My own little cock bounced and swung wildly between my spread thighs, the circumcised tip slapping wetly against my smooth inner thighs and occasionally brushing his heavy balls with each bounce. The motion made the soft, delicate swells of my chest jiggle and sway, my nipples tight and aching. Sweat glistened on my flushed skin as I picked up speed, fucking myself on him with short, greedy lifts and drops that filled the room with the wet, rhythmic sound of skin on skin.

Dante groaned low in his throat, his big hands sliding up my narrow waist to cup the gentle curves of my chest from behind. He squeezed the soft flesh, rolling my nipples between thick fingers until I whimpered, then slid one hand lower to wrap around my bouncing cock. “Fuck, look at this tiny thing flopping around like it’s trying to keep up,” he laughed darkly, giving my slender shaft a rough tug that made my hole clench around him. “Cute little clit-dick on such a pretty fake bitch. Swinging all over the place while you ride real dick like you were born for it. Pathetic and hot as hell.”

He slapped my jiggling ass hard with his free hand, the sharp crack echoing as my thick cheeks rippled from the impact. I moaned louder, arching my back even more, pressing my ass down harder so his cock kissed new depths inside me. The stretch burned so good, my walls fluttering and squeezing around his girth while my own little cock leaked steadily onto his fingers. Dante kept stroking me in time with my bounces, his thumb smearing the precum over the sensitive head, while his other hand kneaded and spanked my rear in alternating smacks that left my pale skin glowing pink.

I rode him like that for long, dizzy minutes—leaning all the way back against his solid chest, thighs spread obscenely wide, my soft body on full display as I worked every inch of his nine-inch shaft. My chunky ass rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the fat globes clapping louder now as I slammed down harder, chasing the relentless pressure against my prostate. Every swing of my slender cock between my thighs reminded me how small and helpless it looked compared to the monster splitting me open, and the humiliation only made the pleasure sharper.

Dante’s breathing grew ragged behind me. “Goddamn, that ass is swallowing me whole. Keep bouncing, you dirty little secret—make those cheeks clap for me.” He pinched my nipple hard enough to make me gasp, then suddenly gripped my hips with both hands and held me still for a second, buried to the root. “Enough of that. Lean forward now. I want to see this fat white ass swallow my cock.”

I obeyed instantly, trembling as I planted my palms flat on the mattress between his spread legs. I stretched my own legs straight back behind me until my body formed an almost straight line—elbows locked, back dipped low, ass still fully seated on his cock. From this angled position I could bounce my chunky rear with short, powerful thrusts—my cheeks clapping loudly against his pelvis, the fat globes rippling and jiggling as his thick black shaft disappeared completely through my stretched hole over and over. Dante’s hands roamed everywhere—groping my flaring hips, stroking the outside of my thighs, slapping my bouncing ass. “Goddamn, look at that ass clap. Best fake pussy I’ve ever had. Take every inch, you dirty little slut.”

The position let him hit new depths, the head of his cock bullying my prostate relentlessly. I was moaning nonstop, body trembling, my own spent cock swaying beneath me. Dante’s breathing grew ragged. “Fuck, I’m close.” He suddenly pulled out, leaving me gaping and empty. I stayed in position as he stroked his glistening cock furiously over my upturned ass. With a deep groan he erupted—thick, hot ropes of cum splattering across my plump cheeks, painting the smooth, reddened skin white. Some of it dripped down my crack, teasing my wrecked hole. He milked every drop, smearing the head of his cock through the mess before leaning back.

I collapsed onto my stomach, panting, body buzzing and sore in the best way. Dante sat up and wiped himself off with the edge of the sheet, then started pulling on his clothes. He looked down at me with a lazy, satisfied grin, gold chain catching the lamplight. “Damn, shorty. That was some of the best ass I’ve had in years. Even with that cute little surprise between your legs.” He leaned down and gave my cum-covered ass one last possessive slap. “I’m keeping your number. We’re doing this again real soon—maybe even before I tie the knot next week.” He chuckled darkly at his own joke, clearly not connecting the dots. “Don’t go catching feelings, though. This was just a one-time stress relief… for now.”

He zipped up his jeans, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door. “Take care of that pretty hole, baby. I’ll text you.” The door opened, then shut behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone in the wrecked room, covered in his cum and still trembling from the aftershocks.

The door clicked shut behind Dante, leaving the motel room thick with the scent of sweat, cum, and cheap air freshener. My body felt wrecked in the most delicious way—every muscle loose and trembling, my plump rear still tingling from the spanking and the relentless pounding it had taken. Cum cooled in sticky ropes across my rounded ass cheeks, some of it already sliding down the cleft toward my stretched hole. I stayed face-down on the rumpled sheets for a long minute, catching my breath, the soft swells of my chest pressed into the mattress and my slender five-inch cock half-hard beneath me, sticky with my own earlier release.

Eventually I pushed up on shaky arms, the fishnet pantyhose still clinging to my smooth legs like a second skin, now torn in places from Dante’s rough hands. I peeled off the ruined pantyhose, kicked away the high heels, and padded to the tiny bathroom on bare feet. The mirror showed a flushed, thoroughly used version of myself: shoulder-length dark hair tousled and damp at the roots, large brown eyes still glassy with afterglow, pouty lips swollen from all the kissing and sucking. My tan-white skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat, the gentle curves of my breasts marked with faint red handprints, my shapely hips and thick, jiggly thighs already showing light bruises where Dante had gripped me. I turned on the shower, waited for the water to run hot, then stepped in and let it cascade over me. I soaped every inch—running slick hands over the soft undersides of my breasts, down the dip of my narrow waist, between my plush thighs, and especially carefully over my tender hole, wincing at how open and sensitive it still felt. The hot water rinsed away the evidence of the night, but the memory stayed burned into my skin.

I dried off with a scratchy motel towel, then dug into the duffle bag I’d stashed earlier in the small cabinet under the sink. Boy clothes this time: loose gray hoodie, baggy jeans that still somehow hugged my curvy hips a little too well, plain sneakers. Even dressed like this, with my hair tucked behind my ears and no makeup, the mirror showed a delicate, pretty boy who could pass for a girl at a glance. I secretly loved that part. I was just zipping the hoodie when a soft knock came at the door.

I opened it to Miles. He stood there in his usual rumpled graphic tee and jeans, laptop bag slung over one shoulder, a coffee in his free hand and a massive grin splitting his face. “Holy shit, dude,” he whispered, slipping inside and locking the door behind him. “You should see this footage. The angles I got—crystal clear. That big bastard never suspected a thing.”

I let him in, heart still racing from everything. “Play it,” I said, voice a little hoarse. “I need to see how bad it looks.”

Miles set his laptop on the small table by the bed, plugged it in, and fired up the compiled file containing the curated bits with the best angles. My friend had been editing them on his laptop in a coffee shop nearby. The screen lit up with a crisp 4K view of the room—me on my knees in front of Dante, fishnets and heels still on, glossy lips stretched wide around his thick black cock. The hidden cameras had caught every detail: the way my soft breasts jiggled as I bobbed my head, the spit dripping down my chin, the desperate little whimpers I made when he pushed into my throat. Miles hit play and sat on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the screen.

We watched in silence at first, the sounds of the recording filling the room—wet slurps, Dante’s deep groans, my gagging. My body reacted instantly. Heat pooled low in my belly as I saw myself on all fours, ass up high while Dante’s tongue worked between my cheeks. My slender cock twitched inside my jeans. Miles noticed. His hand landed on my thigh, squeezing the soft flesh through the denim. “You look so fucking good getting wrecked,” he murmured, voice thick. “That ass of yours… the way it jiggles when he spanks it. No wonder the man was hooked.”

I didn’t stop him when his fingers crept higher, rubbing along the inseam. The video played on—Dante flipping me, standing at the bed’s edge while my legs were pushed back, his massive cock disappearing into me over and over. I shifted closer to Miles, letting his hand slide between my legs, palming the growing bulge in my jeans. “He called my cock cute,” I whispered, half-embarrassed, half-turned on. Miles laughed softly. “It is cute. Tiny and perfect on a body this soft and curvy. But that hole… fuck, look at it taking him.”

By the time the video reached the part where I was riding Dante reverse, my own hands were shaking. Miles pulled me into his lap suddenly, straddling him facing the screen so I could keep watching while his hands roamed. He groped the soft mounds of my chest through the hoodie, pinching my nipples until they peaked. “You were amazing tonight,” he breathed against my neck. “Let me have you like you promised.” I nodded, already lost. He stripped me slowly—hoodie first, then the jeans, leaving me naked and smooth and flushed. My slender cock stood at full attention, the tight balls drawn up close. Miles ran his palms over every curve, kneading my plush ass, spreading the cheeks to feel the still-pink hole.

“On the bed,” he said, voice rougher now. “Elbows and knees, facing the laptop. Ass nice and high. I want you watching him while I take you.”

I crawled onto the mattress exactly as he wanted—elbows planted wide, knees spread, back dipped low so my thick, rounded rear lifted high in the air. My face was inches from the screen, where Dante was still pounding me senseless. Miles knelt behind me, hands immediately on my hips, thumbs spreading my cheeks apart. “Holy shit… look how loose you've become,” he groaned, voice full of awe and lust. “That big black cock really opened you up. Your pretty pink hole is still gaping a little, all puffy and shiny.”

He leaned in and venerated it with his mouth—tongue dragging slow, wet circles around the rim, then pushing inside, licking deep like he was trying to taste Dante on me. I moaned, pushing back against his face, the soft flesh of my ass smothering his nose and mouth. He ate me greedily, tongue fucking in and out, sucking on the rim, then pulling back to spit on my hole before diving in again. One finger joined his tongue, sliding in easily thanks to how stretched I still was. Then two. Then three. He scissored them wide, stretching me further while his other hand reached around to stroke my slender cock in lazy pulls.

“Fuck, I can fit four already,” he muttered, voice muffled against my skin. He worked in a fourth finger, pumping slowly, twisting his hand so every knuckle dragged against my inner walls. The fullness was intense—burning pleasure that made my toes curl and my little cock leak steadily onto the sheets. On the screen Dante was flipping positions again, and I couldn’t look away, my hole clenching around Miles’ fingers in time with the video.

He kept going, adding some spit-lube, then tucking his thumb in. Slowly, carefully, he pushed—his entire hand sliding past the rim until his fist was buried inside me up to the wrist. I gasped sharply, the stretch almost too much, but the pleasure hit like a wave, my prostate throbbing against his knuckles. “There it is,” Miles breathed, voice reverent. “My whole fist in your ass. God, you’re taking it so well, all smooth and soft and girly on the outside, but this hungry hole just swallows everything.”

He started moving—slow at first, then deeper, twisting and pumping until his forearm was sliding in and out, almost elbow-deep within minutes of steady, relentless work. The sensation was overwhelming: pressure and fullness so extreme it made my vision blur, every nerve singing as his fist grazed my prostate on every thrust. My slender cock jerked untouched, dripping. Miles used his free hand to spank my jiggling cheeks, leaving fresh red marks while he fisted me harder, going elbow-deep over and over, the obscene wet sounds mixing with the moans from the laptop.

He kept it up for long, luxurious minutes, enjoying the view of my hole stretched impossibly wide around his arm, my thick ass rippling with every deep push. Finally he eased his fist out with a wet pop, leaving me gaping and empty for only a second. Then he lined up his own cock—hard, average-sized but rock-solid after everything he’d seen—and pushed inside in one smooth stroke. The slide was easy after the fisting, but the angle let him hit every sensitive spot as he gripped my hips and started fucking me hard from behind.

He railed me like that for what felt like forever—deep, punishing thrusts that made my chunky ass clap loudly against his pelvis. His hands roamed constantly: groping the soft swells of my chest from behind, pinching my nipples, slapping my rear until it burned. “Watch him wreck you,” he panted, one hand in my hair tilting my head toward the screen. “That’s you taking nine inches like a champ. Now you’re taking me too—loose and sloppy and perfect.”

The video reached its final moments just as Miles’s rhythm faltered. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning loudly as his cock pulsed and throbbed inside me, flooding my wrecked hole with hot, thick spurts of cum. I felt every jet—warm and deep, filling me until it started to leak out around his shaft. My own slender cock spurted weakly onto the sheets in sympathy, the prostate stimulation too much to hold back.

The laptop screen went black as the edited tape ended. Miles stayed buried inside me for a long minute, catching his breath, hands gently kneading my plush ass cheeks. “Best reward ever,” he whispered, kissing the back of my neck.

I cleaned up again in the bathroom—another quick shower to rinse away the fresh load—then dressed in the boy clothes once more. Miles packed up the hidden cameras and laptop while I gathered my slutty outfit into the duffle. We slipped out of the motel like nothing had happened, the night air cool against my flushed skin.

The next day Miles handled the rest. He sent the video anonymously to Dante’s phone and email—my upper face blurred just enough to protect me, but every explicit detail of Dante’s thick black cock disappearing into my smooth, curvy body crystal clear. The message was short and brutal: Break it off with Mrs. ******* tonight or this goes everywhere. Everyone will see how much you loved fucking a boy dressed like a girl.

I stayed home that evening, heart in my throat. Around nine o’clock I found Mom in the kitchen, sitting at the scarred oak table with her face in her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mascara running in black rivers. “He… he just ended it,” she sobbed when she saw me. “Said it wasn’t working. No explanation. Just… gone.”

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her soft, familiar frame against mine. Guilt twisted in my stomach like a knife—Epstein-level manipulation, blackmail, using my own body as bait. But then I remembered the bruises on her arm, the way she’d cried at this same table when she defended him. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered, and meant it even as relief washed over me. “Maybe it’s for the best. You deserve someone who doesn’t hurt you.”

She cried harder, but she nodded against my shoulder. I held her tight, my delicate hands stroking her back, the secret of what I’d done burning behind my large brown eyes. It had been ugly. It had been wrong in so many ways. But my mom was safe now, and that was all that mattered. Some things you just had to do, no matter how dirty they made you feel afterward.