Chapter 9 BBC: Big Black Concert 1

• Synopsis:
• He barely got a word out before I stuffed his cock into my mouth. I spit, slurped and slobbered all over it, pulling it out of my mouth occasionally just to look at it in awe before hurriedly stuffing it back into my mouth. I'd never in my life enjoyed sucking a cock this much, but I guess I'd never had this much cock to suck before.
• Honestly I was somewhere between ecstatic and overwhelmed, with just a hint of in-over-my-head. Despite all this, I was determined to give it my all. I sucked that cock like it contained the last drop of the antidote. I worked both hands in gentle twists along the spit slick shaft and moaned loudly.
• ************************
• It's not that I wasn't happy. Happy isn't the right qualifier. Tommy and I got along fine, and all of our friends were mutual. In a lot of ways, I really did like him, that's probably why we stayed together for so many years. The problem, at its core, was fulfillment. I was totally unfulfilled. My unfulfillment set the cracks forming, and sent my mind wandering. I started to want something else, something Tommy wasn't giving me. Sex. Tommy didn't fuck. He didn't even make love.
• Tommy didn't even try. For some reason that I was never made privy to, my six-foot-one, alpha-male, football playing boyfriend had no interest in me sexually. Despite his machismo, and my carefully toned collage cheerleader body, Tommy couldn't have been bothered to give two shakes of a half-stiff cock for me, or my tight ass, or my double-d's. It's been my pet theory that I was just his beard, but I never asked him and he never offered an explanation.
• For all I know, he could have had a black chick fetish. Maybe a few side-pieces. It didn't matter then, and it doesn't now. All that ever mattered was finding release for the building need I had, and I found it. Goddamn did I find it.
• It was Tommy himself who bought me the ticket to the 'Dat Krew' concert for my birthday. He knew they were my favorite rap group. He probably even knew that I had a crush on Contendah, partially because he was the best rapper in the Krew, but mostly because he was hot. Like, really goddamn hot. Plus, all the groupies on the message board said he had a huge cock.
• Tommy couldn't have known how bad my celeb crush really was. He couldn't have known about all the sleepless nights I'd spent laying in bed, one hand between my legs as I stared at the bulge in Contendah's pants on my "Dat Krew" poster. Nor could he have known about my second, secret Tumblr account where I spent my time reblogging interracial porn and messaging that chick from Atlanta who said she'd slept with the Krew before they really got big.
• Her name was Shiloh, and she ran a swingers club for interracial encounters. She'd invited me to one of their parties, but I couldn't afford to go to Atlanta at the drop of a hat like that. Tommy also couldn't have known how I drooled over every explicit detail of Shiloh's stories, feeling the ache grow and needing to know what it felt like to be really stretched out.
• Tommy was a good guy, the sexless thing aside, but I didn't need a guy. I needed a bull. A big, black bull to dominate me. A big, black bull to stretch me, break me, fill me up. If Tommy had known any of this, he probably wouldn't have sprung for backstage passes.
• I can't remember ever being more excited for a birthday present in my whole life. For the next two weeks, I spent every free second talking to Shiloh and watching BBC porn. Shiloh told me all about her bull, Darnell and how he got her gangbanged by all of Dat Krew the night of their first album launch party. Apparently Darnell was the Krew's producer and Shiloh runs 'entertainment' for his clientele. Suffice it to say, she made me an incredibly jealous girl.
• When I told her how far my crush on Contendah went, she decided to help out. Let me tell you something, when Shiloh Cash says she's going to help you out, she helps you the fuck out. She called Darnell and set everything up for me, all I had to do is mention her name to security when I got backstage and I'd score what she called a "Private Performance". She also mailed me a shirt to wear. It was a simple black tank top that cut off above the midriff.
• There was a Spade on the front with a “Q” inside of it, and on the back, black letters spelled out “Certified Black Cock Slut”. It arrived in a plain brown box with a note that read “NO BRA!!!”. The words were underlined several times, and the note was signed “June Maki, CoS Wardrobe Department”. After trying it on in the mirror, sans bra of course, I made a mental note to give June the biggest hug in the world when I finally met her.
• It fit like a cotton/polyester dream, and needless to say, it made my intentions very, very clear. I’m not an assertive person by nature, I mean, I’d dated tommy for years without ever bringing up how dissatisfied I was. The only person I’d ever even mentioned it to was Shiloh, but I guess that paid off, so it’s okay.
• Maybe I was sex starved, maybe I just needed attention, whatever the reason, I had zero reservations when I got out of Tommy’s car and strode into the venue dressed to fuck. The venue was massive, mainly because of the headliner. Some scrawny backpack rapper that I couldn’t give less of a shit about. I went there for the Krew, I went for Contendah.
• Tommy blended in as well as a frog in a cat parade, but if I’m being honest, I didn’t give a shit about that either. It definitely wasn’t his scene, but it was mine. For the first time in my entire life, I knew what my scene was. I knew where I fit in. In my knee high black boots, black fishnets, short skirt with no panties and tanktop with no bra, I was dressed for the fucking occasion.
• Tommy bought me a drink and then I moved through the dance floor biting my lip and scoping out all the action. He watched quietly from the sidelines while I almost salivated as I looked over the young, hardbodied thugs in their sagging jeans and muscle-tees. Before long, the Krew hit the stage and I lost what little self control I had.
• Their stage show exuded that macho-gangsta dominance that I loved, they were sex incarnate. I slid through the crowd, not dancing with, but dancing on any guy I could find who wasn’t already strictly taken.
• When the Krew performed their club hit “Snowbunny Afterparty” (A song Shiloh insists was written about her) I legitimately got wet. Halfway through their set I was sucking my thumb and grinding on some tall, bald thug with tattoos who’s name I never caught. His hands were all over my body and his touch was like fire running across ice. He slid one big hand up my shirt and I turned around and kissed him full on the mouth.
• The next thing I knew, I had a hand down his pants and he was whispering that we should head for the bathroom. I turned him down, but not before squeezing that big, black cock and feeling it swell in my hand.
• Turning that cock down was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I had bigger fish to fry. If the poster was true, much, much bigger. After I disengaged from my dance partner, I glanced over at the bar and caught sight of Tommy, sipping a beer and playing on his phone. I felt an instant pang of guilt and rushed across the hall to apologize.
• “Jenny, you do know that I don’t give a shit what you do, right?” Tommy said with a gentle, easy smile.
• He didn’t elaborate on why, and frankly I didn’t ask him to, the Krew’s set ended so I kissed Tommy on the cheek and hurried off towards the security door with my backstage pass in my hand. Guarding it on either side were the two largest human beings I'd ever actually seen in real life. Two towering black men, both built like freight trains, dressed identically.
• To the unobservant, they could pass for twins. I however, observed the hell out of them. I looked them up and down, taking in the outline of each delicious ripple of musculature betrayed by their tight grey crewnecks.
• “So what are you two doing after the show?” I asked before I could remember what I was actually supposed to say.
• “That depends, girl, you available?” The one on the left asked, his eyes locked on my rack and only on my rack.
• “Yeah, girl, you down?” The one on the right asked, reaching around me and squeezing my ass.
• “Maybe, that depends on Contendah. He's expecting me.” I said with a confident smile.
• “Oh is he? Girl, we hear that shit a lot, from a lot of groupie-bimbos. You need to meet up with the backstage tour guide, and go with everyone else.” The one of the left said, his smile fading quickly.
• “Don't feel bad babygirl, you can always come 'round our hotel, we'll treat you real good.” Righty said, still palming my ass.
• “You don't understand, Shiloh Cash sent me.” I stammered out, crushed at the prospect of not seeing the Crew.
• “Oh shit, reals?” Lefty shouted.
• “You's one of Shiloh's girls?” Righty asked.
• “Yeah, I guess.” I responded.
• “Con's in luck tonight, get in there girl.” Lefty said, opening the door while Righty slapped my ass.
• I walked down the corridor until I found the room labeled “Contendah” and I knocked.
• “Who is it?” A voice, Contendah's voice, asked loudly.
• “Snowbunny delivery, courtesy of Shiloh Cash and the Court of Spades.” I said, remembering what Shiloh had told me.
• The door was flung open suddenly, I saw them. Contendah, T1-milli, and Muggy Mike. Dat Krew, all in the flesh. They stared at me silently for just a moment, looking me up and down, assessing every inch of my body.
• “What's your name, girl?” Contendah asked, his raspy voice sending shivers up my spine.
• “I'm Jenny Martin, I'm your biggest fan.” I whispered. I couldn't take my eyes off of his bulge now that I'd seen it in person. I was a woman entranced. I wanted nothing more in the whole world than to feel that cock inside me.
• Contendah must have read my mind because without a second's thought he dropped his grey sweatpants to the ground and started stroking his already huge cock in my direction.
• “Hey there Jenny, this is my cock. He's going to be your biggest fan tonight.” Contendah said with a crooked smile.
• “Hell yeah, let's fuck this ho!” Mike shouted, whipping out his own sizable member.
• Milli walked over to me, pulling his cock from his pants and slapping it's thick length against the palm of his free hand like a billyclub. The gesture was equal parts humorous and threatening.
• “You gonna take this dick, you gonna take all of this dick.” Milli said as his cock stiffened in his hand.