My Black Son

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Of course I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed the way my sons had grown into strapping young men, towering five or six inches taller than me, their broad black shoulders packed with muscles. I would even have to admit to noticing how eighteen year old Keenan and twenty year old Antoine made me feel less of a man in other departments too. Even if I didn’t try to look, I could tell from a quick glance that their pants showed the outline of a thick, long piece of meat that put mine totally to shame, but of course I had occasionally caught a glimpse of my offspring’s fully developed packages at the urinal in the bathroom or in the locker room at the gym and they almost made my eyes pop. My little dick was less than four inches fully hard and barely wider than my thumb, but each of my muscular black sons had an ebony manhood over twice the length of mine even when soft and almost as wide as my wrist.

How had I ended up so dwarfed by my sons’ masculinity in every sense? Well, I guess it’s just genetics. I was a little white guy and they were blessed with all the gifts of black manhood. Yes, Antoine and Keenan weren’t my sons in the traditional biological sense. Me and my wife had discovered years ago that I was infertile and that we could never have kids of our own, so we decided to adopt.

We thought it would be generous to take these two young black boys from an orphanage in a tough neighbourhood and give them a new start in our comfortably well off middle class suburb, give them all the chances that white kids normally get. And, with all the economic advantages of a white kid and all the obvious physical superiority of a black one, our two sons had done very well for themselves. Antoine was studying law at an elite East Coast college and Keenan had just graduated top of his class in high school. More than that, though, there was the thing that I couldn’t help noticing, the fact that a skinny, unmanly man like me had raised two black adonises, two paragons of the beautiful male form, one of whom I was about to discover with his massive black dick out and his mom’s red lace panties in his hand.

“Oh, er, Dad… I thought you were at work,” Keenan turned guiltily to me, quivering, semi-hard black dick thick and veiny in his left hand, his mom’s used panties straight from the laundry basket in his right, held up to be sniffed, “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry son,” I said, taking from my big black son the sexy lacy boyshorts that I had once bought for Lou, my wife, one Valentine’s Day, “I remember being eighteen. We all get urges that are hard to resist. These sure are some sexy panties, right?”

“It’s not that, Dad,” my adopted black son went on, his dick no longer in his hand, but still intimidatingly huge and dark, closer up than I’d seen it before, “It’s not just these panties. It’s the fact that they belong to Mom. Now I’m all grown up and started noticing all these older white MILFs and the way that they act around my toned black body I’ve started thinking differently about her. I know she’s kind of my mom, but not really, not biologically. And she’s also just this knock-out older white babe with this real sexy lingerie. I just can’t stop thinking about her this way.”

I was shocked to hear such a confession from my son, but my mind was going a mile a minute with images and ideas. I suppose in some ways it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise to discover that a testosterone filled ultra-masculine black teenager living under the same roof as a still hot forty-something blonde MILF who still liked to dress pretty sexy and wasn’t, after all, a blood relative of his, would be having feelings and desires like this. The real question, once I’d accepted how natural my adopted son’s fantasies were, was how to act next.

“Look, son, I can keep this quiet from your mother, she never needs to know,” I reassured Keenan, “But maybe there’s something else that we can do to help you with these feelings you’re having.”

“Like what?” he said, his big black dick now soft and dangling half way down his thigh.

“Just wait in the living room for me and I’ll show you.”

He left and I went into the bedroom, my wife’s lace panties still in my hand. I was taking a big risk here, but my adopted black son’s confession of his sort of incestuous fantasies about his mom had given me an idea and the confidence to try it.

In the bedroom, I stripped out of my work suit, casting aside the boring gray slacks and jacket, shirt and tie of my normal office day. I took off my underpants too and then, body quivering a little at the wrongness of it, slid the pair of red lace panties that I had taken off Keenan up my smooth hairless legs, tucking my little dick neatly into them.

Wearing nothing but my wife’s sexy panties, I opened the closet and started pulling out her clothes. With a certain amount of skill that showed this was not my first time doing this, I soon found the matching red lace bra that I had bought her for Valentine’s Day and soon it sat on my flat chest, filled kağıthane escort out with some rolled up skin colored pantyhose to give me the shape of my wife’s C-cups. I licked my lips with pleasure at the soft feel of the red stockings with lace tops that I rolled up my legs and fastened to a garter belt, wondering what on earth the big black stud that I had once adopted as my son would think to see me like this.

Making sure that Keenan was still sitting quietly downstairs waiting for me, not wanting to be seen just yet, I snuck back over the laundry basket and found inside the red and white flower pattern sun dress that my wife had been wearing the day before. Thinking back now to her wearing the dress with its skirt brushing around her knees and her large chest threatening to spill out as she bent over to kiss our son on the cheek before he went out for his weekend job, I could now picture something in Keenan’s eyes. I could now recall the hungry look as he eyed his adoptive mother up and down. I could even imagine the bulge as his big black dick strained against his pants and he awkwardly tried to cover it from his mother. It was a thought that got me unnaturally excited as I slipped the dress over my head and zipped it up.

Back in the bedroom, I slid my feet into a pair of my wife’s red patent leather pumps, thinking (not for the first time) how lucky it was that my little pecker was indeed matched by little feet that allowed me to fit my wife’s shoes pretty well. Plenty of nights alone while my wife was on one of her business trips and my black sons had been tucked up in bed, I’d tried these clothes on and practiced walking in her four inch heels and now I was pretty expert at the hip swaying walk that made all the guys stare at her ass.

Finally, and becoming increasingly aware that my adopted son would not wait quietly forever for what I had promised him, I sat in front of the mirror and began to apply eyeshadow, mascara and shining scarlet lipstick to my full, feminine lips, topping the whole look off with a blonde Halloween wig. From a momentary glance in the floor length mirror in my wife’s closet door I could almost have been mistaken for her. It would only be by looking closer that anyone would realize that the hot babe in the reflection was really her dolled up husband.

With butterflies in my stomach, feeling tense, nervous but an excited anticipation, I stepped out of the bedroom and downstairs, walking heel-toe, clicking my shiny red heels on the stairs. I had been dressing in my wife’s clothes for years, but never before revealed it to anyone. Now my eighteen year-old son, the big black stud all the high school girls wanted, was going to be the first to see. How would he react? I guess I was about to find out.

“Mom? I thought you were at work too…” Keenan began as I sashayed through the living room door in my wife’s red and white floral print dress, “Oh… Oh God… Dad, it’s you. What the hell?”

Realization dawned as I stepped closer. My heart skipped a beat with excitement as I realized that, at least momentarily, I had fooled my son into thinking that I was the hot MILF adoptive mother he lusted over. But now, as I stepped towards him, I could see him desperately trying to figure out just what was going on.

“Well son, how about you just call me ‘Mom’ for now anyway,” I said, sitting beside him on the couch, daintily crossing my legs and enjoying the feel of my stockings rubbing together, “You know the real Lou would be turned off, even disturbed, by your intentions, but not me,” as I carried on speaking I tried to approximate my wife’s higher pitched voice and mannerisms, “Just look at me. I can be her instead. See how I can dress in all your favorites of her clothes. See how I can look kind of like her. I love being her and the good thing is, if you don’t let Mom know I dress as her, then I won’t let her know how you think of her. It can be our little secret.”

“Wow, I guess we both think about Mom in a different way than you’d have thought!” said Keenan, the deep tones of his voice, even at eighteen, contrasting with the high pitched flutter of my feminized conversation, “So what, now I know your secret and you know mine. Is that it?”

“Not quite,” I blushed and fluttered my eyelashes, “The real Lou won’t do what you fantasize about, but Lulu will,” I winked and blew a kiss at him, “I’ll be the MILF you want, use me however you need, and Mom need never know.”

“What? You’re really suggesting I fuck you, my own dad?” he looked shocked, but didn’t turn away from eyeing me up, I obviously looked enough like my wife to hold his interest, “That’s pretty twisted.”

“Adoptive dad, remember,” I said, “And besides, you dream of doing nasty things to your mom. Call me ‘Mom’ and do them to Lulu, do them to me.” I could see him beginning to waver. “Don’t worry, nobody will ever know. Do you think I want people to find out I love to dress like my wife?”

“OK,” he said, “But nothing queer. If you’re kartal escort gonna be Mom then you’re gonna be Mom. I ain’t fucking no man, whether they’re a parent or adopter or whatever. This big black dick only goes in bitches, OK?” he grabbed at his crotch and I couldn’t help linking my shiny red lips, “So, as long as you don’t try and be a man at any point, then, yeah, I’ll admit, a chance to get as close to screwing Mom as possible kind of gets me off.”

“Alright then, honey, I’m your Mom, what do you want Momma to do for you?”

“How about you just reach over here and feel what you do to me, Mom?” my adopted son replied.

His left hand was still on his crotch, but with his right he reached over to where my hands were crossed daintily in my lap and pulled my left hand over to grab where his was. My dainty fingers were dwarfed by his strong black grip, but not half so much as by the huge hunk of muscle I felt quivering in his pants, stiffening just at my touch.

Without asking for permission, I unzipped his pants and he pulled them to the floor along with his underwear. His black dick was semi-stiff already. Even though I had seen it already that afternoon, I was still overawed by the sight of its dark purple shaft as it sprung free from his clothes. How could a sissy like me have ever raised such a man?

“So big…” I gasped, running my fingers along it. Despite all my years of dressing as my wife, this was the first cock but for my own that I had ever touched.

“And you’re only gonna make it bigger, Mom,” Keenan said.

Grabbing me by the back of my head with my long blonde wig, my big black son pulled me into him. With my pale fingers closing around his black shaft, he pulled my lips to his and kissed me. Of course, I had kissed him when he was a little boy and I’d put him to bed, but never since and this was a whole lot different. He had an overwhelmingly manly musk and, as I enhaled, his mouth clasped over mine. He had all the power, holding me tight to him as his tongue pushed between my full, pouting lips and explored my mouth. In my hand I could feel his ebony love muscle getting stiff. Meanwhile, beneath my skirt and panties my own tiny white equivalent was hardening too.

Breaking from the long kiss, I pulled off his shirt, revealing his chest rippling with muscles. Letting out a sigh of desire, I ran my right hand over his washboard abs, black flesh glistening with sweat, while my other hand jerked at his monster sausage.

“Think you can take some black meat that big, Mom?” he asked, pushing my head down towards his crotch.

“Oh God, it’s massive!” I sighed, feeling the veiny dark beast grow stiffer in my hand as I stuck my tongue out and flicked it over the head, my first intoxicating taste of dick, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Much bigger than Dad’s?” he teased.

“Oh son, you put your dad to shame,” I blushed, starting to lick along the whole length of his dark stiffness, “I knew he could never truly satisfy me with that puny white pecker of his, but now I’ve got the manhood a Mom truly needs.”

“Alright then, Mom, how about you swallow it?” he replied.

I opened my painted lips and let the whole glistening head of Keenan’s beautiful black beast into my wet mouth. I gasped and gagged after only a couple of inches, but it still felt incredible, so right and yet so very wrong, swallowing my first dick as a dolled up sissy and that intoxicating manhood belonged to the guy I had called my son for so many years. Soon I was gasping and drooling all over my teenage son’s ebony fuckstick as I relaxed my throat and took more in.

“That’s it, Mom, what a dirty slut you are, taking so much of your big black son’s shaft right down your throat,” Keenan moaned, “Who knew Momma was so hungry for black dick?”

I couldn’t help but moan as he said this. I had to admit that, even while I’d noticed what men my sons had become, I’d never realized until this moment how much of a hungry slut for their hard bodies and harder dicks I had become deep down inside. I’d thought the dressing up was my only little kink, but now I was beginning to realize differently. Inside my wife’s used lace panties, without ever being touched, my little white dick was as stiff as a board. It never got this way normally, it was the feel of giving myself to a big black slice of pure masculinity that had aroused me so.

Keenan was now grabbing me by my head and pushing me, gagging and spitting, down onto his slick, veiny love muscle, fucking my throat until almost six inches of his eight inch hardon were penetrating my wet mouth.

“Oh yeah, Mom, swallow my dick, swallow it good!” he moaned, “You’re a real slut for black dick, huh, Mom? I can hardly believe this is your first! I bet you want to get fucked by it too, huh? Fucked by a real man with a real black dick, not like that pathetic little thing that your puny white husband has? Fucked by your big black son so hard you’ll never go back to Dad’s little white thing?”

I küçükçekmece escort couldn’t believe how much Keenan was turning me on by talking trash about me, the real me, his adoptive dad. I’d never seen this side to him, he was normally such a polite boy, but it was driving me wild. At the same time, I’d never imagined I would get off on being taunted and humiliated. On the one hand, as his ‘Mom’ I was getting complimented by Keenan on how fuckable and desirable I was, and at the same time he was trashing my pathetic masculinity as his dad. He was playing me completely and I was loving it, hungrily gobbling up his cock like a slutty MILF and all the time hearing what a loser I was as a man.

“Oh son, yes, I want it. I want it so bad,” I said, as he let up from fucking my face long enough for me to gasp and lick all around his shaft, “I never wanted anything so much as your beautiful big black dick. I want to feel it inside me. Give it to me, son. Give me your black hardness like your pathetic little white dad never could.”

“Alright, Mom, you asked for it,” he said.

He pulled me from his dick, leaving a trail of saliva and precum between his purple cockhead and my red lips, my lipstick smeared around my mouth as I licked the salty taste from around it. Keenan pushed me to my feet and his strong black hands ran up my stockinged legs. There was a hungry, dirty grin on his face as he pushed my skirt up. Soon his dark hands crossed my red lace stocking tops and were caressing the smooth, pale skin of my thigh, pushing my skirt further and further up. I unzipped my floral print dress and pulled it over my head, casting it aside.

Now I was just standing in front of my eighteen year-old adopted black son, dressed in nothing but my wife’s red lace lingerie and heels. My son eyed me up approvingly, his eyes running up my smooth stockinged legs and lace garter belt and alighting on the Valentine’s Day red lace panties that had been in his hand when I caught him. My stiff little penis had made a tiny bulge in the pretty, dainty boyshorts and the precum leaking from my hardon had soaked into the material, outlining my tiny dick perfectly for my horny black son to see.

“Nice panties, Mom,” he smirked, “My favorites. And it looks like you like wearing them too.”

His hand grasped at my crotch, pushing my legs open and running his dark fingers over the lace materials of my panties (or rather, my wife’s used panties), making my stiff dick quiver further.

“Look how wet sucking my black dick has made you, Mom,” he said, “And your little clitty’s so hard it looks about as big as Dad’s tiny dick!”

Not waiting for a response, Keenan pushed me down onto the living room floor and pushed my stockinged legs apart, getting down to his knees between them. The full extent of his naked black body towered powerfully over me as he pushed my wet panties aside to reveal my stiff little dick and puckered white asshole. Still smirking hungrily at me, he licked his thick black index finger and then shoved it right up my hole.

“Oh God!” I practically screamed as my studly black son shoved his wet finger into my ass.

Even that one big black finger was at least the size of my little white dick, putting me further to shame as I glanced down at my lingerie clad body and saw how totally my opposite my powerful black adopted son was. I could only squirm and wriggle, gasp and sigh as Keenan expertly stretched my tight virgin ass out with first one finger and then a second, getting me ready for what was inevitably about to come.

“Are you ready Mom for your first black dick?” he asked, “Tell me you want it.”

“Oh, Keenan, son, yes. Take me. Fuck Momma’s tight little hole with your big black beast,” I begged, “I want your hard manhood buried right inside me! I’m begging, use your Mom like your personal whore!”

Still kneeling over me, he grabbed my ankles in his powerful grasp and put my feet, still in their four inch scarlet heels, up on his shoulders, pulling my virgin white ass up towards him. From here, his hands ran lasciviously down my thighs, black digits all over red lace and white flesh, before grabbing my ass cheeks and pulling them open. In one move his rock hard black member pushed my white hole open and I was impaled. Even with just the thick head inside me I felt filled up and there was the whole of his monster shaft to go. I didn’t know if I could take it, but I knew more than anything I ever had that I wanted to.

And before I knew it, I was being fucked. And it was better than I had ever dreamed of in all those years of dressing in my wife’s clothes. The feeling of wearing her sexy red lingerie, lingerie that I’d bought her as a present knowing that I would love to wear it, was incredible, but it was nothing compared to the feel of a strong black man holding me down, pushing my ass open and thrusting his dick inside.

Soon the man I had thought of for years as the son for me to be in control over had almost half his black hardon inside me, more than the whole length of my little meat, and was pounding it in and out, rocking my dainty white body back and forth. The pain of being impaled was beginning to numb and was being replaced by the pleasure of giving my whole body up to black power, of being stimulated in nerves I never knew I had.

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