Her Best Friend's Black Crush

Emily had been wet for Jamal since the night Kayla first dragged him to that campus party six months ago. Twenty-two, white, blonde, the perfect little sorority princess on the outside, and inside she was a filthy mess every time her best friend’s boyfriend walked into a room. Tall, dark-skinned, cut like a fucking statue from all those hours on the field, Jamal moved with that lazy, cocky confidence that made her cunt clench. Twenty-four, black, college athlete, and every time he laughed at one of Kayla’s jokes Emily imagined that deep voice growling against her ear while he split her open.

Kayla was gone for the weekend—some family thing two states over—and Emily had been trying (and failing) not to think about it. She was sprawled on her apartment couch in nothing but a thin white tank top and the tiniest pair of gray cotton shorts that barely covered the bottom curve of her ass when the knock came. She knew that knock. Her pussy fluttered instantly.

She opened the door and there he was, filling the frame, dark skin gleaming under the hallway light, white t-shirt stretched across that broad chest, basketball shorts hanging low on his hips. A forgotten gym bag dangled from one massive hand.

“Kayla left this at my place,” Jamal said, that slow smile already curling his full lips. “Figured I’d drop it off before I hit the gym.”

“Come in,” Emily said, stepping aside. Her voice came out huskier than she meant. The second the door clicked shut behind him the air changed. Thick. Charged. She could smell his cologne mixed with clean sweat and something darker, masculine. Her nipples hardened against the thin tank immediately.

Jamal set the bag down but didn’t move toward the door again. His eyes dragged over her—bare legs, the way the shorts rode up, the obvious stiff peaks of her tits. He didn’t bother hiding it.

“Damn, Em. You always walk around like that when Kayla’s gone?”

She bit her lip, heart hammering. Months of secret staring, of touching herself in the shower while picturing his thick black cock, of pretending she wasn’t jealous every time Kayla crawled into his lap. It all boiled over right there.

“Only when I’m hoping someone specific might stop by,” she said, bold and filthy, and watched his eyebrows lift.

He chuckled, low and dirty. “That right?”

Emily turned, walking toward the kitchen like she needed a drink, putting an extra sway in her hips. The shorts rode higher. She “accidentally” dropped a dish towel, then bent straight over at the waist to grab it, ass out, the thin cotton stretching tight over her plump cheeks, the fabric slipping into the cleft so he could see the exact shape of her. She stayed down longer than she needed to, knowing exactly what she was doing.

“Fuck,” Jamal muttered behind her, voice rough. “That ass, Emily. Jesus Christ. You know how good that looks?”

She straightened slowly, face flushed, and turned. His eyes were locked on her body like he wanted to devour her. The front of his shorts already tented heavy.

“You staring at your girlfriend’s best friend’s ass, Jamal?”

“Hard not to when you’re waving it in my face like that.” He stepped closer. The height difference made her feel tiny. “Been staring at it for months, if I’m honest. Every time you bend over in those little skirts at parties. Thought about putting my hands all over it.”

Her pussy was soaked. She could feel it slicking the insides of her thighs. She looked up at him, pupils blown, and just said it.

“I’ve fantasized about your big black cock for months. Every fucking night almost. Touching myself thinking about how thick it must be, how it would stretch me, how you’d ruin this tight white pussy while Kayla’s not looking.”

Jamal’s nostrils flared. A deep growl rolled out of his chest. He closed the last inch between them, one huge hand landing on her hip, thumb sliding under the waistband of her shorts.

“Been imagining the same shit,” he rasped. “Imagined bending you over this counter and feeding every inch into that pretty little cunt. Stretching you open until you’re dripping down your thighs. You’re so fucking small, Em. Bet that tight white pussy would grip me like a fist.”

The words cracked whatever thin restraint was left. Emily surged up on her toes and crushed her mouth to his. Jamal groaned into the kiss, tongue shoving past her lips immediately, tasting her, claiming her. His hands grabbed her ass hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh, hauling her up against him so she felt the massive, hot ridge of his cock through the shorts. She moaned, filthy and desperate, grinding against it.

Clothes started flying. Her tank was yanked up and off; his big palms covered her bare tits, squeezing, thumbs scraping her stiff pink nipples until she whimpered. She shoved at his shirt and he ripped it over his head, revealing that dark, carved chest, the deep V of his hips. Emily’s hands were everywhere—raking down his abs, sliding into the waistband of his shorts, wrapping around the thick, heavy shaft that sprang free. Fuck, it was even bigger than she’d dreamed. Long, girthy, veins snaking along the dark shaft, the fat head already leaking precum.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, stroking him with both hands, feeling him throb. “It’s huge. I’ve wanted this cock so bad—”

Jamal cut her off with another hungry kiss, walking her backward until her ass hit the edge of the kitchen counter. He shoved her shorts and soaked panties down in one rough motion; she kicked them away. Cool air hit her bare, dripping cunt. He dropped to a crouch just long enough to drag his tongue up her slit once, tasting how wet she was for him, then stood and spun her around, bending her over the counter himself. His cock slapped heavy against her ass cheek.

“You sure?” he growled against her ear even as his hand was already guiding that fat head between her thighs, rubbing through her slick folds. “Once I start stretching this pussy I ain’t stopping.”