Mitch woke up on Saturday morning feeling like someone had crashed a truck sideways into his asshole at high speed, and his throat felt like someone had force-fed him a concrete pipe.
He felt used and abused. He'd always wanted to know what it'd feel like to wake up after being destroyed by a pair of big black cocks. He knew exactly what it felt like now. He was sore, but it felt fucking unbelievable.
He lay in bed, tingling with the afterglow of last night's sex. And then he tried to get up.
His asshole screamed, his thighs refused to obey his command, and his knees began to buckle. He walked unsteadily and bowlegged, like he was recovering from invasive bowel surgery. And in a sense, he was -- he'd just had his guts rearranged.
Whenever he fucked himself, he knew how hard to push, and when to slow down, back off or stop. He knew his limits. But last night was the first time he'd given his pussy to another man. Not only did he surrender to Leroy's thick dick and firm grip, he told him to leave it all out on the park. He wanted to be pounded into submission, and that's exactly what he got.
He made it to the bathroom and did what he needed to do, then desperately crawled back into bed. Trina was lying next to him, and she woke up briefly as he pulled the sheets back up over his body.
"Morning, babe," she said. Her eyelids fluttered as she went back to sleep. She didn't get a response from her husband. Mitch wasn't thinking about her. He was still thinking about last night.
He'd made it back to bed without his wife noticing his physical discomfort, but he knew he wouldn't be able to hide it from her all day. He needed a credible, believable answer for when the interrogation inevitably began. He dreamed up a response and mentally filed it away before drifting back to sleep.
He couldn't tell her the truth about last night. Not ever. He couldn't tell her that he'd just had the wildest sex of his life, being systematically wrecked by two fit, muscly black men. And that moment when Leroy kissed him after ruining his asshole ... when he felt his fat gangster tongue in his mouth ... the tongue that moments earlier had been eating his pussy ... that feeling of total submission ... looking up dreamily into Leroy's sexy, dark, penetrating eyes, and that beautiful fucking nose ring ... he remembered that kiss, the best kiss he'd ever experienced in his life.
He remembered what Leroy's deep kiss did to him. He remembered feeling his weak load dribbling uncontrollably down the inside of his leg. How many times did they make him cum last night? He'd lost count.
Trina woke about an hour later. She padded to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. Mitch couldn't resist the aroma, and his nose dragged him out of bed towards his morning fix.
She noticed Mitch was moving strangely, like every step was an effort. "Are you OK, babe?"
Mitch played dumb. "Huh?"
"You're walking really weird, Mitch. Like, it looks like you're in pain."
"Oh, *this*?" He gestured innocently towards the lower half of his body, trying not to wince in agony. "I'm fine," he replied.
"But ... you look ... uncomfortable. You look hurt. Do you need to see a doctor?"
"No, there's no need for that." It was time for Mitch to roll out his alibi. "Maybe I should explain, babe. While you were out last night, I went for a run."
Trina nearly laughed out of sheer disbelief. "You? You went for a run? Like, what? You took some exercise? Last night?"
Mitch puffed his chest out. "Yeah. I mean, come on. Gimme a break. I'm not getting any younger, am I?"
For the moment, she was prepared to take her husband's claim at face value. "Where did you run?"
"In the park."
"You ran in Central Park? In the darkness?"
"Yeah, babe, it's totally safe. Haven't you ever been there at night? It's all a myth. Besides, it wasn't completely dark while I was out."
"OK, so tell me why you're walking like I need to buy you a coffin on ebay? Don't tell me you got mugged again?"
"No, babe. Maybe I just didn't stretch enough beforehand. Simple explanation."
Trina couldn't decide whether she bought his story or not. She thought back to last night. Sure, she was a little drunk when she got home, but Mitch gave her every impression he'd spent the entire evening in the apartment doing absolutely nothing, like he usually did when she was out. And she didn't smell any sweaty sports clothes when she came home, either. But on the other hand, maybe he was telling the truth. He spent a lot of his daytime sitting at a desk, so maybe he was worried about getting fat. He wasn't a prime physical specimen, but he wasn't out of shape either -- maybe he just wanted to maintain what he had. He was only about thirty years old, but Trina wondered if these were the early warning signs of a midlife crisis.
After their morning coffee, they headed out to their favourite café for breakfast. This was their regular Saturday morning routine. Usually, they'd take a brisk stroll, but today, their progress was slow. Trina felt like she was walking with a fossil.
They reached the coffee shop and were led to a table. Mitch sat down very gently and carefully. His wife ordered a plain croissant, some toast and another coffee, but he ordered a full breakfast -- eggs, sausages, bacon and hash browns. A heart attack on a plate.
Their food arrived, and Trina tried to reconcile Mitch's apparent sudden health-kick with the plateful of hot cholesterol sitting under his nose. She said nothing.
That afternoon, Trina put on a load of washing. She opened the hamper and discovered Mitch's pants from last night. They were wet, and she noticed a prominent discolouration at the crotch. She wasn't sure what it was, and she wasn't sure how to treat it. "Hey, Mitch," she called. There was a tone of uncertainty in her voice.
Mitch was sitting uncomfortably on the couch, thumbing through a magazine, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his ass. "Yeah?"
"Can you come here for a second?"
'Oh, fuck,' Mitch thought to himself -- 'she's in the laundry hamper.' He slowly made his way to their small laundry nook. It was barely big enough to accommodate a washing machine, a small clothes dryer, and a sink.
"I'm just curious, babe, but what happened to your pants? You were wearing these ones yesterday, right? For some reason, they're all wet." She held them up to show her husband.
Like an arrow, Mitch's mind shot back to last night. He remembered touching Leroy's huge BBC under the table at a bar in Harlem, and how it made him cum in his pants. No way could he tell her. "Yeah. I know, babe. Sorry, I should've told you what happened."
Trina impatiently placed her hands on her hips. "Told me *what*?" she sighed.
"When I was out running last night, I took a bottle of water with me, and I spilled it."
