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An African Businessman

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Arthur wasn’t a soccer fan, but as turned out, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon that watching the World Cup in a nearly deserted hotel bar.


Being stuck in Buffalo, New York on a Saturday in June wasn’t my idea of how to spend a nice summer afternoon, but when business is like it has been lately, you do what the boss asks with a smile.

So that was why I was in the bar of my hotel, getting slowly buzzed after successfully closing what might become the biggest sale of my career. The World Cup was on TV, and I was watching it only because it was on the gigantic television behind the bar right in front of me.

I’m not a soccer fan to begin with, and that buzzing noise that blared constantly from those frigging vuvuzelas seemed to be an attempt to drive sane people over the edge, but the United States was playing, so I feigned interest.

The only other patron of the establishment was much more interested. He was a tall and very well-dressed black man who was sitting kitty-corner to me at the bar, and he seemed to know the game, but I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

“Think he’s from Africa somewhere,” the bartender told me when he refilled my glass, explaining that the man had just bought that for me.

I nodded and thanked him, and he smiled and nodded back. He was a tall and thin man, with skin a deep black in tone, and in the artificial light of the bar he seemed to shine, especially his smooth shaved skull.

“Ghana!” he said with a grin, pointing at the screen and patting his chest.

“You’re from Ghana?” I asked, and he nodded enthusiastically and repeated the name of the country, and then said, “Pakmon!”

“That’s your name?” I asked. “Pakmon? My name is Arthur. Art.”

“Arthur Art!” Pakmon said with a grin, and extended what had to be the largest hand I would ever shake.

His fingers weren’t thick but were exceptionally long, with nails that looked like they had just been manicured, and as Pakmon’s hand swallowed mine up, I felt a shiver go through my body.

I have what people sometimes call gaydar, an ability to sense somebody who is homosexual, and while it isn’t always accurate, I’m right more often than not, so when that sensation went through me, I tensed up.

I’ve been divorced for about 6 years, unable to hide what I knew and my wife had suspected for a while, which was the fact that while I might not be gay, I sure as hell was bisexual, and my feelings for men were only growing stronger as time passed.

The split was amicable enough, and since then I had been on my own. Not particularly a dashing figure, at 5’8″ and about 140 pounds, with rapidly thinning hair, I had discovered that there wasn’t much of a market for 47 year old men who resembled George Costanza more closely than Jerry Seinfeld, but I wasn’t all that lonely and was a lot happier not having to live a lie any more.

But still, this man at the bar certainly was out of my league. Probably ten years younger and a lot better looking and well off, this Pakmon would have no trouble finding company more appealing than me, so I shrugged off my suspicions and relaxed.

I got a kick out of Pakmon’s reactions to the action on the screen, the joy on his face evident as the game went on. The large stack of bills in front of him, as well as the gold rings and bracelet that were obviously the real thing, showed that this guy had money, and the way he conducted himself showed he wasn’t some wild-eyed pimp but more likely a successful businessman. Like me, only more so.

He only knew a few words of English, so we didn’t communicate much as the game went on, but we seemed to understand each other well enough and so I stuck around to the end of the game, which went into overtime.

At the intermission, I excused myself and went to the men’s room, and it was after I entered that little room with the fancy trough urinal made out of some kind of marble, that my day changed.


I had just reached the long urinal and had unzipped when I heard the door close behind me. I glanced up at the mirror above the trough and saw it was my smiling friend from the bar. I saw him smile as he looked over at me, and when I heard the latch click I thought that might be a little weird because the bathroom wasn’t an individual room, but figured it was just a cultural thing.

I smiled when he sidled up to the urinal a few feet down from me and stared straight ahead at the mirror and the business cards jammed up into the top of the frame. Glancing over when I heard Pakmon sigh, I was startled to see him staring down and over at me.

I get a little pee-shy in public anyway, and having my new friend staring blatantly at me was no help. It was then that I glanced over as subtly as I could manage. Perhaps it was the movement of Pakmon’s arm or something, or maybe it was just curiosity, but I looked over at him.

I don’t know if the choking sound I made was audible or not, but when I looked over at what Pakmon canlı bahis şirketleri was wiggling around, I couldn’t take my eyes away from it and found myself hypnotized by what had to be the biggest cock in the world.

The ebony snake looked elastic as Pakmon’s hand pulled and stretched at it before letting it hang outside of his trousers and putting his hands on his hips. Left unattended and hanging out at a 4 o’clock position from my angle, I watched as a torrent of urine exploded from beneath the foreskin of his uncircumcised manhood and spattered noisily against the stone of the vessel.

Pakmon was not only making no effort to hide himself like I pretty much had been, but was flaunting himself, even swiveling a bit toward me as he urinated, his yellow stream coming over toward my tinkling.

It was then that I saw Pakmon was aware that I had been staring at him, and he made a soft and sensuous sound that sounded half growl and half purr before I heard him chuckling.

I don’t know whether he was laughing at my dick or the fact that I now had an erection. My dick is pretty ordinary, but not compared to what I had been gawking at, and as Pakmon wiggled and shook his enormous penis to shake it dry before putting it away, I tried to look away and finish what I was doing.

“Arthur Art,” came the voice over my left shoulder, a rich and lyrical voice that would have been very soothing if it hadn’t been accompanied by a hand reaching around my hip and taking my dick between his thumb and index finger, brushing away my own hand in the process. “You hard.”

“OH!” I cried out when Pakmon’s grip tightened around my stiff dick, and when I looked down and saw the long dark fingers gripping my pale white member, I groaned.

“Arthur Art make cum,” Pakmon said, his hand moving up and down my dick as he looked down over my shoulder to watch what he was doing it to me.

The smell of coconut filled my nostrils, maybe from his drink or perhaps from a body oil of some kind, overpowering the usual bathroom smells, and as Pakmon’s fingers made that relatively short trip up and down the length of my dick, his voice continued.

“Cum cum cum,” Pakmon chanted softly in my ear and he jerked me off so hard that it bordered on being painful. “Cum cum cum Arthur Art.”

It was like hearing those horns in my ear, imploring me to have an orgasm, and looking at Pakmon’s expression in the mirror in front of me was also intense. His eyes were bulging as he watched and waited for me to ejaculate, and it wasn’t long before it happened.

“AWW!” I cried out, falling back against Pakmon as I sprayed my seed all over the urinal, my orgasm as intense as any I could remember, and even after I finished cumming Pakmon still kept pulling on my withered dick until I pulled his wrist away.

“Good Arthur Art?” Pakmon whispered in my ear as he raised his hand up. “Arthur Art cum good?”

“Yes,” I gasped while looking at the strand of my cum, the milky whiteness stark against his skin.

“Mm,” Pakmon said after he moved his hand past my face and put his finger in his mouth. “Good.”

Pakmon went over to the sink and washed his hands while I looked at the gobs of semen in the urinal, and as I flushed a few times to get rid of it Pakmon came behind me again.”

“Six – oh – fi,” Pakmon whispered, pronouncing the words very slowly and as accurately as he could.

I didn’t understand, because it was only a little past five, but the next time he said those words, he was holding up the card key of his room.

“605?” I asked, and he nodded before spinning out of the room and leaving me behind.

I took my time getting out of the bathroom, hoping that Pakmon was gone when I got back, as well as not wanting the bartender to think things were going on in there.

The bartender was reading down at the other end of the bar, not giving a shit about the toilet or the World Cup but instead concentrating on his newspaper. Pakmon gave me a grin when I slid back in the seat, and together we watched the end of the game, which Ghana won 2 to 1.

“Congratulations,” I said to Pakmon, who did a little dance next to his stool after the game was over, and after I threw a tip at the bar I got up and waved to the bartender.

Pakmon was right behind me as I left, and he had caught up with me at the elevator, slapping my shoulder as I waited for the elevator to take me up to my room on the third floor. The doors opened and I got on, with Pakmon right behind, and after he pressed 6 I pushed 3 and the elevator doors closed.

“Six – oh – fi,” Pakmon repeated as he reached over and grabbed my shoulder when the doors opened on 3.

It was a friendly grip but a firm one that kept me in place as the doors closed again and the elevator kept going up, destination the sixth floor.

“Ghana,” Pakmon said just before the doors opened, or at least that was what I thought he had said until he continued. “Gonna fuck you in the ass, Arthur Art. Gonna fuck canlı kaçak iddaa you good. Make cum in you.”


Walking down the hallway of the sixth floor, I was struck at the elegance of the surroundings, which were far superior than the bland third floor I was staying on. The room Pakmon led me to was a big step up from my room as well, but I was too nervous to enjoy the view, because Pakmon had me in his sights.

“Take off clothes, Arthur Art,” Pakmon said as he ducked into another room of the suite, and as I pondered my options, it was clear that if I wanted to leave, the door was right behind me.

The fact that I was staying there, and unbuttoning my shirt, was evidence that I wanted to be there. As for what Pakmon had suggested, that was out of the question, but to be honest, I was kind of curious as to what it would be like to give head to a man with a cock the size of my new friend’s.

My limited experiences had never included people of other races, and Pakmon was as black as black can be. Neither had any of the other men been equipped with anything remotely resembling the equipment that Pakmon was blessed with. My mind went to the porn sites that I occasionally visited, and while I remembered a lot of videos and pictures of spectacularly endowed men, I couldn’t recall anything like what I had witnessed in the men’s room.

Or what I was apparently going to witness again very shortly, I assumed while waiting in the room of Pakmon’s suite. From the bathroom, the sound of the shower turning on and then off indicated that Pakmon was taking a shower, and when the door opened and Pakmon emerged, he was naked except for a towel around his middle.

“Arthur Art,” Pakmon said as he looked at me standing there still clothed. “Take clothes off.”

I did as my African friend asked, and as I slowly unbuttoned my shirt I tried not to look at Pakmon, whose wet black skin glistened as he stood there, arms folded watching me. My slacks came down and then I was naked except for my briefs, which I pulled down very self-consciously.

“Nice Arthur Art,” Pakmon said, undoing the knot that was holding the towel around his middle, and if I had been shocked at what I had seen at the urinal, the sight of Pakmon naked and fully exposed was mind-boggling.

“Like?” Pakmon said, his hand reaching down and taking the absurdly long hose in his hand and pulling on it a couple of times.

His cock was more like an elephant’s trunk than a penis. It had to be close to a foot long, and when he let it swing between his legs again it went damn near his knees. There was a vein that wound down from the trunk of his gigantic organ that looked as fat as my dick, and when Pakmon pulled on the deep black hose again he briefly exposed the head of his cock, which was as big as a plum and similarly colored.

“I’ve never,” I said, and that was as far as I got, because I could have said any number of things that would have fit in perfectly.

Pakmon made the steps necessary to come face to face with me, and he grinned that he saw that despite my nervous state and the fact that I was intimidated by the man, my dick was hard again.

“Hard, Arthur Art,” Pakmon said with a grin. “Make Pakmon hard too.”

The hands on my shoulders were both gentle and firm, and when he pressed down on me I sank to my knees before him, my eyes passing by his muscular shoulders and chest, his flat stomach and the small nest of short black curls above his cock.

His cock. It was inches from my face and up close it looked even more alien that ever. My hand was shaking when I reached up for it, and when I wrapped my fingers around the shaft as best I could, his penis was so limp that it was like gripping a salami made out of jello.

It flopped around when I lifted it, and I had to use my other hand to get some kind of control of it. Looking into the opening of his foreskin was like looking into a tunnel, which the purple tip of the glans barely visible under the long foreskin.

I couldn’t get my left hand much more than halfway around the bottom of the shaft, but my right hand came pretty close to encircling it halfway up. From above me, Pakmon was chanting softly, “Suck suck suck me, Arthur Art. Make Pakmon hard.”

I made a couple of tentative moves, moving my face right up to his cock, but kept chickening out. I had sucked a half dozen cocks before this, but I was so intimidated that I couldn’t do it.

“Arthur Art not like Pakmon?” my African friend asked, looking down at me as I did an impression of a scared kid in a 47 year old body. “Not like dick?”

“No,” I said, sweat dripping into my eyes as I looked up at Pakmon. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. It’s just that I’m not very experienced and you’re so… large.”

“Get no bigger,” Pakmon said. “Get harder,” he said, running his hand through my thinning hair and smiling. “Get harder when you suck. Pakmon like Arthur Art.”

The hand that had been in my hair was now on the back of my canlı kaçak bahis head, drawing me close, and I found my mouth opening on its own, my lips sliding onto the rich blackness of his manhood.

Not so bad, I remember thing as I filled my mouth with Pakmon. My fists retracted the crinkled foreskin, enabling me to work on the knob of his weapon, and the sigh from Pakmon told me I was doing alright.

I felt something wet and cool on my fists, and I saw Pakmon pouring some kind of lubricant over my hands. The odorless and tasteless gel made my hands slide up and sown the shaft of his cock much easier, and as they did I felt his Pakmon’s cock begin to get firmer.

As his cock began to get erect, I allowed my hand to stray down between his legs, grabbing his sac in my fist and kneading the meaty orbs, which were just as over-sized as his cock was. My lips were going further down Pakmon’s cock, almost to where the vein appeared almost halfway down.

Halfway. I was doing my best to deep throat Pakmon’s enormous weapon and saw that I wasn’t even halfway down as the head of his cock bounced off my throat. I brought my other hand back up and went back to pumping his shaft with both fists while sucking all I could.

My mouth and fists kept going, hard and fast, trying to bring Pakmon to orgasm, but as my energy waned and my jaws began to ache, I pulled my lips back to the tip of it glistening member and let my tongue play with the opening. He wasn’t even rock hard yet.

“Want to taste your cum,” I said. “Cum for me.”

“In time,” Pakmon said, directing my mouth back on to him.

Minutes went by, and while I was really enjoying this incredible experience I need to rest. Needed to close my mouth and stop the ache in my jaw, and needed to have Pakmon cum in my raw throat. Finally, Pakmon began to move his hips into me as I went up and down his cock, and this encouraged me to squeeze his cock hard and go ever more furiously then I had been doing.

“Tim, Arthur Art,” Pakmon grunted, and when I heard that I braced myself for what was sure to be a tidal wave of cum washing down my throat.

Instead, what I got was Pakmon reaching down and grabbing me under my arms, helping me to my feet and bringing me over to the bed.

“No,” I whimpered when I realized what was happening, and while I could have resisted – could have broken free from a grip that was firm but not forceful, I didn’t. Instead I let Pakmon put me on the bed face first.

“Please don’t,” I said, trying to stop what surely could not happen, and only the realization that there was no way it could kept me from bolting.

Instead I let Pakmon raise my hips with his strong hands, and then he was spreading my ass cheeks with those long fingers. One of those fingers was now probing me, parting my anus and dipping deep into my rectum.

His finger hurt, and when he added a second digit the pain intensified. I had only done this once before, with a man built much like myself, and that had been enough to swear me off of anal sex. I wanted to go down on Pakmon again. My jaw didn’t hurt that much. I wanted to finish him off.

A third finger now, and I felt like my little puckered ring was going to explode. What next? A fist? No. It was Pakmon and he was moving up against my backside. He was telling me that he like me as he pressed the head of his cock toward that tiny balloon knot, and as he pushed forward my face got pushed into the bedding, and I bit down into the pillow.

“Nice ass, Arthur Art,” Pakmon was saying. “You tight.”

I was hearing his words as he pushed more and more of his cock into my bowels, and to my surprise I didn’t pass out, and wasn’t reduced to tears. Oh, it hurt some, but not only wasn’t it nearly as bad as I had feared, it wasn’t even as uncomfortable as my other experience.

It was like Pakmon’s cock had poured into me. It was only somewhat firm, and he apparently got it inside me by sheer force, but as his huge manhood slid deep into me, it actually felt good.


Was that me saying that? Pakmon was thrusting in and out of me, and when I asked him for more, he complied with a laugh. He wasn’t fully impaling me, because there was no way I could have taken all of that cock, but I was taking quite a bit of it, and the feel of Pakmon’s nuts slapping into my crotch as he fucked me was stimulating.

My dick, which had been trying to contract into my intestines from fear, was now hard, and when Pakmon’s fingers found it and he began jerking me off hard, I came almost immediately, spraying the sheets below me while Pakmon howled with delight.

Pakmon moved my body around like a puppet, putting me on my side and thrusting into me from a different angle, and even put me on my back for a time, a pillow under my back and he fucked me face to face.

Pakmon’s body looked wetter than it had after he had come out of the shower, and as he moved in and out of me his sweat rained down on my body like a warm summer shower. I lay there, holding the backs of my thighs and spreading myself as wide as I good.

“So good,” I gasped, the breath going out of me with each of Pakmon’s thrusts, and he nodded, his smile wide and his teeth almost glowing with their brilliance.

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