Interracial Buddies Part 2
This is a work of erotic fiction. It is not to be read by minors. It includes eroticism involving teenagers. If this type of fiction disturbs you, or if you find that you may be unduly influenced by it, please search for something else to read for your personal erotic fictional entertainment.
Tyrone stared out of the window of the empty classroom, looking down on the soccer field where Timothy and his buddies were engaged in a spirited game. A red-haired boy kicked the ball and it rose in the air until it slammed into Timothy's chest. Timothy's shoulder-length golden locks tossed wildly upon the impact, but he rose with the ball to meet it and directed the object toward one of his teammates, who bounced the ball off of his head in down the field toward the other team's goal.
Redness spread across Timothy's smooth white chest, where the ball had made impact, but the blond haired boy trotted down the field as if he didn't have to register the pain. His golden locks flowed in the breeze like the wings of Mercury.
Tyrone watched the half-naked, young white warriors on the field and felt his cock swell. He ripped open his trousers and pulled out his thick, black member and stroked it vigorously. He gasped in the empty room as he stroked, "Fuck me, white boys -- fuck me."
The teenage gods continued to prance back and forth across the green. Their white skin glowed in the sun. Rugged arms flailed the air and were gradually splattered with mud. The contrast of brown mud on the luminous white flesh of the teenagers made Tyrone stroke himself even more vigorously and whisper to the sweet white angels, who were unable to hear him, "Oh, white boys...white boys."
Tyrone's cock erupted in an orgasm, spewing thick globs of cum all over his brown arms and his pants. He was a smelly, cum-soaked, teenaged mess. Now there were streams of black boy cum oozing down the window pane.
Tyrone zipped himself up and rushed to the boys' room to get some soaked paper towels. He blotted his trousers clean and wiped his cum off of the window. He cleaned splashes of his thick, clam chowder cum off of the desks and the floor. There was black boy cum everywhere.
When he stood up again, and looked out of the window, he saw that the white boys had abandoned the field. Those angelic warriors had headed for the showers to wash the sweat and the mud off of their skin. Tyrone wished he could go down to the shower room to see them, but that would be too obvious. He had no reason to be there other than to ogle their naked white bodies. How he longed to be in the shower room with them, watching their smooth skin, slick and wet, as they soaped themselves off and restored the purity of their whiteness.
He longed to bury his face in the blond, brunette, and red haired arm pits and fuzzy pubic hair of these glowing young heroes, and worship them as he knew they fully deserved.
Tyrone felt his cock getting hard in his trousers once again. Just then Timothy yanked the classroom door open. Tyrone jumped. He fixed his gaze on the boy's smooth white face, gentle peach fuzz emerging on the boy's rosy cheeks.
"I left my fuckin' towel and my gym bag under my desk," Timothy strode across the room like the confident young warrior that he was, sweaty blond hair clinging to the sides of his face. "What are you doing in here?"
"Me? I was just ... you know ..." the black boy stammered, shrugging his shoulders as if this would help him get the words out, "I was just starin' outta the window..."
Timothy eyed the black boy suspiciously. "Maybe you outta wash them while you're so busy staring out of them..."
Timothy was in charge of assigning chores to all of the school boys. Whenever he gave Tyrone an order the black boy's dick got hard. This time was no different. Tyrone blushed. He wanted to stroke himself off right then and there.
Warmth rose inside of the black boy as he stared into Timothy's grey eyes. The soft, smooth whiteness of the boy's face was a glowing blur. Tyrone felt his legs getting wobbly. He wanted to kneel in front of this white boy and do whatever the boy told him.
"Hey? You okay?" Timothy cocked his head to the side quizzically as he studied the black boy's face.
"Yeah, Yeah -- man. I'm aiiiight." Tyrone forced his eyes to look away from young white god. He stared at the floor, hoping that his face hadn't revealed too much. Timothy's concern for him was touching.
"You look like you need to sit down or something..."
"I ... I'll be aiiiiight, man. Th-thanks." Tyrone shifted nervously. It slowly dawned on him that he would follow this white boy anywhere. He glanced at Timothy's glistening, sweat-streaked chest and felt an urge to lick the boy's pink nipples. His eyes surveyed the smooth muscles on the boy's arms and for the briefest of moments he imagined himself to be the white boy's slave, whose duty it was to give his master pleasure.
"Just tell me what to do," he whispered to himself, not loud enough for the white boy to hear, "and I'll do it."
"I ... I"ll be aiiiight, man."
Timothy turned away doubtfully, "Okay, I gotta take a shower or I'm gonna be late for my next class."
Tyrone eyed the boy's smooth, sweaty back and ran his eyes down to the white boy's buttocks, then to the sweat-soaked blond hairs on the back of the boy's legs. Tyrone wanted, so badly, to kiss the boy's cock and lick his balls, just to get a taste of the white boy's unwashed purity.
As he watched the young white god leave the room it began to sink in with Tyrone that it was not just any white boy that he desired -- it was this one. If he allowed himself to be drawn to any other boy then he would not be faithful to this one.
He fancied himself to be like a woman, who was only interested in her man -- or none at all. Like a woman, he wanted his white boy to excel over all the rest and he -- Timothy's faithful black servant -- would do everything he could to help his young white master to succeed. Timothy had conquered Tyrone. He had won over the black boy's heart. He now dominated the boy's mind.
Tyrone sank into a seat at one of the desks and dropped his head into his hands to stop his mind from spinning and his heart from pounding from the flood of passion that rushed over him. He knew he was ripe for the picking.