Don't Let My Family Find Out

An ebony queen falls for the forbidden fruit… white men.

She met him in the library stacks on a Thursday night when the campus had gone quiet and the fluorescent lights hummed. Amara was nineteen, five-seven, all soft curves and sharp edges. Her heavy tits that strained every shirt she owned, a waist that dipped in hard before flaring into thick thighs and an ass that turned heads even under baggy hoodies. Her skin was deep brown, smooth, the kind that looked like it had been polished by the sun. She was studying political science, first-generation, the pride of a family that still talked about “staying with your own” at Sunday dinners like it was scripture.

Ethan was six-three, white, built like he’d spent every free hour in the weight room. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, the kind of athletic body that moved with lazy power. His cock, when she finally saw it, was thick and long enough that her mouth went dry just looking. He was a junior, pre-med, the kind of boy her mother would have called trouble without ever meeting him. He was new to the area, born and raised in Iowa, and the Georgia climate was humid.

They started with late-night study sessions that turned into coffee that turned into walking her back to the dorm. He never pushed. He just looked at her like he already knew how she’d sound when she came. Amara told herself it was curiosity. She told herself the heat between her legs when he leaned close was just stress. She told herself a lot of things.

The first time they kissed it was raining. They were under the eaves of the old science building, both of them soaked, laughing at nothing. He cupped her face with one big hand and she rose up on her toes without thinking. His mouth was warm and sure. When his tongue slid against hers she made a sound she didn’t recognize. His other hand settled on the small of her back, then lower, testing the heavy curve of her ass. She pushed into it.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered against his mouth, but her hands were already under his shirt, mapping the hard planes of his stomach.

“I know.”

They made it to his dorm just a quick walk away. The door shut and he had her against it, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her thick thighs locked around his waist. The friction of his jeans against the thin cotton of her panties made her hips roll. He carried her to the bedroom and set her down only long enough to peel her clothes off. Her bra went first. Her tits spilled free, heavy, dark nipples already tight. He groaned like he’d been punched and buried his face between them, sucking one into his mouth while his hands squeezed the soft weight of the other. Amara’s head fell back, her fingers dug into his hair.

He got her naked and then himself. When his cock sprang free she actually stared. Thick, flushed dark at the head, veins standing out along the shaft. It looked almost angry. She reached for it without permission, wrapping both hands around it, feeling the heat and the pulse. Pre-cum smeared across her palm. He hissed as she handled it with a feral desire. She was the first of her family to go to college, just six generations back, her ancestors were slaves. Her mother taught her about how her female ancestors were “treated” by the white man and why she should avoid them now, but as a free woman, she can’t stop herself from choosing him.

“Fuck, Amara…”

She dropped to her knees on the hardwood. The first taste of him was salt and skin. She opened wide and took as much as she could, tongue working the underside while she stroked what wouldn’t fit. He was too big to deep-throat easily but she tried anyway, eyes watering, spit running down her chin. He held her hair back gently, watching her struggle to take him, and the look on his face made her cunt clench around nothing.

He pulled her up before he came, threw her on the bed, and spread her thick thighs wide. The first long lick up her slit made her cry out. He ate her like he was starving, flat tongue dragging over her clit, then pushing inside, then back to her clit again, over and over until her hips were chasing his mouth. She came hard, thighs clamping around his head, a broken moan tearing out of her. He kept licking through it, slower, until she was twitching and pushing at his shoulders.

Then he climbed up her body and notched that thick cock against her. She was soaked, open, but still he had to work for it. The head stretched her, burning in the best way. He pushed in inch by inch, eyes locked on hers, until he was buried to the hilt and her cunt was fluttering around him like it didn’t know what to do with all that size. She felt every ridge, every throb. Her nails raked down his back.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re so fucking tight!”

He started moving. Deep, slow strokes at first, dragging almost all the way out before sinking back in until his hips met the soft give of her ass. The wet sound of it filled the room. Amara’s tits bounced with every thrust. He braced himself on one arm and used the other hand to push one heavy breast up to his mouth, sucking hard while he fucked her. She wrapped her legs higher around him, heels digging into the flex of his ass, trying to pull him deeper even though there was nowhere left to go.

The pace picked up., skin slapped, the bed frame knocked the wall. She could feel him in her stomach, thick and relentless. Every time he bottomed out she made a high, helpless sound. Sweat slicked both of them. Her thick thighs trembled. He flipped her onto her hands and knees without pulling out, then drove back in harder. The new angle made her see stars. He gripped the soft flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise and fucked her like he was trying to leave a permanent shape of himself inside her. Her ass jiggled with every impact. She pushed back to meet him, greedy, lost.

“Harder,” she heard herself say. “Fuck! Don’t stop!”

He didn’t, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t even if he could. He reached under her and found her clit with two fingers, rubbing tight circles while he pounded into her. The dual sensation ripped a second orgasm out of her so violently she almost collapsed. Her cunt clenched down on him in waves. He growled and kept going, chasing his own, until he finally slammed deep and held there, cock pulsing as he came. Hot, thick spurts filled her. She felt every one. When he finally pulled out it leaked down her thighs in a slow, sticky trail.

They stayed like that for a minute, her face in the sheets, him draped over her back, both of them breathing like they’d run miles. Then he rolled them onto their sides and stayed inside her, softening slowly. His hand stroked over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the heavy underside of one breast.

“My family would hate this,” she said quietly into the dark.

“I know.”

“They’d say I was throwing myself away. That I was choosing the wrong side.”

He kissed the back of her neck. “Do you feel like you’re throwing yourself away?”

“I feel like if my ancestors could see me, they be proud I fucked a white boy as an equal, not as a slave…” she said holding him close.

A short rest later, she reached back and guided his half-hard cock back into her, still wet and open from him. He hardened again almost immediately. This time they moved slower, less frantic. He fucked her from behind in long, rolling thrusts while his fingers played with her clit and his mouth locked on to her lips. She came a third time with a soft, broken cry, and he followed soon after, flooding her again.

They did it twice more before dawn, once with her riding him so he could watch her tits bounce and her thick thighs flex as she took him as deep as she could, and once in the shower where he pinned her to the tile and fucked her standing until her legs gave out. Every time she told herself it would be the last. Every time her body betrayed her the second he touched her.

By the time the sun came up she was sore in the best possible way, marked with fingerprints on her hips and bite marks on her shoulders, his come still leaking out of her when she walked. She looked at herself in his bathroom mirror, swollen lips, messy hair, the flush still high on her dark cheeks, and felt something dangerous settle in her chest.

She already knew she was going to go back.

The forbidden part only made it worse. Every time she thought about her mother’s voice, her uncles’ jokes about “those white boys,” the way her grandmother still clutched her pearls at the idea of mixing, her cunt got wetter. She started wearing shorter skirts to class. She started texting him at night when she was alone in her dorm, touching herself while she described exactly how she wanted him to stretch her open again. He answered every time.

Two weeks later she was bent over his desk at two in the morning, textbooks shoved to the floor, skirt flipped up around her waist. He was balls-deep, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping a thick handful of her ass as he slammed into her. The desk creaked. Her tits swung with every thrust. She came so hard she sobbed his name, and when he pulled out and painted her back with thick ropes of come she only laughed, low and wrecked, and told him to put it back in.

“Don’t you waste that fucking cum on my back, baby! You put it where it belongs, right in this pussy!”

He did. She stayed the night again, and the next, and the next.

Her family still didn’t know. She still felt the weight of their expectations every time she looked at her phone. But when Ethan spread her open and pushed that thick cock into her until she couldn’t think, until the only thing that existed was the raw, wet slide of him and the way her body opened for him like it had been waiting its whole life, the guilt turned into something hotter. Something she couldn’t stop chasing.

She was nineteen and already addicted. Every time he buried himself inside her and whispered that she was his, she believed him. Even if her family would accept a white boy like him, they’d never allow a “Yankee” boy to take their precious daughter, oh well…