My Man

My Man by Aliensrus

 

I am not one of those middle-aged teachers that seduce young boys. I am not a hard-up housewife that seduces the paperboy for a dangerous romp. I have never been desperate, with a 38DD-35-38 figure, hair black as crude, and a body that has inspired jealousy in grown women since I was thirteen. I am a normal red-blooded American woman with a husband that loves me and two adorable children.

Most would say it started when my husband lost his job and we were so desperate for cash that I took up babysitting. But that’s not true. I’d say it started when the neighbors moved in, a young attractive couple, Dave and Mary, the foster parents of seven-year-old Jamal Warner. That was it, the day I first saw the boy helping his parents move in to their big new house.

I noticed Jamal’s power when my husband, Edgar, and I went over to the house to offer them help with the move. There was a big truck and movers paid by the hour so the neighbors were anxious for some help getting the truck unloaded. My husband saw Dave struggling with a refrigerator on a dolly and immediately joined him. Soon, there were two adult men struggling with the appliance.

Jamal saw it too and went to offer his help. When he did, Dave leaned the dolly forward letting the refrigerator stay on the driveway. He told my husband it was OK now, they could work on the smaller stuff. Edgar protested a bit, as I stood confused. A boy who was seven, who looked seven, was going to handle the refrigerator. Dave looked at us both and said you’ll understand.

It was a hot summer day and Jamal took his shirt off. His dark brown skin shined under the sunlight. His arms were plump with muscle, his waist trim with room only for the eight pack of ripple. He grabbed the dolly and pulled back but his weight wasn’t enough to bring it over. He asked me for some help, give the fridge a nudge at the top. I did and I remember it as the first we partnered. The fridge went over and he wheeled it through the backyard, out to the patio, and up to the sliding glass door.

I could say I was there because I wanted to offer my assistance or maybe I had a maternal interest in his safety. I could say that but then it wouldn’t be much of a confession. No, I followed him to the backyard, to the patio, because I didn’t want to be away from him. And if I hadn’t, maybe I wouldn’t have known until much later what little Jamal Warner, age seven, could do.

There were two steps up to the house from the patio, each about eight inches high. He turned the refrigerator around and I assumed he was going to try to pull it into the house. I could help him, I thought, lifting the bottom, but the refrigerator looked heavy and I had just seen two grown men struggle with the thing.

Instead of doing what I expected, what anyone would have expected, Jamal lifted the refrigerator using the dolly as a handle. He lifted it up off the ground, several hundred pounds of compressor, motor, and thick insulation. He lifted it and the muscles barely strained. I could see now why he had to take off the shirt though; the flexing of the muscle would have ripped his shirt. He carried the refrigerator off the ground, and then went up the first step, then the second step. In no time, he was in the house with the refrigerator still in his strong powerful arms. He carried it through the kitchen before putting it down in the space reserved for it.

“How?” I asked him as he walked toward me. No other words would come out as I slipped aside to let him pass by me, a sign of respect to a child.

He smiled, not like a seven year old. He smiled like a sly adult that had done some kind of magic trick. “I do it all the time,” he said. “No big deal.”

And just like that, he walked out of the house, to get some other furniture. That was the way it went all day long, my husband, Dave, and the movers with the light stuff, and Jamal by himself, carrying sofas and beds and anything else impossible for one person. I could say I was just in awe of the boy. But then, anyone would be and this wouldn’t be a confession. I might have been in love. I was certainly dripping into my panties.

That night, my husband and I made love.

“You’re a beast,” Edgar said as I climbed atop him and pushed his head back onto the pillow. I rode him for the ten minutes it took for him to cum, thrusting vigorously, trying to get all eight solid inches of his cock into me. It was how we’d be doing it for the next two months, Edgar feasting on my hot sweaty body as I ravaged him desperately, me looking into Edgar’s eyes and wishing they were Jamal’s.

Two months went by, and then my husband lost his job as a manager of an electronics store. We still had the bills to pay; the kids still needed braces and music lessons, so Edgar took part-time work as a house painter when he could get it. Our neighbors, Mary and David, fared better. They were working in health care but decided they would build up a nest egg by working occasional night shifts. So they asked me if I could babysit Jamal, they’d pay five dollars an hour, and all I’d have to do is sleep over there and make sure he got off to school. Both promised that Jamal would be no trouble.

At 10 PM, the first night, I went over there and saw David and Mary off to work. Jamal was already in his flannel pajamas with pictures of Muppets on them. He stood on his tippy-toes to kiss his mom and dad good-bye. When we closed the door and we’re alone, Jamal stood there for a second. He asked me something but all I could do was think about that moving day when I saw him shirtless, his enormous biceps lifting that refrigerator. His muscular chest and abs, a physique that no man I knew could match, lay hidden under flannel Muppets.

He looked at me quizzically.

“What?” I asked.

“I said, can I watch TV for an hour. My parents let me stay up ‘till eleven.”

“Uh, yeah, sure Jamal. “ I wasn’t sure it was true but I regretted not asking Mary what was the proper bedtime for the seven-year old. He sat on the couch and I joined him. It might have looked cute to someone watching, just adorable little boy and the neighbor mom, watching TV. But it wasn’t cute at all to me. I could already feel my body betray me in ways it never had before. I wanted to touch Jamal and feel him touch me. It hurt to be so close to him, inches away, a finger’s length, and yet miles away by society rules.

Jamal watched a late-night comedy program. He didn’t laugh much though, not as into it as he might have been if I hadn’t been there. At the first commercial, he asked me why I was doing this, the babysitting thing, did I like being here with him, or was it just the money. I told him I liked him just fine.

Now, I had dressed myself in a conservative sweater and pants so David and Mary and especially Edgar would not know of my cravings. But I’d also brought a satchel with my bedclothes to wear. So, when the program resumed, I asked Jamal if he minded if I changed. He said, no, go ahead.

I was going to go into the bathroom but decided to go just behind the couch. I wondered if he would turn around and be curious. I could always say I was shocked when the boy turned around, I didn’t want him to see me in just bra and panties. That wouldn’t be the truth, of course. He didn’t turn but I longed for his eyes almost as much as his hands to move down my body.

When I finished, I left my clothes behind the couch. Jamal was still watching the TV program but was looking bored. I wondered what a sexy busty neighbor woman, wearing a low-cut nightie that highlighted her firm enormous bosom, shapely behind, and long creamy legs would do to his disposition. I came out from behind the couch, never more nervous than I was then. My body had never failed me but this was a young boy, younger than my daughters even.

So, now the scene at the couch wasn’t so cute anymore. I stood before Jamal, ready to offer myself to the young boy, wondering if it was even possible a boy in the second grade to even perform sexually. I didn’t care; I knew he had strong hands and a gorgeous body. I knew that alone could satisfy me. So, I stood there, a woman craving the kind of attention only a man could bring.

Jamal turned and looked at me. I knew it as the moment of truth; maybe he did too.

He shifted on the couch. His eyes didn’t fix on any part of me; he wasn’t picking favorites. I knew what my breasts could do to a man but they were out front, obvious under the sheer nightie and undersized black bra. My waist was trim, despite two childbirths. He couldn’t see my ass but my hips and legs gave hints to what lay behind me. But, like I said, he looked me all over. Then he said, “You really do like me, uh?”

I chuckled and resumed my place on the couch beside him. “I told you I did, silly.”

“Yeah, you did.” He was watching TV but now I could see something stirring under his pajama bottoms. It was possible, I thought, possible, I hoped. His pajamas were very loose so the size and shape of what lay hidden there was impossible to tell. But there was clearly movement. He thought a minute, then said, “When a boy and girl like each other, they kiss.”

I nodded. “They do, Jamal.”

It felt like all my twenty-seven Christmases were rolled up into one single moment. He leaned over to me, his hand guiding my chin, pressing his young full lips onto mine. It was too quick but when he came away, his brown eyes looked into mine. “We shouldn’t do this,” I said truthfully. “I think we should stop now,” I lied.

He met my verbal protest with another gentle kiss, a little longer this time. His hand went to my shoulder. I felt like I was in his steel grip, if that was possible with a seven-year old boy. Then his fingers released and just moved slowly, smoothly up and down the back of my arm. He had tested my protest because he was no longer holding me; I was moving my lips onto his without any prompting from him. I was the first one to move my tongue into his mouth, feeling the slippery teeth inside, feeling an empty spot where the boy had lost a baby tooth and was waiting for an adult one to erupt. It was the last reminder to me of how young he was.

He turned his body around on the couch, kneeling on it, his little body facing me. Now we were kissing each other’s face, each other’s neck. My hands now moved to his body and met his rock hard muscles, firm as car tires. I always believed I could tell if a boy had done this before but I was unsure. Jamal was going over my body like a pro. On the other hand, how could he know so much about touching a woman in just seven years of life?

I wondered about Mary, his foster mother. What could she have taught him? Surely, she had seen Jamal without his shirt. Wouldn’t she have bathed him as a baby, helped him get dressed before he learned modesty? She had seen more of his body than I had. I wiped it from my mind. I was curious but it inspired envy in me, not a good mix for the lust I now felt. Jamal’s hard body beckoned me, making me bold.

“Take your shirt off,” I breathed into his ear.

“Say please,” Jamal replied.

My tongue went back into his little mouth. He responded in kind. His hand explored by breasts, my engorged nipples. How I wanted him to go lower, feel my wetness. I was one gentle touch away from an orgasm. Jamal was still not taking off his shirt. My fingers went down over his magnificent chest, and started fiddling with the buttons of his pajamas. He took my hand away and placed it on the back of his firm flannel-covered ass cheek. “Say please,” he said, more forcefully.

“Please.” I whimpered.

He took my hand and gave me the chore of unbuttoning his shirt. How did this boy learn how to subjugate a woman, learn to enjoy it? As I undid the buttons, more of the bronze chest was revealed to me. I couldn’t wait to run my hands over the tight skin, feel the hard muscles, and take in his boyish manliness. It took five minutes to get to the last button, my impatient fingers unable to go to the next one without exploring the newly exposed chest.

“This could take all night,” he said.

“That’s how long we have,” I told him.

“Your husband won’t miss you?”

I shook my head. “I’ll call him, tell him I had to stay longer, that you were having bad dreams.”

Jamal rewarded me with kisses along my neck and shoulder. “Take off the nightie.”

“Say please,” I teased.

He held my breasts, one in each hand, massaging gently the titflesh. “Take it off,” he repeated.

I untied the back of my nightie and let the sheer cloth fall from my shoulders. I sat next to the boy in just my bra and panties, kissing him and stroking his big muscular arms and chest. My fingers went down from his shoulders to the top of his ass, tracing the muscles that ran thick and strong along his body.

My hands went down to his flannel pants. I pulled on the stretch band and pulled the back down over his firm round ass. My hands caressed his cheeks as we kissed and his hands continued working my stiff sensitive nipples.

I found my hands stroking his enormous biceps. “How strong are you?” I asked him.

“What do you mean?”

I pointed at the stairs. “Can you carry me to your room?”

Jamal gave my ass a firm squeeze. “Sure baby.” He got up off the couch. I didn’t move a bit to help him. Instead, he reached down around my back and pressed me to him. My arm went around his shoulders. With his other arm, he hoisted my legs up and in seconds, I was in the little boy’s strong powerful arms. My husband used to carry me too but I was higher up off the ground. Now, a seven-year-old boy held me at his chest level.

He held my body confidently as he brought me to the stairs. I wasn’t sure how he would negotiate this. He turned his body slightly to the side, and then jogged up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I was more out of breath than he was. “You all right?” Jamal asked me.

“Terrific,” I said.

I didn’t know if I was the first woman he’d had in the bedroom. Certainly, Mary had been here but I couldn’t tell if anything had happened. It was a standard little boy’s room with baseball gear in a corner, a table and chair for studying, a closet, and a bed barely big enough for what I wanted to do.

He put me down on the bed. He climbed onto the bed next me and we started kissing some more. I sat at the edge and he stood beside me. My hands easily reached around his pajama bottoms and pulled them down. I had some trouble getting them over the lump in front but I didn’t think about it, my mind still concentrating on the feel of my lips and tongue on Jamal’s mouth. My hands came up to his shoulder and then down his chest. My fingers traced the ripples in his abs. Then I touched it.

“Oh my God,” I said. He wore a kid’s underoos, stretched beyond its limits. And its limits were considerable. His underwear had Spider Man pictures on it except in the front. There, someone, maybe Mary, had stitched a bigger pouch from man-sized underwear. Still, it looked like the seams were breaking apart. I couldn’t get my mind around it. “What is that?”

“I think you know what it is,” said Jamal, even more confident.

“That’s not what I think it is.” It couldn’t be what I think it is. I just couldn’t.

Jamal shook his head and pulled down his underoos and out it flopped.

“Oh my God,” was all I could say. I should tell you now that cock size meant little or nothing to me. My husband, I mentioned before, has eight inches of hard thick and sometimes painful cock. I married him in spite of his huge penis, not because of it. I did adjust to Edgar’s size over time and even thought I could never accept a small penis again. When I met Jamal, I thought I was wrong, that I was willing to take a seven-year old’s miniature endowment because the boy was so manly in every other way.

Now, looking at Jamal’s huge endowment, I wondered if I could go back to Edgar. Jamal’s penis was almost as long and a bit thicker than my husband. The difference was that I was comparing Edgar’s fully engorged cock with this seven-year-old boy’s dangling monster. “Oh my God,” I said again, wondering if I would ever be able to say something else. “Oh my God.”

“Touch it,” Jamal commanded.

“I don’t have to say please?” I asked as I gently held the thick hose. It was a heavy piece of flesh, dark and a bit scary. Through my fingers, I could feel it pulse, thickening and lengthening. It got even heavier in my hands. I watched the boy, standing on the bed next to me, looking at my body and giving himself the typical male reaction with untypical male genitalia. “How big does it get?”

Jamal shrugged. “Big enough.”

“Who else have you shown this too,” I asked. I wasn’t sure I would like the answer, already feeling a sense of envy in Mary and any other woman that may have found herself in Jamal’s big young arms.

“It’s a secret,” said Jamal. “But I’ve had enough experience to know you can handle it. So relax.”

I couldn’t relax. My panties were drenched, seeing the completely naked Jamal, the man of any woman’s dreams in the extraordinary body of a seven-year old. His cock stood straight out from his body now, as big as a baseball bat and twice as hard. He lay down on the bed as I stroked his beautiful hard-on. I took my two hands and started working him like a butter churn.

He pulled himself up and expertly went to my back, to undo the bra strap. He’d done this before, there was no doubt. Once my breasts were free, he held them in his hands as I kept working his big cock.

The head of his cock, a dark purple, swelled suddenly. The pee slit became darker and Jamal’s breathing finally became just slightly labored. I guess I could have put it all together but I didn’t until it seemed the entire room exploded in white cream. The first shot must have drenched my face and I closed my eyes. Jamal’s little body fell backwards, pushed backwards by his cock rocket.

Now semen spurted from the tip like a fountain halfway to the ceiling. His legs were spread and I finally got to see his giant hairless balls. They were like a couple of oranges, squirming as they worked Jamal’s pumping machinery, squeezing out more and more semen. My hands reached to fondle his balls, feeling Jamal’s manliness, knowing now the source of his extreme masculinity. Before I knew it, I was licking those manly testicles, running my tongue along the rough skin, enjoying the texture. I had never wanted to lick a man’s balls before but I would have given Jamal’s a tongue bath all night.

When Jamal’s orgasm slowed to a gentle gush, I put my lips around his still hard cock. I had one hand on the base of his cock, unable to circle its girth. The other hand continued to massage Jamal’s testicles. My eyes locked onto his brown eyes as his fingers combed through my long luscious hair. I could not remember my husband’s name, his face, or my feelings for him. Jamal had me in his grip in every way. “Does that feel good, Baby?” I asked.

“You’re doing fine,” Jamal assured me. The words encouraged me to work harder though. My hands stroked the length of his cock and the heft of his gorgeous balls. My mouth sucked hard on his cock, gulping the last of his semen in six or seven swallofulls, and making a commitment to myself I would lap up all the puddles of jism on his bed and chest.

As a reward for my efforts, my submission to this seven year-old boy, my body went into a spontaneous orgasm. Without a cock in my vagina, no hands on my clit, my body exploded in waves of cumming, my toes curled in its intensity. I lost control of my breathing and had to take my mouth from his cock to gulp more air. I grabbed my quivering pussy and kept the orgasm coming, feeling my body betray ordinary sensibilities. I fell off the bed and onto the floor, moaning and squirming.

As I came down and started regaining control of my body, my face plastered with my ecstasy, my nipples as hard as Indian rubber, Jamal looked down at the adult woman he had controlled so easily. “You came hard, uh?”

I nodded, too out of breath to speak. Slowly, I pulled myself up. Jamal helped, grabbing my arm at the shoulder and lifting me up. With the help of his strength, I was back on the bed, naked, exhausted, and still too horny. I kissed Jamal again, then held is nearly fully erect cock. It had barely softened from the incredible male orgasm I had witnessed. He had drenched himself and his bed in warm salty cum. “Take me,” I begged.

Jamal needed no further instructions. He pushed me down onto the bed and climbed on top of me. He kissed me, then moved himself down my body. He was too short to kiss me while he fucked me. He couldn’t possibly even suck my tits because the size of his cock prevented him from going deep enough to be high up on top of me. Fortunately, my breasts were big enough that the nipples could reach down to Jamal, even as he worked his cock into my drenched pussy.

Working it was the right word. Jamal was such a patient lover. He knelt between my legs and pressed his oversized cock against my swollen pussy lips. He pushed a bit and I swooned as his cock pried the lips apart. As it appeared my pussy walls would be stretched more than ever before, I confessed to Jamal, “I’m afraid.”

“Smaller women than you have taken me,” Jamal promised. It made me jealous and reassured at the same time. “You’ll be all right.”

I wondered. I was grateful my husband was so big and thick; it prepared me for Jamal’s even larger fuck stick. Jamal had not yet put the head in as he moved the tip of his cock up and down, from my engorged clit, then down each of my swollen labia. His cock pushed forward gently, slowly, substituting my fear for desire, making me want it. Finally, I could feel the head in, my pussy lips wrapping around the bulbous tip. For now, Jamal was inside me and I found myself again looking into my young lover’s eyes. “I love you,” I told him.

With such encouragement, Jamal pushed one glorious inch of thick beautiful cock into me. I thought I might break apart but instead my pussy felt completely full, like it had finally found the cock that could stretch and massage its moist hungry walls. Jamal sensed the change in my breathing, the ease of tension on his hard hungry cock. Jamal pushed in another inch.

Now, I gasped. Two inches and I knew Jamal had barely started. His hands worked my soft titflesh and I relaxed further. Jamal pushed another inch in. Then another. Now, he was high up enough that his lips could reach my sensitive engorged nipples. He sucked gently on them like he might have for nourishment just six years earlier. Now, he was nourishing me though, filling me with his cock, his strength, and what I dearly hoped now was his love. In went another inch.

Jamal pulled back and my pussy felt the loss of his big intruder. The head of his giant cock now brushed backwards against the walls of my pussy. The sensation made me tremble, even harder when I thought what a boy of seven was doing to me, making me feel. I whimpered as the cock came out and then overjoyed when the cock came back, a little harder, a little thicker, and another inch or two deeper.

Jamal’s cock was at my cervix now. It was a dead end for him and I wished I had more to offer him. Even then, I must not have done so bad. Jamal looked down between her legs and saw his cock half into my pussy and remarked. “Wow, that’s the deepest I’ve gone in a while.”

Though his cock felt like a moist baseball bat inside me, I got used to his size. The incredible wetness his big cock demanded of my body allowed it to slip ever smoother in and out of my body. Though half his cock was all that was necessary to reach my cervix, he managed to not bang into it. Unlike most seven year-old boys, Jamal was a compassionate person. I looked at his hard muscles, shiny with the tiniest layer of sweat, his huge cock, and his enormous balls. He was so unlike any seven year-old boy I’d ever heard of. So unlike any man too.

Jamal started thrusting, his abdomen flexing as he pushed his meaty cock forward. . With each pound against my insides, with each smack of the headboard, by body surrendered to its new master. I was taking nine inches of my young bull inside me. I knew now that even my husband’s oversized cock could not deliver what this kid did. Maybe the thought of that, combined with the sounds in the room of wood banging against drywall and Jamal’s brown eyes staring into mine, that finally did me. My body once again came, more fully than it had before.

I lost all control, and I wondered if this was what a seizere looked. I spasmed, unable to think of anything other than my love for my bull Jamal, as I held on to his firm young body. Had it not been for his superior strength, that of more than two full grown men, I might have come right off the bed again. I was held in Jamal’s powerful arms as he continued pounding into me the way a man should when a woman loves him.

I was just coming off the great crescendo when Jamal smiled at me, then groaned. I knew what was going to happen; I could already feel his cock swell to gargantuan proportions inside me. The head was thicker than a beer can as he warned of the impending orgasm. “Hang on, baby” the seven year-old boy told his newest girlfriend..

I did hold on to his strong shoulders and the release both frightened and exhilarated me. The sheer volume of cum could not be contained by my pussy, even at the limits Jamal stretched them to. With each contraction, each pump from his scrotum, a cup of hot vital sperm poured from his cock, squeezing into my uterus, and gushing from the tiny spaces where cock met pussy wall. Jamal’s precious copious load jetted from his pussy and splashed against his giant balls from which it came.

As his cock softened inside me, I reached down as far as I could and kissed the very top of Jamal’s head. I bid him to come up to me so I could kiss my man properly. Jamal never did anything I told him to so I was surprised to find him pull the cock from inside me. He moved up and kissed me hard. He took one of my hands and placed it on his softening cock. My other hand was free to roam the shapes of his muscles on his arms, his legs, the twin bubbles of his ass.