The Pool Hall
Copyright© 2026 by Guisamo
Chapter 3: The Fist
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 3: The Fist - I had discovered early on my attraction to the forbidden. That time at the movies, when the darkness allowed me to masturbate until I came in the almost empty theater. That other time, in the mall restrooms, when a man in his forties had guided me to his throat and given me a deep blowjob that left me trembling for hours. But he wasn't very big, and I had heard the rumors, the stereotypes, the legends circulating in online forums and among neighborhood gossip: Black men have enormous, thick, lon
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including MaleDom Humiliation Rough Interracial Black Male White Male Anal Sex Double Penetration Oral Sex
They took me to the gurney. They strapped me down, but gently, the straps around my wrists and ankles more to hold me in position than to completely immobilize me. He wanted me to move. To writhe.
They turned me on my side, then on my back, with my legs raised and spread, exposed. The camera recorded everything. I didn’t care. I wanted it recorded. I wanted to see myself later.
Marcus put on his black latex gloves. He extended them, long and shiny, up to his elbows. He applied lubricant generously, an obscene amount, making the latex glisten.
“Relax,” he said, moving closer to my entrance. “This takes time. We’re not going to force anything. You can tell me when you want to stop.”
I nodded, already panting with anticipation.
He started with his fingers. One, then two, then three, then four. Twisting, stretching, opening me up. More and more lubricant, deeper and deeper. I moaned, feeling my body yield, open up, accept. The impossible.
When he pushed all four fingers in, touching something inside me that made me see stars, I knew he was ready.
“Thumb,” Marcus said, bending it into a fist. “Here it comes, Billy. Here comes your fist.”
He pushed.
The pain was different. Not sharp, but an intense, overwhelming pressure, like my body was about to tear. But it didn’t tear. It gave way. It opened. And suddenly, Marcus’s fist was inside me.
“Fuck!” I screamed, arching my back, tugging at the straps. “God, God, it’s in!”
“I’ve got it,” Marcus grunted, marveling. “I’ve got my fist in this white ass. Fuck, it’s warm. It’s tight. It’s perfect.”
He started to move. Small movements, rotations, gentle thrusts. Each movement massaged my prostate, my colon, creating sensations I didn’t know existed. I moaned, cried, laughed, writhed. It was too much. It was perfect.
“More,” I heard my own voice say, distant, desperate. “More, please. Deeper.”
Marcas looked at me, surprised.
“Are you sure?”
“Beyond the elbow,” I sighed, losing all shame. “I want to feel your arm inside me. Please.”
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