whtcuckold
Member
Posts: 177
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With all due respect to Bob Cocker aka cockbober this is his story and we need him to come back and write more.Disclaimer: This story is intended for adults. If
you shouldn't be reading this, then don't. If that
actually stopped you, I'm amazed. If you're offended
by over-the-top fantasies about wimpy white men, hung
black men, and the white girls that bring them
together, then I recommend you stop reading. If you
like that ****, then stop licking your lips and start
reading.
Sweet Cream Cafe - Part 1 of 2
Wendell Nebbin locked the door of his car and pressed
the button on his keychain to activate the alarm. He
looked around nervously. He hated parking on the
street in a part of town like this: the black part of
town. He considered skipping the appointment, but
then remembered that Mr. Roosevelt had paid him rather
well for his accounting services so far. Professional
ethics demanded that he see things through.
He walked slowly down the street, looking for the
address of the cafe owned by Mr. Roosevelt. The Sweet
Cream Cafe. It should be on this block, but he could
see nothing that resembled a restaurant. The address
he was looking for belonged instead to "T. Jackson's
Athletic Club". Beads of sweat appeared on his brow
as he considered the fact that he was a well dressed
white man lost in a black neighboorhood. He tried to
look nonchallant as a group of young blacks dressed in
shorts and tanktops wandered noisily past him toward
the club entrance. He tried to look like he knew
where he was going and walked in the opposite, but
slowed again when he realized he was getting farther
from his car.
"Hey, white bread!", one of them shouted from the
steps to the club.
Panic came over him as he heard the call. He froze,
afraid to turn around.
"You lookin' for the cafe?" the same voice asked.
Relieved that he was at least on the correct block,
Wendell turned. "Y-yes. Yes I am," he called back.
"I thought you might be." A smirk came over the young
man's face as his friends began laughing among
themselves. "It's jus' down that alley on the right
there," he pointed, indicating the corner of the
building that housed the atheletic club.
"Th-thank you. I a-appreciate it," replied Wendell
moving quickly away.
"You enjoy yourself now, y'hear?" shouted the young
man with a grin, causing yet another burst of laughter
from the others.
Wendell ignored them, glad now to at least be on the
right track. He turned the corner down the alley
indicated and was surprised that the dark, dingy alley
could possibly contain a business like a cafe. But,
sure enough, he spotted a sputtering neon sign
protruding from the side of the building with an arrow
that pointed to a nondescript solid door. The neon
sign read "Sweet Cream Cafe" over the faded logo of a
giant white droplet. It was from an era gone by;
alleyway businesses just didn't survive these days.
Further proof of the cafe's age was found in the faded
sign on the door read, "Whites Only". It must have
been a remnant from nearly 50 years ago, he thought;
odd that something like that could survive that long
in this neighborhood. Shaking his head, he turned the
handle and walked on in.
Inside, the cafe was a total surprise to him. It was
spacious and well lit with rather nice looking tables,
chairs, and appointments. It looked like a classic
diner setting from any movie: checkerboard tile floor,
lunch counter with bar stools, padded red vinyl
booths, and even a gaggle of pretty uniformed
waitresses wandering around with notepads and pencils
behind their ears.
Spotting him at the front door, a perky young blonde
headed his way and smiled broadly as she approached.
"Party of one, I assume?" she asked with an enquiring
eyebrow that looked almost ... sultry.
"A-actually ..." Wendell was a bit stupefied at her
obvious beauty. Her hair was long, straight, and
silky. Her ample breasts and small, shapely ass were
barely covered by a pink uniform that looked about 2
sizes too small. Her bright red lips curved into a
knowing smile as an eyebrow over her too-blue eyes
continued to rise as she waited for him to finish his
sentence.
" .... a-actually, I have an appointment with Mr.
Roosevelt to d-discuss a business matter."
"Oh! You must be Mr. Nubbin!" she exclaimed with a
smile. "I'm -- "
"Actually, it's 'Nebbin'," he interrupted.
"Of course. As if that's any better. Anyway, I'm
Candy, the manager. I was told to expect you. I'm
afraid Mr. Roosevelt will be delayed for awhile, but
he told me to show you around and answer any questions
you might have about how our establishment is run."
"W-well, I do have to admit, there are some v-very odd
numbers I'd like to discuss. Your receipts are very,
very high, but somehow your costs absorb all of your
profits and --"
"I know, I know. We're a very unique operation. I
can see you need to understand a bit more about us,
Wendell. Why don't you have a seat over here at the
counter and I'll go over things with you."
She led him over to the counter and offered him an
empty stool between two other patrons. Wendell sat
quietly and nodded politely at the others already
seated there. He noticed that despite the obvious
flavor of the neighborhood, everyone in the cafe was
white -- including all the waitresses.
"I need to take care of a few things, Wendell, but
I'll be right back. You caught us right at the start
of the lunch hour, so I'll ask you to be patient. If
you'd like anything, Susie here will take care of
you."
Wendell tried unsuccessfully to peel his eyes away
from the view of Candy's lovely posterior as she
walked away from him, even failing to look at Susie
when he heard her voice.
"What can I getcha, hon?" she asked.
"Just some coffee, thank you."
"We don't serve coffee," she said dryly.
"You ... " Wendell finally turned to look the redhead
in the face, finding her just as attractive as Candy,
in her own way, " ... you don't serve coffee? Excuse
me?"
Susie's eyes rolled back in her head in a friendly
look of exasperation. She grabbed a laminated card
from a holder on the counter and set it in front of
Wendell. "Here, hon. Look this over and let me know
when you're ready."
As Susie turned and walked away, Wendell turned his
confused look toward the menu and examined it. He
found it to be rather brief ... and rather strange.
Menu
#1 Pie ............ $50
#2 Pie ............ $50
#3 Double Pie ..... $100
#4 Snowball ....... $50
Extras:
Extra Fresh ....... $25
Chaser w/ Meal .... $25
Chaser a la carte . $50
Wendell looked up from the menu with a look of even
greater confusion than before. The prices seemed
outrageous -- especially for a small diner -- and the
descriptions were sorely lacking in detail. He looked
around for Candy or Susie to ask some questions.
Just then, the door marked "Kitchen" in the back of
the diner swung open. A sound of great commotion --
dozens of inermingled, unintelligible voices,
laughter, and shrieks -- swept thru the room along
with the distinct odor of ... sweat. And something
else. The door swung shut again as a young, thin
waitress with light brown hair staggered out. She
laughed a goodbye to someone inside as she hopped
along, pulling a high-heeled pump onto her foot. She
feebly tried to arrange her hair, wiped the sweat from
her brow, and tried to pull her uniform into some
semblance of order.
"Wooo! That was a good one," she said absentmindedly
to herself and the room. Her heels clicked on the
tile as she walked unevenly behind the counter,
steadying herself occasionally by leaning on the edge.
She past by Wendell without a second glance and
approached the man sitting two stools away.
"Are ya ready, Ernie?" she giggled.
"Y-yes, Lulu. I-I'm always ready for you," the man
stammered.
"Ok, then. Here ya go. One #1, hot and fresh." With
that, she turned around, placed her hands on the
counter, and pushed herself up as she jumped. She
settled into a special shaped 'lazy susan' than
Wendell just noticed was there -- one in front of each
stool, as a matter of fact. Lulu then spun herself
around on the swivelled seat, swung one leg over
Ernie's head, and set both heels into perfectly sized
notches in the counter on either side of him.
Wendell watched with silent amazement as the short
uniform skirt fell back to reveal the spread-open
crotch of the waitress. She wore no panties. Her
thighs were wet and shiny. The smooth-shaven vaginal
lips were covered in a filmy glaze. A thick, white
liquid oozed slowly from the opening. Wendell was
stunned. That was obviously ... semen. This woman
had apparently just had sex and was presenting her
womanhood to her customer with another man's ejaculate
oozing out of it. He was speechless. He was
appalled. He was ... strangely fascinated.
Then came the next surprise. Wendell let out an
audible gasp when he saw Ernie leaning in and lowering
his face toward her crotch.
"Ah ah ahhhh," scolded Lulu. Her thighs slammed shut
with a wet slapping noise. "You know the rules,
Ernie. You gotta pay before you play."
Ernie put on an 'aw shucks' look and reached into his
pants pockets for a set of folded bills. He passed
them up to Lulu without looking at her -- his eyes
remained glued to her closed thighs. Lulu accepted
the money, examined it quickly, appeared satisfied and
re-opened her legs exposing the cum-covered pussy.
Ernie lurched forward and dove in to her crotch,
making wet slurping noises as he rabidly licked at the
oozing white goo.
"Oh my God!" exclaimed Wendell in disbelief.
"Oooh! He's an eager beaver ... for cummy beaver,"
giggled Lulu. She pulled at a latch and a back rest
rose from behind the counter. She leaned back and
closed her eyes, obviously enjoying the attention
being given to her dripping snatch. She began to moan
softly.
Wendell stared open mouthed and wide eyed at the
spectacle before him. He looked around at the other
patrons, wanting to scream out, 'Can you believe
this?!'. But no one else in the cafe had even
blinked. In fact, the few other men at the counter
simply sat patiently, occasionally looking hopefully
toward the kitchen door.
As if on cue, the door opened again and another young
girl emerged with her hair and clothing in disarray.
Before the door closed behind her, Wendell got a
better look at the room within. It was lined with
grey metal doors which he quickly realized were
lockers -- gym lockers. As the gap closed, Wendell
could make out a dark skinned male ass pumping up and
down between a pair of lily white thighs. The sounds
emanating from the room made perfect sense now: There
was an all out orgy going on in there.
The man on the other side of him perked up and grinned
-- this 'order' must be his. Even though he'd just
witnessed the same turn of events a moment ago,
Wendell was still shocked and amazed as the man
quickly surrendered a wad of bills and then turned his
attention the the cummy crotch of the young waitress.
This particular patron spent more time licking the
dripping cum off the girl's thighs, giving Wendell a
better view of the quivering mass of pink flesh
covered with thick white semen.
It was disgusting. It was revolting. It was ...
intoxicating. He found himself leaning closer and
closer until the back of the man's head rose up to
block his view.
"Amazing, isn't it?" came a soft voice in his ear.
"Huh? Oh!" exclaimed Wendell, surprised to find that
Candy had returned and was leaning over his shoulder.
"What?"
"I said it's amazing how you white boys are so
strongly drawn in by a white pussy filled with black
man's sperm, isn't it? It's like there's a magnet
stuffed up there and your front teeth are made of
iron," she said with a smirk.
"Oh ... well ... I ... it's just that I've ... I've
never seen anything like it!" he said, still
exasperated.
"I can tell, Wendy, yet you've already got a cute
little boner popping up there, don't you?" she
giggled.
Wendell looked down and found that she was right. He
coughed and tugged his suit jacket to cover his lap.
He looked around nervously as if he'd just realized
his fly was open.
"Oh, don't worry, Wendy. It's perfectly natural. You
wimpy type white boys just can't help it. The sight
and smell of a white pussy pumped to overflowing with
hot, gooey black cum is essentially irresistible to
you," she explained. "You're no different than any
white man here." Wendell looked around the cafe and
watched as another 'order' was delivered to another
happy customer -- a white customer.
"No ... no ... wait. This can't be right. This can't
be natural," Wendell whispered in disbelief.
"Of course it is, Wendy. No one understands it fully,
but there's something about a good solid blackfucking
that makes a white woman's pussy draw in wimpy white
men like dogs to a bitch in heat." She lowered her
voice and slowed down her speech to add emphasis to
her words. "Add to that the addictive, musky scent of
a black man's cum, and no white man can resist
plunging his face into the warm, sticky mixture of
pink flesh and spermy white fluid."
There was no way Wendell could deny his hardon now.
Her descriptions were causing a swelling like he'd
never felt before. He thought back to his initial
reaction at seeing Lulu spread her legs on the
counter. While the shock of it was foremost in his
mind at the time, he had to admit now that he
definitely felt 'something'. Something about the
sight ... and the scent was attractive. Sexually
attractive. And he still felt it as his eyes were
glued to the sight of the man's head next to him
nestled between the slim white thighs. Subconciously,
Wendell's hand reached down to the tent in his pants
and gave it a squeeze. Absolutely. There was no
doubt about it. It was sexually attractive.
Wendell heard an odd metallic scrape, then a whoosh.
Next, he felt a sharp pain on the back of his hand.
He snapped back to reality with the realization that
Candy had just smacked his hand with a spatula
retrieved from the counter.
Candy leaned in and said in a angry whisper, "Listen,
Wendy. I know this is your first time here, but we do
have rules. This is a respectable establishment and I
will NOT have a bunch of white boys fondling their
disgusting little weenies, do you hear me?"
"Y-yes, ma'am," replied Wendell instinctively, shaking
his stinging hand.
"That's better. Now, you're obviously interested in
our menu selections. Would you like to try something
while you wait for Mr. Roosevelt?" Candy asked,
smoothly returning to her sweet demeanor.
Wendell looked around the room again. By now, there
were four faces buried between the thighs of moaning
waitresses. Four white men sucking black sperm from
the crotches of young white women. It seemed so
wrong. But it seemed so right ... for reasons he
couldn't explain. The door to the kitchen swung open
again as a tall young brunette staggered out. As it
swung closed, Wendell spotted one of the muscular
young black men from the street. He could hear the
sound of flesh slapping against flesh as he mounted a
pretty blonde from the rear. The look of ecstasy on
her face was exquisite.
He turned to Candy, looked her in the eye and softly
said, "Yes. I think I'd like that."
"Wonderful!" squealed Candy. She signalled to the
tall brunette. "Trixie, what order have you got?"
"A number one ... for Wally down there," the
breathless girl replied, clearing the strands of hair
from her sweat covered brow.
Candy turned and called down the counter, "Wally, I've
got a first timer here. Would it be ok if I
intercepted your order?"
The face that had been looking eager and excited at
the prospect of getting Trixie's thighs wrapped around
his head suddenly fell. He licked his lips nervously
and replied, "Well, um ... actually, I ..."
"I'll deliver it myself, Wally. And how about we
throw in a free chaser?"
Wally brightened visibly. "Oh ... Ok! That would be
g-great. Thanks, Candy."
Trixie hopped onto the counter and swung around to
assume what Wendell now understood to be the standard
position. On the shaved patch of skin above her
clitoris where the hair would normally grow was a
neatly printed script tattoo that read 'Black Cock
Only'. Her puffy, cum spattered pussy lips lay just
in front of him. He most definitely felt the
attraction -- the irresitible attraction -- that Candy
referred to and started to lean forward, his mouth
watering. Then he heard Candy's voice:
"Now as you've heard, Wendy, we require payment in
advance. You've seen the prices on the menu, right?"
"Y-yes," replied Wendell, reaching for his wallet, but
never removing his eyes from Trixie's crotch. He
glanced down briefly to pick out a $50 bill from the
sheaf of bills inside. As he refolded his wallet,
Candy said quietly, "Um ... Wendell. The 'meal
charge' is paid in full to the black stud who ... uhh,
'filled' your order. Don't forget to tip Trixie here
for delivering it to you in such a nice manner."
"Oh ... of course," said Wendell as he fished out a
additional $10 bill.
Candy cleared her throat and muttered into his ear,
"Wendy ... a 100% tip for the waitress is customary."
Wendell looked at Candy with a surprised look. "100%?
That seems a bit ..."
Candy just looked at him and tipped her head to
gesture at Trixie's crotch. Wendell looked again at
the shiny skin and pink, goo-covered folds of flesh.
He put the bills back in his wallet, pulled out a
crisp $100 bill, and handed it over to Candy.
"I'm paying a black man for the privilege of eating
his semen, aren't I?" he asked as his gaze returned to
Trixie's spermy snatch. His tone was that of both
realization and acceptance of what he was about to do.
Candy handed the bill over to Trixie. "I'm glad you
understand our system, Wendy. This example will help
answer some of the questions you had regarding our
pricing structure. I know it seems expensive, but a
black man's got the right to be compensated for his
sperm .. especially if it's not going to be used for
its proper function of actually impregnating a white
wom--"
Candy stopped talking when she realized that Wendell
was no longer listening. His face was buried between
Trixie's thighs and the soft squeals coming from her
throat told Candy that Wendell's tongue was snaking up
inside her reaching for the thick liquid treasure that
lay within.
* * *
Wendell's sheer ecstasy was interrupted by a hand
grasping the scruff of his neck and pulling him away
from the heaven he'd been enjoying. "Whoa there,
Wendy," he recognized Lulu's voice. "Let's not be
greedy. Fifteen minutes is the limit. She's got
other customers to serve."
Wendell's eyes never left the warm flesh before him.
It took him a moment to remember where he was and to
realize that he was still pulling forward, trying to
reach the juncture of the outspread legs before him.
"Wow," he uttered ************* as he relaxed and sat
back.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Lulu giggled.
"Y-yes," he stammered.
"I just love watching a white boy swill down black
sperm for the first time. The look on their faces
when they realize just how much they need they to
swallow that thick semen is just priceless."
"I-I just couldn't help m-myself," said Wendell, still
staring at the glistening flesh of the
now-fully-cleaned pussy in front of him.
"You're disappointed that it's all gone, aren't you?"
"Yeah," he admitted, surprising himself. He
straightened his glasses without bothering to wipe off
the glaze of sexual fluids that covered the lenses.
"You really went to town, Wendy," Lulu beamed. "Don't
tell me you haven't done this before! You made her
cum at least three t
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