“Tyrone, what the hell did you bring me?” Dion looked the reporter over, examining every observable ounce of him. He was average. In every way. Not exactly the type of guy he usually would dream of using. Yet, there was something deep down that was intriguing. Maybe it was the uphill battle that he knew would ensue? Perhaps it was the challenge? The potential? So, as Tyrone held his tight grip on Manuel’s shoulder, Dion slowly changed his tune. “Fine, man. Just leave him here”
Tyrone released his grip on Manuel, and left the two alone in Dion’s kitchen. He leaned against the counter, still to all outside appearance to be thoroughly unconvinced. Manuel, understandably shaken, pulled out his small notepad and pen, sitting down at the cheap birchwood table.
“I trust Tyrone told you why I’m here, right? The piece on gang violence here in East New Orleans? The Times-Picayune is really interested in it.” Dion’s eyebrow raised, giving Manuel a much needed respite from his worry. “All sources are confidential, and we do not have to reveal them under any circumstance. So… Are you ready to begin?” Dion stood there for a moment, cogs turning in his mind, until he silently sat down at the table; never once breaking eye contact.
“Okay, so you’ve been living here in Seabrook for about 4 months, is that correct?” Manuel nervously shifted in his seat, waiting for Dion to respond. He nodded affirmatively, clearly trying to rattle his interviewer. “What is the name of the gang you’re a member of?” Knowing that this would be a difficult question to pose, Manuel prepared himself for a lashing, slowly closing his eyes.
“The Libertines.” Manuel let out a deep sigh of relief, as Dion’s deep voice echoed in the empty kitchen. As he was writing down the very last swish of the ‘S,’ Dion leaned back in his chair, kicking up his sneaker-clad feet onto the table. Not one to not recognize all black Yeezy Boosts 350 v2 5, Manuel jumped a the opportunity to bond with his subject.
“Yeezys. Dang, aren’t those like, $600?” Dion broke a cocky smile, half impressed with this nerdy latino.
“You make mad money on the streets, man. Dion had fly taste.” Manuel looked up at Dion, puzzled.
“What did you say?” Completely unfazed, Dion leaned in, close to Manuel’s face. The minty-fresh scent of his breath caressed the reporter’s nostrils, drawing him in.
“I said I have pretty fly style.” He relaxed back into his seat, and Manuel continued the interview. For around an hour and a half, Manuel would ask questions, and Dion would respond with one-word answers. Each more cryptic than the last. Frustration built up in Manuel, with every passing answer, more questions were raised. He wasn’t getting a story, he was being strung along. Yet, for whatever reason, he stayed. Dion’s charm and swagger was magnetic. Every glance was sexy. Every movement tantalizing. Every word that came out of his mouth was hypnotizing. He couldn’t get enough of him.Eventually, the afternoon sun began to descend into the horizon, and it was getting late to be out in the ghetto. Manuel rose up, gathering his things.
“Well, I think I have enough, thanks, Dion. I hope this will help in some small way.” Dion said nothing immediately, but in those final moments, he had made his decision.
“Get on the floor.” Manuel stopped, his heart dropped. “I said get on the floor, bitch.” He lifted his hands into the air, bending down to kneel on the cheap linoleum floors. “I seen you starin’ bitch. I know you like what you see.” Dion pressed his foot onto his victim’s back, pushing him completely down, looking as if he were groveling at a god. “Yeah, you wanna be fucked hard. You wanna know what it’s like to be fucked by a big black cock.” Manuel swallowed, anxious, yet filled with excitement. He nodded, signaling Dion to grab him by his throat, dragging him to the sectional.
Tossing him like a ragdoll, Dion pulled down his silk basketball shorts, revealing the biggest and fattest cock Manuel had ever seen. It had to have been 10 inches at least, and girthy to boot. Eagerly, Manuel kicked off his jeans and underwear, preparing for the mount. Dion grabbed Manuel’s legs, pushing them up, and aligning his monstrous cock to Manuel’s tight hole. In one thrust, all 10 inches were inside of Manuel. He screamed in pain, having never taken a cock without lube before, let alone of Dion’s size.
“Yeah, you like that bitch. Take it.” Dion violently thrusted his cock in and out of Manuel’s ass, the slapping of skin ringing clear in the room. Little did Manuel know that his fate was sealed. A strange, unfamiliar pressure built up in his bowels, warm and almost fluid like. Dion ravenously bit down on his prey’s shoulder, nearly drawing blood. The intensity of this pressure built at a rapid pace, and with every thrust, he felt himself losing control.
His skin began to darken, starting at his fingertips, but quickly spreading down his arms and torso. As if a balloon being filled with water, his muscles inflated, spasming and contorting into lean, built pecs, biceps and abs. His screams of pleasure began to devolve into guttural gargling, as his feet expanded, stretching his white and grey socks to their absolute limit. He felt his balls drop, filling up with the same thick sensation that had overtaken his upper body. His throbbing cock grew longer, and thicker, reaching it’s end at his belly button. Dion laughed in between pants, still ramming his cock into Manuel, and slapped on a stray cap lying under a pillow.
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