Exclusive Excerpt from The Black Mask
by Samuel King
I spend the rest of the day at the small desk in my bedroom, working at my laptop. Writing about The Black Mask is the most fun thing I do, but it earns me less than a hundred pounds a month. To actually make a living, I create content for various websites—mostly boring retail sites that just need blurbs to make boring products sound…well, less boring. Sadly, the words for these projects don’t come to me as easily as those for The Black Mask stories and it’s nine o’clock in the evening before I close my laptop and wander through to the living room. Jules and John are still naked, but they are now sitting side-by-side on the sofa, watching TV and eating delivery pizza.
“Hi,” says Jules.
“All right?” says John, who has a strong London accent that is, actually, very hot. I glance down into his lap and catch sight of his semi-engorged cock poking out from under the pizza box. He notices my attention and grins. I hastily grab another beer and head back to my room.
I set the beer down on the bedside table and pick up the TV remote, but as I turn to point it at the television, I freeze. On the wall is a large, glowing white rectangle. It’s the poster of The Black Mask, but The Black Mask is missing. Something stirs in the corner of the bedroom behind me.
I swing around and stagger back at the sight of The Black Mask arising from a crouching position on the other side of my bed. I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle whatever sound I’m likely to make at this impossible development.
He is exactly as I imagine him—about six-foot-three, broad shouldered and with a muscle-bound, sculpted physique. He is covered in black from head to foot, his costume showing every curve and bulge. And what a bulge. I’ve never described that in any of The Black Mask stories I’ve written but there it is—a huge, thick cock almost tearing through the -black fabric. I gape at it. I can see the heavy balls, the at-least-nine-inch shaft and the bell-end, all wrapped in black but begging to be uncovered and sucked.
“How…?” is all I can manage in terms of words.
He glances around, as if confused himself, then looks at me. At least I assume he’s looking at me, although I can’t actually see his eyes. He scratches his head with a leathergloved hand and shrugs.
Without warning, he leaps across the bed in one bound—he can leap over houses in my stories—and lands right in front of me. He wraps one powerful arm around my waist and pulls me to him, and that fat, hard dick is pushing against my groin. Despite the enormity and impossibility of the situation, my cock responds, growing stiff in seconds. I stare into his eyes, which are just visible through the slits in his mask, now that he is so close. They are bright blue, just as they should be.
He strokes my cheek, the leather of his gloves soft against my skin, then runs a finger along my lower lip, leaving no doubt that this version of The Black Mask is definitely into guys. I push forward with my hips so that our cocks are properly rubbing against each other. I should be screaming or passing out with shock, but I just want what is happening to continue. I want to get fucked by The Black Mask, however impossible that scenario may be. Continue reading
