From Straight Dad to BBC-Addicted Bottom: How My Son's Friend Broke Me Part 2

Okay guys… I posted Part 1 last Wednesday after sitting on it for days because I was ashamed, confused, and still buzzing so hard I could barely think straight. The feedback here has been insane—way more supportive than I expected—and it gave me the courage to write this. This is what happened Monday night after I couldn’t make it to Carter’s game.

Quick recap timeline for new people:

• Friday night: Carter comes over for dinner/video games with my son. I overhear the “11 inches” talk, stare at his bulge in the kitchen, he calls out my ass, spanks me later when we’re alone.
• Saturday morning: Wife and son leave for appointment. Carter and I end up on the couch. First time ever touching or sucking dick. He cums in my mouth and on my face. Leaves for practice saying “I would’ve made you my bitch this morning.”

Work ran late that Monday—I couldn’t leave before 7:15, and the game had started at 6, so I missed it. Around 7:35 I was hungry and headed to our usual diner for steak and coffee. I chatted with the waitress (she’s a family friend; we go there all the time). I stayed till about 8:30 when my son called: “Dad, come eat with us, game’s over, Carter killed it.” I was surprised but told him I was already at the diner and they should come join me.

My heart started racing. I wasn’t prepared at all. Horny, stressed, excited—my cock was already stirring just thinking about seeing him again.

They walked in. My son (Andy, 19, not tall or athletic but a smart kid) hugged me tight, hyped: “Dad you should’ve come! Carter dropped 22 points, he was unstoppable!” Carter stood there smiling—6’10”, skinny but ripped, still in post-game shorts and hoodie. I congratulated him. He stepped in for a hug. My belly pressed right into his crotch. I felt it immediately—thick, heavy, warm bulge right against me through the thin fabric. He’s so tall my face was basically at his chest. I pulled back fast, face burning.

We sat down. Conversation was easy at first. Andy went over game highlights. I tried to act normal but kept glancing at Carter. He caught me every single time—smirking, eyes locked like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Then they had a side conversation. Carter asked Andy, “What did Emma say?” Andy winked and grinned: “She’ll wait for you tomorrow after practice in the gym.” Carter nodded, smirky, tapped Andy’s shoulder. Both of them smiling like they were in on something.

I played the dad card: “Who’s Emma? Relationship stuff? You can talk to me, no judgment.” Carter laughed: “Ain’t no issue man, she just trynna get this dick.”

I gasped silently. Andy looked shocked but started laughing: “Bro that’s gross in front of my dad!” Carter looked straight at me: “I don’t think your dad minds.”

They both stared at me. I swallowed hard and said, “I don’t really mind. Carter can relax and be himself around me.”

Carter grinned: “Told you your dad’s cool.” Andy laughed: “Yeah, he was telling me how you two bonded Saturday morning and all that.” I nodded, trying to sound casual: “Yeah, it was a pleasant time,” and sipped my coffee to hide how flushed I was.

I threw it out there: “He can come chill at home anytime, he’s welcome.” Basically shot my shot.

They agreed to come back to the house with me. We finished eating, headed home. My wife was already there, surprised but chill. She’s not the jealous type—she even joked, “Wish I married a basketball player lol.” Carter barely glanced at her. No flirty vibes from him at all, even though she’s still gorgeous. We snacked, opened wine, talked careers and college paths. Just normal family night.

Then Carter needed an Uber home (40-minute drive). I offered to drive him. Both my wife and son said yes. I grabbed my keys, but he said he knew the road better, so I handed them to him. He drove. I sat passenger.

The second the car moved, my eyes dropped straight to his lap.

He was still in those thin basketball shorts. 6’10”, long legs spread a little. That thing was just… resting there. Not hard, not soft. Thick outline curving left, head nudging the fabric, veins visible even in the dark. Heavy. Every bump in the road made it shift. I stared the whole drive like nothing else existed. I’ve spent the last couple years studying so many black dicks on X—girth, curves, weight, how they hang—but this was live, inches away, radiating heat. I was silently thanking God for black men the entire ride. The feeling they give me is unreal.

We got to his place. He parked. Engine off. Silence except my breathing. He spread his legs wider, making the bulge even more obvious. Looked at me and said, low and cocky:

“What now, bitch?”

My hole clenched so hard I felt it in my stomach. I looked up at him and said, “Well now… I will pull it out. I miss it.”

He smirked. Let me yank his shorts down. It sprang free—heavy thwack against his abs, already thickening. 11 inches, dark, veiny, perfect. I wrapped both hands around it (one isn’t enough). Started stroking slow. He groaned.

“Love these white hands on my dick,” he said. That line alone made my ass feel funny—wet, tingly, like it was opening up on its own.

He asked when’s the last time I’d seen something this big. I told him the truth: this was my first time ever holding a real dick. I thought I was straight my whole life—married 28 years, two kids, normal dad life—until X and the BNWO stuff hit me a couple years ago. Scrolling big black cocks every day, getting hooked, feeling something wake up inside me. Then he walked into my house and I saw that bulge… and I knew I had to submit.

He got harder in my hand while I talked. Grunted. Then his massive hand wrapped around my throat—not choking, just holding. Slides up to my face. His palm is literally bigger than my whole face. Gave me a gentle slap. I bit my lip. He pushed his thumb in my mouth. I sucked it like it was his cock.

And then he talked. Non-stop. Filthy. Hot as fuck.

Telling me how my white hands look perfect stroking black dick. How I’ve been saving my mouth and fat ass for this my whole life. How my wife has no idea her husband’s his slut slut now. How easy I folded the second I saw him. How he’s gonna stretch my virgin hole soon, make me take every inch, breed me one day so I walk funny back to my family. Calling me his bitch, his throat toy, his secret white cumdump. Every word made me moan around his thumb, stroke faster, leak in my pants.

He grabbed my head, guided me down. His scent hit me; musky, salty, overpowering. I moaned just looking at it up close again. Sucked him deep, sloppy, hungry. 30 minutes straight of me worshipping while he talked dirty over me.

Then he reminded me we were already at his place. I looked up, lips still on his dick. He said, “We’re here.” I didn’t stop. He pulled my phone out of my pocket.

“Call your wife. Tell her there’s an accident on the road. You’ll be late.”

My eyes went wide. Heart pounding. But I did it. Dialed Gwen. She answered. I told her traffic was bad from an accident, I’d be home soon. Voice cracking, lips still inches from his cock. She said be safe, love you. I hung up.

He slid his seat all the way back. Spread wide.

“Get back to worshiping.”

I dove in. Sucked for another solid 30 minutes, jaw aching, throat raw, spit everywhere. He kept talking the whole time: how good my married mouth feels, how I’m his now, how my hole’s probably dripping just thinking about what’s next.

Finally he grunted hard. Pulled out. Came all over my face, thick, warm ropes. First shot hit my cheek, then lips, forehead, nose, chin. Dripping down. I was shaking, moaning, eyes rolling. Never felt anything like it.

He tucked himself away, slapped my cum-covered face once more, got out, and went inside. Left me sitting there breathless, face painted, car smelling like sex.

I sat for a minute—maybe longer—too fucked up to move. Then drove home still wearing his load. Only wiped it off halfway when reality started creeping back in. Got home, everything normal. Wife still up. I slipped into bed before she finished whatever she was doing. Fell asleep tasting him, ass still tingling, brain replaying every word, every drop.

I’m not the same man I was two weeks ago. And I don’t know if I want to be.