Deacons Choir Boiz
- 3 years ago
- 24
- 0
Dancer Boiz For Thugs free porn video
-You up Trayjon?
-Who dis???
-Danzkins
-How I know you???
-Call me.
-Gimme 10.
A half hour later, the phone rang. ‘Niggas,’ thought Dicey Adams. “Hey, Trayjon!”
“Sup. Who is dis,” the baritone voice inquired.
“My name is Dicey. We met last year at that Mexican restaurant.”
“Okay?”
“You don’t remember me. I’m caramel skinned. About five-nine. Bubble butt. Did the splits.”
“Oh, sheeeeeit! Hold up a minit!”
“Okay.”
Trayjon Everett walked away from the front door and down the sidewalk. “You still dere?”
“Yes, sir!”
“You dat cute muthafuckin’ faggit ain’t you?”
“Yes, sir! I am!”
“Tell me where I fucked you.”
“In my ass.”
“Naw, nigga! I mean name da place, yo!”
“Oh...My bad. It was at the Hotel Lebleu by the airport the first night. Then, the next afternoon we posted up at Buzzard Roost Inn.”
“Hell yeah! Da fuck you been?”
“I’ve been traveling with work.”
“I been tryna get at you. I want you to do dem splits again.”
“I’m in town!”
“Wheah?”
“Downtown. Grand Mountain.”
“Lemme see how much Uber gon’ be.”
“Call me back.”
“Answer yo’ phone!”
“Yes, sir!”
Eleven minutes later, Dicey’s phone rang again. “Hey!”
“Yeah! My homeboy gon’ bring me through. He wanna get sum too.”
“I just wanted you. Nevermind.”
“Naw, sexy! He wanna know if you ain’t got no friend for him.”
“Probably. Can you give me a few?”
“Yeah! Hurry.”
“How does he look?”
“I own’t really no. I ain’t into no dudes.”
“How tall is he? Weight? Skin tone?”
“I’ma put you on speaker. Ask him.”
“Hi there,” Dicey said.
“Sup!”
“What do you look like?”
“I ain’t no ugly nigga. Feel me.”
“Description please.”
“Five-ten. Bout a buck sixty. Dark.”
“Cool. Let me check with my friend.”
“How dat muthafucka look?”
“He’s got big eyes. Brown skinned. Little shorter than you.”
“And dat ass?”
“It’s a bubble.”
“He like real niggas.”
“Yeah! Let me call him.”
Dicey placed a call to his fellow dance troupe member.
“Hey, Dicey! What’s up?”
“Hey, bish! You feel like some company?”
“Like how.”
“I hit up a guy I know in town. He’s catching a ride. The dude driving was hoping I had a friend he could chill with.”
“Is he cute.”
“Gurl, he sound thug as hell on the phone. Said he’s 5’10” and 160. Dark.”
“You owe me. When are they coming?”
“Soon. Get ready.”
“Okay!”
“Yeah,” Trayjon answered.
“My friend is good to go,” Dicey shared.
“Be dere in 15. What room?”
“406.”
The white 2006 Mercury Grand Marquis pulled into the parking lot. The driver, Jet, crept around searching for a spot.
The two men entered the hotel and got on the elevator. They knocked on the door and waited.
Dicey opened up. “Come in! This is Wren.”
Jet and Tray studied both dancers.
Wren was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top. His cute ass was protruding and he hair was cut in a tapered fade with the top sloping upward slightly from front to back. He had on lip gloss.
Dicey sported his signature all-around waves hairstyle. He was dressed in hot shorts. His heart shaped mouth was outlined across the top with the thinnest of moustaches. Dicey’s bubble ass looked supple and ready.
“Y’all good,” checked Trayjon.
“Are we,” Dicey looked Wren.
“Yeah,” Wren puckered his lips.
“You got yo’ own room, Wren,” asked Jet.
“Sure! Follow me,” Wren replied.
They went back to the elevator and up to the fifth floor.
“You pretty,” Jet remarked.
“Thank you. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Jet!”
“Good to meet you!”
“Can you take dick?”
“Yes, sweetie!”
“We gon’ see!”
“You fucked a boi before?”
“Yeah!”
“How long ago?”
“Been a minit. I got you doe!”
Downstairs, Dicey was orally pleasing the five-foot-seven dude’s 9-inch dick. The graceful being worked his head methodically delivering great satisfaction to the man with dreads.
“Ah, shit,” bellowed Tray. “Suck dis dick, faggit! I wanna nut on dem pretty lips foe i fuck you!”
Dicey licked and slobbered. He spat and sucked. He slurped and jacked the tool.
“Dammit, boi,” Tray opined.
“You like that?”
“Hell yeah, bitch! I been tryna get back wit’ you!”
“Here I am, Daddy!”
“Put dat dick back in dat wet mouf!”
Dicey did as told.
Trayjon pushed the punk’s head back and shot a load on the dancer’s face. “Arrrrrrghhhhhh,” the fit, compact guy groaned.
Wren and Jet were doing their thing.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAPPPP!
Jet smacked the bare ass cheeks as Wren sucked his dick. “Dat mouf good as fuck!”
“I’m glad you like it!”
“Hell yeah! Hope you can take dick in dat ass too!”
“I can, daddy!”
“Get on da bed den!”
Wren switched across the room.
“Look at dat ass,” Jet approved. “Pretty like a bitch!”
“Thank you, sweetie!”
“I’ma hafta fuck you like you was a girl!”
“Please do, baby!”
Jet pushed Wren face down and entered. “Awwwww, bitch!”
“Owwwwww, nigga,” winced Wren.
“Take dis long dick, fag!”
“It’s so big!”
“Yeah! Ten inches, faggit!”
“Oh, Jet!”
Dicey and Trayjon were going at it too. Dicey’s ass was hanging off the edge of the bed. He legs were spread apart. Tray hammered.
“You like when I do the splits, nigga,” DIcey purred seductively.
“Hell yeah, bitch!”
“Fuck me with that big dick then!”
“I’m fuckin’ you wit dis long dick, faggit!”
“Ooh, baby!”
“Twerk dat ass on dis dick!”
“Yes, sir!”
“My dick jumped as soon as I figured out it was yo’ faggit ass on da phone, bitch!”
“You missed my boipussy?”
“Yeah, sissy! You like me usin’ yo ass!”
“Yes I do! Give it to me!”
“I’ma pee on you after I nut. Den I’ma fuck you sum mo!”
“Yes, sir! I’m all yours, nigga! Fuck me how you like!”
Tray wrapped his hands around Dicey’s neck. “Hell yeah, punk muthafucka!”
Upstairs, Jet plowed Wren in doggystyle. He had taken a pillow case off and used it as a harness around Wren’s willowy chest. “I like fuckin’ yo faggit ass, nigga!”
“I’m your little faggot,” confirmed Wren.
“Dat’s right, bitch! You my faggit!”
“Yes, sir! Fuck me, Jet!”
“Got-damn! Yo’ pussy gettin’ wet!”
“You like how I cream on your dick?”
“Yeah, gurl! Take dis nigga dick!”
“Oh! Oh! Ohhhhh!”
“You wet as fuck yo!”
“Yeah, nigga! Fuck me!”
“You gon’ be my baby momma!”
Jet flipped Wren onto his back.
Meanwhile, Trayjon and Dicey were standing up in the bathroom doorway. The pussyboi was in a vertical split. Tray was hammering hard.
“Dammit, faggit! You da muthafuckin’ bes’,” admitted Tray.
“Better than your girlfriend,” teased Dicey.
“Fuck yeah! I got rid uh dat bitch! Yo’ punk ass turned me out!”
“Who else you been fucking?”
“Nobody, bitch! Take dis dick!”
“You ain’t fucked no other boi?”
“Naw! Been tryna get you! Fuck!!!!!”
“Oh, Tray!”
“I’ma nut!”
Trayjon unloaded his baby batter in the fuck slut. “Get in da tub!” He pissed all over the well-fucked bitch bottom.
Jet thrust all of his weight into Wren’s delicate, yearning body. “Oh dat hole open!”
“Yes, sir! Fuck me!”
Pffffffft. Wren’s asspussy queefed.
“Shit, faggit! Yo’ pussy talkin’ to a nigga too,” grinned Jet.
“Yes, daddy!”
“You gon’ have my babies?”
“Yes, Jet. I’ll be your baby momma!”
“Ohhhhhhhhh!”
Jet erupted in Wren and collapsed. “Fuck, boi,” he gasped.
Dicey had sucked Trayjon back to full mast.
Trayjon was a stout, strong bastard. He had Dicey’s legs wrapped around his waist while he gripped the vixen’s buttocks. Dicey bounced up and down.
“Oh, Tray! Fuck my boipussy!”
“Yeah, faggit! You a bad bitch!”
“It feels so good,” Dicey screamed.
“Do it, faggit? Do it?”
“Yes, sir!”
“You my muthafuckin’ cum slut!”
“Oh yes god!”
Trayjon struck Dicey’s face with an open palm.
“Aah,” whined the bottom.
“Shut up, fag! I’m bein’ gentle!”
“Yes, sir!”
“You disappear again and I'ma hunt you down!”
“Oh, Tray!”
“I’m fah real, bitch! You mine!”
“Yes, daddy!”
“You cain’t jus’ give me dis good boipussy and take it away no mo!”
“I won’t!”
“Bettah not,” he smacked the dancer once more.
Trayjon walked to the bed still fucking Dicey. He put the slut down. He bent back Dicey’s flexible legs. They were now behind the short, wavy haircut. Trayjon pounded. “Oh, fuck!”
“Yes, daddy! I’m yours,” Dicey regaled.
“Take dis dick!”
Jet and Wren were back at it. Wren was on the edge of the bed. Jet positioned himself between the boi’s legs and lifted the dancer’s hips and thighs for penetration. Wren used his elbows for balance and support.
“Fuckin’ A,” yelled Jet.
“Yes, nigga! Take my boipussy!”
“Creamy ass pussy, bitch!”
“Oh god!”
“You got da best fag pussy!”
The dread head, Trayjon, was now fucking Dicey while they spooned on their sides. Dicey was into a ball with his knees drawn up to his chest. Trayjon plowed him from behind.
“I feel like I might gay marry you, boo!”
“What,” Dicey asked.
“I think I love you,” Tray said before kissing Dicey’s neck.
“Stop playing, nigga!”
“I”m fah real! You let a nigga piss on you. Nut in you too!”
“Ohh, daddy!”
“And you just be takin’ mah dick!”
“Oh, nigga! I love you too!”
“Hell yeah! Yo’ shit hard as fuck too I see,” Tray remarked as his left hand felt Dicey’s hard 8-inch tool.
“I’m sorry!”
“You good, faggit! I like how get excited.”
Dicey squirmed. “Fuck me!”
Trayjon started stroking the faggot stick. “You gon’ cum, bitch?”
“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!”
“Skeet foe yo’ daddy, hoe!”
“Ohhhhhh!”
“Let it out, pussy boi!”
“Traaaayyyyyyyy!”
Dicey came.
Trayjon felt the contractions of the boi’s anus and it made him nut too.
“Be my boi-wife, faggit,” Trayjon whispered as they lay there almost lifeless.
-Who dis???
-Danzkins
-How I know you???
-Call me.
-Gimme 10.
A half hour later, the phone rang. ‘Niggas,’ thought Dicey Adams. “Hey, Trayjon!”
“Sup. Who is dis,” the baritone voice inquired.
“My name is Dicey. We met last year at that Mexican restaurant.”
“Okay?”
“You don’t remember me. I’m caramel skinned. About five-nine. Bubble butt. Did the splits.”
“Oh, sheeeeeit! Hold up a minit!”
“Okay.”
Trayjon Everett walked away from the front door and down the sidewalk. “You still dere?”
“Yes, sir!”
“You dat cute muthafuckin’ faggit ain’t you?”
“Yes, sir! I am!”
“Tell me where I fucked you.”
“In my ass.”
“Naw, nigga! I mean name da place, yo!”
“Oh...My bad. It was at the Hotel Lebleu by the airport the first night. Then, the next afternoon we posted up at Buzzard Roost Inn.”
“Hell yeah! Da fuck you been?”
“I’ve been traveling with work.”
“I been tryna get at you. I want you to do dem splits again.”
“I’m in town!”
“Wheah?”
“Downtown. Grand Mountain.”
“Lemme see how much Uber gon’ be.”
“Call me back.”
“Answer yo’ phone!”
“Yes, sir!”
Eleven minutes later, Dicey’s phone rang again. “Hey!”
“Yeah! My homeboy gon’ bring me through. He wanna get sum too.”
“I just wanted you. Nevermind.”
“Naw, sexy! He wanna know if you ain’t got no friend for him.”
“Probably. Can you give me a few?”
“Yeah! Hurry.”
“How does he look?”
“I own’t really no. I ain’t into no dudes.”
“How tall is he? Weight? Skin tone?”
“I’ma put you on speaker. Ask him.”
“Hi there,” Dicey said.
“Sup!”
“What do you look like?”
“I ain’t no ugly nigga. Feel me.”
“Description please.”
“Five-ten. Bout a buck sixty. Dark.”
“Cool. Let me check with my friend.”
“How dat muthafucka look?”
“He’s got big eyes. Brown skinned. Little shorter than you.”
“And dat ass?”
“It’s a bubble.”
“He like real niggas.”
“Yeah! Let me call him.”
Dicey placed a call to his fellow dance troupe member.
“Hey, Dicey! What’s up?”
“Hey, bish! You feel like some company?”
“Like how.”
“I hit up a guy I know in town. He’s catching a ride. The dude driving was hoping I had a friend he could chill with.”
“Is he cute.”
“Gurl, he sound thug as hell on the phone. Said he’s 5’10” and 160. Dark.”
“You owe me. When are they coming?”
“Soon. Get ready.”
“Okay!”
“Yeah,” Trayjon answered.
“My friend is good to go,” Dicey shared.
“Be dere in 15. What room?”
“406.”
The white 2006 Mercury Grand Marquis pulled into the parking lot. The driver, Jet, crept around searching for a spot.
The two men entered the hotel and got on the elevator. They knocked on the door and waited.
Dicey opened up. “Come in! This is Wren.”
Jet and Tray studied both dancers.
Wren was wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top. His cute ass was protruding and he hair was cut in a tapered fade with the top sloping upward slightly from front to back. He had on lip gloss.
Dicey sported his signature all-around waves hairstyle. He was dressed in hot shorts. His heart shaped mouth was outlined across the top with the thinnest of moustaches. Dicey’s bubble ass looked supple and ready.
“Y’all good,” checked Trayjon.
“Are we,” Dicey looked Wren.
“Yeah,” Wren puckered his lips.
“You got yo’ own room, Wren,” asked Jet.
“Sure! Follow me,” Wren replied.
They went back to the elevator and up to the fifth floor.
“You pretty,” Jet remarked.
“Thank you. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Jet!”
“Good to meet you!”
“Can you take dick?”
“Yes, sweetie!”
“We gon’ see!”
“You fucked a boi before?”
“Yeah!”
“How long ago?”
“Been a minit. I got you doe!”
Downstairs, Dicey was orally pleasing the five-foot-seven dude’s 9-inch dick. The graceful being worked his head methodically delivering great satisfaction to the man with dreads.
“Ah, shit,” bellowed Tray. “Suck dis dick, faggit! I wanna nut on dem pretty lips foe i fuck you!”
Dicey licked and slobbered. He spat and sucked. He slurped and jacked the tool.
“Dammit, boi,” Tray opined.
“You like that?”
“Hell yeah, bitch! I been tryna get back wit’ you!”
“Here I am, Daddy!”
“Put dat dick back in dat wet mouf!”
Dicey did as told.
Trayjon pushed the punk’s head back and shot a load on the dancer’s face. “Arrrrrrghhhhhh,” the fit, compact guy groaned.
Wren and Jet were doing their thing.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAPPPP!
Jet smacked the bare ass cheeks as Wren sucked his dick. “Dat mouf good as fuck!”
“I’m glad you like it!”
“Hell yeah! Hope you can take dick in dat ass too!”
“I can, daddy!”
“Get on da bed den!”
Wren switched across the room.
“Look at dat ass,” Jet approved. “Pretty like a bitch!”
“Thank you, sweetie!”
“I’ma hafta fuck you like you was a girl!”
“Please do, baby!”
Jet pushed Wren face down and entered. “Awwwww, bitch!”
“Owwwwww, nigga,” winced Wren.
“Take dis long dick, fag!”
“It’s so big!”
“Yeah! Ten inches, faggit!”
“Oh, Jet!”
Dicey and Trayjon were going at it too. Dicey’s ass was hanging off the edge of the bed. He legs were spread apart. Tray hammered.
“You like when I do the splits, nigga,” DIcey purred seductively.
“Hell yeah, bitch!”
“Fuck me with that big dick then!”
“I’m fuckin’ you wit dis long dick, faggit!”
“Ooh, baby!”
“Twerk dat ass on dis dick!”
“Yes, sir!”
“My dick jumped as soon as I figured out it was yo’ faggit ass on da phone, bitch!”
“You missed my boipussy?”
“Yeah, sissy! You like me usin’ yo ass!”
“Yes I do! Give it to me!”
“I’ma pee on you after I nut. Den I’ma fuck you sum mo!”
“Yes, sir! I’m all yours, nigga! Fuck me how you like!”
Tray wrapped his hands around Dicey’s neck. “Hell yeah, punk muthafucka!”
Upstairs, Jet plowed Wren in doggystyle. He had taken a pillow case off and used it as a harness around Wren’s willowy chest. “I like fuckin’ yo faggit ass, nigga!”
“I’m your little faggot,” confirmed Wren.
“Dat’s right, bitch! You my faggit!”
“Yes, sir! Fuck me, Jet!”
“Got-damn! Yo’ pussy gettin’ wet!”
“You like how I cream on your dick?”
“Yeah, gurl! Take dis nigga dick!”
“Oh! Oh! Ohhhhh!”
“You wet as fuck yo!”
“Yeah, nigga! Fuck me!”
“You gon’ be my baby momma!”
Jet flipped Wren onto his back.
Meanwhile, Trayjon and Dicey were standing up in the bathroom doorway. The pussyboi was in a vertical split. Tray was hammering hard.
“Dammit, faggit! You da muthafuckin’ bes’,” admitted Tray.
“Better than your girlfriend,” teased Dicey.
“Fuck yeah! I got rid uh dat bitch! Yo’ punk ass turned me out!”
“Who else you been fucking?”
“Nobody, bitch! Take dis dick!”
“You ain’t fucked no other boi?”
“Naw! Been tryna get you! Fuck!!!!!”
“Oh, Tray!”
“I’ma nut!”
Trayjon unloaded his baby batter in the fuck slut. “Get in da tub!” He pissed all over the well-fucked bitch bottom.
Jet thrust all of his weight into Wren’s delicate, yearning body. “Oh dat hole open!”
“Yes, sir! Fuck me!”
Pffffffft. Wren’s asspussy queefed.
“Shit, faggit! Yo’ pussy talkin’ to a nigga too,” grinned Jet.
“Yes, daddy!”
“You gon’ have my babies?”
“Yes, Jet. I’ll be your baby momma!”
“Ohhhhhhhhh!”
Jet erupted in Wren and collapsed. “Fuck, boi,” he gasped.
Dicey had sucked Trayjon back to full mast.
Trayjon was a stout, strong bastard. He had Dicey’s legs wrapped around his waist while he gripped the vixen’s buttocks. Dicey bounced up and down.
“Oh, Tray! Fuck my boipussy!”
“Yeah, faggit! You a bad bitch!”
“It feels so good,” Dicey screamed.
“Do it, faggit? Do it?”
“Yes, sir!”
“You my muthafuckin’ cum slut!”
“Oh yes god!”
Trayjon struck Dicey’s face with an open palm.
“Aah,” whined the bottom.
“Shut up, fag! I’m bein’ gentle!”
“Yes, sir!”
“You disappear again and I'ma hunt you down!”
“Oh, Tray!”
“I’m fah real, bitch! You mine!”
“Yes, daddy!”
“You cain’t jus’ give me dis good boipussy and take it away no mo!”
“I won’t!”
“Bettah not,” he smacked the dancer once more.
Trayjon walked to the bed still fucking Dicey. He put the slut down. He bent back Dicey’s flexible legs. They were now behind the short, wavy haircut. Trayjon pounded. “Oh, fuck!”
“Yes, daddy! I’m yours,” Dicey regaled.
“Take dis dick!”
Jet and Wren were back at it. Wren was on the edge of the bed. Jet positioned himself between the boi’s legs and lifted the dancer’s hips and thighs for penetration. Wren used his elbows for balance and support.
“Fuckin’ A,” yelled Jet.
“Yes, nigga! Take my boipussy!”
“Creamy ass pussy, bitch!”
“Oh god!”
“You got da best fag pussy!”
The dread head, Trayjon, was now fucking Dicey while they spooned on their sides. Dicey was into a ball with his knees drawn up to his chest. Trayjon plowed him from behind.
“I feel like I might gay marry you, boo!”
“What,” Dicey asked.
“I think I love you,” Tray said before kissing Dicey’s neck.
“Stop playing, nigga!”
“I”m fah real! You let a nigga piss on you. Nut in you too!”
“Ohh, daddy!”
“And you just be takin’ mah dick!”
“Oh, nigga! I love you too!”
“Hell yeah! Yo’ shit hard as fuck too I see,” Tray remarked as his left hand felt Dicey’s hard 8-inch tool.
“I’m sorry!”
“You good, faggit! I like how get excited.”
Dicey squirmed. “Fuck me!”
Trayjon started stroking the faggot stick. “You gon’ cum, bitch?”
“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!”
“Skeet foe yo’ daddy, hoe!”
“Ohhhhhh!”
“Let it out, pussy boi!”
“Traaaayyyyyyyy!”
Dicey came.
Trayjon felt the contractions of the boi’s anus and it made him nut too.
“Be my boi-wife, faggit,” Trayjon whispered as they lay there almost lifeless.
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