Clinton

Still, he was so excited at humiliating a white half and half that Clinton was unable to endure the call girl's attentions for long, and, within a few minutes of her expert oral service, he felt the irresistible surge of orgasm flash through him like a flood or a wildfire, and, his massive manhood quivering and lurching, straining and convulsing, inside the warm-soft-wetness of Tiffany's mouth, he was delirious with bliss as load after thick, warm, salty stream of semen launched itself from his balls, erupting over the whore's teeth, tongue, and palate.

Involuntarily, Tiffany swallowed frantically, as the spills of sperm continued to come in volley after volley.

Clinton recovered his wits long enough to yank his cock from her mouth and spray her face with the last blasts of his thick, warm, white semen, and he took delight in the sight of his viscid seed coating the pink flesh of the shemale's Caucasian countenance. Like a brand, the semen marked the white bitch as one who had been possessed by a powerful, virile Black man, demonstrating, once again, to Clinton's mind, his dominance, his superiority, and his mastery.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, my dear," he said, without a trace of the ghetto accent he'd affected earlier.

He left her kneeling in his sperm and, without another word, he dressed in his thirteen-hundred-dollar Armani suit, put on his fifteen-hundred-dollar Testoni Norvegese shoes, opened the door to her penthouse suite, sallied into the hallway, and rode the elevator down to the street, where, a half block away, his limousine awaited him, ready to whisk him away to the airport where he'd catch his flight to the west coast to confer, tomorrow, with the white owner of a multi-billion-dollar computer software corporation from which he'd try to beg a million-dollar crumb for his own business, Black Enterprises.

The memory of his cock up the honky shemale bitch's ass and down her throat and of his Black man's semen all over her pink face would sustain him during the ordeal in which, despite his expensive, tailored clothes and his own not inconsiderable bank account, he'd feel diminished and inadequate, if not altogether impotent.