joao23
Temp. Banned
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- Jan 2, 2026
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I was a self-made Black billionaire in my late 40s, the kind of man who built tech empires in silence while the world chased headlines. My skin was dark, my suits tailored in Milan, my bank accounts obscene. Jessica Biel entered my life like a storm of opportunity—at a high-profile charity gala in Los Angeles. She was radiant, like a goddess, prettiest tits i ever seen, her career solid but always one big role away from superstardom again.
I had the private islands, the yachts, the influence to keep her in the spotlight without the endless auditions. We moved fast: dates on my jet, weekends in Aspen, whispers of engagement. She said yes to the ring I was about to give her, but I always knew the truth. She loved the security, the doors I opened, the way my wealth erased any financial worry. Love? That was negotiable. And strangely, that detachment only fueled the dark fantasy I'd carried for years—the thrill of being the powerful outsider watching her crave something rawer, something I couldn't provide in the same way.
I'd sensed the cracks early. Her phone buzzing late at night, the way her eyes lit up at mentions of certain co-stars. I never confronted her. Instead, I fed it subtly—talking about "trust," "freedom," even joking about how Hollywood worked. When I learned she was seeing him again—Chris Evans, her old flame from back in the day, the relationship was kinda uncanny, i suspected, doens't looks like the typical friends relationships.
—but I didn't stop it. I orchestrated my own absence: a "critical business trip" to Dubai. But I never left. I stayed in the shadows of our sprawling Malibu mansion, hidden in the guest wing with its one-way mirrored wall overlooking the master bedroom. I'd installed discreet cameras long ago, just in case curiosity turned into compulsion. Tonight, the feed streamed live to my private screen.
Jessica thought I was gone. She'd invited him over—Chris, the all-American golden boy turned Captain America icon. Tall, blue-eyed, chiseled from endless training, that easy charisma that made women forget everything else. He was the Chad archetype: white, effortlessly dominant, nothing like me, short, ugly, too dark, big nose and doens't fits the beauty standarts, nah, Chris was the kind of man magazines crowned "sexiest alive" multiple times.
They entered the bedroom like they owned it. Jessica wore the sheer black negligee I'd gifted her, the one that hugged her athletic curves—those long legs, full breasts, the body she'd kept flawless for the camera. Chris pulled her close immediately, his hands possessive on her waist.
"God, I've missed this," he murmured, voice low and thick. She smiled up at him, that genuine spark I rarely saw directed at me. "Me too. He's away... we have all night."
They kissed deeply, her fingers threading through his hair as he backed her toward our bed—the same one where she'd accepted my proposal weeks earlier. Chris stripped her slowly, reverently, peeling the negligee away to reveal pale skin flushed with heat. Her bra fell, nipples hardening under his mouth as she gasped. "Chris... yes, just like that." My cock stirred in my pants, hardening as I watched her body respond—real desire, unscripted.
He dropped lower, tugging her panties down, exposing her smooth, already-wet pussy. "You're dripping for me," he said with a smirk. Jessica nodded, biting her lip. "I've been thinking about you non-stop. About how you used to make me come so hard." His tongue dove in, lapping at her clit, making her hips buck and moans spill freely. "Fuck... you're so good... better than anyone." The words sliced through me, but the pain twisted into fire. I unzipped quietly, stroking myself slowly, matching the rhythm of his mouth on her.
Chris stood, shedding his clothes to reveal that sculpted body—broad shoulders, defined abs, a thick cock that throbbed with need. Jessica's eyes darkened with hunger as she wrapped her hand around him, stroking firmly. "I need you inside me... now. Fill me up like you used to." He positioned himself, teasing her entrance before thrusting deep in one powerful stroke. She cried out, legs locking around his waist. "Yes! Harder, Chris... fuck me like you own me."
They moved with frantic passion—his hips slamming into hers, the bed shaking, her nails raking down his back. Jessica's moans echoed: "Oh god, you're so big... stretching me... I love it." She came hard, body convulsing, screaming his name as pleasure wrecked her.
His penis was much bigger and thicker than mine, which is sad because I'm black and this shouldn't happen to me, haha. If you know the BBC legend, yeah, that didn't apply to me. Chris followed, groaning as he buried himself deep and came inside her, his release spilling out when he finally pulled away.
I climaxed in the darkness, cum pulsing over my hand, body trembling with the sick ecstasy of witnessing it all. She was mine on paper—soon to be my wife, my fortune her safety net—but in that moment, she was his completely. The betrayal should have ended everything. Instead, it sealed my decision. I wiped clean, slipped away silently, and let the engagement proceed. Jessica would get the ring, the lifestyle, the security. I'd get the secret thrill of knowing she'd always crave him—or someone like him—while I watched from the shadows, stroking to her infidelity. In our world of illusions, this was the only honest part left. And I was already planning the next "trip."
I had the private islands, the yachts, the influence to keep her in the spotlight without the endless auditions. We moved fast: dates on my jet, weekends in Aspen, whispers of engagement. She said yes to the ring I was about to give her, but I always knew the truth. She loved the security, the doors I opened, the way my wealth erased any financial worry. Love? That was negotiable. And strangely, that detachment only fueled the dark fantasy I'd carried for years—the thrill of being the powerful outsider watching her crave something rawer, something I couldn't provide in the same way.
I'd sensed the cracks early. Her phone buzzing late at night, the way her eyes lit up at mentions of certain co-stars. I never confronted her. Instead, I fed it subtly—talking about "trust," "freedom," even joking about how Hollywood worked. When I learned she was seeing him again—Chris Evans, her old flame from back in the day, the relationship was kinda uncanny, i suspected, doens't looks like the typical friends relationships.
—but I didn't stop it. I orchestrated my own absence: a "critical business trip" to Dubai. But I never left. I stayed in the shadows of our sprawling Malibu mansion, hidden in the guest wing with its one-way mirrored wall overlooking the master bedroom. I'd installed discreet cameras long ago, just in case curiosity turned into compulsion. Tonight, the feed streamed live to my private screen.
Jessica thought I was gone. She'd invited him over—Chris, the all-American golden boy turned Captain America icon. Tall, blue-eyed, chiseled from endless training, that easy charisma that made women forget everything else. He was the Chad archetype: white, effortlessly dominant, nothing like me, short, ugly, too dark, big nose and doens't fits the beauty standarts, nah, Chris was the kind of man magazines crowned "sexiest alive" multiple times.
They entered the bedroom like they owned it. Jessica wore the sheer black negligee I'd gifted her, the one that hugged her athletic curves—those long legs, full breasts, the body she'd kept flawless for the camera. Chris pulled her close immediately, his hands possessive on her waist.
"God, I've missed this," he murmured, voice low and thick. She smiled up at him, that genuine spark I rarely saw directed at me. "Me too. He's away... we have all night."
They kissed deeply, her fingers threading through his hair as he backed her toward our bed—the same one where she'd accepted my proposal weeks earlier. Chris stripped her slowly, reverently, peeling the negligee away to reveal pale skin flushed with heat. Her bra fell, nipples hardening under his mouth as she gasped. "Chris... yes, just like that." My cock stirred in my pants, hardening as I watched her body respond—real desire, unscripted.
He dropped lower, tugging her panties down, exposing her smooth, already-wet pussy. "You're dripping for me," he said with a smirk. Jessica nodded, biting her lip. "I've been thinking about you non-stop. About how you used to make me come so hard." His tongue dove in, lapping at her clit, making her hips buck and moans spill freely. "Fuck... you're so good... better than anyone." The words sliced through me, but the pain twisted into fire. I unzipped quietly, stroking myself slowly, matching the rhythm of his mouth on her.
Chris stood, shedding his clothes to reveal that sculpted body—broad shoulders, defined abs, a thick cock that throbbed with need. Jessica's eyes darkened with hunger as she wrapped her hand around him, stroking firmly. "I need you inside me... now. Fill me up like you used to." He positioned himself, teasing her entrance before thrusting deep in one powerful stroke. She cried out, legs locking around his waist. "Yes! Harder, Chris... fuck me like you own me."
They moved with frantic passion—his hips slamming into hers, the bed shaking, her nails raking down his back. Jessica's moans echoed: "Oh god, you're so big... stretching me... I love it." She came hard, body convulsing, screaming his name as pleasure wrecked her.
His penis was much bigger and thicker than mine, which is sad because I'm black and this shouldn't happen to me, haha. If you know the BBC legend, yeah, that didn't apply to me. Chris followed, groaning as he buried himself deep and came inside her, his release spilling out when he finally pulled away.
I climaxed in the darkness, cum pulsing over my hand, body trembling with the sick ecstasy of witnessing it all. She was mine on paper—soon to be my wife, my fortune her safety net—but in that moment, she was his completely. The betrayal should have ended everything. Instead, it sealed my decision. I wiped clean, slipped away silently, and let the engagement proceed. Jessica would get the ring, the lifestyle, the security. I'd get the secret thrill of knowing she'd always crave him—or someone like him—while I watched from the shadows, stroking to her infidelity. In our world of illusions, this was the only honest part left. And I was already planning the next "trip."
