Derby Line Marriage

A group of young tourists wandered backstage at the Montreal International Jazz Festival performance. The technician rolled his eyes when he saw them. From the look of their designer jeans and hand stitched hemp backpacks, they were Ivy League brats. Benjamin was busy editing the clips from that morning's interview with the performers. He did not have time for self important canvassers.

The leader of the group took a pamphlet from his bag and offered it to Benjamin. "We have a website. The address is on the back," he boasted.

Benjamin glanced at the political material. The title read, "Unite Against Western Oppression". He cocked an eye and looked at the man who was a decade his junior. "Parlez vous francais, s'il vous plait."

The college students stuttered, "Unite, join, unity, fight, uh, resistance -"

Benjamin cut him short. "Don't worry, I know English. What made you think I want to take down the West? I'm a Westerner."

"But you're African-American."

"I'm American-American. My parents moved to New York City in the 70's shortly after Jean-Claude took control of their country. You have no idea what oppression is like."

"Africa is only unstable because of European colonialism."

"Try again."

"What?" By now the college student was looking very uncomfortable.

"My parents were born in Haiti." Benjamin smirked, "What school do you go to anyway?"

"Columbia."

"No wonder. Go make yourself useful by reading up on their expansion plan. I have work to do. Oh, and next time you go politicking outside the US, you might want to bother learning the local language."

Benjamin went back to editing his video. Once he had it perfected, he started the processing. Looking up from his laptop, he noticed a stagehand taping the wires to the stage floor.

Nice ass,

he thought to himself. Benjamin stretched and rubbed his muscular arms.

Yeah, I could tap that.

When the stagehand turned around, Benjamin admired his trim black beard, smooth white skin, and slender torso.

If he's not a bottom now, he will be by the end of the night.

He swaggered up to the stagehand, who glanced over Benjamin's body builder physic. "Hey babe, do you want some cock."

"Pardonnez-moi. Je ne parle pas anglais," the Montreal native replied.

Damn, I should of followed my own advice and learned a bit more French before coming here.

Undeterred, Benjamin grabbed his crotch and offered, "Pour vous. Bien?"

A lopsided grin formed on the stagehand's face. He turned away, shook his hips, and looked back at Benjamin. "Pour vous. Good?"

"Oui! Very good." Benjamin clasped the man's hips to pull him closer. Then he explored the man's stomach with his hands. The bearded fellow leaned his head back against Benjamin's broad shoulders. He pointed up to the lighting booth, and Benjamin understood the gesture. The two men climbed up the ladder to the booth where they could be alone together.

Once inside the booth, the stagehand wrapped his arms around Benjamin's neck. He parted his legs to allow Benjamin to press a thigh between them. Benjamin cupped his ass cheek and kneaded the glutes. The stagehand melted from the feeling of those strong hands. He tossed Benjamin's shirt onto the floor. His tongue traced the outline of Benjamin's chiseled chest. He moaned as Benjamin's thick finger slipped into his clothes and between his cheeks. "I want you naked," Benjamin whispered hoarsely.

The francophone looked up at Benjamin with his hands out to gesture confusion. Benjamin untucked the man's shirt while asking, "Bien?"

"Oui. Good," the man replied as the shirt flew across the room.

Next Benjamin unbuckled his babe's belt. "Bien?" he asked again.

"Oui," the man agreed as he stripped off the pants. Underwear, shoes and socks soon followed.

"Dance," Benjamin commanded. Again the stagehand gestured confusion. Benjamin searched his mind for the French translation. "Danse?" The stagehand hugged Benjamin and starts to rock back and forth. Benjamin sighed in frustration. "

Vous

dansez!" The stage hand grinned and stepped away from Benjamin. Facing the New York City stud, he stretched his hand up over his head and looked to the side. His hips undulated for Benjamin's viewing pleasure.

"Cul," Benjamin barked. The Montreal native obediently presented his ass and wiggled it. Benjamin pulled his thick black cock out of his fly. It pointed lewdly toward the swaying white ass. He spat on his bitch's hole. A meaty finger worked the natural lube into the tight ass. Two more fingers followed to prepare it for his rod. He pushed down on the stagehand's shoulder blades with his hands to bend the man over. Then he teased the back door with his purple helmet.

The willing bottom winced upon entry. Benjamin slid in slowly, knowing how difficult it is to take such a fat circumcised tool. He stopped halfway to give his babe time to adjust to his girth. Then he pulled out almost all of the way. The next thrust went in 6 inches. Again, Benjamin held it there for half a minute before pulling out most of the shaft. The third try brought him balls deep into the hot hole. The denim of his blue jeans pressed against the naked white skin of the other man. Benjamin rubbed the stagehand's back and tenderly rode his ass. Moans of delight encouraged him to pick up the pace. He built up to full throttle. The stagehand grinded his bum against Benjamin's pelvis. A string of French curse words filled the air. Benjamin laughed to himself, "Yeah, you like that, don't you, mon chiot?"

"Oui," the man squealed weakly. "Je suis votre chiot."

"Ce qui?"

"Je suis votre chiot," the man whined more loudly.

Benjamin smacked the stagehand's ass. "Ce qui?"

"Je suis votre chiot!" he screams as the bull cock pounded him like a jack hammer.

"That's right," Benjamin snarled. "You

are

my little bitch. Ce qui vous desirez?"

"Vous."

"Bien."

"Je desire que vous et votre sperme," the stagehand pleaded.

"My spreme? Well I think I can deliver that." Benjamin pounded that man hole mercilessly. The sensation of a massive knob against his prostate pushed the stagehand over the edge. Jizz shot from his dick onto the floor. Benjamin kept on thrusting. The stage hand reached back to brush Benjamin's six pack. Without warning the bull deposited a think load right up his bitch's tail.

Benjamin glanced out the window of the lighting booth and noticed an Irish looking man next to a hot dog stand staring up at him. The hot dog vender snapped at the stunned fellow.

Hmm,

thought Benjamin,

Good thing I have plenty to share.