My hands are shaking as I drive out to his trailer on the county line.

Breathing deeply, telling my inner Casey what a foolish thing I'm doing, but not heeding my own advice. Taking one last deep breath and walking unsteadily to his porch and knocking on his door. Even softly, it rattles in the frame.

No response.

Harder now, until I hear the sounds of him moving, shuffling towards me. The door cracks open, then slams shut.

"Who is it?"

We play the game, even after all this time.

"Sam, it's me, Casey."

Silence, as if he's processing this, but I know better. Tom Petty sings in my head:

"The wa-a-aiting is the hardest part."

Finally, "Kelly? That you?"

I sigh. "Yeah, Sam." He almost never calls me by my correct name; he told me once he thought it was a silly name, so I answer to Kelly or Callie or whatever he decides on.

"Why you still got your clothes on?"

Now I smile. It's degrading, but I know what it means. At this stage, he knows I'll do anything. This isn't my first time undressing on his front porch.

I step out of my shorts, checking the road for traffic. Then my panties. I wear them when I come out here, even though Sam would tear them off me if I wore them inside.

They're for later.

My top comes off next, then my sneaks. Sometimes I leave them on, but not today.

Still no cars. Good. I begin to relax just a little as I knock again.

"Give me a minute."

It's ten minutes, at least. Three cars pass by, but no horns honk, nobody howls at the naked teenager on this rickety porch. I knock again.

"Come on in."

Inside, it's gloomy-dark, broken only by the glow of the TV. "Let's Make a Deal" is on. (How appropriate!) People shriek and jump up and down on the screen, just to my left. Sam is straight ahead in his recliner, his feet up. His friend Franklin is there on the sofa, as always. He acknowledges me; Sam is focused on the TV. Again, I question myself again, but I need this. It's been seven months and I'm out of my mind for Sam.

I pull the door closed and move to him. Run my hands up the legs of his rumpled work pants. I can already see the bulge, but I don't touch it until he looks at me.

"Where ya been, girl?"

There is almost a smile behind those scowling eyes. I reach for his zipper.

"I told you…" I speak softly, slowly, as I dig for him, "…I was going to North Carolina. Remember?"

He dismisses this with a snort, as if he's pissed I had to go off to college, but I see his eyes soften slightly as I pull his semi-hard dick out of his pants. Franklin is babbling on about something – the TV show, the weather, me – but I'm not listening.

Sam's dick is my world right now. It's magnificent, growing inside the grasp of my hands. He's still the biggest man I've ever seen. I feel a million butterflies take flight in my stomach as I feel it harden.

Sam doesn't look at me as I lean over. I want it in my mouth again, but I'm straddling the footrest of his recliner; his feet. I duck under quickly, popping up like a hungry prairie dog between his legs. I feel giddy. Taking the head in my mouth, I stroke one tiny hand up and down its length. The excess skin moves between my lips, bunching and retreating. I taste him; his funk. I don't care.

Sam allows me to lick my way around his shaft, up and down over the head, working my head like a porn actress in a cheap video. He doesn't hold my head, doesn't even acknowledge me, but his dick responds. It flexes and throbs as I make love to it. I want it inside me so badly!

Sam knows this. First, he has other plans. "How about my friend?" he asks, nodding at Franklin, who has been watching me work it. "Ain'tcha gonna do anything for him?"

I know what he wants, so I crawl back under and move over to Franklin. His dick is already out, expecting my mouth or my pussy. I go to my knees and swallow it in one smooth motion. Franklin's hands go to my head, but he doesn't press me. I'm allowed my own rhythm; he just rides along, enjoying my attention until he spews his old seed into the back of my throat.

Back to Sam. This time he's more into me. His strong hands force my face downward, then pull it back up. Sam likes to face-fuck me. I concentrate on my breathing as he hammers me onto him. This goes on for a few minutes. Tears are streaming down my face; my throat is getting raw.

"I called some friends," he says. "You know what to do."

When he releases me I hurry down the hallway to his bedroom. The bed is a mess. I pull it together quickly, straightening the rumpled sheets that smell of him. When he comes in the door his pants are off, his big dick swinging before him like a battering ram. My breath catches in my throat.

"Get on the bed."

I do, on all fours. Then I wait. Sam is behind me, but I know better than to hurry him. Sometimes he likes to rub his dick up and down my slit, other times he fingers me to make sure I'm ready. There can't be much doubt of that; I can feel my own wetness on my inner thighs. The air smells of sex, already. I can still taste Franklin on my tongue.

When Sam enters me I gasp. It's been a while; I'm not really used to the sheer girth of him, but I'm ready in my head. I push back slightly, my pussy craving more of him. All of him.

Within minutes he's stroking almost all the way in, hitting my cervix as he holds my thin hips still. It's painful, but it's worth it. I'm crying now, emotionally somewhere between humiliation and overwhelming ecstasy. Getting fucked by Sam is a life-changing experience, one I want to relive over and over.

After close to half an hour, I'm spent. Countless orgasms have me collapsed onto my belly, like a ragdoll under his ceaseless assault. He's close. I can tell by the way his motions are losing their rhythm and by the thickness inside me; the way it swells. I cry out, begging for his cum, and he gives it to me. So much it seems not to end.

His hips jerk and buck. His hands slide from my waist to up under me, cupping my breasts, and he drops onto my back. Gasping. His chest heaving. Sweating.

When he gets off me he kisses my back, between my shoulder blades. I relish the touch of his lips as I hear voices for the first time in a half hour. Sam laughs, then calls me.

"Kelly, get out here."

There are two more black men standing by the door. One older, one middle-aged. Sam introduces the older man as Earl, the younger as his son. He tells them to sit down, then orders me to do the same. There is no room on the sofa, so I take Earl's lap. I can feel his hardness already.

Within a minute Earl is kissing me, his tongue deep in my mouth. A soul kiss; letting me know what I'm there for. I slip off his lap and reach for his dick. I don't look into either of their eyes. His dick is about the size of Franklin's, his son's the same. Like father, like son, I guess. They share me, and within a couple of minutes his son explodes in my mouth.

Earl leads me into the bedroom, with his son behind. On my back, I wait for the father to show the son how to fuck a white girl. My pussy is still leaking Sam.

Earl takes his time. His son is hard again and uses my mouth. After Earl, he takes his turn between my legs and does a nice job of emulating his dad's rhythm. My pussy gets its third load.

I'm pouring cum by now, but Sam is horny again. Back up on my knees, my ass up in the air and my head on the mattress. This time Sam takes me hard from the start; I cry out as his balls smack my cunt, and try to stay on my knees. His pillow muffles my shrieks of pleasure, my cries of pain.

Stamina.

Sam is a block-layer, a strong man who works with his hands in the heat of Florida summers. He is fitter than me, by far. By the time he finishes, I'm almost catatonic. I couldn't form a complete sentence, even if I had any voice left. They leave me, a lump of skin and sweat.

I have to pee, maddenly so. It's a trial to raise myself, but I make the bathroom. I can hear them out there, talking loudly and laughing. Men who have bonded over me, now satisfied.

When I tell Sam I'm going, no one even looks at me. As I open the door, though, I hear Sam's voice.

"Be back here tomorrow." There is no question mark.

Struggling into my panties, I hear a vehicle stop out on the road. Someone in a pickup truck watches me get dressed, then make my way on shaky legs to my car, before moving on. This walk of shame is almost more than I can manage, but I know I'll be back.

Tomorrow.

My panties are swollen with cum by the time I get home. I remove them, tuck them into a plastic sandwich bag and drop them in the trash; then think better of it and slip them into my suitcase.

Memories.