Arab sucks a BBC

An underground parking lot, a box bathed in a flickering light bulb. The air reeks of oil and sweat. The active, a black soldier built like a colossus, is perched on a rusty metal stepladder, legs spread. His half-open fatigues reveal his monster: an enormous cock, as thick as a can, veined, shiny black, 25 cm of raw power. The head, wide and smooth, shines, his massive balls hang heavily, ready to explode. The "Artillery," as the initiated call it. Cocksucker steps through the rusty door, his wet lips quivering. He kneels on the oily concrete, facing the stepladder. His hands grasp the member, too large for a single grasp. He licks the prominent veins, tickles the head, savors a salty drop. Then he attacks, lips parted, engulfing the tip. His throat protests, but he forces it, swallowing deeper. The top is really enjoying it. Each suck draws a hoarse groan from him, his abs clenching with pleasure. "Fuck, you're so good," he growls, his voice trembling with ecstasy. Cocksucker's mouth is a burning sheath, his tongue dancing over the veins, alternating between deep throating and swirling around the head. Cocksucker drools, his eyes watery but defiant, saliva dripping onto the dirty floor. He speeds up, his hands kneading the heavy balls, feeling their pulsing heat. The top, in a trance, grips the back of Cocksucker's neck, fucking his mouth with small strokes. The stepladder creaks, the stall resonates with wet noises. The tension rises. The top pants, his muscles tense. "I'm going to come," he grunts. Cocksucker redoubles his efforts, his throat swallowing to the hilt. The Artillery explodes: a thick, hot jet spurts deep into his mouth, then another, overflowing onto his lips. Cocksucker swallows what he can, the cum running down his chin, splattering the concrete. The top, breathless, savors the view, his pleasure increased tenfold by the pro's performance.