The door clicked shut behind me. I was alone in the player’s office with Marcus and Brad. My heart pounded, but not from fear.

“Look at those lips,” Marcus said, tracing a thick finger along my mouth. “Brown and so soft. Like ripe plums from a market back home.” His black skin gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

“Bet her pussy matches,” Brad added, blue eyes fixed on my exposed feet. “Toes painted red. Fucking exotic, man.”

Tyrell and James entered. Nickels locked the door.

My pussy throbbed. I should have said no, but my body screamed yes.

They hoisted me onto the desk, spreading my thighs. “Tiny Pakistani pussy,” snickered big Brad, peeling off my panties. “Ready for American dick.”

His cock—thick and white—slammed into my cunt. Pain and pleasure fused. Two sets of hands slid up my blouse, squeezing my tits. Another set pulled off my heels, taking one foot each and massaging my toes.

“Your cheeks are like caramel, man,” James whispered into my ear, breathing hot. “Plump and sweet.”

I moaned as Marcus replaced Brad, his black cock filling me deeper. Brad walked around to my face, slapping his rod against my lips.

“Wrap those brown taco-makers around it.”

I gagged, spit drooling, as they fucked both holes for an hour. One named Lenny tied my wrists above my head with filament. The helplessness only spurned Henry, sliding raw fingers up the crack of my star-fished out ass