Maybe she’s still on East Coast time. He’d have to wait another hour.“Mister Chili!”The loud voice broke his reverie. He looked up to see a la...ge black man in a bellman’s uniform standing before him.“Uh, yes, I’m Chili,” he mumbled.“This is for you, Sir.” He handed him a letter-sized envelope.“Oh, uh, thank you,” he said. He took out his wallet.“No need, Sir. It’s taken care of,” the bellman said, and he walked away.Chili looked at the envelope. It was the official stationery of the Peabody. There was approximately a 18 x 18 foot mud pit, with bales of hay around it on all sides. I had expected the mud to be a deep brown color, which might obscure our bodies for a little while. Instead, it was a watery, light yellow-brown shade, which wasn't going to hide much. Inside the pit, right next to the bales, there were round burlap bales the kind used to prevent erosion on unplanted slopes. Sheets of Visqueen apparently lined the bottom of the pit, and the round burlap held the Visqueen. Thankfully, I didn’t mind because I was well-used to Bull, my other lover in the town who always ‘abused’ my manhole when he fucked me.“Do you like this Mallorca?” he barked.“Fuck, yes, go for it.” I pleaded.With my sofa moving forward with Christos’ animated momentum, my hole got a severe hammering before he unloaded. It was fuckin’ brilliant.As he was leaving later, he said, “Well, at least I won’t have to shave tonight.”The following day, Christos finished the job by noon and my shop. It is about ten inches long and must be at least four inches thick, and it's not even fully erect yet!Ninety six pounds of tiny white flesh jerking off a six foot plus black man with a fifteen inch long cock in one hand, sucking and deep throating a hugely muscular black man with an eleven inching cock in her mouth, while riding the face of a three hundred and fifty pound black man! My God, this is almost a dream! I take picture after picture using our digital camera.Finally, the "Rock" can't.