Erotic provocateur, racially-influenced humanist, relentless champion for the oppressed, and facilitator for social change, Scottie Lowe is the brain child, creative genius and the blood, sweat, and tears behind AfroerotiK. Intended to be part academic, part educational, and part sensual, she, yes SHE gave birth to the website to provide people of African descent a place to escape the narrow-mined, stereotypical, limiting and oft-times degrading beliefs that abound about our sexuality. No, not all Black men are driven by lust by white flesh or to create babies and walk away. No, not all Black women are promiscuous welfare queens. And as hard as it may be to believe, no, not all gay Black men are feminine, down low, or HIV positive. Scottie is putting everything on the table to discuss, debate, and dismantle stereotypes in a healthy exchange of ideas. She hopes to provide a more holistic, informed, and enlightened discussion of Black sexuality and dreams of helping couples be more open, honest, and adventurous in their relationships.

Tuesday, August 09, 2016

Broken John

The feel of the cool cement floor against his face allowed John Anderson to be revived momentarily.  Drool pooled beneath his cheek, seeping uncontrollably from the corner of his mouth.  A single, uncovered red light bulb hung precariously from an extension cord that had been duct-taped to the ceiling in the middle of the basement, providing the only source of illumination in the make-shift dungeon that had been his coven for the past three days.  He was still disoriented from the pain, pain that permeated every cell, muscle, and sinew in his body.  With his arms still securely tied behind his back, it was actually the pain of hunger that roused him from his unconscious state. 

Tempted to call out, to ask for help, to request nourishment, John knew better than to do anything that might stir the wrath of his Mistress.  His throat was sore, his voice weak from having his mouth savagely fucked by both dildos and cocks, all relentless in their efforts to leave his throat and jaw aching.  Load after load of hot cum had been deposited inside him from both ends.  Salvation came in the form of the click of his Mistress’ heels against the exposed floor.  John was too weak to lift his head to greet her properly.  He was physically, mentally, and emotionally drained from his experience.  Oddly enough, even after days of humiliation, perversion, and inexorable punishment masterminded by this brutal woman, he felt satisfied.  He was content, blissful in fact that he had finally found the mentally sadistic Black bitch of his dreams, the one individual who divested him of his arrogance, his false sense of superiority, of his white male attitude. 

A mere 72 hours previously, he could have said no such thing.  Three days earlier, John was clueless as to the potential his long weekend would hold.  He’d flown into New York City for business actually but he’d arranged to arrive a few days early for some hardcore playtime as well.  He’d been corresponding with a certain Dominatrix who called herself Mother Africa.  Everyone lies on the Internet and everyone exaggerates so he assumed her claims of psychological domination expertise and race play were blown out of proportion.  He’d been sufficiently aroused by their initial interaction so he thought it would be interesting to say the least to see where it could lead. 

Mother Africa was a soft-spoken, pleasant woman.  They’d communicated on the phone several times as well as chatted online.  Not once did she come off as irrational or overly demanding.  In fact, her demeanor could have been described as sweet.  She said she dabbled in BDSM when the notion hit her and she was extremely selective of the subs with whom she chose to play.  She never brought up the subject of money and she wasn’t even particularly interested in cam shows or making John perform tasks to show his sincerity or submissiveness.  She did ask a lot of questions: blunt, straightforward, embarrassing questions.  “Do you have a small cock?  Have you ever eaten shit?  How many times have you been fucked in the ass? Do you get off on being dressed like a sissy?”  All those questions and more rolled off her tongue as easily as if she was casually asking about the weather.  To make matters worse, she didn’t allow any stalling or beating around the bush when it came to answering the questions.  She demanded direct, explicit answers with exacting details and made it clear that her time was precious and she had no tolerance for coy or elusive answers.  John was outrageously aroused by her demeanor, by the fact that she could be so open and unambiguous about what she wanted.  It was that aloof sense of superiority that cemented the deal, that set the stage for their meeting.  Thinking he was paying her a compliment, he mistakenly said, “Of all the profiles of Black Dommes I’ve read online, yours is the most amazing I’ve ever come across.  You’re different.  Your analysis of race is humbling to say the least and you are obviously very intelligent.  I can’t believe you understand the mind of submissive white men so well.” 

She replied by saying, “Are you suggesting that most Black Dommes are stupid and that white men are so incredibly complex so as to render them indecipherable?” 

John backtracked, apologizing and trying to clarify.  “Ohhhh, noooo.  I was just saying that it’s clear that you are very well educated. I was . . . I was paying you a compliment, believe me.  It’s rare to come across someone as articulate as you are.” 

“Well, let me see if I understand,” she said.  “Based on what you’ve repeatedly told me, you believe that women are superior to men.  Additionally, you’ve said numerous times that you find Black women specifically to be the ultimate archetype, that we are, in fact, Goddesses, ‘supreme beings’ to you-- your words not mine.  Yet it seems like you’re saying that you’re shocked that I’m not some illiterate welfare queen who can barely form a coherent sentence, that you can’t believe that I’m as intelligent as say . . . a white person.  To my untrained ear, it sounds as if you’re saying that understanding the mind of a submissive white man requires super human/magical powers because a normal Black woman simply isn’t capable of understanding your uncomplicated albeit warped desires.  Does that about summarize what you’re trying to say?  Because what I hear you saying is that you’re practically dumbfounded that you found a Black Domme who is as intelligent as . . . you are.  I can assure you that I am outrageously offended by the notion that you would even consider yourself qualified to judge my intellect, let alone compliment me for it.  Moreover, white men are transparent and simple in their desires and it hardly takes a superior intellect to dissect your rather uncomplicated motives.  Additionally, the fact that you seem to espouse such love for Black women and then make underhanded, disparaging comments about us is quite troublesome.  It leads me to believe that you don’t actually think we’re truly superior but nothing more than sexual fetishes for your depraved fantasies.”

He couldn’t even form words.  He was speechless.  His cock was rock hard and dripping precum and his mind was reeling from arousal.  He mumbled another insufficient apology.  “I’m so sorry Mother Africa.  That’s not at all what I meant.  I’m just a stupid white boi.  Please forgive me.  Is there something I can do to make it up to you?”  He almost couldn’t hear her response he was jerking off so frantically just from her verbal reprimand.  John loved being put in his place.  He loved being knocked down from his self-defined pedestal of superiority.  The sensation of being told off, of being made to feel stupid was almost like having electricity sent from his nipples, to his cock, all the way to his asshole. 

They made arrangements to meet in October and his assignment over the course of the preceding month, his prerequisite for play as it were, was to read Nile Valley Contributions to Civilization by Anthony Browder and The Black Holocaust for Beginners by S.E. Anderson and write a literature review for each of them.  Never in his life had John even heard of someone requiring homework for a domination session so he didn’t take his task too seriously.  He googled the books and found them on Amazon and printed out their reviews.  They seemed like interesting reading from what he gathered but he didn’t even bother to buy the books. 

Twenty minutes late, he rushed into the lobby of the Hyatt authentically upset for being tardy; slipping the bellboy $50 to take the rest of his luggage to his room.  He’d wanted to be there early to make a good first impression but midtown traffic wasn’t so kind.  As arrogant as he tended to be, he did understand the rules of D/s play and was fully aware that leaving a Domme waiting was a big no-no.  She was already there, seated at the table of the restaurant, looking just as one would think a woman who called herself Mother Africa would look.  She wore her hair in a big Afro like a character from a 70s Blaxplotation flick.  Without any makeup at all, her brown complexion was glowing and radiant.  She wore a t-shirt with some sort of graphic design of an African mask on it that accentuated her rather large breasts and a long denim skirt that reached the floor.  Her Timberland boots were so small they looked like a child’s size.  She wore an arm-full of wooden bracelets on her right arm and an arm-full of copper bangles on her left arm that made noise every time she punctuated her sentences with arm movements.  One thing for sure, she was far more attractive in person than she was in her photos and she didn’t seem at all like John expected.  She looked like she could have been a graduate student waiting to have lunch with her professor rather than a Dominatrix ready to use and abuse a white boi. 

Mother Africa stood to greet him and turned her face to indicate that he should kiss her cheek as a sign of respect.  She graciously accepted his apology for being late, seemingly very understanding of the unavoidable traffic from JFK.  They sat and ordered lunch and had a very pleasant chat, not at all strained or awkward, without even the slightest hint of strain.  Erotic tension was in the air.  She teased and tormented him effortlessly and with skill and everything was going great, up until the moment she asked to see the summaries of the books he was assigned to read. 

John got away with anything and everything in life with his good looks, money, and arrogance.  In that moment, as he fumbled in his carry-on bag for the wrinkled papers, he felt ashamed he hadn’t even attempted the assignment he’d been given.  This was a real woman, a real-life flesh and blood woman whose dominance and superiority were evident in her very aura, not some picture on the Internet, and he was about to let her down.  He realized he’d fucked up by not following her orders.  He wasn’t about to let it show on his face however, and he handed the papers over and began what he thought was a fairly decent but superficial discussion of what he’d read from the printouts. 

“What is this?”  Mother Africa didn’t even bother to pick up the papers; she had a look of disgust on her face. 

“It’s the reviews you asked for,” John said, trying to appear confident. 

Crossing her arms in front of her, she didn’t say a word, her face not showing any signs of emotion. 

John’s heart was pounding.  This was the stuff of submissive dreams.  He could either choose to be defiant and willful, arousing her ire and wrath and eliciting what would surely be a severe session in discipline or he could choose to be apologetic and remorseful, showing the respect that every true sub longs to display in the presence of one to whom he truly feels inferior.  It wasn’t a decision he had to contemplate for too long as his cell phone rang and he held his finger up to excuse himself and answered the call.  For a good three minutes, he talked business, never taking his eyes off the lovely woman who sat inches from him, hoping the length of the phone call would distract her from his blunder. 

Leaning in, Mother Africa whispered to him, “I see you are here to waste my fucking time.”  With that, she took his cell phone from him, summarily closed it, and dropped it in his water glass. 

John stood up, knocking over his chair, causing quite a scene.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?  Are you crazy? First of all, that was an important call.  Second, that phone was expensive. Every contact I have is in that phone.  WHAT THE FUCK is wrong with you?” 

Mother Africa stood and walked away, leaving John there trying to dry his cell phone with his linen napkin, looking like an idiot screaming and cursing in front of the other lunch patrons.  John knew in that moment that he’d pushed too far.  He didn’t want her to leave.  He didn’t want things to end before they had even started and he ran after her.  “Wait, I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing her arm before she entered the revolving doors of the hotel. 

She turned, looking at his white hand on the brown flesh of her arm and then looking directly in his eyes.  Her eyes burned a hole in his soul.  If looks could kill, John knew that he would die a slow, painful death.  She didn’t say a word.  She communicated everything she wanted to say with her eyes.  She didn’t even have to move them; it was if she was telepathically giving him commands.  There in the middle of the very public lobby of the Hyatt Regency in New York City, John Anderson, knelt on one knee and kissed the hand of Mother Africa and said, “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”  To the average person, it might have looked like he was popping the big question.  He looked up for approval and it was apparent his actions weren’t enough.  His face was burning from embarrassment and he heart felt as if it might actually explode.  His cock was straining against his pants and he felt like he might faint.  Looking around quickly, he knew that if he were to truly seek the forgiveness of this divine woman, he would have to assume a truly inferior position.  The shame of it all was intoxicating and she still hadn’t said a word.  On his hands and knees, he lowered his head to her foot and placed his lips on her boot and kissed it.  “Please, forgive me Mistress.  I beg you for the opportunity to make it up to you,” he said, loud enough for anyone nosey enough to want to hear. 

“Follow me,” she commanded as she walked outside into the beautiful Fall afternoon.  John panicked.  He stood up and looked around at all the people who were trying to be discrete but staring at his blatant display of submissiveness.  He ran back to the table, threw some money on the table for the food that they hadn’t even eaten, grabbed his bag, and ran after her, praying that she would still be outside. 

She wasn’t. 

The bell captain called out to him.  “Sir . . . the young lady . . . the one who . . . well sir, she told me to put you in a cab and have it take you to an address but I’m not supposed to tell you where.”  John looked around again, sure that everyone in the world could read his every deviant desire.  He was humiliated but more aroused than he’d ever been.  Slipping the bell captain a hundred dollar bill, he got in the cab and it set out for an unknown destination.  What was less than a half hour ride seemed like it took an eternity.  As the taxi weaved its way in and out of traffic to a quiet, tree-lined street in Queens, John was tempted to whip out his cock and masturbate right then and there. 

They arrived at an unassuming looking house and he paid the cabbie, tipping him well also, and clutched his bag so hard his knuckles were white.  He made his way to the front door and knocked, terrified that he was being set up but never more determined to experience additional discipline from this amazing woman. 

Mother Africa opened the door.  “Go around to the back,” and she shut the door in his face.

Making his way to the backyard, John knocked again.  This time, a Black man answered the door.  Wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and Timberland boots, he clearly resembled Mother Africa in his attire but John had no idea what to say to him.  He didn’t have to say anything as the man said, “Get downstairs, boy,” and moved aside.  John’s feet were frozen in place.  He didn’t even have a cell phone to call for a cab or call 911 if he wanted.  Every bit of common sense told him to run and not look back.  His knees shook as he descended the stairs to the basement that had clearly been altered to accommodate some serious kinky play.  The walls were padded and there was a drainage hole in the middle of the floor.  Restraints and BDSM equipment were everywhere.  While John was trying to get his bearings, trying to figure out exactly what he’d gotten himself into, Mother Africa came downstairs wearing the same t-shirt but tight, black leather pants that hugged her every curve and black high heeled leather boots. 

“Undress.” Her command was simple and to the point.  John wanted more.  He wanted an explanation of what was going to happen.  He wanted a detailed discussion of rules and limits and more head games.  He was too terrified to ask any questions.  Somehow, instinctively, he knew that he didn’t have a choice that he was supposed to go along for the ride or forever regret this once in a lifetime opportunity to experience something he’d only ever dreamed of. 

John slowly unbuttoned his shirt as the Black couple looked on, talking with each other in hushed tones he couldn’t understand.  The man sat casually in a chair, with one leg over the arm of it and his hand squeezing an impressive length of dick that snaked down the leg of his jeans.  If he wasn’t aroused by the white boi taking off his clothes in front of him he was certainly aroused by the sexy dance that Mother Africa was doing for him.  John tried to concentrate on his surroundings should he decide to make a run for it but the scene of these two people in such an intimate display proved to be too distracting.  They were kissing and caressing each other as they watched and laughed at John standing before them naked, his cock hard and completely out of his element, unsure of what to do next. 

“Oh, where are my manners?  I forgot to introduce the two of you.  Worm, this is my lover, Eric.  He’s my partner in crime shall we say,” she laughed as she applied nipple clamps to John and made him wince with pain.  “For the weekend, you will call him Daddy, got it?  And you’ll call me Mommy, understand?” 

John nodded, whispering, “Yes, Mommy,” in accordance with her desires, tingling with the sound of the word coming from his lips. 

Without warning, she slapped him hard in the face.  John was stunned but the hurt registered as pleasure.  She ran her hands over his body, gently caressing his chest, down his abdomen over his hard cock to his balls.  Without even a second’s hesitation, she squeezed his nuts so hard John fell to the floor, blinded by the pain, crying out.  Curled in the fetal position, he tried to pull himself together, to get back in the game.  His competitive nature wouldn’t allow him to lie there like a little wounded animal; he had to prove that he was in it to win it. 

The point of her black leather boot making full contact with his side divested him of any notion of competition and he lay on the floor, the wind knocked out of him.  

“I gave you one small assignment and you didn’t even have the common fucking courtesy to pretend to do it.  You think you’re so smart,” she kicked him again, “I’ll have to show you who’s the boss around here.”  She spat directly in his face, her saliva dripping down his cheek.  She put the sole of her boot over his mouth and commanded that he lick it, all the while, taunting him.  “Look you little asswipe, I’m in charge here and what I say goes.  For the next three days, you belong to me.  You are my property.  You are my possession, my plaything.  I can do anything and everything I want to you and you won’t have a say.  I don’t care if you enjoy it or hate it.  It doesn’t matter to me what you experience.  I intend to use you for my entertainment and my pleasure any fucking way I see fit.” 

As if perfectly timed, the doorbell rang and Eric got up to answer the door.  “We have company.  I’ve invited a few friends over and I expect you to do whatever they want.  Understand?” 

John managed to get to his knees and remain upright as the first guest came downstairs.  The guy looked almost as nervous as he was.  “Are you guys sure about this?  I can do whatever I want to him, no questions asked?  This isn’t a joke is it?  I mean, I’m not going to pull out my dick and the cops are gonna jump out and arrest me or anything, right?”  After he was reasonably assured that it wasn’t a set up, he pulled out his dick and rubbed it on John’s face.  The smooth skin felt erotic and sensuous, the raunchy stench of man smell aroused him: the sweat, the piss, and the stink of an unwashed, uncut black cock was driving him mad. 

John’s mouth watered; he opened his lips, desperate to be fed some real stiff meat.  He didn’t have to wait long.  There was no need for prolonged foreplay or anything of the sort; the guy was there to get his dick sucked by a white guy.  All the initial trepidation gone, John sucked.  He got his face fucked and fucked well.  He tried to look over to see if his Mistress was pleased but couldn’t see.  His nose was deeply embedded in the wiry pubic hairs of the man who was using his mouth like a pussy.  The stranger grabbed his ears and started pounding, causing John to gag and almost puke.  That didn’t stop either of them.  John kept sucking that gorgeous black cock and the guy kept fucking his throat.  Tears formed in his eyes and he gasped for air.  Spit ran from the corners of his mouth and he sucked that cock like a porn star.  Like a true slut, he licked the smelly balls of the guy he was sucking and tried to work his tongue lower.  The guy caught on quickly and turned around and bent over, grabbing the back of John’s head and shoving it between his magnificent ass cheeks.  “Yeah, bitch, lick my dirty asshole.  I kept it dirty just for you, just in case you wanted to taste a Black man’s raunchy turds. Suck that dried shit out of my ass.”  He farted a rancid, wet, fart right in John’s mouth, which only made him ravenous for more.  

Without any more inhibitions, the guy turned around and shoved his dick in John’s mouth again, this time with every indication that he was going to shoot his load.  The dick swelled to mammoth proportions, he could feel the veins engorged with his tongue.  The man was grunting like an animal and thrusting the head of his dick deep in his throat.  “Come on white boy, eat my fucking black dick.  Oh shit, take this nut.  I’m going to give you a pint of my ball juice.  Swallow it.  Suck that thick scum right down your sissy throat.  Dumb white cunt.”  Just as John felt the first spurt of hot cum in his mouth, he felt the mind-numbing sting of a whip against the flesh of his ass.  He tried to scream out but he couldn’t.  He thought he was going to choke, to suffocate.  The persistent pounding in this mouth was accented by the rhythm of being whipped.  His brain misfired.  He loved the feeling of being a cum dump, nothing more than a receptacle for sperm for a Black man, he loved having that hard, black cock being shoved in his oral cavity, but he hated the pain being delivered by Mother Africa as she beat his ass like he was a renegade outlaw. 

John fell to the floor, drained and broken.  He had little reprieve as the doorbell rang again.  Before the first guy was even dressed, a second Black man was being escorted down the stairs.  A wave of shame coursed through his body as he realized that these weren’t actually friends as he had first thought but total strangers that Mother Africa had found on the Internet and who had been invited over to abuse a random white guy.  Eric insisted that the first man stay and use him some more, to enjoy the show, and to think of other ways he could be used. 

For the next few hours, as more and more strangers were invited to join the party, John was used over and over again, each time more brutally and savagely than before.  Just when he thought his face couldn’t get fucked any harder, he was forced to suck two dicks.  Each asshole was dirtier than the previous one, making him crave more filth.  Mother Africa taunted him.  “Work your nasty tongue up in that black asshole.  Get in there deep.  You feel it don’t you?  You taste that hot, nasty chocolate in there?  You want to eat it, don’t you?  You want to be fed like a shit-eating whore, don’t you?  You want to suck that log like it’s a shit cock, lick all that slimy ass juice out of the crevices.   I know you do.  You’re nothing but a filthy pig that craves being used.  You live to worship Black men, to prove to them how nasty you are. Worship him.  Worship his nasty shit as your holy sacrament.  Show him how much of a filthy white worm you are.  Tell him.  Tell him he’s your God.  Tell him that you dedicate your life to serving him.” 

John was high with lust.  “Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted.  “Give me everything.  Give me your shit, your piss, your cum, your snot, and your puke.  I’ll eat it all and beg for more.  I’m nothing.  I’m a filthy, white bitch that needs to be used by Black men.  Fuck my hole raw.  Make me your bitch, sir.  I love black cock.  I’m nothing but a faggot slut for Black dicks fucking me any way they want.”    John was breathless and in heaven.  It was as if he was revealing his true nature to everyone and proud of it.  He was telling them the things he’d felt and dreamt and believed and voicing the truth for the very first time in his life.  He was liberated and free.  The abuse continued for hours.  Every time one of the men would cum in his mouth, he would be beaten.  He began to crave the sensation of the whip as much as he craved the taste of their creamy, thick, hot jizz. 

Mother Africa whispered in his ear, “You ready to get fucked, boy?  Are you ready to have that pussy of yours used like a cheap tramp?  Do you want that cum in you?  How about a filthy, hot piss enema?  All these guys could probably pump a couple of gallons of urine in your colon.  This is going to be fun.  Watching you get turned out.  Making you the slut for black cock that you have longed to be.”  In all the hours of being used, he’d yet to be fucked.  That was what he wanted more than anything, to be fucked and used like a dirty slut; he needed to be a white gangbang whore with an insatiable asscunt.  “Well, I have a little surprise.   We’ve got one more special guest for you.”

John’s mind reeled.  He had visions of a savage Mandingo warrior with a gigantic dick fucking his asshole, making it his own.  His own cock surged in anticipation.  His asshole throbbed as he looked around the room, all the Black men he’d sucked off were idly stroking their hard dicks waiting for the final act of the show.  Eric ushered the last person down the stairs but John’s eyes were filled with terror.  It was a fat, sloppy, dim-witted white guy. 

“Please, no, please, Mommy?  Daddy!  Nooo, I’ll be a good boi.  Anything but that.  Don’t make me do that.  I can’t.  It’s disgusting.”  Tears flowed down his cheeks as the white guy pulled down his khakis and dingy yellowed underwear to his ankles and waddled around the room giving high fives to everyone, totally oblivious to the fact that they were all laughing at him.  It was the ultimate humiliation for John.  Sucking black dick was an honor and a privilege.  To be forced to suck a white cock was unthinkable; it was nasty and horrible and seemed an unfair punishment.  He crawled on his hands and knees, pleading one more time for reprieve.  “Mommy, please, let me show you what a good boi I can be.  Anything, ANYTHING you can think of, I’ll do.  Just, please, don’t make me do that.  I’ll be a bitch for your dog; he can knot with me.  I’ll be your toilet, you can piss and shit in my mouth and I’ll eat it down and beg for more.  Daddy, you can be the first to fuck me, rip my ass open, make it hurt, use me anyway you want.  Fist fuck me.  I’m begging you, please don’t make me do this.”  John was pleading for his life.

It was then that Mother Africa worked her magic.  She leaned in close to his ear and he could feel her hot breath on his neck.  “You little fucking bitch,” she whispered.  “Don’t you get it?  You are the same as Tony here.  You are equally as repulsive, equally as nasty, you are white, JUST LIKE HIM.  You are going to suck him off alright and you better make him cum with your cocksucking mouth like you did all our other guests, ya’ hear me?  Eric’s going to fuck you in your whore asscunt while you suck his pathetic cock.”

Time stood still for John.  Tony’s cock was little more than folds of pink foreskin over a two-inch nub.  His stomach lurched at the thought of putting that thing in his mouth.  He looked around the room at all the beautiful black men of all shapes, sizes, and shades with their dicks hard and waiting to fuck him and then he looked down at his own cock.  He looked up at the white guy and then to Mother Africa.  This time, he used his eyes to communicate with her.  He pleaded and begged for her to not make him do this.  She slapped him again and forced his mouth open and forced it onto Tony’s flaccid penis. 

The feeling of that thing in his mouth made him want to puke.  It wouldn’t get hard and it felt soft and mushy.  The room filled with laughter as everyone found the sight amusing.  He tried his best to suck hard to get this unbearable task over and done with.  Tony pumped but his fat stomach kept getting in the way.  The smell of his sweat wasn’t arousing to John; it was sickening.  As hard as it could get, there was no way it could fuck his throat, it was like sucking a little, deformed finger.  This was humiliation beyond his wildest imagination.  And again, just when he thought he was at his limit, just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, he felt the head of Eric’s dick at his ass. 

John got on his hands and knees and spread his ass waiting to get fucked.  He forgot all about the white cock he was supposed to be sucking.  The sting of the whip on his back reminded him of his task.  “Come on bitch, suck that white cock while you get fucked by a real man,” someone in the room yelled.  “Take that dick up your faggot asshole,” they chanted.  Tony had to get on his knees to work his prick back in John’s mouth but he didn’t seem to mind.  It was probably the only time he’d ever had anyone suck his cock and he didn’t have to pay for it.  He was enjoying the attention; he didn’t care that it was negative.

John could see his Divine Mistress Africa stalking him, walking around him, surveying her prize.  She’d masterminded the entire thing.  She kissed her partner and ran her hands over his naked chest, saying, “Baby, I want you to fuck him HARD, make him scream.  Do it for me, baby. Use him.  Ram every inch of your beautiful dick in his rectum and make him pay for being an insolent, disrespectful little bitch.” 

Feeling the head of that enormous cock rubbing on his asshole felt amazing.  It was the searing hot pain that blinded him as it pushed in his anus and made it’s way deep in his bowels that almost made him pass out from pain.  He knew not to say stop and the riding crop across his back reminded him of the other part of his assignment.  He put his mouth on the cock in front of his face and started sucking.  His mind was playing tricks on him.  He loved the feeling of pain in his ass, he loved the sensation of being fucked like a rag doll, he hated the feeling of being forced to fellate the man that reminded him of his inherent inferiority. 

“FUCK HIM! FUCK HIM!”  Everyone in the room was cheering and applauding.  John grabbed his own cock and started stroking it frantically.  Mother Africa kicked him soundly in the side, reminding him that this was not about his pleasure but about hers. 

The room smelled of sex.  Pheromones and sweat and lust and pure man-fucking overwhelmed his senses.  A half a dozen Black men were lined up, waiting for their turns to get a piece of white tail; all he had to do was make the two men fucking him cum.  Degraded and dejected, John worked his finger up Tony’s flat, flabby ass and wiggled it around, coaxing him to cum.  It worked and Tony fell, collapsed on the floor, his little cock jerking and leaking what little cum his inferior testicles could produce. 

John had accomplished the first part of his mission and it was on to the best part.  “Oh God.  Daddy. PLEEEASE fuck me harder.  Ram your cock in me.  Make me your bitch.  Use my fuckhole, Daddy.  Fuck the shit out of me.  More, I want more black cock.  I’m a slut for black cock.  Give it to me.  POUND ME.  MORE.  I need a cock in my mouth.  Feed me more superior black cum.  Give me everything.”

It was the lone female in the room that would fulfill his desires.  The only one who hadn’t gotten any satisfaction thus far, she stepped up with a very formidable ebony strapon attached to her hips.  It was longer, harder, and thicker than all the other cocks he had sucked that day but he was in the zone.  He was in that sub space where everything was arousing; nothing was too extreme. 

“You belong to me, cunt, you know that right?  You’re my little white bitch.”  She reached down and started pulling his nipple clamps, twisting them, when things started to black out for John.  Everything he was feeling was pleasure.  From the 12 inches of hard black plastic that was ravaging his throat to the 10 inches of magnificent black cock that was breeding his twat, to the pain he experienced in his nipples and the searing hot flesh where he’d been beaten, he was experiencing everything as pleasure. 

John couldn’t use words anymore.  This is what he’d prayed to experience all of his adult, submissive life.  All he could do was grunt and groan like a feral, wild animal and hope that everyone understood his primal sounds to mean, “FUCK ME HARDER. FUCK ME!!!!” 

Over the course of the next three days, John experienced more mental and physical torture than he’d ever hoped to imagine.  He knew his Mommy had come to release him, to send him back out into the real world.  He didn’t want to go.  He wanted to stay there forever.  He wanted to live in that basement and be used 24/7 as a white cum dump.  He’d never felt more whole, satisfied, or authentic as he did being tortured and abuse by such beautiful and vicious individuals.  His spirit and his body had been broken.  With his last bit of energy, he was prepared to negotiate a way to stay with his Nubian Dominatrix Extraordinaire and her lover to be their pet, plaything and sub. 

Copyright 2009 AfroerotiK All Rights Reserved

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