The Great White Hope

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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

Interracial Domination Duo

Andre West fidgeted in his car seat.  “OK,” he whispered into his watch, like it was a spy gadget from a James Bond movie, “the time is 17:30 hours and I’ve been surveilling the unknown address for two hours with no sign of any movement other than the mailman leaving a package.”  Did it matter that he didn’t have a smart watch recording him, that his watch was a decade old Timex that only told time?  Ehhh, not so much.  Clearly, he was going a little loopy with no one to talk to and trying his best to stay under the radar slouched down in the back seat of his Tahoe.  He wasn’t a private eye or a police detective on a case, he was a man on a mission to get some answers.  He had been dating an amazing woman named Asali Attison for 6 months.  They were in love by all reasonable measures.  The problem was, she was still being distant and guarded.  Normally, any two people with that much in common, who had amazing, mind-blowing sex, who were interested in a long-term commitment with each other wanted to spend every waking moment with each other.  Asali was being secretive.  For no discernable reason whatsoever, she wanted “space.”  On the nights they didn’t spend together, she would very often rush off the phone and he could tell there was something just not right. 

A decade or so ago, Andre might have had to just settle for her answer that she just wanted time alone but Andre had the internet.  He did a background check on her and found out that she had two addresses listed in Dallas.  He had been to her loft plenty of times.  This other address, the one he had been camped out in front of for a couple of hours was a condo she had never even mentioned.  It’s a good thing he had tinted windows because a Black man in a strange neighborhood sitting in his car for any length of time was enough to cause his name to become a hashtag.  He was stealth.  He had an empty Big Gulp cup with a very secure lid just in case he had to pee and he made sure he was dressed professionally so it would lessen the chances that someone might think he was some sort of thug and chase him through the neighborhood, you know, standing their ground.  Oddly enough, he saw some scraggly-looking white guy walk past a few times who looked like he could have been an extra on the set of Breaking Bad and none of the neighbors even raised an eyebrow.  Meanwhile, Andre made sure he wasn’t listening to hip-hop on his car radio, he had jazz playing very softly on his phone, and he had his driver’s license, registration, and car insurance cards on the front seat of the car so he wouldn’t have to reach in the glove box for them. Oh, the things Black men have to do in an average day to avoid getting shot. 

His time in the car was over as he saw Asali’s black Infinity pull into the parking space for the unit.  She got out, dressed like she had just come from the office, and sauntered in her confident, sexy way to the mailboxes and got her package.  Andre decided he was going to wait for her to get to the front door, with her key in the lock before he decided to approach her.  Just as he was about to open the door to his truck, a late model Honda Accord pulled up and parked in the second space for the unit.  Andre froze.  Of all the scenarios he had run in his head, Asali cheating was never one of them.  That’s what Andre kept telling himself, even as he saw a white man get out of the car and greet her on the walkway, open the door with his own set of keys and let her enter the unit first. 

To say that Andre was heartbroken was an understatement.  He took a few minutes to gather himself and fight back the tears.  If she had some sort of sugar daddy/jungle fever, she could go straight to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200.  Steeling his nerves, he slammed the door of his truck a little too hard and blinked a few times to make sure that he didn’t have any tears in his eyes.  He knocked on the door with the force of someone who was not selling Girl Scout cookies. 

The white man answered.   His face showed signs of shock and fear.  “Andre!  I uhmmmmm.  Hold on, let me get her.” 

“Who the fuck are you and how the hell do you know my name?  Yeah, tell her to come to the door right now because I want some answers.”  Andre’s voice was getting a couple of octaves higher and he could feel his emotions boiling over.  The white guy left him standing outside.  He didn’t want to make a scene and have the police called so he waited patiently.  He loved Asali.  More than any woman he had ever loved before.  This was just not happening.  No fucking way. 

Dressed in a stunning red knit dress that hugged her body but that was still professional, she took his hand and pulled him inside.  “Sweetie, I am so sorry.  I can explain.”  In the seconds that had passed, it was clear there were tears in her eyes as well.  She stood still, waiting for him to say something.  Not letting go of his hand, she led him to the living room and motioned for him to sit down. 

“Todd, come here please.”  The white guy tentatively came out of what was surely a bedroom as the place was exquisitely decorated but very small.  The kitchen was a galley kitchen and there was a breakfast bar that appeared to serve as the dining room.  In the corner of the living room there was a desk with a desktop computer set up.  There was no TV and there didn’t seem to be any happy couple pictures of the two of them framed anywhere.  Andre was devastated but he waited for the explanation.    Todd, wearing the remnants of his business suit from work, stood silently,

“I didn’t know how to tell you and I realize now what a mistake it was to keep it from you and I’m so very sorry.  Andre this is Todd, Todd Wentley.” 

“Really?  This dude?  You are fucking around on me with him?  I’m outta here.”  Andre was emotional and irrational.  He got up and Asali cut him off.

“Noooo, it’s not like that.  It’s . . . it’s complicated.  Let me explain.”  They sat down on the sofa again, this time, her soft hand covered his.  He wanted to pull away he was so disgusted but the part of his brain that adored her wanted this to be all a joke, a terrible, horrible, unbelievable, complex joke where cameras were going to pop out and let him know that he was being pranked.  She continued.  “I know I should have told you when we first started getting serious but there just didn’t seem like a good time.  And after a while, I realized that I should have told you in the beginning and then I was just ashamed and embarrassed by the whole situation.  I didn’t want to lose you and I wasn’t ready to give up Todd.” 

“Oh hell no!  I swear to God if you tell me that you love this dude I will lose my mind.  Him?  Get the fuck outta here!  If you want him, you can have him!”  He pulled his hand away, devastated. 

“Andre!  Stop!  It’s not like that.  I own him.  He belongs to me.”    The room fell silent. 

The look of confusion on Andre’s face was apparent.  He sat back down this time and he collected his thoughts for a moment.  The silence was deafening but Asali knew him well enough to let him have his space to process.  He was aware that she had been a Domme and had dominated white men in the past but he thought that it was just that . . . in the past.  Not once did they ever have a conversation about it being in the present.  Andre was still shaky but he needed details.  He couldn’t even fully pay attention; in his head he was trying to figure out how they could go back to the way things were 2 days ago, before he even had a clue that there was a secret love nest. 

He took a couple of deep breaths and he queried.  “So, this guy is so important to you that you would rather risk our relationship than let him go?  Is that how it is?  I cut off all my previous relationships when we fell in love.”  The word love sounded flat and empty to him as it left his lips. 

“Listen, it’s not how it seems.  I’ve invested a lot of time and energy into him.  I’ve created him to be exactly what I want and need and he’s . . . he’s exceptional.  He’s just too valuable an asset to just throw away.”

Andre was incensed!  “This dude?  You’re telling me that this white man satisfies you sexually so much so that . . . I’m going to be sick.  Where’s the bathroom?”  Andre’s whole world was turning upside down and inside out.  

“Stop it!  Andre!  You have to calm down. Tell him, Todd, tell him what you do for a living.” 

Todd spoke up softly, trying to help ease the tension in the room.  “I work as the Director of Social Media for the Dallas Police Department.  Well, that’s my official title.  In actuality, in secret, I function as a liaison between the media and the community to hold the police accountable when I can verify that they are doing something racist or that there are suspicious circumstances surrounding any incident that involves race that they might try to cover up.” 

“Right,” Andre interjected, “I’m supposed to believe that whitey here is champion for the oppressed black man.  Give me two fucking breaks.  This bitch doesn’t even know what racism means, let alone can he do anything about it.  He sold you a bill of goods.  What he really means is he deletes comments from their Facebook page that the police don’t like.  That’s his damn job.  And how the hell did you get that fucking job in the first place Mr. Black Lives Matter?” 

Both Asali and Todd smiled.  “Well, I got him the job.  He got a divorce slightly after I met him and he needed a fresh start so he moved from Seattle to Dallas and let’s just say I know people who got him the job.  People with secrets.  People in positions of power who don’t want their secrets told so the job was created for him at my behest.  The fact that he is spying on the cops and making their questionable actions known to the press is our little secret.  I promise he’s legit.  You have to trust me.  Todd, tell Andre what racism means.” 

Todd didn’t even hesitate.  “Racism is NOT one race not liking another race. Racism is the historic, systematic, and institutionalized oppression of people of color by Caucasians in their efforts to perpetuate the fallacy of white supremacy in order for them to maintain the power structures that allow them to have social, economic, educational, financial, and vocational privileges. People of color cannot be racist. They can be bigoted, they can be biased, but they can't be racist. More importantly, even if Black people are bigoted, it does not hold the same weight, power, and privilege racist white people have.”  

He had Andre’s attention.  It took him a full minute to collect his thoughts enough to speak.  “OK, OK, so he can repeat what you taught him.  Good little monkey.  But that doesn’t mean that he is really champion for the Black race.  I’ve yet to meet a white man who . . .”

“Quiz him,” Asali interrupted.  “Pick a topic.  Any topic.  The Trans-Atlantic Slave trade.  The principles of Afrocentricity.  White privilege.  Slave mentality.  He’s read Asante, Akbar, Marimba Ani, he can quote John Henrik Clark.  He is not just a parrot that can repeat what I’ve told him.  I’ve trained him, I’ve shaped him, and I’ve educated him.  That’s what I meant by I said he’s far too exceptional to let go.   Let me explain, please.” 

Andre sat back on the sofa.  He was confused but he wanted some sort of explanation that made sense to him.   He nodded. 

“When I met Todd two years ago, the best he could do was say, ‘Racism isn’t fair.’  He was of the mindset that if it didn’t affect him personally, he didn’t have to think about race even though he has only been attracted to Black women for almost all his adult life.  I decided to manipulate his sexuality in order to refashion him into exactly what I wanted him to be.  I would restrain him, handcuff him to the bed and I would whisper in his ear.  I would stroke him, stroke his dick.  I would bring him to the brink of orgasm over and over and over again.  I reprogrammed his brain.  I took the things that he loved, things that aroused him like having his nipples stimulated and I would manipulate them for hours, all the while training and teaching him.  I associated his sexual pleasure with the things I wanted him to learn, the things I wanted him to become.  He would be out of his mind, crazed with lust, begging for release, and I transformed him into my perfect pet.  He will do anything I tell him to do, without question or hesitation.  He craves the things that turn me on; craves them as if his life depends on it.”

“You have sex with him?  Oh, hell no.  You have got to be fucking kidding me!” 

“No, no, no,” she interjected, “that’s not it at all.  He doesn’t really service me sexually, He has never in two years eaten my pussy.  He . . . well . . . he services . . . Black men for me.  I get off on watching him suck and get fucked.  He gets off on it.  It’s like I said, he craves it.”

“Oh, he’s gay?  Yeah, figures. White boys!” 

“Well, not exactly.  I suppose you could say that but it’s a lot more complex than that.  See, well . . .  let him explain it to you.” 

Todd spoke up in his defense again.  “I’m attracted to Black women.  I will always be attracted to Black women first and foremost.  That doesn’t mean my sexuality is singular however.  I’m not gay.  I’m not a sissy.  I don’t have a need to dress up as a woman to assume a submissive role, I would never demean women in that way.  I respect them too much to assert that wearing some heels and some makeup means that I am somehow transformed into a woman.  I’m not a woman, I’m a man who is submissive, I’m a man who is bisexual and I enjoy pleasing Black men and I don’t have to pretend to be forced in order to do it.   I love pleasing my Mistress and it gives me intense pleasure to feel a hard dick explode in my mouth or ass and know that I was able to do that.  I love pleasing Black men for her.  I love making her proud of me.  I experience pleasure from being penetrated, whether it is from her divine strapon, one of my toys, or if it is from one of her lovers.   I’m so very grateful that Mistress allows me release but I know that I will never be allowed to pleasure her sexually.  I know I’m not deserving of that honor.  That is purely the domain of the Black men she allows into her heart as lovers.”

Andre coughed and blinked.  He knew by now not to over-react and to just listen.  He was trying to process it all.  He continued looking around the small condo.  The bookshelves were packed with hundreds of books on black history, black psychology, and black culture.  There was no TV but he figured the computer could be used for streaming media.  The complex looked like it had been built in the 60s but the interior had clearly been updated with dark hardwood floors and a semi-open floorplan that would not have been the style a half a century ago.  Andre studied Todd, now sitting, who looked nervous but not overly so as he was clearly taking his cues from Asali.  In the average Black person’s lifetime they NEVER meet a white person who understands and is sympathetic to the issues of race so it would have been easier if someone handed Andre a piece of paper and said, “Here is a Chinese calculus problem solve for 近平”    

Todd continued.  “Eradicating racism has become my mission in life.  Whereas when I first met Mistress, I could distance myself from race, now it consumes every part of my life.  I attack racism online every chance I get knowing that for every one person I dismantle, there are thousands of other lurkers there reading and learning like I did.  I feel like it’s my place to use my energy to combat what my Mistress has had to endure every day of her life.” 

“Man, this is too much to handle.  I’m not sure I can understand everything that is being said.  I will give him credit for at least being more knowledgeable about racism than the vast majority of white people but you can’t seriously think that he . . . I mean come on . . . wait . . . what?  This is all so confusing.” 

Asali turned to him and lifted his face to hers.   “Beloved King.  I take full responsibility for your confusion because of my deception.  I knew from the minute I met you that I wanted you in my life.  I allowed my fears of rejection by you to keep this secret.   I was so ashamed of myself for what I considered cheating that I rationalized that I had to lie.  Trust me, if it had been any other sub, I would have dismissed them before you and I had our first kiss.  Todd is different.  Sweetie, he’s not just a mimicking what I tell him to say, however, he’s come up with his own theories of racism in his efforts to dismantle it.  I mean, he blew my mind with his concepts.  Honestly, you need to hear him out.”

Todd raised his eyebrow signaling he was asking Andre for permission to explain himself.  Andre flicked his hand in Todd’s general direction, indicating that he had the floor, he had better impress him.  “The way I see it, racism permeates every single solitary facet of our society.  There is not one single area where it doesn’t persist so white people as a rule can’t say, ‘I’m not racist, I wasn’t raised racist,’ and all the other rhetoric and clichés they spout when they are trying to silence people of color.  Our nation was built on the foundation of racism.  There has never been a point in our history, recent or distant, where whites have been forced to collectively address, acknowledge, or heal their racist beliefs so they persists like a cancer.  Every childhood book has whites as the heroes.  Every TV show shows whites as upstanding and virtuous and saving the day.  Magazines show people who look like me as the 100 most beautiful people in the world, the world where we only make up 10% of the population.  History books tell us that whites invented everything great when in actuality we stole everything great from people of color; violently stole I might add.  School districts are zoned so that whites get the best educations and Blacks get . . . well, you get the idea.   No white person can escape the breadth and depth of racism.  Racism is the default disease of our society and it has been since whites invaded, stole, and inhabited this nation.  Of course, racism had gone rampant and continues to do so with the advent of technology.  I’ve identified four very distinct classes of racism that persist in this country, and this country is vastly different than any other because of its history of slavery and the long-term effects that linger unaddressed.”

“First, there are the blatant racists.   They are the Klan members, the Neo-Nazi’s, the white supremacists.  They are the most vocal about hating Black people.  They will claim that they are white purists, trying to advance the cause of the white race.  They stay isolated from anyone different from themselves but if you go on their computer’s you will find gigabytes upon gigabytes of interracial porn.  Trust me, I’ve been in the crime lab when the techs go through their computers, I’ve seen time and time again that the most staunch racist will have thousands of files of interracial porn on their computers.  But no one tells you that.  That’s the secret that whites get to keep.” 

“The second group consists of the vast and overwhelming majority of white people in this country.  The members of the second group are equally as racist, but they are the most adamant that they are not.  They are the ones who troll African American websites telling Black people that they are racist.  They believe Blacks are inferior, and they defend whiteness at all costs.  They tell the racist jokes at work and get offended if someone catches them.  Talk about denial, their own children will be addicted to meth, heroin, and cocaine and they will swear that it’s only Blacks who are the criminals.  Just look at the internet, look at any porn site.  White people abound posting their videos of them doing depraved, perverted, extreme things yet white people will swear that Blacks are the sexual savages, driven by lust.  They feel entitled to everything, they think that the world owes them.  They come to the defense of any and every white person who is accused of being racist like they know them personally.  They swear racism doesn’t exist and but they will call a Black person racist in the blink of an eye.  Their mantra is, ‘Martin Luther King said,’ and they always have a Black “friend” who seems to cosign their racism.  They mimic conservative talk show hosts and media and they have never once challenged or questioned their own racism or beliefs about race.” 

“Group 2 not only watches interracial porn, they have all sorts of interracial sex in real life.  The white men are actively engaged with gay sex with Black men in percentages too staggering for my little mind to comprehend.  There are so many married white women having gangbangs in hotels with Black men they meet on craigslist it should be considered a national pastime.  My domain, where I came from, fetish and domination websites, they have millions of profiles with pictures with white men showing their faces proclaiming that they are submissive to the superior Black race.  But those same men have never once challenged their erroneous beliefs about Blacks.  They still hold on to the core racist beliefs that Black men are only as valuable as the inches between their legs, that Black women are ghetto hoochies and reality star drama queens.  The same white men who are sucking black dicks in glory holes and the back seat of their cars, who are pimping their wives out to Black men for unprotected sex, are the same ones in corporate boardrooms who are making deals that keep Black people disenfranchised and oppressed.” 

“The third group is where I fell when I first met Ma’am.  I was in the silent offenders.  I knew that Black lives mattered and that terrible racial injustice existed.  I knew that the hatred of Obama was because of his race but I didn’t have to think about it too much so I could be upset for the total amount of time it took me to read a news article and then compartmentalize it and put it away.  The third group of whites thinks racism is bad but they aren’t willing to do anything about it, they don’t want to rock the boat, so they are just as complicit as the first two categories.  The issue with the third group is that while they won’t burn a cross and they a have sincere desire not to be racist, they still are because you can’t be anti-racist until you study, until you learn, until you dismantle the fucked up baggage that we whites have inherited that tells us that the sun rises and sets around us.  That’s what I didn’t understand until I met Mistress.  She showed me that my apathy meant that I was contributing to the problem, that I was in fact, racist.  That’s the hardest thing for white people to hear.   There is no greater insult than to be called racist.” 

“The final group doesn’t even make up one half of one percent of the white population.  The last group are the true anti-racists who acknowledge that we have privileges based on our race and that history has been distorted to depict us as superior when we as a race have been guilty of the most heinous aggressions against people of color around the globe.  The last group has taken off our rose-colored glasses and we see the hypocrisy and irony of stealing land, enslaving people and then proclaiming yourself superior.  We, the last group, are truly the minority.  It’s my job as part of that minority to fight racism with every ounce of my being.  Ma’am taught me that.  ”

Andre’s jaw almost hit the floor.  He paused momentarily to collect his thoughts.  “Ain’t that some shit!  I’ve never even heard a black person explain it so succinctly before.  Is this for real?”  Asali and Todd both smiled.  “So wait a minute.  I’m willing to concede that this guy is on some new shit.  No doubt. But I’m still a little confused about the sucking and fucking part.  Don’t think I missed the part about him sucking your lovers off.  I know he hasn’t ever sucked my dick so whose dick is he sucking exactly?  You bring other men over here for him to screw while you watch?  Is that what you do on the nights you aren’t with me?” 

Asali could do nothing but apologize again.  It was her fault Andre had all these doubts and insecurities.  If she had been honest with him from the beginning none of this would be an issue right now.  She explained that they had not had anyone else involved in their play in almost a year.  She also explained that she felt a sense of obligation to Todd to him to keep him aroused so that he could continue to fight for justice both at work and at home because she didn’t feel that his efforts to put his life on the line to fight for equality should go unrewarded and she didn’t just want to release him from ownership. 

“On the nights I spend time with him, I usually let him sniff my pantyhose and massage my feet.   I might fuck him with a dildo or a strapon until he releases.  When I think he’s done a particularly good job at work, when he’s exposed something major, I will let him have my panties to sniff and lick while he masturbates.  I allow him to wear a butt plug when he’s at home and I keep him aroused with stories of how you fuck me. That’s how he knew exactly who you were when you knocked on the door.  He is allowed to fuck himself with toys and I even got a machine that I turn on really slowly and I keep him edging for a few hours while I tease him.  I’ve told him that I will allow him to see other Dommes and even date other women but he’s okay with the situation as it is.  Seeing as we are in full confession mode I have to tell you that it turns me on to get him in that sub space where he craves stimulation.  I do get aroused.  I make sure I release all that arousal allllll over you when we are together but Todd is not the only one getting pleasure from our little sessions.” 

Andre got up and walked around the small apartment.  He was trying to collect his thoughts.  Even though Todd had seen pictures of Andre seeing him in person was a little overwhelming in real life.  They made a beautiful couple.  The man pacing back and forth made love to the woman of his dreams, it was hard to wrap his mind around.  Todd felt something emotional welling up inside him but it wasn’t exactly jealousy.  It was pride.  There was joy in knowing that his Mistress was happy, that she had found someone so much like her that complimented her.    If there were any feelings of jealousy, it was in his desire to see what was beneath that dress shirt and slacks that fit his toned body. 

Andre cleared his throat.  “OK, how do you say it, full confession mode?   Alright, I have some confessing to do too.  I’ve been . . . there have been a few . . . I know some white guys who love to take a walk on the wild side, or the dark side if you will.   At every point in my life I’ve had white men trying to get in my pants.  When I was in college, the coach of the football team would bend over the desk and beg to get pounded.  Shit, my roommate sucked me off every night.  Whenever I’m single, I know I can always go online and within a few hours, meet up with some white guy who is willing to suck me off with no strings attached.  I used to know this couple and the guy wanted to watch while I fucked his wife but that didn’t do it for me so much.   Fucking white women is not that great compared to sistas.”

Todd chuckled, “Ain’t that right,” and they shared a bonding moment. 

“If I’m being fully honest,” Andre continued, “I love the power of having white men service me, bow to me.  I’ve often tried to do what you guys are doing here but on a much smaller scale.  I’ve tried to get white men to see my humanity, not objectify me when they are down there on their knees, sucking my dick.   I tell them about what it means to be a Black man, that it is much more than having a big dick, but I’ve never invested any time in them.  I’ve never wanted anything to do with them after I get my nut.  I’ve never met anyone like Todd though, that’s for sure.  It makes sense that I’m clearly not the only Black man being serviced by white men and I know it’s extremely prevalent I just never, I mean you just never hear anything about it in the media so it’s easy to believe that it’s isolated and rare if you don’t examine and think about it.”

In the blink of an eye, things went from zero to sixty.  Asali stood up and kissed Andre.  She was turned on by his revelations, by the ease with which he was able to share his history with her.  She was aroused because she had spent months fantasizing about him joining her and Todd and them dominating him together: she the psychological manipulatrix who was able to arouse him with just a whisper and Andre who was willing to lend his Hershey colored temple of perfection to be worshiped and adored while she watched.  This was her kinky dreams come true. 

She pulled away and turned her head to Todd.  “Todd, meet your new Daddy.”  Andre, still caught up in the rapture of her sweet, seductive kiss, squeezed her ass playfully, speaking in their non-verbal code that he was down for anything and everything that she had in mind.  He loved her.  He, like Todd, wanted anything that made her happy. 

Todd responded to the sound of Asali’s sexy voice like a Pavlovian dog, his breathing got quicker and the nerve endings in his body were on full alert and his mouth salivated.  He loved seeing her aroused. 

“Come with me,” she said and she pulled Andre along behind her as she went to the bedroom door.   She gave instructions before opening it.  “The rules are the same for you as they are for my sweet submissive.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, no always means no, and there are no judgements within these walls.” 

She probably had to explain those rules to the other people that entered the room but he and she had been lovers for a while, he understood her in all her complex and beguiling wonder.   He was trusting that she understood the reason for his deception was based on the same fear of rejection that she had had with him.  He was reasonably assured that she was not going to think less of him if he revealed a past that was not 100% what he had previously admitted to.  He had butterflies in his stomach but his hardening erection worked to distract him just a bit. 

Inside the room it was just as he had imagined.  There was a large, queen-sized bed on the right side of the room, clearing the way for the rest of the space that had sex toys and equipment set up all over.  There was what was the equivalent of a dog’s bed at the foot of the bed.  Andre pointed and asked, “Is that where you sleep?”

Todd shook his head no.  “I used to.  I mean, I would sleep there when Ma’am would sleep here or when we had company.  But she hasn’t slept her in a long time and Mistress told me that it was fine if I slept in the bed every night, that she didn’t mind.  She’s always been so thoughtful and generous that way.  It’s one of the reasons I fell in luuhhhhhvvv . . .” His words trailed off into the ethosphere.   He knew he had overstepped his boundaries.  Sure, he and Andre had bonded but his role was as a submissive, not a lover.  He never wanted his Queen to know that he loved her because he didn’t want her to be burdened with such unnecessary information.  She would never love him back and he knew it.  It was an unrequited love that tortured his every waking thought but it was also the same impetus to the sweet imprisonment of eternal servitude at the feet of the one he adored more than any other. 

Sensing his discomfort, Asali tilted his eyes towards her, lifting his chin with her finger.  “I’ve known you loved me from the day I told you that you belonged to me.  It was pretty easy to figure out.  Listen . . . I love you, too.  With that, she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. 

Ten thousand volts of electricity shot through Todd’s body.  The world could end in that second and he would die the happiest man on earth.   He was in a daze.  He wasn’t even entirely sure what happened.  All he knew was his very next conscious experience was watching Asali and Andre making love on the bed in front of him.  He was nude, restrained in chastity, nipple clamps firmly in place, and one of his vibrating butt plugs was in his ass.  Asali had never had sex with anyone in front of him before.  It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.   

It was exactly as if Todd was living the experience through Andre, like their consciences got mixed up somehow and Todd could look down and see and feel what Andre was experiencing.   He could feel the warmth of her lips as he kissed them and the fullness of her magnificent breasts capped by protruding rock-hard nipples that were created to be sucked.  In the heat of the moment they changed bodies and Andre gifted him with the opportunity to experience Heaven on Earth.  Every thrust he gave her, burying his dick in the deep recesses of her exquisite universe, was him giving his heart his soul and his love and feeling her wet, hot, slippery, frothy love being given in return.  

Andre was purposed.  He had become masterful at reading Asali’s body and crafting his love-making around her responses.  Her moans told him everything he wanted to know in a covert code of grunts and groans that translated to how much pleasure she was experiencing.  Soft whimpers let him know that she was luxuriating in the sensations and wanted them to last as long as possible.  Loud breathing meant that she was climbing the ladder of ecstasy and craved more stimulation.  Feral, hedonistic grunts of un- intelligible origins signaled that she was in a primal state between the throes of pure, unadulterated pleasure and cosmic, orgasmic bliss. 

Asali rode him.  She rode him hard.  She was taking her own pleasure and nothing could stop her.  Todd stood mesmerized.  The room filled with the scent of her wet pussy and sweat and pheromones.  Breathing deeply, intoxicated and bewildered, Todd’s soul ached.  Before his eyes, he could see his Mistress cumming, impaling herself on the erect staff of her true Ebony King.  Exhausted, she fell to the bed; exhausted and satisfied. 

Andre, satisfied and drained sexually and emotionally but still unfulfilled physically, signaled for Todd to kneel at his feet as he stood.  It was Todd’s turn to whimper and moan.  He knelt before the powerful man and looked up.  He dare not make a move until told to do so.  Andre’s dick was beautiful: thick and long and standing proud and tall.  With his hands on his hips he directed Todd, “SUCK IT!”

Trembling, light-headed, Todd reached for that dick and held it in his white hand.  The contrast in coloring was amazing to him.  Even in the darkness of the evening light, he could clearly see the glistening juices of his Mistress thickly coating the entire length of that gorgeous penis.  His tongue came out of his parted lips and touched the silky glans of his new Daddy.  Salty, sweet precum mixed with heady, earthy lady-cum and filled his taste buds.  Todd licked like a puppy licks his brand new owner’s face on Christmas morning.  He wanted to taste every drop.  As many times as he’d imagined it, as many times as he had fantasized about tasting his Mistress’ pussy, never had he imagined it would taste like such sublime joy. 

Todd transitioned from licking to full-on sucking rather smoothly.  Before long, he was handling it like a pro, like he had been trained, and practiced, and he loved to do.  He used all his skills.  He wanted to please Asali and Andre equally.  He wanted her to know that he had been worth the investment and that he appreciated everything she had given him, made him into being.  He wanted to please him because he wanted his new Dom to enjoy being serviced and pleasured by a white man, to want more, to feed him that dick and let him swallow that cum all the time.  He wanted to be a slut for his new Daddy. 

Andre was blown away for the second time in one night.  Meeting a white man who had the racial sensitivity and consciousness of the most ardent Black activist and academic was mind-blowing.  Having that same white man on his knees in front of him and giving him head that was blowing his mind as he was about to blow his wad was too much to process.  Andre gently started fucking his face, not brutally at all, but he clearly took control. 

Todd’s senses were on overload.  In a parallel, surreal universe this could never happen.  But it was happening, here and now.  And just when he thought things couldn’t get any better, he felt her presence kneeling directly behind him.  Her moist, naked flesh pressed against his back.  Her nails pinched his nipples.  She whispered in his ear, “Suck that beautiful dick for me.  Show me how you love it.  Show me how much you need it.  Prove to Dre that you love sucking his heavy, thick, hard, Ebony column.”

Todd did just that.  He sucked that dick and put the most enthusiastic female cocksucker to shame.  Andre spurred him on.  “Yeah, suck that cum out of my balls.  You want this cum?  You want it?  Work for it.  Show me that you love the feel of my dick in your mouth.  Of fuck, that’s it.  Come on.  I’ve got a nice bigggggg . . . Ohh shiiiit.” 

Todd didn’t miss a drop. 

As with most fairy tales, they all lived happily ever after.   But it wasn’t the end.  It was just the beginning in fact.  Andre, Todd, and Asali embarked on an erotic journey together.  One that would push all their boundaries and have them re-define their limits. 

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