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
