The
prospect was just too tempting not to investigate further. When Donald Meadows was sent an exclusive invitation
from Mistress Veronique to an event that was described as a private, very real,
and completely voluntary interracial slave auction, he first thought it might
be a party or munch where people meet and greet but he certainly couldn’t
believe that it was an authentic slave auction.
He was intrigued, however, and he trusted the source of the invite so he
started doing his research. The slave
auction was being held in New Orleans and submissive white men were coming from
every corner of the country, potentially from all over the world even, to be
bought, sold, and traded by Black Masters and Mistresses.
All
the I’s were dotted and the T’s were crossed, avoiding the pesky little fact
that the enslavement of real human beings is very much illegal, by virtue of
the white men paying for the opportunity to be treated like actual slaves on an
auction block. You can’t technically, or
more importantly legally, be considered a slave if you have paid for the
opportunity to be treated as such. And
the fee was not at all insignificant; participants could choose from a menu of
how long they wanted to be “enslaved” and what circumstances they preferred:
the plantation experience, the dungeon experience, or the domestic experience. The shortest term for participation was for a
week and while $5,000 dollars wasn’t enough to take out a second mortgage or
anything, it would make anyone who wanted to participate think twice before
they RSVP’d.
Donald was intrigued. Being a true masochist, being driven by his obsessive
need to experience real slavery at the hands of a sadistic Master, combined
with his compelling interracial desires, and driven by this burning, inexplicable
NEED deep within his soul to be humiliated, degraded, objectified, and deeply tortured,
the potential was just too intriguing to ignore. Having acquired enough fiscal freedom in his
lifetime to fulfill his fetishes and fantasies afforded Donald the time,
finances, and opportunity to pack a bag, make a deposit online, and purchase an
airline ticket for The Big Easy.
Sweltering, sticky, and steamy,
the oppressive heat of Louisiana was more than a colorful, descriptive alliteration
for dramatic effect from a Mark Twain novel.
From the moment he emerged from the Louis Armstrong New Orleans
International Airport, Donald started sweating like a pig. He hailed a cab and headed for his swanky
Bourbon Street hotel so he could wash off the perspiration and calm his nerves. In the heart of all the action, in the center
of the city, he could look out his window and see drunken revelers sipping
alcoholic beverages from giant, tacky, colorful plastic cups, he could
practically taste the heady flavors of spicy gumbo and delectable jambalaya,
and he could faintly hear the distinct sounds of zydeco, jazz, and blues
blending harmoniously. Pathologically
shy, he ventured out, but he didn’t interact with the vibrant pulse of his
surroundings, he simply observed. He
would have been more comfortable had he been there with someone he knew or even
if he was assured of what was before him.
Donald’s mind raced with anticipation and nerves. Long ago, he had resigned himself to the
fact that he had a deviant nature, a perverse core within him that would lead
him to do dangerous, questionable things in pursuit of sexual pleasure. Taking chances, being secretive, it all added
to the excitement, the thrill of the ultimate sexual experience he was assured
was out there somewhere.
The next morning, Donald awoke
to a text message instructing him to show up at The Marigny Opera House located
at 725 Saint Ferdinand Street, at 11:00 am for orientation. Nervously, he checked out of the hotel and
asked the concierge the best way to his destination and as fate would have it,
it was within walking distance. “Who
does this? What’s wrong with me?” The questions were rhetorical because the
tingle in his cock was like a compass pointing due north, leading him to
explore the possibilities. It was do or
die, time to shit or get off the pot so to speak. Taking a deep breath, Donald set out on a
journey that would lead him to the realization of his wildest dreams come
true.
Unaware of the historical
significance of the address, Donald walked up to the massive door at the
address and knocked far too softly. No one
would have heard him but the security cameras had alerted the hosts of a new
guest and they responded accordingly.
The expansive door opened and a young Black male, no more than 20 years
old with a boyishly cute face and chiseled muscular body stood there and asked,
“Name?”
Donald fidgeted. This kid?
There was no way he could be in charge, he was barely out of high
school. Immediately, Donald’s brain had
conflicting messages bombard his consciousness at the sight of this young,
Black man. He didn’t think of himself
as racist, he had no reason to believe he was racist as he never used the N
word, but his mind flashed to every, single, solitary media source, every core
belief, everything in his existence told him that Black men were inherently
ignorant, violent, criminal, and, most importantly sexual savages. He thought of gang-bangers and thugs, he
thought of uneducated rappers and basketball players who were all beneath him
in status. He thought of barely-literate
ghetto dwellers, unemployed and smoking weed, with enormous, hard black cocks
exploding with potent Black sperm in his insatiable asshole and his cock
throbbed. “Donald Meadows,” he whispered
as he stepped through the doors.
“Follow me,” the young man said
as he walked through the huge opera hall, Donald’s hard-soled shoes the only
detectable sound, echoed off the walls.
Their first destination was what looked like a classroom with a
blackboard and desks from primary school.
As he stepped through the threshold, he saw five other white men sitting
at tiny desks, filling out paperwork.
Almost as if choreographed, they all looked up simultaneously, sized up
their competition, and nervously looked down again, as if to pretend that they
were filling out job applications for a coveted, high-paid, executive position. They weren’t.
They were signing endless disclaimers and filling out
questionnaires. At the head of the
classroom was a long table where three very beautiful Black women were
seated. They were older than the young
man who escorted him inside but not by much; the youngest looked to be about 25
and the oldest maybe in her mid-thirties, but given the fact that Black people
don’t age the same way that whites do, Donald was open to the possibility that every
last one of them could have been older than he was imagining them to be.
The entire operation was like a
well-oiled assembly line with submissive white men being the finished product. First, Donald was instructed to pay the
balance of his fee and make any additions or changes to his previous online selections. He had initially chosen the one-week
plantation experience with both male and female dominants but being stared down
by the Black female across the table from him, he felt intimidated and at the
last second, for no good reason, opted for two weeks and as quietly as possible
asked if he could use his phone to make the transaction complete. The cocoa-colored, beautiful woman nodded
and he furiously thumbed his phone while she explained that he would be given a
refund, minus a 10% handling fee of course, if he was not purchased by any of
the prospective buyers.
As
he moved down the line he was told that he would be giving up all of his
possession, including his cell phone, his identification, and all of his
belongings. He placed his wallet, his
keys, his phone and whatever money he had in his pockets in an overnight
express envelope that was pre-labeled with his home address on it and it was
sealed and dropped in a bin with about a dozen other similar looking
packages. His luggage was taken from him
and opened and the contents examined in front of the room. He hadn’t packed too much clothing, just enough
for two or three days, with the standard toiletries and a few inconspicuous sex
toys that could easily avoid detection by nosey TSA officials. Everything was thrown away. Even his suitcase. The young man dumped everything in a huge,
gray, industrial trash bin and Donald was instructed to move down to the final
young lady.
At
no point after entering the event space did Donald have the desire to stop, go
back, or change his mind. He was
invested. Electricity coursed through
his body and the entire experience was erotic, even if nothing sexual had happened
yet. The last young lady at the table
was responsible for explaining all the forms.
There were a stack of papers two inches thick that he was supposed to
read and sign before he could proceed.
The first pack was, of course, stating that he was there voluntarily and
that even though he was submitting himself to be “a slave” that he was not
forced, coerced, or blackmailed into the agreement and that he was entering
into it with the full acknowledgement that he was going to be treated as
closely as possible to what actual Black slaves had endured during the 18th
century antebellum South. There were
medical release forms that had the phrase “in the event of death” highlighted
several times. Donald initialed and
signed every place that was highlighted, really only reading the last paragraphs
above the signature lines fully, briefly skimming the rest of the
documents. The last packet of papers
were to be given to his future owners and he was to fill out what seemed like
hundreds of questions about past experiences, fantasies, fetishes,
proclivities, skills, talents, and extremely personal, private inquires.
Moving
to one of the schoolroom desks, he started filling out the endless
questions. Just as he got settled, the
door to the room opened and another white man entered. As before, it was now Donald’s turn to look up
to see who it was, quickly assess him as competition, and shamefully lower his
gaze to the task at hand, answering all those goddamn questions. How many bowel movements did he have in a
week, how often did he ejaculate, how much did he ejaculate, did he have
prostate issues, had he ever had hemorrhoids, could he maintain an erection
without ED meds? The questions had no
boundaries. Donald was mortified. With each question he became more and more
aroused. The more personal and invasive
the question, the more he became aroused.
He tried to quantify how much pain he thought he could handle on a scale
of 1-10 without exaggerating and without making himself unappealing to
potential buyers. It was all dizzying.
The
building was completely modern and centrally cooled but it seemed that all the
white men, seated at desks only appropriate for small children, had drenched
their shirts with underarm sweat and had rivulets of perspiration dripping from
every possible gland. When he had
finished, Donald, stood to take his completed packets to the front and the male
immediately yelled at him to sit the fuck down, in no uncertain terms. It was as if lightning had hit his
body. Donald realized that all his
rights had been signed away and that he had forfeited everything, even the
right to stand and sit when he pleased.
His mind reeled at the concept and it aroused him in a place that he had
never experienced before. Not only was
he going to be a slave, he was going to be a slave to actual descendants of
slaves. He was going to be subjected to
tortures and punishments by individuals who had every right to seek sadistic
and cruel revenge against white men who had historically done more evil than he
had ever thought to imagine. The
ever-popular adage, “My ancestors never owned any slaves,” didn’t seem like it would
to matter very much to this team. The
fact that he was white and had all the privileges that having white skin and a
penis in this society would afford him seemed to be all they cared about.
In
his lifetime, Donald had been subjected to treatment by white men, sadists,
that was beyond perverted, that was sick and truly fucking twisted. If white men had been capable of doing those
things to him, of getting sexual pleasure from his abject pain and he was one
of them, if he in fact “belonged to the club” so to speak, what had white men
done to actual slaves that they had no respect for, whom they didn’t even see
as human, whom they despised for their skin color? Donald was too privileged, too enmeshed in
the fallacy of white supremacy to even grasp the implications. The fact that actual slaves, actual Black
people couldn’t sign a paper or fill out a form stating their preferences, the
fact that actual slaves didn’t get sexual gratification from having their
babies ripped from their arms, they didn’t voluntarily choose to be raped or
castrated or branded or hanged, that he would never know what it’s truly like
to be sold like a horse with no say in the matter; it never crossed his mind
and it was beyond his comprehension. All
he could think about was his voracious need to be gangbanged by Black men and
being a toilet for Black women. All he
could think about were his own sick fantasies.
Once
all the papers were completed, once everyone had finished, the seven white men
were all instructed to follow the young Black man to another destination. They walked calmly through the majestic stone
halls and up a grand staircase where they were ushered into a large room that
was completely empty; the only real feature that the space offered were the
spectacular views of the historic city.
Inside the room were five other white men who had made themselves
comfortable, or at least as comfortable as they could be, seated on the cold,
tiled floor. The door, slammed
unceremoniously behind them, was locked from the outside and almost
immediately, a few of the others started making small talk. They were nervously asking questions and
making introductions.
Donald,
never one to stand out, remained a little more protective of his personal
information than a few of the others seemed to be. He made sure to put names with faces but he didn’t
care about or even believe them when they spoke of careers and families and
even their personal lives. It was not
long before Donald had to go to the bathroom.
There was no restroom and he was a victim of a weak bladder that had to
be emptied frequently. One of the other
men noticed his predicament and slid next to him to whisper that there was a
bucket in the corner that they had taken to be what they were supposed to us to
relieve themselves. As if by unspoken
code, everyone turned their backs and pretended not to see or hear the urine
collecting in the bucket. The smell was
not as easy to ignore as the strong yellow piss mixture created a rancid
odor.
As
the evening wore on, hunger set in. The setting
sun created a magnificent backdrop to the cityscape with its beautiful hues of
orange and purple. Donald’s stomach
growled loudly as he tried to think of other things. A few of his roommates were not as willing to
remain silent and they started banging on the door, demanding food, demanding
that someone tell them what was going to happen. They tried to open the windows; they started
to get agitated, irritated, and annoyed.
As the lights of the city night illuminated the skyline, it was apparent
that they were not going to get any food or answers and Donald took off his
shirt to make a makeshift pillow out of it as he lay on the floor.
With
only minutes of sleep, morning came none too soon. While the city was still sleeping, the door
unlocked and a different Black man this time, an older, much larger and
menacing one called the name Ted and one of the men stood nervously. “Come with me,” he bellowed, and his fellow
submissive used his eyes to scan the room for empathy and answers. As the door shut behind him, the others came
alive with nervousness and anticipation.
Donald maneuvered his way to one of the windows and used the sill as a
seat and he glanced nervously at the guy named Mark and they whispered about
what they thought might be happening. Mark
said, “Man, don’t you get it? This is
the true slave experience. Real slaves
were starved to death, they were made to sleep on floors, they were transported
and held captives with no explanation, and they were sold like cattle. We signed up for the true slave experience
and we’re getting it. Pissing and
shitting in a bucket, it’s humiliating. Even
this place, man, it’s rumored to be one of the last standing slave trading
auction blocks of the era.”
In
that moment, Donald felt the souls of the slaves speaking out to him. They were haunting him, calling him names,
telling him that he was a sexual deviant who would never understand what they
felt having their humanity traded like a child’s baseball card. Several men had to use the bucket to shit and
the stench became even more oppressive as everyone pretended to be
oblivious. As the morning wore on, one
by one, the door opened and another name was called. Seemingly they were being called in the order
of their arrival which meant Donald was the next to last to be called. When it was down to he and John, and the door
opened, he had tried to smooth his wrinkled shirt out and he was ready to move
to the next phase, whatever that would be.
As
it turned out, the next phase was a medical examination. This new Black man escorted him to a room
that looked like it was a doctor’s office.
He was given an EKG and a prostate exam that was more like manual rape
than a medical procedure. The doctor, or
rather the person who seemed to be functioning as a doctor because there were
no medical degrees framed on the wall and no proof whatsoever of his
credentials, was another Black man: tall, dark-skinned, handsome, and quiet, he
didn’t explain what he was doing, what was going to happen, he had no bedside
manner whatsoever. He was particularly
brutal in the way in which he examined Donald’s mouth, ears, and nose. He squeezed Donald’s testicles so hard as to cause
him to groan which was no small feat given the abuse those nuts had endured
over the course of his lifetime.
Stripped
of all his clothing, with nothing on but a hospital gown, Donald was led into
yet another corral-type room where his fellow slaves were waiting for him as
before, all in blue or white gowns that no one even attempted to tie to hide
their buttocks. When everyone had
finished their medical exam, it was then a Black woman with a clipboard entered
the room. She seemed to be in control of
the entire operation.
“OK,
maggots, I’m going to explain to you what’s going to happen. I’ve had 150 responses to my invitations for
tonight’s auction. A few are leather
daddies but the vast majority are Black female Dommes who are looking for white
men who are not playing online games and making empty promises. Mostly, they are lifestyle Dommes who enjoy
the lifestyle for personal reasons.
While they will be ‘buying’ you, they will be compensated nicely for
their participation and the amount they bid to purchase you is reflective of
your potential value to them as a slave.
It’s your job to impress them so that they want to take you on as a
slave. Get it? Got it?
Good!”
It
was then that Donald started truly sizing up his competition. With the exception of two of the white men,
all of them were older, not very attractive, certainly not well-endowed, and
even if they weren’t obese, they weren’t very fit. The remaining two white men were younger, in
the context of their surroundings they could be considered reasonably
attractive but they certainly wouldn’t win any contests in the real world. What they did have to offer was beautiful
young bodies. They were smooth, their
skin taught and tanned, their muscles rippled as evidence of working out. Donald immediately thought of himself in his
younger days, how he could have competed with any of them, of how he was the
object of lust who could easily tempt men with his boyish charm and looks. His present demeanor made him . . . ashamed and insecure. That feeling stirred arousal within him and
thusly, created a conflict within him.
By
then, all the white men were all but starving and Donald spoke up and meekly
asked about food. The woman calmly responded
by saying that they would get food later.
It was several hours later and they were fed, but it could hardly be
called food. They were served on metal
prison plates a meal of oatmeal and fat back, a greasy piece of pork product that
might have had a trace of meat if one were to look very closely or if one were
to have a very vivid imagination.
Without any utensils, Donald scooped up the bland, nutrition-less, goop with
his fingers and fed himself. Having no
taste or flavor it still tasted like a gourmet meal with him having gone far
more than 24 hours without any food. To
drink, they weren’t given water, they were given cheap whiskey. It burned going down and tasted like the
dregs of the bottom of the barrel.
Within an hour, all twelve men were completely intoxicated.
At
the dawn of their second evening there, Donald could hear the makings of a
party downstairs. There were the sounds
of music and people being festive, and the aromas of wonderful food being
served wafted about, making Donald’s hunger even more apparent. Intoxicated, Donald tried to figure out a
strategy to get purchased. He was trying
to figure out how to stand out, how to make himself more appealing. His planning was interrupted as several Black
men, all ones he had never seen before, entered their room with buckets of
water and bars of lye soap that smelled liked disinfectant. The water was freezing cold and they had no
washcloths or towels and the Black men seemed to be amused by their predicament
as the white men tried to clean themselves and make themselves presentable. With each passing moment, the dawn of
realization that what actual slaves had to endure was far worse than his
circumstances became more and more apparent.
He hadn’t been raised to believe himself inferior his entire life. He had never done a hard day’s work in his
life, he had never been sold away from his loved ones, he had never been forced
to do anything sexually that he didn’t want.
It was almost as if the spirits of slaves were whispering to him within
those walls, telling him that he would never know what it truly means to be
hated for no other reason than the color of his skin.
The
witching hour was nigh. The woman with
the clipboard came in, this time dressed wearing an elegant gold evening gown,
and she gave details of what was going to happen. There was going to be an inspection period
where the invited guests would be able to examine, question, and scrutinize
them in any way they wanted. The men
were stripped naked and given a hit of poppers, the effects of which combined
with the alcohol immediately. The final
insult was that they were all chained together with heavy leg irons that left
little room for movement. Quickly, they
had to get in rhythm so as not to fall down and it wasn’t so easy for some of
them that didn’t have the natural cadence of Africans.
In
the grand opera hall, opulent and elegant, the white men stood on the stage like
they were about to face a firing squad. Donald
tried not to look at any faces in the crowd, rather, he hung his head in
shame. The examination period was akin
to gang rape. The Black men who were
present all pulled their dicks out and demanded oral sex from the submissives
they were interested in. For Donald, seeing all the sexual activity going on
around him flipped the switch in his brain that signaled his love of depravity. Some slaves were fucked like dogs from behind,
without even seeing the face of their penetrators. Donald was neither required to give oral sex
or offer his asshole for use by any of the potential buyers. He stood there, feeling insecure, and again wishing
that this type of event had existed in his younger years, as a few people
slapped his nuts and looked in his mouth like they were buying a horse.
The
bidding began. Even though the room was
filled with hundreds, the participants were only allowed to bid on the white
men who matched their specific offerings:
Dommes with dungeons were only allowed to bid on those white men who
requested that specifically and so on, so the number diminished quickly of
potential buyers who had actual property that could be used as a plantation. The order of the auction didn’t seem to be
based on the same order that they had been previously called. The youngest two were up for auction first. They both were to be matched with dominants
who wanted household domestics, servants, sexual playthings for Black Dommes
wanting a boy toy and there was a bidding frenzy for them. In the age of technology, bids were made by
phone and the amounts were posted on large screens around the room. The opening bid was $100 and quickly rose to
$800 for the first and got as high as $1200 for the second young man. They seemed proud of themselves.
The
next group to bid were the dominants with dungeons. Six of the remaining white men were matched
with those buyers and bidding didn’t get to more than $200 for any of
them. One didn’t get any bids and one
got a bid of $50 as a sort of last minute reprieve. Of the four remaining whites, Donald was
feeling pessimistic about his chances of being purchased for the evening. He would have to go home, dejected and
inconsolable.
Just
as his “item number” was being called, and he was being described by the woman
in gold, Donald felt the pangs of rejection.
This was his one shot. In the
privacy of his own home, Donald routinely behaved in shameful and disgusting
ways in his relentless pursuits of the ultimate in degenerate acts. This was no time to hold back. Having no shame and taking a deep breath, emboldened
by the amyl nitrate, Donald, desperate to show his depravity to the audience,
fell to his knees and turned to his closest neighbor’s hard cock and began
sucking it and trying to show just how depraved and perverted he could be. The bidding began. Wanting to show their respective perversion,
the other white maggots began to perform as well, one fist fucking himself with
no lube or spit, another torturing his balls in ways that indicated that they
hadn’t produced sperm in a very long time.
By the time Donald had made his fellow submissive shoot a feeble stream
of cum in his mouth, the final bid was $400.
Sold! Now, he could truly be called
a slave.
Donald
was given a burlap sack, literally, a bag made from jute with two holes cut for
his arms to wear, and he was ushered into a van out a back door of the
building. Seated on a bench, Donald
waited. One by one, the remaining three
plantation slaves were loaded in the van and they were again chained together
with heavy leg irons and chains that seemed to weigh even more now that the
effects of the alcohol and poppers had worn off a bit. It seems, in his delusional lust, Donald
hadn’t noticed that the bidding was for a package deal: all four subs were sold for $400, $100 a
piece, to a consortium of Blacks who took dominating whites very seriously and
had purchased a hundred acre plantation in Mississippi for the sole purpose of
stripping white men of their dignity and humanity. For a
brief moment Donald wondered what sort of pride and/or shame real slaves felt
knowing their value on the auction block.
It was only a fleeting thought; he was more concerned with what sexual
thrills might lie ahead of him.
The
ride took hours, exactly how long he couldn’t know, but he was uncomfortable
and sleepy and hungry again. At some
point in the middle of the night, the vehicle arrived at its destination and
they were herded out of the van and into the night air. All the slaves were immediately divested of
their sacks and they were to remain naked for the duration of their stay. If at any time a Dominant wanted to use or
abuse them sexually, their genitals were to be easily accessible at all
times. Half expecting to be led to their
sleeping quarters, the slaves were introduced to their new owners. There were three men and three women. Masters Evan, Jason, and Kavai were all
professional looking and well dressed, no hoodies or red or blue colored
bandanas, there wasn’t a gold teeth or chain among them. They were not the thugs he had fantasized
would be raping him. They had on
expensive designer suits and were groomed to perfection. They certainly would do, however, as they all
sported enormous erections that looked dangerous and lethal.
Mistresses
Alana, Anntia, and Raquel were dressed well but it was not their clothing that
captivated Donald. With their heels, they
all stood a foot taller than him and they were all muscular, like body
builder/steroid junky/gym rat sort of muscular.
There hadn’t been much miscegenation in their ancestry because all of
them were very dark skinned. Donald
couldn’t take his eyes off them. Mistress
Alana wore her hair in braids while Mistresses Anntia and Raquel had their hair
styled in a way that Donald didn’t have words for; it was best described as . .
. complex and ethnic. They were dressed
exactly how you would expect a professional Domme to look, tight black leather skirts
and boots and skimpy tops that barely held their ample breasts and hard,
bulging muscles accessorized their ensembles.
They looked like they could crush him like a bug if they wanted to. And indeed they looked like they wanted
to.
Before
they could be led to the place where they were to sleep, all four men had to perform
oral sex on their new Masters. Donald
got his face brutally fucked in the wee morning hours as he was slapped, called
names, and laughed at by his new owners.
The lovely ladies all donned massive strapons that they forced down the
throats of their captives as well. He
choked, vomited, gagged, and swallowed piss and cum before he was thrown in a
barn. The haystacks he made into a
makeshift bed felt like a they had been programmed with his perfect sleep
number after his ordeal in New Orleans and he passed out from exhaustion.
His
first day of captivity was memorable only in that his surroundings were new and
strange. The very first thing he was
subjected to was being placed on a horse with a rope around his neck that was
tied to a tree. He was there for what he
imagined to be an hour, his body shaded from the burning morning sun by the shade
of the majestic 200 year old maple. Donald didn’t have to wonder why he was being
subjected to this particular punishment and he was made to explain to his
owners exactly why he was. During
slavery, Blacks were routinely hanged from trees, it was the strange fruit that
Billie Holiday sang about. Donald felt
the fear of his life when Master Jason slapped the horse and it ran off and he was
left hanging from a tree by his neck with a rope, his feet were feet from the
ground, his air was being cut off while his owners laughed at his predicament.
He
wasn’t sure exactly how he got down from the tree as he had passed out and when
he awoke, his legs were spread by a huge bar and his body shackled in a
stockade device and he was being whipped by one of his Masters, which one he
couldn’t be sure, and a large object, exactly what he couldn’t be sure of
either, had been inserted deeply in his rectum.
After that, the days were to run together in his mind because 18 to 20
hours a day, he had no contact with the outside world, and he was being
tortured in ways that he’d never contemplated before. It was clear that while on the plantation his
only job would be to suffer the sadistic tortures of his owners.
The
flesh from his back, cock, and balls was beaten raw with various devices until
his flesh was a constant shade of red and purple, black and blue. He was enclosed in metal boxes that had been
dug into the ground and left in the unbearable heat with no water with only his
head above ground. Once, his head was
covered with honey and he was left there for hours as every sort of insect made
a feast of his head, neck, and face. He
wasn’t allowed to bathe, he had no toothbrush, not deodorant, no toilet
paper. Additionally , he was fed food
that actual slaves had to eat. Pig’s
feet, chitterlings, and scraps of rotted food that was unfit for humans was
served in a trough and they had to eat like real pigs. Every
bite was excruciating.
It
was the Dommes, however, who were the most sadistic. They took evil delight in seeing their slaves
scream in agony. It was nothing for them
to use torches to burn the soles of a disobedient slave’s feet and unleash
vicious dogs on them to chase them through the woods, across jagged rocks and
rough terrain like a runaway slave. Donald
did not have to endure that particular inhumanity because he willingly
submitted to whatever deviant torture he was subjected to but he was ever
cognizant of the fact that it could happen to him at any moment. True to their nature as women, they wanted a
more intimate, personal torture of their slaves. They would sit their full, round, black asses
on their slave’s faces until they would pass out, until they were seconds from
death, revive them, and then do it again.
Anything that they could put their hands on was used to penetrate their
slaves, to fuck them fiercely, and they seemed to be particularly amused by
trying to fist each of the slaves as hard and as deeply as possible.
Perhaps
the greatest torture was that Donald was not allowed the pleasure of even
seeing his Mistress’s pussies. Often
times, he could smell their arousal and he hear the clear sounds of fucking
coming from their quarters so he knew that his owners were engaged in extended
sexual pairings, seemingly aroused by their ability to torture and humiliate
white men at their whim. He wanted to
lick their cum-filled cunts, he longed to drink their hot piss straight from
the source but it was not to be. During
his stay Donald was not to experience anything that was remotely close to
pleasure, pain was his only sustenance.
The
evening’s entertainment, after everyone had eaten, the Masters having a catered
meal, the slaves eating scraps, would usually be one of the Dommes picking a
victim to wrestle. They would all head
to the barn and in a boxing ring, one of the slaves would be made to spar with a
Domme while the others watched. It was
the third night before Donald was forced to fight with Mistress Anntia and she
thoroughly kicked his ass. She treated
him like a rag doll. He was flipped and
tossed about, punched, and kicked until he was covered in bruises and truly
beaten.
The
few hours that they had to sleep, the time before the sun came up when he had a
few moments to reflect on his predicament, Donald would think about what real
slaves had to endure. Those were the
most painful moments of his day. He had
never been denied education; he didn’t know what it felt like to know that
there was no end to his pain. Everything
that he was going through, he knew that actual slaves had it much worse. That thought tortured him in ways he had
never anticipated. Whatever he had to
endure, whatever predicament he faced, Donald knew it was temporary, that he
had a home and a life to return to at the end of his “vacation”. His brain was conflicted. On some deep level, he wanted this to be his
existence for life. His role in life,
his true identity was an inferior pain pig.
He wanted his owners to be proud of him, to be proud of how much pain he
could take for them; he wanted them to enjoy inflicting pain on him.
As
the end of the first week drew near, Brain had formed a stronger bond with his
captors than his fellow slaves. He loved
the way their minds worked, how they had little or no concern about the
well-being of their slaves, he loved the creative and repugnant tortures they
came up with. He loved them. He loved belonging to them. And his opportunity to show his utter
devotion would be at the slave games which were actually Olympic style
competitions for the sole purpose of abusing the slaves for the entertainment
of their Masters. As fate would have it,
the competition involved feeding the slaves Viagra and X and then each and
every Dominant using stinging nettles from head to toe on each of the slaves
until they begged for mercy. He learned
that the use of stinging nettles was actually a punishment inflicted on real
slaves in the US historically and he cringed with conflicted guilt and aroused anticipation.
Set
out to pick their own weapons of ass destruction, two of his comrades dissolved
into a heaping mass of tears before they suffered the first blow. They begged for mercy, leaving Donald and Chris,
the other remaining slave, to offer any part of their bodies for abuse. Chris lasted about a minute before he
succumbed to the pain and cried out for them to stop. He was defeated.
Donald
stood proud. From the moment he entered
the opera house he’d felt insignificant, unremarkable. For the first time since his adventures began,
Donald felt noteworthy. Clad in rubber from head to toe, Master Kavai set about
to beat Donald about the cock and balls so severely that he would be forced to
surrender. Donald moaned and groaned,
but they were sounds of definite pleasure, there was no mistaking that. He felt each stinging blow as excruciating pain
but also pleasure. Well, it registered
as pain, his cock and balls were red and swollen, but the force with which he
was being beaten, the level of intense pain, all the eyes watching him, his
total surrender, everything worked him into a sexual frenzy. He wanted to suck cock, to get fucked, he
wanted to be put in a head lock with the strong thighs of Mistress Raquel and
smell her musky pussy and asshole while his oxygen supply was being cut off. He wanted, craved, and needed more. He writhed around on the dusty ground and
screamed out, but he never said the word stop.
Master
Even seemed angered and he tied Donald to a tree and donned arm-length rubber
gloves and started beating Donald himself.
“You like this? You want
this? My ancestors didn’t want
this. Who’s really inferior you fucking
sick fuck? Answer me! Who’s really inferior? Fucking pig!” He exhausted himself beating Donald. One by one, everyone took turns beating Donald
with the stinging nettles. Finally, all
three Mistresses decided that they would assault him simultaneously.
Donald’s
wrists were tied together and he was strung up in a tree, his feet barely
touching the ground. His cock was hard
from the Viagra; his mind was clouded with lust by the Ecstasy. Front and back, top to bottom, there was not
a square inch on his body that did not receive lashes with the stinging
nettles. Donald was in a sub space
mentally like he’d never experienced before.
His body was covered with red welts.
He made sounds like a wounded animal.
He was rendered unconscious from the pain momentarily and was revived
with ice-cold water only to have the beating start again. Exasperated and angry, Master Evan cut him
down from the tree. Donald’s body
crumpled to the ground and he lay there with his six Masters surrounding
him.
Feral
and disoriented, Donald grabbed his cock for the first time since being on the
plantation and started furiously jerking off.
His Masters spit on him, kicked him, pissed on him, cursed him and he
loved it more and more. He loved their
anger, he loved their disgust, and he loved their cruelty. His red and abused cock erupted in an orgasm
with more force than it had done in 30 years.
He
awoke the next morning in the barn. He
glanced around his surrounding to see that he was alone. He couldn’t move, his body was literally
paralyzed with pain. Mistress Alana came
to give him his breakfast, grits with sugar and butter and more fat back, and
he inquired about the whereabouts of the other slaves.
“Oh,
you don’t know? Well, they only signed
up for one week, you signed up for two.
We have you all to ourselves for another seven days.”
Copyright
2016 AfroerotiK
