From the Journal of Jaxon King -- 4
by Skorpio
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Part Eight
Third period, study hall, Marcus pulled me aside, and said: "Meet me out back after school. Gotta axe you something." Then, the bell rang, and he rushed off, leaving me with my spidey-sense tingling.
What could Marcus want? I needed help putting Holman in his place, but we hadn't spoken yet, so it couldn't have anything to do with that. Except, I had a nagging feeling that it did.
It seemed like school was never going to end. I don't like waiting. Patience has never been my strong suit. When I want to know something, I usually go after it. I'm the kind of guy who takes things apart to see how they work.
I worked up the nerve to talk to Monique Phillips about an English assignment. She was looking fine in this soft, pink sweater that clung to her breasts. Perfume like cinnamon or some other spice.
Probably should not have deployed my x-ray vision to see through Monique's sweater, because that got me hard. Made a mental note to call Zach after my meeting with Marcus.
I don't really have spidey-sense or x-ray vision, but you know what I mean. Wish I did have super-powers. Maybe I do, in a way. The power a man knows when he owns a slave.
But there is more to it than that. Zach actually gets weaker around me, while I become stronger. The more submissive he gets, the more I demand from him.
I have a straight whiteboy two years older than me at my beck and call, sucking my dick like a bitch when I snap my fingers, and buying me shit because he wants to be my slave. Tell me that's not a super power.
Finally, school let out.
I met up with Marcus behind the bleachers to the old softball field at the edge of the woods. He fired up a joint and passed it to me. I searched his face for a clue to what was on his mind, but it was like trying to read a wall. His eyes were coals.
It's easy figuring out what whiteboys are thinking. Their faces are open books. But when it comes to brothers, we're a whole different story. We summon this impassive, inscrutable mask to conceal our thoughts.
"Sup?" I asked.
"What's the deal with you and the whiteboy?"
"You mean Zach."
"Yeah, I been watchin y'all, " said Marcus. "Secret talks in the hall when you think no one's around. The way he looks at you sometimes. Like he's in love, know what I'm saying?"
"What do you think is happening?"
"I think he's a fag, and he's sucking your dick."
Marcus is no fool. I like that about him. I decided to take a chance and come clean. It was the only way if I was going to enlist him in my scheme to bring down Holman.
"You're right about him sucking my dick," I shrugged, taking another hit off the joint. "But you're wrong about him being a fag."
"I don't get it."
"Listen, Marcus, what I'm about to tell you has to be our secret. Can I trust you?"
"Word is bond."
We dapped and shook hands. I could tell from the bass in his voice and the sureness of his grip that giving his word meant something.
"Zach is not a fag," I explained. "He digs chicks. But he digs me too. Only in a different way."
"What other way is there?"
"He's my slave."
"Your what?"
"My slave. He does whatever I tell him. When I want a blowjob, he does it. If I want something, he buys it for me."
"Dayummm," said Marcus, dropping his jaw. "But if he does all that for you, why ain't he a faggot?"
"That's complicated. Zach didn't like blowing me at first. But he wanted to be a Black Man's slave. So I let him. What would you do if you wanted a blowjob and just happened to own a slave?"
"I'd tell that bitch to suck my dick."
"Exactly. That's when Zach found out what it really means to be a slave. He's got some kind of guilt / inferiority complex. Don't ask me to explain. Means he's a pussy."
"He's probably a latent homosexual with strong submissive tendencies and a racially dynamic humiliation fetish.
Say what? Was that Marcus talking?
"Do you actually know what that means?" I had to ask.
"Means he's a pussy, cuz!"
"I didn't think you knew what you were talking about."
"Don't you think I watch TV? I watch docu-whatchamacallits."
"Documentaries."
"Yeah. Doc-u-ment-ar-ies. Like Maury Povich and Jerry Springer!"
I don't know if he was pulling my leg or not, but our shared laughter bonded us as brothers. It also confirmed that Marcus was someone who could help me with my plans.
"Lemme ask you a question," he said, drawing another deep puff and exhaling. "Is your bitch any good at giving head?"
"Why do you ask?"
"What's the answer?"
"Not at first. But you know what they say: practice makes perfect. And I make him practice a lot. So, yeah, he's a pretty decent cocksucker, I guess."
"How bout lettin a nigga git summa that?"
The thug was coming out in Marcus. A role he had to step into to take this to the next level, I suppose.
"Why not," I said, taking out my cell with "slave" on speed dial, and set to speaker.
Zach picked up with, "Yes Master?" just as I taught him.
"I'm chilling with a friend behind the bleachers near the old softball field. Get your ass over here."
"Yes Master!"
I said to Marcus: "He'll be here in fifteen minutes."
"Is that all he knows how to say is Yes Master?"
"What else could he possibly want to say to me?"
"Because he's a slave."
"That's right. Because Zach is my slave. Are you having a problem with that?"
"No, I'm gettin it," Marcus declared. "I'm likin it. A lot."
"While we're waiting for Zach to get here, what if I said you get have very own cocksucking slave?"
"I'm listening."
I laid out my strategy for dealing with Holman. I was going to use Zach who may be eighteen but is still a student to entrap the old queer.
"Where do I fit in?"
"You walk in on Holman being faggy, and catch it on your phone as evidence. Zach gets dressed and runs out. Then, you have a talk with Holman about his new role in life. YOUR life."
Marcus thought for a long minute. I could almost see the slow wheels turning behind that impassive, dark brow. But I already knew what he was going to say:
"We need to do this shit!"
We sealed our agreement with a handshake.
"Isn't that your slave?"
Marcus pointed to Zach trotting toward us. Red-faced and panting. Probably ran all the way back to school from home.
"You got him trained like that?"
"He worships me."
"Damn."
Zach's tee-shirt was sweat-soaked. He approached uncertainly, glancing at me bashfully for a sign, then darting to Marcus. His lower lip was quivering.
Poor thing was scared. I might have felt sorry for him, but there was nothing for Zach to be afraid of. He knows he is under my protection.
Until now Zach's enslavement had been our secret. My mom knows, of course, but Zach doesn't know she knows. This is Zach's first time being my slave in front of someone. I knew it was going to make him uncomfortable.
As it should. A slave should never get too comfortable. It will always have tasks it does not like. A wise master must see to that. Zach should have known a day would come when I share him with another brother.
"Kneel before Master Marcus," I commanded.
My slave obeyed without hesitation.
"I've got a job for you, slave. You are gonna give my buddy Master Marcus the best blowjob he ever had. Worship his dick like you worship mine, only put out twice the effort."
Zach looked up at me in chagrin with big brown puppy eyes.
"Don't worry," I said, reading his thoughts. "Marcus knows you're not a fag. You only suck cock because I tell you to suck cock. You're a good slave, aren't you."
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy. Follow orders."
I wasn't interested in watching Marcus get blown, but I did catch some of the action before turning away, just to make sure my slave was doing a good job.
No homo, but damn my boy was packing. Must have seen Marcus in the locker room a hundred times but swear I never checked out his junk before. I am just gonna say one word and be done with this subject forever. Cucumber.
To be honest, I was a little concerned for Zach. Seemed like he always a hard time taking my dick. I couldn't imagine Marcus being easy. But there he was, slurping away, burying his nose in a musky nest of pubic hair like his throat was built for cucumbers! My little cocksucker was clearly exceeding his personal best.
Got me to wondering if Zach has been performing for me, pretending to choke and gag because he knows I get a kick out of that. He works so hard to please me. I will have to think of something to work him even harder.
Zach has a role to play in my plot against Holman, something he might not want to do. But he will do it because I am his master, and I own him. I have plans for Zach.
I considered pimping his oral skills to old white fags for cash, but decided against it. For now. I decided instead that he will get a summer job after graduation flipping burgers or mopping restrooms. He will tell his folks he's saving for college. They're going to be so proud of him.
But Zach is not going to college. And ninety percent of his wages will come to me. At the end of the summer Zach is going to tell his parents he blew his savings on a weekend at the shore where he discovered he was gay after sleeping with a Mexican drag queen...
Or something like that.
Whatever it takes to get Zach kicked out of his house with nowhere to stay. Mom told me if Zach ever needed a place to live, he could have the room in the basement. Our house has two empty guestrooms, but Mom feels like I do. The basement is good enough for Zach. He will be working long hours, two jobs if necessary, to pay tribute to his king.
My dreams of avarice were cut short by a burst of expletives and sputtered gasps. Zach was flat on his back, cum drooling like foam from his lips. If this were a cartoon, stars and little birds would be spinning around his head.
Marcus loomed over Zach, hands on his knees, breathing hard, cucumber drooping, glistening with saliva.
"Use your shirt to wipe your face!" I ordered Zach.
"Damn," Marcus exclaimed. "You tellin me you get your shit sucked like this whenever you want? Anywhere? You feelin the mood for some head, and one phone call, it's like that?"
"I am the Master," I shrugged.
"I want a fucking slave!"
It was getting late, and the sun was sinking fast. Looking down at Zach, I had a few final instructions before dismissing him:
"You will not acknowledge Marcus at school unless he speaks to you first. In private, call him Master. Remember who owns you. But Marcus is a Master, and he deserves to be treated with respect. If he wants a blowjob, get it done. If he wants to fuck you, tell him your cunt belongs to Master Jaxon."
Marcus snickered. I had to chuckle too. Only Zach was not amused. He kneeled at attention like a private in boot camp. Rigid, very serious.
How subservient can a whiteboy get? What does it take to extinguish that last ember of identity to make him the perfect mindless slave? Someday I am going to find out.
Coming out of these thoughts, seeing Zach on his knees, and remembering the effect Monique had on me earlier, made my nature rise.
"We have to talk," I said to Marcus, "but something just came up. Can you give me about ten minutes?"
"No problemo," he laughed.
"My turn, slave," I announced, unzipping my pants.
While Zach was blowing me, Marcus sparked another joint. I told him to save me some.
I ran my fingers through Zach's brown hair, and whispered loud enough for Marcus to overhear, "That's right, bitch, you love daddy's black dick don't you, you love doing your job for daddy, because you're daddy's slave. Suck it good, you dirty little cocksucker, or I might got to punish you. Don't make me mad. Suck it right!"
It felt strange getting a blowjob in front of Marcus, who did not turn away like I did. He watched the whole thing, from nuts to soup, so to speak. But what did I care? Let him watch. It's not like I was with a girl. I was just draining my nuts as casually as if draining my bladder.
When Zach started groaning I grabbed his head and forced his nostrils into my groin before drilling his mouth and throat. If he was going to groan, it was going to be for real. I don't want a slave with its own ideas. I want a slave who simply obeys.
After I busted my nutt, Marcus was ready for another round, so Zach sucked him off again. Three loads of ejaculate, basically three good tablespoons of nubian spermatozoa, what every whiteboy needs at the end of every day.
I think it calms them down. I would have produced a fourth spoonful of super semen, but Marcus and I had things to talk about. Except right now he was about to take a leak.
"Master Marcus needs a urinal!" I barked at Zach.
Immediately, my slave opened its mouth to receive the golden nectar. Marcus didn't need encouragement. Now that we are partners, our minds are kind of in synch.
He pissed like a race horse, more than Zach could gulp. Urine spilled, splashing Zach's face and shirt, dripping like raindrops from his dimpled chin. Bitch looked a mess, and stank.
"Go on home now," I ordered. "Wash up. You smell like a fucking toilet. Get some rest. There's something important you're gonna do for me later. I'll contact you when I'm ready."
"Yes, Master."
"That's what I'm talkin about!" said Marcus.
"Let's get you a slave!"
TO BE CONTINUED....