Caveat lector: this porno-GRAPHIC story explores the theme of Black Domination from the perspective of an African-American adolescent. If that is not your fantasy, fetish, or reality, return to the index of many, many stories under the Nifty banner provided free of charge to the public. Please make a generous donation to this worthy site in order for it to continue.
From the Journal of Jaxon King -- 5
by Skorpio El Escorpión Negro
Part Nine
Someday when I look back on this, I'm probably going to think I was out of my freaking mind, but we actually pulled it off. Project Black Male went down precisely as planned, and I have to give props to my obedient white slave for coming through for the squad like he did. Zach was more than eager to help bring down our racist faggot history teacher, Mr. Holman. Or Mr. Hole, as Marcus likes to call him. I can't help but laugh as I am writing this. It's almost too funny for words.
Phase One went down like this. Friday night, Zach showed up Holman's house. At first, the old faggot was hesitant to let the eighteen year old senior inside, but Zach pretended to be in tears. Once inside he confessed to Holman that he was gay and desperately wanted to lose his virginity to a wiser, mature, older man. Zach sported an old pair of tight, raggedy gym shorts left over from junior high, commando style to display his junk, showing off his long boyish legs. He came up with that outfit all on his own, which makes me wonder how straight Zach really is.
Phase Two: Zach sweet-talked Holman into driving to a motel on the edge of town where Marcus and I just got finished setting up our hidden video cam. We ducked behind some cars seconds before they pulled up, and then studied the video feed on my lap top. The screen remained dark until Zach clicked on every lamp in the room. What happened next was like a cheap-ass gay porn movie. Zach kissed and fondled Holman while getting them both undressed at the same time. He sat the old man down in the armchair. Then, Zach got on his knees and sucked the faggot's dick. On time, on cue, on camera.
Phase Three: Marcus busted in, catching Zach and Holman in flagrante. The old fag looked like he was going to piss himself. That would have been pretty funny considering Zach's lips were still wrapped around the teacher's ugly little toadstool prick. Marcus ordered Zach to get dressed and leave. Then, he stood over the quivering homosexual, pulled out his big black tool, and told Holman to take care of it. While the old cocksucker did his job, Marcus explained how it is going to be from now on. Total obedience, or the video of him in a motel room with a high school kid, plus Zach's sworn testimony, would be delivered to the authorities.
It's been a week since Holman was collared. Literally. Marcus gave the fag an old leather dog collar he had at home (I think his pit-bull must have died), and ordered him to wear it all the time except at school where he is to keep it in his pocket. Marcus hangs out at Holman's house every night where he gets treated like a pharaoh of Ancient Times. He says the old fag really knows how to suck a dick. One night when Marcus did not show up, Holman texted him to come over because he missed having that good black dick in his mouth. Who would have guessed Holman secretly wanted to be dominated by a young Black Alpha Master. Holman is different now. Not the same arrogant asshole, that's for sure. He calls all the brothers "Sir" now, and avoids looking us in the eye. I got an A-plus on my paper: "Unforeseen Ramifications of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade." I deserved that grade, but ordinarily the best I could have expected from him would have been a B-minus.
Part Ten
"How's your cocksucker treating you?" I asked Marcus.
"Gettin better every day!" Marcus flashed his pearly whites like Billy Dee in a malt liquor commercial.
"Cool." We dapped. "Yeah," I said, "it's a sweet deal getting excellent head whenever you feel like it. Takes a lot of the pressure off, know what I mean? But don't think of him as just a cocksucker."
"Isn't that what he is?"
"Yes and no," I replied. "He's a born cocksucker. Put on earth to help out men like us, because we have needs. Fags wants to be used. It would be crazy not to take advantage of that."
"Yeah, I used to hate fags. I thought they were useless fairies, but this cunt fucking worships me. I can get my joint sucked just by snapping my fingers."
"Holman can do a lot more for you, blood, than suck your dick."
"What do you mean?"
"Tell that fag to take you shopping," I suggested. "Black dick ain't free. He should be thanking you."
Marcus wanted to know what I thought about making Holman send more incriminating texts to go along with the video. I said that was not a bad idea, but probably unnecessary. Holman likes being a slave. It was surprising how easily he got with the program. Like he always wanted a Black Alpha teen in his life. Makes me wonder how many more lost homosexuals are out there in need of a Master. Someone should round them up.
What I like about Marcus is he is direct and doesn't waste a lot of words. That's why I was not surprised when he asked, "You ever fuck your slaveboy Zach in the ass?"
"Not yet. But I've been thinking about it lately."
"Don't suppose you would let a nigga break him in for you?"
"Not a chance. And Zach has orders to tell you his cunt belongs to Master Jaxon."
"Dayummm!"
We dapped and laughed over that.
"So, you ever been laid?" Marcus inquired, matter of factly. We were brothers, Black Alpha Masters, we got our dicks sucked by a whiteboy together, and collared an old white fag. There can be no secrets between us.
"No," I admitted. "A lot of girls have tried to get me into bed, but I don't want my first time to be with a slut, know what I'm saying?"
"I hear you, brother! My first time was with a slut, and she -- well, let me tell you it was incredible fucking fantastic word is bond! But I know what you're sayin."
"So I been thinking, maybe it's time Zach does a little more for me than suck my dick and buy me shit."
"When you gonna tap that bitch's ass?"
"This weekend."
"After you bust it, think I can break off summa that?"
"I will let you know," I laughed. "The bitch might need a few days to recover. What about Holman? You gonna pound his pussy?"
"That wrinkled white ass, oh hell no!" Marcus exclaimed. "His mouth looks purty with my dick in it, but I'm not goin near that nasty old booty. Your bitch on the other hand. I bet he got a sweet little ass. I could definitely tap that shit. Think he needs to get fucked."
"Word is bond!"
"Don't you think all whiteboys need some dick up the ass?"
"I think they need black dick... shoved down their throats and rammed up the ass... the white man has been fucking niggas over ever since we hit the gangplank when they brought us to this country."
Part Eleven
Saturday morning, I texted Zach to come over ASAP. Fifteen minutes later he was at my door, out of breath. Mom was on her way out because I asked if Zach and I could be alone in the house sometime. She smiled knowingly. "Your father would be proud of you," was all she said. That was all she needed to say. My mom is cool.
Zach spilled into my room, panting. I was sitting on the edge of my bed wearing ear buds, upper-body dancing to some old school Parliament-Funkadelic, stripped to the waist, punching the air. Zach was saying something. I rolled my eyes as if it was a nuisance having to remove my buds.
"I got here as fast as I could," said Zach.
"Yes, I see," I said, trying not to smile. I like to keep the slave guessing. He doesn't need to know every time he pleases me. He should live in fear of my displeasure. "You can leave the door open. My mom has gone to see her aunt in Hoboken. She won't be home until tomorrow.
Zach gets so pitiful when a few days go by without being alone with me that I almost feel sorry for him. He is like a puppy dog that way. Maybe I should follow Marcus's lead and collar Zach. I bet he would like that. But today I had other plans.
I played the video of Holman's entrapment in the tacky motel room. Naked Zach was bobbing and slobbering up and down on the old fag's nasty hard-on. Holman was moaning like he was in the throes of a rolling orgasm.
"How come you never sucked my dick like that?"
Zach's pale brow furrowed. His thin lower lip quivered like a leaf in the wind. He started to speak but no words came out. He knows that I know that he has given me some hellacious blowjobs, but being the good slave that he is, Zach could not bring himself to contradict me. His puppy eyes beseeched me apologetically to put a merciful end to his anguish.
"I'm kidding," I said, after a minute of stern silence. "You're the best cocksucker in town! In the entire state! It's like you were born to suck cock, you know? You're like a cocksucker savant. You could open a school for cocksucking. It's still hard for me to believe you're really straight. Zach, are you sure you're not a fag? It's okay if you are. Makes no difference to me."
Blood rushed into Zach's cheeks. He hates when I call his heterosexuality into question. I only do it to mess with his head. It's interesting that my teasing bothers him so much. Maybe Zach has doubts about himself. I really do wonder about him sometimes. It's hard to conceive of a normal straight guy sucking dick for any reason.
"Get nekkid," I told him. "Stand at attention."
He peeled off his clothes in record time. That's how well he obeys me.
"Spread your legs. Hands behind your head."
For the first time I took a good look at Zach's body. The hair under his arms had to go. The pubic hair as well. All that fuzz should have been long gone. Body hair is a sign of manhood, a secondary sex trait that a slave does not deserve. Can't have Zach thinking he is a man. Not after centuries of grown-ass black men being called boys. His flaccid pecker was thin and useless looking, not a real man's dick at all. Makes me question how white women feel anything when a white man fucks them. Maybe that's why the white man hates us niggas so much. They're jealous.
I turned around the ladder back armchair at my desk to face the 32 inch flatscreen hanging on my wall. "Have a seat," I insisted. "From this point forward you are not to say a word unless I give you permission. Nod your head if you understand."
Zach nodded but there was a look of uncertainty on his face. I keep forgetting that in addition to loving me, Zach is also afraid of me. He never knows what I'm gonna do next. The first time I made him blow me, Zach was surprised that I would take being his Master to that level. But he did it because he feels guilty and ashamed of being white. He gets it. He needs a black man in his life, and that is only going to happen if we are the ones in charge. The white man's day is over. We call the shots.
"I know you're probably not a homosexual," I said, gently patting him on the cheek. "But you have to admit you've got some fag tendencies. Maybe that's my fault for using your mouth as often as I do. You can't blame a brother for that, though, not the way you suck a dick. What I can't figure out is why you get so much pleasure out of it. Is it because you enjoy serving your Master whatever He demands of you? Or are you in it for the dick like old man Holman? You may speak now."
"I'm not like Holman. He's a queer, Sir."
"That's what we're gonna put to the test," I said, tying Zach's wrists and ankles securely to the chair with four lengths of clothesline readied in advance.
I eased a DVD labeled Hot and Horny Cheerleaders into the machine and clicked play with the remote. It opened with six girls of mixed ethnicity getting undressed in the locker room after their team won the big game. Nudity ensued, followed by kissing and fondling in the shower not to mention scenes of cunnilingus and mutual masturbation. It got me hard when I previewed it, so it would be interesting to see its effect if any on Zach.
"I'm gonna leave the room for awhile," I told him. "Enjoy the movie. Master's treat!"
I was gone for an hour. I went to the basement where I keep my free weights and Bullworker and did a couple sets. I may only be fifteen but I am starting to get buff, putting some beef into my chest and arms. One hundred crunches to keep my six pack looking chiseled. I have grown an inch or more just this last year. Mom keeps wanting to measure me.
I wondered how Zach was making out, so I crept upstairs and peeked into the bedroom. His eyes were riveted to the screen, and his dick was standing up like a bleached white bone. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead. Zach was telling the truth all along. He actually is straight. I was pleased, because that makes fucking him even better. It would feel funny fucking a fag. A fag isn't going to feel used. Putting dick to a straight white boy is more my style.
I stepped out on the deck behind the house to smoke a joint while I thought about fucking Zach. Did I want to take him doggy style or missionary? Doggy-style, I decided, so I would not have to look at his junk. Marcus was right. Zach needs to get fucked, and I need to get laid too. Someday the right girl is going to come along, and I want her to know she is my first, but I also want to know what I am doing. That's why all young brothers should have white slaves to fuck because practice makes perfect.
I was stoned when I returned to the bedroom. The emotions on Zach's face were a muddle to read, embarrassment, maybe a hint of resentment, definitely frustration, but his quivering boner spoke loud and clear. He would have masturbated by now if his wrists were not tied to the chair. There should be a way of preventing a slave from ever masturbating again without permission. I am sure there is. I could control Zach with a command, but out of sight is out of mind, and a chastity device would not hurt. Control is good. More control is better. Total control is best.
"How are you making out, SLAVE?" I emphasized that word because I know it gives him a thrill of some kind. Maybe not sexual, obviously. But it has an effect. It's like that word is his trigger. It activates his submissive nature. I should give him a slave name. That's something to think about.
The word slave, of course, isn't really appropriate. It's an approximation of his servitude, but falls short of what a slave really is. A slave can be bought and sold. His children are property. He can be publically whipped and humiliated with impunity. Castrated if necessary. But the word slave will do for now, I guess, like old wine in a new bottle.
"I'm doing okay, Master Jaxon."
I loved the way Zach said that: MASTER Jaxon. It came straight from the heart. He genuinely means it. He totally understands. I might be only fifteen, three years younger than he is, but I am his superior. He knows that he belongs to me. His purpose in life is to serve me. Zach graduates in a few weeks. His parents think he is going off to college in the fall. That's not going to happen.
"I am going to untie you now," I explained. "Once you are free go to the bathroom and freshen up. There's a douche bag hanging up in the shower. Use it. Do not touch your cock."
"A douche bag?" he mumbled, wrinkling his eyebrows. Kind of cute the way he does that.
"Yes, a douche bag. I want your hole clean when I fuck it."
"Yes, Sir," he gasped.
"What's the matter? Do you have a problem with getting fucked?"
"N-no, sir, it's j-just..." he stammered.
"What is it, SLAVE?"
"I'm afraid it's going to hurt," he confessed. Poor thing, he was trembling! What a good whiteboy. About to take dick up his ass for the first time, and all he can do is worry about me.
"Nah, it's not gonna hurt," I assured him in my most soothing, comforting tone of voice. "But I'll make you a promise. If I experience the slightest discomfort, I will stop at once."
"I meant me," Zach blurted out.
"What do you mean?"
I honestly didn't know what Zach was talking about. Whiteboys are like that sometimes. They open their mouths, but you have no idea what they are trying to say. I repeated: "What do you mean?"
"Your cock is really big. I don't know if I can take it."
"Oh, that," I laughed dismissively. "Don't worry. You ARE gonna take it. That's all there is to it. If it doesn't fit, I will force it in. One way or another, you are getting fucked in the ass by the horniest black fifteen year old you ever wanna meet! Now get your ass in the bathroom and get cleaned up. Splash some rose water on those funky pits. You have ten minutes."
While Zach washed up in the bathroom, I drew the blinds, closed the drapes, and trained the desk lamp on the bed like a spotlight. I let the porno flick keep playing. It looked interesting. There was a very hot sister with huge melons fingering herself on a locker room bench. Nothing in the world is more alluring than a naked woman enjoying herself. When she spread her legs, I studied her vaginal lips and wondered if Zach's ass could possibly feel as warm, wet, and inviting. Then, I reminded myself that men who love fucking pussy often enjoy anal sex as well, so maybe it's all the same. A hole is a hole.
"Get on your hands and knees, slave!" I barked like a drill sergeant.
Zach gulped before dutifully assuming the position. His plump, round, marshmallow ass was ready. So was my dick. I pushed my jeans and got behind him, spreading his soft milky-white cheeks with my hands to get a look at that hole. I greased it with some Vaseline, and coated my seven and a half inch cock as well. That's right, my cock grew half an inch in the last few months. Since Zach has been my slave, in fact.
I wrapped one arm around Zach's throat, held him tight, and pushed my dick into his hole, slowly, pausing to let him catch his breath, pushing deeper, making inch after inch of my black cock disappear inside him. Zack gasped sharply but I could not tell if it came from pain or pleasure. Not that I cared. I liked the way this felt, the powerful feeling stirring in my lowest center, the natural, primal rhythm of penetration and pounding. It was good. I decided that I really liked fucking. Fucking is even better than head, and head is incredible. I don't know about other brothers, but I need to fuck from now on.
"It's TOO big," Zach cried out. "It hurts."
"Shut the fuck up!" I said.
"Take it out," he whimpered, pitifully. "it's TOO big!"
"TOO late!"
I dominated his white ass with long deep relentless strokes, making him feel every inch plundering his hole over and over. The harder I thrust, the deeper I drilled, the sweeter it felt, and his incoherent moans drove me to pound without mercy. It was awesome. So much better than head! Oh, fuck, yes!
I found the rhythm that could bring me to orgasm. It wasn't the same tempo required of a successful handjob or blowjob. It was an angrier, more demanding beat. Primitive. Instinctive. Powerful. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. I thrust to the beat until my nuts churned and my sensitive dick head could not be stimulated any further.
"You like this dick?" I demanded.
"Ohhhh, god, yesssss, Masssterrr," he cried.
"You like me fucking you, don't you!"
"Ohhhh... ohhhh.... yessss," he moaned.
Whether that was true or not is beside the point. It is what a slave is supposed to say. He only exists to please his Master. There is no room for disagreement. What the Master likes, the slave must also like. That's a slave's job.
I felt it coming. Fire in my loins, an explosion about to ignite. Hearing Zach's cries of pain turning to pleasure, feeling his sweet white ass rock against my thrusts, the rhythm, rhythm, rhythm.... the slippery friction.... Long, deep, hard! Fucking, fucking, fucking. Pounding away like a piston.
Then it happened! Stars in my head and loins went super nova. Fireworks. The volcano exploded. Lava erupted. I was in perfect bliss.
We both collapsed.
I fell upon his back. Zach's body went weak, unable to support me. My dick was still inside him, but it was drained, and my heart was pounding. No blowjob ever produced an orgasm like that. That's when I knew -- no more blowjobs unless I am stressed for time. I need to fuck from now on.
Before dismissing Zach, I gave him a lecture:
"You are always going to be my slave. I own you. Nothing is going to ever change that. When I am fifty years old and you are fifty three, you will still be my property unless I decide to sell you to another Master. You work for me. You obey me. When I tell you to buy me something, you make it happen! When I want to fuck, your white ass is mine. And your mouth does whatever I tell it to do. You might be straight, Zach, but I've seen the way you like my meat, and that's a good thing. Because you're gonna be taking care of it for a long time to come. If being at my beck and call gets to be too much for you, I might consider getting another slave. Would you like that? Or do you want this perfect black dick all to yourself? Don't answer. I don't care what you think. In fact, you served your purpose. Do you understand everything I've told you???"
"Yes, sir," he whimpered, meekly.
Even a loyal obedient white slave who submits willingly and truly accepts his inferior status can be pounded down into ever deeper strata of submission. Always assume there might be an ember of pride or a flickering spark of dignity that needs to be permanently extinguished. White pride is resilient. It's like a turtle's carapace or a snail's shell. Zach might think he's obedient now, but he has no idea how much more obedient he is going to become. My words, like my sperm, are inside him. Like that song "Little Girls" by Patti Labelle, I'm going to move inside him like a house, decorate him, and live my fantasies out... only this is no fucking fantasy. This is reality!
"Say: Yes Master Jaxon! Thank you for using me!"
"YES MASTER JAXON. THANK YOU FOR USING ME!!!"
"You're welcome, slave!"
I gave Zach one of the blank books I use for journals.
"I want you to keep a diary. Write down your thoughts every day, and remember all you ever think about is serving your Lord and Master. And don't even think about jerking off until I give permission, understand me, boy?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good boy. Now go home. You're dismissed. When I summon you tomorrow, bring your diary. I want to read all about how you felt about getting fucked."
TO BE CONTINUED.....