SPECIAL ENDOWMENTS By John Candu
The temperature and humidity were hitting the century mark. I arrived for the interview wilted and -- because I was apparently the only white face on campus at that moment -- self conscious. It was past quitting time at the private college, which seemed dreary and deserted for its smallness and lack of human activity at that hour. I strolled into an empty executive maze, passed through an extravagant warren of offices and on into the executive secretary's grand chamber, the final stronghold before approaching the president's lair. For the first time in days I felt safe from malefic scowls and prying eyes.
E. Norm Usmann, Ph.D., sat deep in thought, hunkered over paperwork at a majestic cherry desk illuminated by a banker's lamp. President Usmann was a Denzel Washington-lookalike, athletic yet distinguished with wisps of gray at the temples. The 6' 6", 200-lb. Usmann was a former Olympic Gold Medallist runner and undisputedly one of the state's most powerful men as head of the region's oldest black college. He controlled the state's considerable African-American voting bloc, making his royal ass perfect for white kisses.
Usmann sensed my presence and looked up. A broad grin jumped to his face as he rose and offered a hand.
"Dr. Druel E. Rosebud? Thank you for seeing me so promptly!"
Usmann's enormous hand enveloped my own as I looked up into the smiling eyes of this towering, kingly man. At 5' 9" and 175 lbs., I am not of small stature but felt dwarfed by Usmann's physique and room-filling ebullience. He directed me to a sitting area in his palatial office and offered a bottle of cold water, which I gratefully accepted.
Usmann quickly dispensed with pleasantries and got to the point.
"Dr. Rosebud, at age 25 you distinguished yourself as the youngest man ever to hold the position of state finance commissioner. You are a financial genius -- no, don't even try to act humble. Your only fatal flaw, as some have put it, is the, um, indelicate situation involving another man, which made you a grave liability for the governor. He had absolutely no political choice but to fire you. But, I tell you this: none of that matters to me. I don't care about your sexuality. I need your financial expertise. I'm offering you a job with salary and benefits exceeding what you earned as a public servant."
I was flabbergasted. Just days ago I teetered on the brink of suicide after watching my career vaporize. AP photos of me and the black lobbyist emerging from my statehouse office at 2 a.m. in rumpled suits, arm-in-arm -- him with his fly unzipped, pants spattered with cum -- left little to the imagination. The episode branded my face instantly into South Carolina's public consciousness as an outed faggot and disgrace to the party. Threats against my life poured in from redneck thugs. And my careless act called into question the governor's own morals by implication. The fact that I had been caught in a trap arranged by the governor's enemies was not provable and did nothing to change the outcome. I managed to pull myself together quickly enough to make arrangements to leave the state in search of anonymity. I was packing when Usmann rang my cell phone and pleaded with me to come for a visit.
"I won't lie to you -- it will be tough here," Usmann said, snapping me back to the present moment. "In your shoes, I would probably turn down this job offer and run. I'd probably go to some shithole town out of country, where I could be completely anonymous. But I'm offering you a chance because our college is in a financial crisis. If you want to do so badly enough, you can build something here, for yourself and this institution. You can try to stand tall and prove how wrong these bigots are. You can turn your wound into a positive statement for the oppressed -- black, gay, no matter who they are. You can show this state and the world that a person's sexuality is irrelevant -- that what a man chooses to do with his body is a private facet of who he is. Sexuality should be regarded as morally neutral and completely immaterial to what a person can offer in honorable service. With enough of us fighting to make it so, one day we'll live in a better world. I'm sure of it."
Usmann was just as persuasive in private as I'd known him to be in public. I accepted his job that day and the title of special endowments manager. I buried myself in work. I also locked myself away from the public. For more than a year I lost myself in a world I understood -- investing. I rarely ventured far from my office or campus apartment, which was situated behind the president's home. I experienced a time of profound healing. I began to see the full nature of who I am.
Then one day Usmann called me into his office.
"Druel, I want you present with me in Chicago next week at our special endowments committee meeting. Some of the bastards laughed at me before you joined us -- said it could not be done. Many black colleges are going under or are on the brink. But you've set an example here, turned us into a model institution. We've outperformed all financial expectations -- we're on the road to viability. You're going to Chicago -- no arguments!"
Usemann had been good at pumping me full of pride and reinflating my wounded sense of self. And over the past year we had grown to be close friends. I viewed him as my mentor, and he tirelessly prodded me to help him understand the intricacies of investing. He even began to do quite well, personally, in the stock market. As the college improved financially, Usemann rewarded me liberally with raises and bonuses. And it was time to crawl out of my shell. I relented and made plans for Chicago.
Until that evening in Chicago, though, I had only speculated once or twice that Usemann might be a kindred spirit sexually. I had been hurt so deeply by the statehouse scandal that I had shut off my own sexual circuitry. Certainly, Usemann had never said or done anything to make me think he had the least interest in a man-to-man romp, but, still, he did trip my gaydar from time to time.
When we arrived in Chicago, instead of having separate rooms, we were "by mistake" booked for the same room. The hotel was full, so we laughed it off. Then, right on cue, as if I were a character in some cum-dripping Nifty short story, we discovered that the room had only one bed. Fortunately, it was a queen, so we decided to make do, at least for the night.
I took a shower, slipped into a fresh pair of briefs and turned on the reading lamp on my side of the bed. I was just finishing the stock section of the Wall Street Journal when Usemann emerged from the bathroom toweling his hair. The meatstick dangling between his legs was a good ten inches at the very least. His balls hung deliciously low, and I tried hard not to stare. We exchanged a little small-talk about the next day's meeting as Usemann went over some numbers on his laptop, then snapped the machine off.
At this point my sense of being a Nifty short story character was even more overwhelming. My sexual circuitry was coming to life. Indeed, I was praying that I really would find myself as a character in this particular cum-spattering Nifty story.
"I sleep in the buff -- hope you don't mind," Usemann said. "It's been a lifelong habit."
"Not at all," I said, trying to avoid eyeing his cock. I didn't want to seem too eager by springing an erection at the merest glance at this Nubian king's royal staff.
I snapped off the lamp on my side of the bed and made a show of plumping the pillow and adjusting the cover. I closed my eyes, turned over on my right side, with my back to Usemann, and relaxed. Soon he snapped off his light. Maybe ten minutes passed in silence, then I sighed and rolled over toward him.
"Damn -- I can't stand it anymore!" I said in mock anger and flung away the sheet.
"What's wrong?"
"Let's go ahead and get this issue out of the way, shall we?" I said.
I felt for Usemann's cock and was not surprised to find it fully erect and flat against his stomach. Usemann chuckled, and his blacksnake moved happily beneath my caresses. I lightly traced the outline of the monster with thumb and forefinger on either side of it, stopping to tease the head and smear precum all around, then I positioned my face between his legs. His dick was solid and heavy, and I could get only a few inches of it into my mouth. Usemann gasped and grunted as I worshipped him with my lips, tongue and throat. The monster was leaking a prodigious stream of salty-sweet nectar, and my tongue teased open his pee slit as wide as it would go. I could not help making obscene smacking, slurping, sometimes gagging noises as I feasted on his circumcised pole and heavy nutsack.
"I knew it might come to this," he gasped.
"Please fuck me," I said. "God, it has been too long. Dick me. Dick me now!"
I sat across his thighs and slicked our precum around the head of his cock, lubing it as best I could. I knew it would hurt, but I wanted this almost-obscenely huge cock inside of me. He gripped each side of my waist as I rose and positioned his cock at my hole, and then I slowly impaled myself. Entry was so painful I cried out. My sphincter had grown unaccustomed to such use. But my ass was also hungry that it somehow swallowed Usemann's engorgement, and my own erection raged painfully hard. Usemann groaned with pleasure and allowed me to guide the impaling for a few moments. I grasped my fat eight-incher and fucked my foreskin back and forth as my starving ass dilated further, consuming my new master's prick.
"Make me your bitch, turn me into your cumslut" I hissed, slamming myself down harder, taking his entire organ inside me, squeezing my anal canal and sphincter tightly around his mast. He began ramming harder, and I returned each move with a forceful counter-thrust and a ragged gasp. The fucking got easier and faster, and Usemann began lifting me high on each outward movement then dropping me on his cock as he thrust upward again. I rode him like that a long while, like the white hot bitch-slut sissy-boi whore that I really am. As cum boiled up from my girly core, I realized without words, in a spiritual/physical euphoric swoon, that I would never again feel shame about what I am, a cumslut. Then my own cum spurted in torrents from my aching cock, coating his chest and face with my cream, I knew I would never again care what others might say. I would never again deny myself carnal pleasure.
"Fuck me! Fuck me harder!" I shouted. By now Usemann's cock was impossibly large, but I didn't care if he split me open. He slammed into me harder and faster, taking me hungrily, then he roared at the top of his lungs as his cum geysered deep inside of me. My own cock began a series of aftershocks, dry mini-orgasms like I suppose a woman might experience, and my ass began leaking the cum of my royal master. Usemann finally got satisfied and stopped his thrusting, and I collapsed on top of him. For many minutes I enjoyed the feeling of fullness and the slow wilting of his meatstick. Then I passed out.
Some time later, Usemann pulled out. My ass was sore and open, feeling as if it were hanging loose like well-used pussylips. Only better than pussylips.
I feel asleep again with a smile.
The next morning I woke to the sound of the shower. Usemann was removing the sex-scent before the board meeting. The sheet beneath me was plastered to my ass, which had oozed cum all night. My cock began to stiffen as my mind replayed the evening. I noticed that my hole had closed again -- that it wasn't irreversibly mutilated by Usemann's monster blacksnake, as I had feared -- and not even very sore. Cumming had relaxed me, but now I shamelessly wanted more and proceeded to masturbate, but when Usemann entered the bedroom he growled irritably.
"I own you now -- you don't cum until and unless I say so!"
I thought he was joking, and I leaped from the bed in a playful mood and smarted off in jest. But Usemann slapped me across the cheek.
The blow was not hard enough to hurt much physically, but suddenly I felt very afraid.
He said, "Remember what you begged me to do last night? You wanted me to make you my Bitch! My Cumslut! Well, that's exactly what I am going to do -- IF you should decide to remain in my charge. If you stay, you are to consider yourself in training. You will be my property, and I will be your Owner. You will remain in training indefinitely -- until such time as I am convinced that you have absorbed with a high degree of excellence everything I shall teach you. Now get down on your bony white knees and suck the cum out of my balls!"
In shock, I fell to me knees and swallowed his soft but massive meat. Was this change of character real or a put-on? Usemann hardened in my mouth. He grabbed my head with one hand and began fucking my face like a John using a whore.
"Yeah, that's it, take my black cock. You will learn to do it without gagging. You will learn every feature and nuance of your master's cock. And you will learn to serve me to the fullest of your ability, and that includes serving as my toilet slave when I so desire." With his other hand he opened his cell phone and dialed.
The morning light highlighted the thick muscles of his abdomen and thighs. He smelled of Irish Spring. He tasted delicious and strong, and I swallowed the salty essence as fast as it leaked into my mouth. Despite my fear over Usemann's sudden personality change, I was fully aroused and felt my precum puddling on the carpet between my knees.
Usemann began talking into the phone. "Richard! This is Usemann. Yes, I am doing fine indeed, splendid in fact. And soon will be even finer when I shoot this load into my slave's mouth. Listen, make some calls and inform all the other brothers on the endowment committee to come prepared for some entertainment. This girly-boi is one hot, willing slut who wants and needs to serve, and I want everyone to know him well by the end of the day. Hold the phone just a second."
Usemann shot off in my mouth, grunting lewdly with each thrust. I couldn't swallow fast enough to take it all, and cum dribbled down my chin. He finally finished, then slipped out with a slick, wet "pop!" and then resumed his phone conversation.
"Ten a.m. as planned, and instruct everyone to save back those loads of cum for our special guest."
Please drop me a note at too_hot_in_bama@hotmail.com -- let me know if you think the story should continue.