THUG CASH MASTER, by Skorpio
Part Eleven: Down with the Crew
Brad slaved over the Thug Cash Master project for hours. Assembling the website was easier than he anticipated, although much more work remained. He saved notes on his progress to a folder on the desktop where Reese would be sure to see it.
The whiteboy labored in silence. How would his Master react if he caught him listening to the radio or watching TV when he should be devoting one hundred percent of his attention to his chores?
A few minutes before ten o'clock, Brad shut down the computer, turned off the lights, and retired to the unfurnished spare room. It was much smaller than the master bedroom, with one window, one closet. His wardrobe and all his personal effects lay in disordered heaps.
After stripping to his Fruit of the Loom briefs and undershirt, Brad curled up on the hard floor under a white linen sheet. A bunched-up blanket sufficed for a pillow. Brad was almost comfortable. A voice inside his head said: this is where you belong. Brad knew that he would never sleep in a real bed again.
The open window admitted a sluggish, warm breeze, along with the noisy symphony of the city after dark: screeching tires, horns honking, sirens wailing, voices hollering, air conditioners roaring, boom-boxes blasting, glass shattering, dogs barking, cats fucking.
Brad huddled beneath his thin sheet, feeling very small and alone. Somewhere in the night was his Master. What was he doing and when would he return? The slave's heart ached like that of a spurned lover. Had he displeased his Master in some way, was that why he left?
No, Master Reese has a life, Brad reminded himself. His Master was young, handsome, and virile, probably getting pussy at that very moment. And why shouldn't he? Brad was not jealous, although he wished that he could provide his Master with women. He recalled when his Master brought home a prostitute and how that went.
It also occurred to Brad that he did not know his Master's last name. In fact, he knew very little about the sexy thug he encountered in the park several nights ago. He wondered about Reese's family and friends. Having neither, Brad felt alone and abandoned. All he had was his Black Master, but that was enough. It was everything.
Flashbacks of getting fucked and beat kept Brad awake long into the night. It seemed like he barely drifted off when a commotion in the outer room suddenly snapped him to alertness. The digital clock on the floor said 3:35.
A light came on in the living room. He heard his Master's familiar voice and two others.
Reese: "Like I was sayin', y'all da only niggas I can trust wit' this shit. That's why I wanted y'all to come up here, so you know it's on the real. This my crib, yo! Ain't much, but I'm just gettin' started. Like I said, I got me a li'l white faggot who does whatever the shit I tell `im. He works, I get paid! It's like dat!"
Thug One: "Dag, nigga! Pimpin' crackers! So is this faggot the whitegirl you said you was shacked up wit'?
That's deep, dawg! But you coulda told me from the git-go. You pimpin' a ho, that's all! You makin' that paper, that's what it is!"
Thug Two: "Word, cuz! It's all about that grip."
Reese: "Word is bond. I don't want this gettin' out.
Keep it to yo'selves, aiiight?"
Thug One: "That's a bet!"
Thug Two: "We down, cuz!"
Reese: "That's why I love you cats. Knew y'all would unnerstand. I didn't plan for this shit. It just went down like dat, know what I'm sayin'? This cocksucker is like a regula' jailhouse bitch, y'all! So fixed on dick he can't think right! Ain't just any dick. He only likes nigga meat, yo! He got the jungle fever!"
There was a raucous burst of knee-slapping laughter. Brad shuddered, realizing they were laughing at him, dreading what might come next.
Thug One: "Faggots WILL buy you shit!"
Thug Two: "True dat."
Thug One: "So, what's wit' the setup, bruh? Sup wit' the candles an' shit? This yo' picture, ain't it? "
Reese: "That's where the whiteboy worships me. That's his fuckin' altar, yo! I'm a God to him."
Both Thugs One and Two recited: "Like a god? Son, I am God. God, Allah, Buddha, all rolled up into one big nigga."
This was a line from "Get Rich or Die Tryin'."
Reese laughed: "Y'all niggas crazy!"
Thug Two: "So where is this slave?"
Reese: "In his room, `sleep. Wanna have some fun?"
Thug Two: "Watchu mean sum fun?"
Thug One: "I'm down."
Reese hollered: "Yo, worm, get yo' ass on out here. Now. This second!"
Brad scrambled to his feet. No time to dress. Now meant NOW! His heart pounded as he lumbered into the living room. The bright light dazzled his eyes.
Blinking, the first thing Brad saw was Reese in his black jersey and black three-quarter shorts, sitting on the sofa like a pharaoh, hands on his knees, shoulders back.
Beside Reese sat a tall, slim, brown-skinned roughneck in wifebeaters and a white do-rag. He had large heavy-lidded eyes, angular cheekbones, a broad nose, more than ample lips, and a jet-black goatee. A thick gold chain glittered around his throat. Kanji tats adorned his wiry arms.
In the armchair reclined a smooth-bodied, molasses-colored youth, maybe twenty-one years old, with fierce jeweled eyes and three gold teeth. His hair was in twists with wisps of baby hair at the temples. He was shirtless and on his left pec in flowing letters was inked "Katrina," his baby mama.
"Yes, Sir," said Brad meekly, eyes downcast, hands at his side. "How may I serve you, Sir?"
Although startled and uncertain, a frisson of sexual excitement nonetheless ripped through him. His little white dick would have gotten hard, were it not constrained.
"Bring us beer," commanded Reese. His two friends exchanged nods of approbation.
Brad hurried to the kitchen and returned with three tallboys of Olde English 800 and three glass steins. With the air of a butler, he placed coasters under their mugs on the coffee table and stood at attention.
"Dayumm, this some crazy shit!" laughed Thug One. "Nigga, you got yo' own Mr, Belvedere!"
"Check dis out," said Reese, with more than a little braggadocio.
He placed a Newport between his soft, thick lips and snapped his fingers. Immediately, the whiteboy reached for the lighter and sparked the cigarette.
"Awww, sookey sookey!" exclaimed Thug Two. "I like dat shit, cuz! Snap yo' fingers and dat bitch know just what to do! Dat's cool like dat!"
"Worm! Pour the beer!" said Reese, puffing smoke rings.
Brad held the steins at an angle so as not to draw excessive foam. This was not easy, because he was extremely self-conscious and afraid of punishment. His hands trembled, feeling three pairs of eyes following his every move. Luckily, he managed not to spill a drop.
"Kneel, worm," Reese commanded.
Brad immediately obeyed, falling to his knees. He complied reflexively, without any second thoughts, without hesitation, as if animated by his Master's will.
"Worm, meet my crew - Malik and Dre! Fellas, this the freak I was tellin' y'all about, my cash money slave. I own his azz. He can't even touch his li'l white prick without my permission. Ain't that da truth, worm?"
"Yes, Sir!" Brad squeaked. He did not mean to squeak, but that was how it came out.
"Nice," said Malik, "but how do you know you can trust this cocksucker? How do you know he ain't jakkin' off every time you step out?"
"Dat's right, yo! Y'all know what dey say," muttered Dre, alluding to the commonly held belief that white guys prefer masturbating to fucking.
"I don't trust this cracker, not fo' one second," said Reese, emphatically. "I don't trust no one, cept y'all two, cause y'all two my dawgs. But, I know for a fact this faggot ain't touched its junk since I took over!"
"How you know dat?" said Dre.
"Show `em," said Reese.
Obediently, Brad lowered his white briefs to his kneecaps, revealing the chastity belt with its miniature padlock and transparent plastic cage for his penis.
Malik and Dre doubled over in laughter at this spectacle. Brad blushed pink.
"Booyah! " Reese crowed. "This MY freaky slave bitch!
He don't do squat `less I say so."
"Dayumm, make him cover that shit up," said Malik, with a look of sheer disgust.
"Pull up yo' drawers," said Reese.
"Can he suck dick?" asked Dre.
"Can he suck dick? Hell, yahhh!" Reese boomed. "He's a stone cocksucker! Loves chokin' on pipe! He got a tight cunt too if you wanna tap it."
"Yo, we need some honeys up in here," Malik interjected.
"I want muh dick sucked," said Dre.
"Ain't gonna be no honeys," Reese stated, flatly "We gonna get us some, just not tonight."
"I want some skully now," Dre insisted, rubbing his crotch. "Why don't chu tell yo' slave to suck muh dick, cuz."
"You heard the man!" Reese snapped his fingers. "Do yo' job, bitch. Suck that dick!"
With a cocksure smile, the young brother with eyes like gems arched his narrow hips so the whiteboy could pull down the loose-fitting Rocawear jeans. His soft, cinnamon-brown cock sprang free, plump and juicy, the length and girth of a frankfurter.
"There ya go," said Dre. "Now, fix it, bitch!"
Stretching his lips into an O, Brad engulfed the cock in one fell swoop. It fit comfortably inside his oral cavity. He massaged it vigorously with his tongue and drooled to make it slippery.
Suddenly, the thug's meat nearly doubled in size, and Brad found himself choking, unable to breathe. He struggled to pull away, but Dre gripped his skull like a basketball, forcing him to swallow every inch of his rigid cock. Dre chortled softly as the whiteboy's eyes bulged and his face turned beet-red.
"Dat's right," he muttered. "Choke on dat dick, choke on it! Dis what you wanted. Choke on muh dick, muthafucka!"
Just when Brad thought he would pass out, the cocky roughneck shoved his head away. Brad sputtered and coughed. His face was wet with tears. Catching his breath, he licked his lips and received the thug's long, dark-brown cock back into his mouth.
Brad was confident he could handle it. Dre was hung, but not like Reese. Brad continued sucking, bent on proving himself, sucking hard and deep.
Meanwhile, Reese and Malik were oblivious to the carnal activity going on less than a few feet away. It was not like this was the first time one of them got a blowjob in front of the others.
"Explain to me again how this is gonna make you money," said Malik, intrigued by the Thug Cash Master enterprise.
Reese broke it down.
"Deeper and mo' deeper," said Malik, nodding his head.
"If you makin' money, I want in on it, bruh!"
Reese and Malik were both twenty-four years old. They grew up together in the projects and were tight like kin. Reese did a three year bid at the county workhouse on a bum rap, while Malik went on to community college but never graduated. They hooked up again about the time Reese got released.
"It's all about cash, blood," said Reese. "That's the reason I'm doin' this and you know I don't just got myself to think about. I got two rugrats by two baby mamas. I'm puttin' some of these duckets away for them."
Malik: "Hell, I think you onto somethin' major, nigga! You sayin' this cocksucker gives up them dollars, just like that?"
"Dat's right," said Reese. "He worships me, yo! He wants to gimme his money and he ain't the only one out there. Word up! Plenty crackers, just like him, waitin' to be pimped!"
"Show me the money!" whooped Malik.
"What I'm talkin' about, nigga!" said Reese, with a dap. "I'm gonna hook you up! Just let me get this in gear, aiiight?"
"I wanna make dat money too, y'all," said Dre, as his dick was getting sucked. "Count me in!"
The three thugs conversed as if the whiteboy sucking Dre's cock did not exist. Malik fired a blunt and passed it to Reese, who took several long satisfying drags before offering it to Dre.
"Can yo' bitch get summa dis?" asked Dre, exhaling smoke over the cocksucker's head.
"Yah, why the fuck not," Reese indulged. "He been a good slave... so far."
"You the cash master, nigga!" said Malik.
"Yahhh, but I'm a generous master!" Reese roared.
Dre alerted the worm: "Hold up for a second. Get sum of dis, bitch. Enjoy yo'self!"
Brad accepted the blunt and inhaled deeply. Sweet smoke saturated his brain, clouding the jagged edges of thought and feeling. It was over a week since the last time Brad got high, yet it seemed like an eternity. His thoughts soared and tension seemed to drain from his body.
"That's enough," said Reese, snatching away the blunt, handing it to Malik.
"Git back to what you was doin'," ordered Dre.
Malik remarked, "I ain't smokin' this, not after that cracker been doin' Dre. No offense, nigga, but I don't wanna taste yo' shit."
Reese laughed. "S'aiiight, blood. We got mo'."
Dre's nuts churned, gathering power, about to explode.
"Dere ya go, yahhh, dat's right, yahhh, oh yah, just like dat," he grunted. "Suck it, suck it hard! Un-hunnhh, un-hunhhhh, suck it harrrrrrrrrd...."
"Do it! Suck his dick, bitch!" contributed Malik from the sidelines. "Suck that dick!"
"Give it up!" demanded Dre. "Suck it right! There ya go, yahhh, like that! Suck it, bitch!"
Urged Malik: "That's right, cracker, do yo' job! Suck that motherfuckin' dick! Suck it like a ho, you goddamn bitch! Suck it!"
Said Dre: "Suck dis dick!"
Added Malik: "No hands, cocksucker!"
Brad's mind collapsed and went blank, falling back on instinct. He was nothing but an orifice for cock, a mindless, robotic, cock-sucking machine. Sweaty brown nuts slapped his chin.
"Awww, shittt, yahhh, sukkkkittt, sukkkkkitt, sukkkkkkittt!"
The horny twenty-one year old could never get enough brain. Dre's preference for blowjobs bordered on obsession. He was eager to get his dick sucked any time, any place. With an expression of smug entitlement, he observed the cracker bobbing on his dick like a chicken-head. It was a power trip.
Meanwhile, Reese grabbed Malik by the arm, "C'mon, nigga, let's check somethin' on the computer. I wanna see how much the worm got done."
"Thug Cash Master," said Malik, smacking his lips. "I like how that sounds! You really think this gonna make you some money?"
"Don't know yet," said Reese, with a shrug. His thick, brown fingers tapped the keyboard, bringing up the worm's notes.
Both grinned at the Mission Statement: "Make money by any means necessary!"
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" said Malik.
Inordinately pleased, Reese scrolled through the rest of the report, more than satisfied with the worm's progress. Malik looked over his shoulder. If there were as many whiteboys into this freaky-deaky shit as Reese claimed, this thing might got some potential.
"Check out Dre," said Reese.
The young roughneck was steadily pumping the whiteboy's throat, over and over and over! Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, pounded his long, dark-brown cock, harder and harder, faster and faster! It was poetry in motion.
Dre's head fell back with a groan and his body quivered as he ejaculated. A moment later, he heaved a sigh and sat upright, twisting his neck and flexing his biceps.
"How was that shit?" said Malik. His heavy-lidded eyes glinted.
"Nice," said Dre. "Naw'mean? Da bitch knows how to give a nigga head!"
"That's what I wanted to hear," Malik replied, jumping back on the sofa.
He lifted his white, sleeveless undershirt, exposing a rugged, muscular stomach with a furry treasure trail. Then, he unzipped his pants and extracted his long, brown cock.
"My turn!" said Malik. "Come here, boyeee! Put that mouth to work!"
Brad did not have to be told twice. In less than a heartbeat, his mouth engaged Malik's cock, smelling it, tasting it, feeling it expand between his lips. This was what he lived for.
"Mmmm, yahhh, suck it," said Malik. "Unnnnh, yah, that's right, there ya go!" The rigid brown dick slid between the whiteboy's salivating lips.
"Suck it right! Yah, do yo' job! Suck that dick! Suck it good! Suck it, bitch!"
As Brad sucked with fervor, he glanced upward and found Malik looking back at him. The cold, mineral brilliance of the young man's eyes sent an icy chill down Brad's spine. He had to look away, unable to bear the intensity. He stopped thinking altogether.
Malik growled, "Yahhh, now you hittin' it, keep that up, just like that, ohhhh shittt, yahhh, mmmnnnhh, aiiight, there ya go, sukkkkkitt, sukkkkkitt!!!"
Brad sucked wildly, relentlessly, until hot, salty, viscous semen shot down his throat. This was his reward. Hearing the young thug groan with animal satisfaction was a bonus. Brad savored the flavor.
He looked at Reese, hoping his Master wished his dick sucked as well. Once Brad got started sucking cock, he could not get enough. He was addicted to it.
"You can go back to yo' room now," Reese enjoined. "Yo' azz is stayin' home tomorrow, so call out sick when you get up! Then, get breakfast ready!"
"Yes, Master," said Brad.
"Good slave!" said Reese. "You're dismissed!"
TO BE CONTINUED...
IN PART TWELVE: CYBER THUGGIN'