This is pornoGRAPHIC fiction for adults only.
THUG CASH MASTER, by Skorpio
Part 17: Mackadocious
"Miss me, chickenhead?" said Dre.
Startled, Brad looked up as if jerked by a leash. He was on his knees, naked and fleeced from the neck down, wiping the bathroom floor with paper towels. Excitement swept over him like a wave, swelling the buds of his pink nipples, making his rectum twitch and his throat thirst.
The youthful, onyx-eyed thug eased his shiny black leather pants midway down his muscular thighs. He wore no drawers. His stiff, nine inch dick projected like a crowbar in the whiteboy's face like an instrument of violence.
"Do yo' job," stated Dre, matter-of-factly.
Nothing else needed to be said. Without one moment of hesitancy, the white subservient opened his mouth and swallowed the thug's long dick. Technique and sheer determination combined to compensate for the inadequacy of his meager mouth, thin lips, and short tongue.
Brad took the hot cylinder of silky flesh into his throat until the pubic hairs scratched his face and tickled his nostrils. His head, with its receding hairline, bobbed up and down like a yard-bird pecking grain until the molasses-colored dick exploded inside Brad's mouth.
Spurt after spurt shot into the cracker's throat like lava, like venom, like bullets, like nectar. A pearly drop dribbled from his chin and fell to the floor, but only a second passed before the white cocksucker licked it up.
"Dat's right," snickered Dre. "All for you, bitch! Lick it up. You love my juice, don't chu!"
"Yes, Sir."
Being addressed as "Sir" was not something Dre was used to hearing, but it sounded right, making him feel like a prince.
"You want sum mo', don't chu," said Dre. This was not a question, but a cold assertion.
"Yes, Sir."
"Say: please!" Dre savored the moment.
"Please, Sir, may I suck your cock?"
"My what? Dis ain't no cock, boy. You need to fuck dat shee-it! Dis here is pure nigga dick, bee-yotch! Grade Triple-A, top-shelf, high-octane, Mandingo, Shaka Zulu, Malcolm Fucking-X, ghetto dick! Dis da real thang, motherfucka! You ain't never gonna get no better than dis here! Ask for it right!"
"Please, Sir, may I suck your Black dick?"
"Heh, dat's better," snorted Dre, inserting his juicy brown sausage into the white fag's receptive mouth. "Yah, there ya go... dat's right, suck it some mo'! Suck it like you wanna. Dat's all fo' you, baby."
Meanwhile in the living room, Reese and Malik rested from their exertions. Aaron was face down on the floor, sobbing softly.
"Know what?" said Malik, sparking a Newport. "That was some hot-nice pussy, yo!"
"You liked'd that?"
"Hell, yahhh! Did you hear that bitch holler when I ripped her hole? If you run into some more virgin whiteboys, gimme first crack, aiiight?"
"I'm gonna tell you what," said Reese, taking a drag, amusement in his large feline eyes. "You pumped the hell out that pussy fo' damn sure! Never knew you could fuck like dat, nigga!"
"Now you know," replied Malik.
Reese's cannonball biceps were inked with tribal bands. His washboard abs were inked like Tupac's with THUG LIFE in ornate black letters.
"Is you awake, toad?" Malik sneered. Kanji tats illustrated his rangy arms. Encircling his smoldering throat was a thick gold chain. "Did you learn somethin' from this?"
Aaron turned over and gasped, "Yes, sir."
He was utterly, overwhelmingly defeated. His spirit was broken, crushed, demolished. It was evident in the tears streaming down his face. The defiance which once illumined his eyes was reduced to ashy cinders.
These thugs were the most masculine men Aaron ever encountered. He still felt impaled by Malik's ruthless cock. Long ago, Aaron gave up believing a paragon of masculinity could even exist, but now he knew otherwise.
These thugs were vastly superior to him. Whatever privileges he enjoyed, derived from income, education, or social standing, were immaterial compared to their natural, physical endowments.
Years later, Aaron looked back and wondered when the turning point occurred. Was it getting flushed in the toilet bowl? Wearing the chastity belt or sucking cock on command or forced to shave his body? Ultimately, Aaron would conclude that it was the brutal stemming of his rose which wrecked his pride and put him in touch with his deepest desires.
"Kiss my feet, toad!" demanded Reese.
Without a second thought, Aaron obediently pressed his thin, red lips to Reese's feet. He felt grateful for even a fleeting moment of contact with his master's body.
"You gonna make me sum scrilla," said Reese. "Make that paper like a good bitch and I'll look out for you, unnerstand?"
"Yes, Master!" gasped Aaron, his pebble eyes glistening wet with emotion.
"You need me, don't you, bitch?" said Reese.
"Yes, yes, I need you," Aaron bawled, forced to acknowledge what lay deep in his heart. It was painful to admit. "Yes, Sir, yes, I need you, I need you, I need you!"
"That's right, cracker!" said Reese. "You need me! You always gonna need me, but you don't mean dookey to me and don't chu forget it!"
"I want to make money for you," offered Aaron, sincerely. "Please, let me prove myself. I'll do anything you want."
"Who do you worship, toad?"
"You, Sir!" said Aaron. "I worship you, Master."
"Tell me why," demanded Reese.
"Because, because I'm your.... I'm your bitch."
"Go on."
"Because... because I'm inferior to you... you're everything I can never be...."
"Keep going," said Reese, cat-eyes gleaming. "Tell me why you wanna worship me and don't stop `til I tell ya."
"I worship you because --," Aaron convulsed in tears. It was so painful to admit the truth.
"I worship you..." he struggled, "because... you're a man and I'm not. I'm so sorry... I've been so wrong, so stupid... I'm not a man! I'm a joke! You're a man, not me! You're a man!"
Reese laughed harshly. "Damn straight, I'm a man, bitch!" His laughter was belittling.
"I'm your bitch," rambled Aaron, uncontrollably. "Your bitch, Sir. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I'm not a man. I wish I was, I used to think I was, but I'm not, I'm not, I'm not..."
"So, what chu gonna do for me?"
"Make money for you, Sir!" Aaron sobbed.
"Now you makin sense!" said Reese, nodding with approval.
"Yah, that's what we talkin' about," said Malik. His eyes were heavy with grim satisfaction.
Reese hollered: "Yo! Dre! Ain't chu done yet, nigga?"
"Hold up, cuz!" shouted Dre from behind the bathroom door.
Dre and Brad emerged several minutes later. The young thug zipped his leather pants. Brad followed, naked and docile.
"Worm, take a good look at yo' boss," said Reese. "I don't think he gonna be a problem no mo'."
Brad looked at the once high and mighty Aaron Levitz on his knees.
"I ain't gonna punish the toad for playin' you in the bathroom," said Reese. "I gotta give him props fo' trickin' yo' ass. He's a sneaky bitch, so from now on you needs to watch yo'self. But he still gotta pay fo' makin' you suck his dick after you said you was owned. That shit was messed up, so that's why I want chu to pick his punishment."
"Me, Sir? I have to decide?"
"Yep," said Reese. "What's it gonna be?"
"Well, I guess he should be whipped," Brad suggested, half-heartedly, recalling his own floggings. Brad did not want to see Aaron punished.
"How many times?"
Brad reflected pensively. "I guess, twenty times?" he ventured, uncertainly. Twenty was the number of strokes from his first punishment.
"Sounds good." Reese handed Brad his long, leather belt. "Take care of it."
"Are you saying you want me to punish him?"
"This yo' main chance, worm. You hate this mutha, don't chu?"
"Yes, Sir, I do," admitted Brad. Hate was too strong a word. Resentment was closer to the mark. But Brad knew this distinction was not up for discussion.
"Whup that ass, or I'll do it for you!" said Malik, impatiently.
Dre grabbed a beer from the fridge. Inflicting pain and suffering did not interest him, except when some bitch was choking on his pipe.
Reese snarled: "Hike that azz, toad!"
Obediently, Aaron pressed his head to the floor and lifted up his brawny white ass. He braced himself. Reluctantly, Brad swung the belt and, weak as it was, the sting of leather made Aaron holler in pain. Brad recoiled as if he received the blow himself.
"No hollerin', bitch! Take yo' punishment!" said Malik, savoring the spectacle.
It was not so much the pain, not at first, which degraded Aaron. Forced to take this abuse from a faggot like Bradley was insult added to agony.
After a dozen strokes, Aaron's mettle crumbled and he began sobbing. Brad's reluctant strokes were too much for him. The twenty-first blow left Aaron a blubbering, groveling idiot.
"You done?" said Reese.
"Yes, Sir," Brad panted from both physical and emotional exertion. He hated being forced to do this.
Whipping Aaron left him feeling more helpless than ever. It went against his nature. He loathed himself.
"On yo' knees!" Reese commanded. "Do it now, both y'all!"
Brad and Aaron quickly assumed kneeling positions. Tears streaked Aaron's face and his ruddy lips quivered. Welts striped his brawny buttocks.
"Toad, we gonna see how much paper you can make for me," said Reese, with a sly smile. "Or have you changed yo' mind?"
"No, no, Master!" Aaron beseeched. "Take my cash, take my credit cards. They're all in my wallet."
"Bitch, we ain't gonna rob ya," said Reese.
"Uh, yah, we are," Dre interjected, looking fly in Aaron's leather pants.
"Aiiight, yahhh, you is gettin' plucked," Reese conceded, "but what I'm talkin' `bout is you makin' entertainment for my payin' customers."
"What do you want me to do?"
"You gonna find out soon enough. Right now, both y'all go put on some clothes. I'm sick of seein' yo' nasty shit. Get dressed and get back out here, pronto. Do it now!"
At the snap of Reese's fingers, the two naked whiteboys sprang to their feet and dashed to the small bedroom, where they found boxers and tee-shirts among piles of Brad's clothing. They dressed quickly and returned to the living room.
Reese turned to his lieutenant, Malik, "So you know what we need?"
"Yah, but you sure `bout this, nigga?"
"Talked it over wit' the west coast," said Reese. "He thinks there's a chump market for this shit, so I'm givin' it a shot."
"Sum crazy motherfuckas out there."
"True dat."
"Chumps wit' too much money in their pockets."
"And some hardcore brothas too. I'm puttin' on a show to please all comers."
Malik snatched the keys to Aaron's Mercedes Roadster and left on his mission.
Reese ordered Brad to sit at the computer. The tall, muscular thug broke down what needed to be accomplished. The scrawny, submissive whiteboy listened with his head bowed and eyes averted. As always in his Master's overpowering presence, Brad wilted with submission like a delicate blossom exposed to too much light and heat.
"Think you can handle it? I'm countin' on you to make this happen, so be straight wit' me."
"I'll do my best," Brad promised, immediately correcting himself: "I can handle it, Sir."
"You can do it, worm," Reese assured, almost gently. "I got confidence in you. Ain't you glad we hooked up that night in the park? Ain't you glad I own you?"
Brad hung his head, not knowing what to say, completely overwhelmed with love and loyalty. He wanted to serve and obey this extraordinary man for the rest of his life. The merest hint of praise or approbation from Reese made Brad deliriously happy.
Repairing to the living room, Reese found his cousin Dre sprawled on the sofa, watching TV with the toad's face pressed to his loins. The whiteboy held Dre's dick within his mouth, but was not sucking it, per Dre's instructions.
"Can't git `nough, can ya!" said Reese.
"What chu say, cuz?"
With his semi-hard dick resting in the faggot's warm mouth and anxious to see who the foxy Spanish chick was gonna choose for her Spring Break date on Room Raiders, Dre was definitely distracted.
"Forget it, yo." Reese rolled his eyes. "Lissen, I got to bounce. Keep an eye on these faggots while I'm gone, aiiight?"
"This one ain't goin' nowhere," smirked Dre.
"He got a job to do," said Reese. "Toad, take yo' ass in there wit' the worm. He'll tell you what I want chu to do. Run along now, git in there!"
Aaron scurried to the bedroom, where Brad, at the computer, swiveled in his chair to face him.
"It's okay if you close the door," Brad advised, meekly. "The Master won't mind."
Aaron shut the door and crossed the room.
"What's going to happen? What am I supposed to do? "
"He wants you to make money for him."
"I already know that. I told him that I would."
"Did you mean it?"
"Of course I meant it... Look, Bradley, I didn't like the whipping you gave me, but you only did it because that's what HE wanted... I see that .... I'm different now... I'm not going to cause any problems..." Aaron's voice trailed off.
"You got... I mean, they, you...?" faltered Brad.
Aaron's dark brows wrinkled with helplessness.
"No one ever did that... to me ... "
"Was it Master Reese?"
"No, the other one..." Aaron shuddered. "I felt so weak... I never knew... I didn't know..."
"Malik?"
Reluctantly, Aaron nodded his head. His cocky demeanor was gone.
"I couldn't stop him... It hurt so bad at first I almost blacked out, but then I began to enjoy it... feeling him inside me like that, being used like that, it felt good, it felt right... it made me realize..."
Aaron's voice quavered with emotion.
"What did it make you realize?"
"I can't say it..."
"You can say it," Brad comforted.
"I'm so ashamed. He used me... like a pussy...and I wanted it... that's all I am, isn't it... I'm just a hole... all this time, I've been nothing but an asshole. I've been pretending to be a real man. I've lost so much time trying to be someone I'm not. I hate myself. I really do, but you wouldn't understand."
"Maybe I do," said Brad. "I guess I've always known I'm a pussy, but I wasted a lot of time too...playing games on the internet... it was all just a fantasy until I met Master Reese."
"Yes, Master Reese," echoed Aaron, solemnly. "He's like no one I ever met. He's unique, isn't he? He's different."
"He is God," said Brad.
"You keep saying that," Aaron replied, slowly regaining his composure. "But I get it now. He is a Black God."
"That's true, but he's not just a Black God," said Brad. "He is my God. I pray to him every morning and every night."
"Maybe I should start praying to him, too."
"I think God would like that."
"What's supposed to happen now?"
"I can only tell what you what I actually know," said Brad. "On the internet, Master Reese is known as Master Thug. Tonight, he's offering a pay-for-view webcam and you're the headline performer."
"What do you mean, like that guy on `Queer as Folk'?"
"Something like that, I suppose," equivocated Brad. "I don't know all the details."
"Doesn't sound too bad." Aaron relaxed a bit. "I don't mind stroking on cam if it makes HIM money. I told him I would earn money for him and I meant that. I really did!"
"Are you sure you're happy with this?" Brad ventured cautiously.
"He IS the Master."
"Exactly," Brad concurred. "He IS."
"Is that all I have to do, you think, just whack off?"
"I really can't say," Brad hesitated. From what the Master had shared, Brad guessed more was involved, but he thought it better to keep this to himself.
Brad explained it was Reese's task to prepare a section of the room for his performance. That meant relocating congeries of clutter from one of the walls and taking down a few old art deco posters. Aaron set to work in earnest.
A few minutes later, the bedroom door swung open. Brad and Aaron looked up. Dre stood there with his twisted locks and gold teeth. He was shirtless, black leather pants unbuttoned and unzipped. His smooth, molasses-colored torso was surcharged with physical magnetism.
"Come wit' me!" he pointed to Aaron.
"But, Sir... Master Reese wants me to prepare the room for tonight," said Aaron, uncertainly.
"Reese ain't here. I'm in charge. Worm, you gonna take care dis fo' him, ain't cha?" smiled Dre, large eyes gleaming. "Dat's a good white boy. Toad, come wit' me. Got somethin' mo' better fo' ya."
Shooting a backward glance at Brad, Aaron trotted behind Dre on bare feet into the living room. The handsome roughneck planted himself on the sofa and slid down his leather pants.
"Put yo' mouth on my dick while I watch TV!" dictated Dre. "Careful, yo, don't suck it none, not `til I tell ya. Keep it in yo' mouth jus' like befo'!"
Several hours passed as the randy youngblood channel-hopped from Maury Povitch to Jerry Springer to Dave Chappelle to Pimp My Ride to rap videos to reruns of The Jeffersons, with his fleshy dick resting comfortably inside the whiteboy's warm, wet mouth. It was a perfect fit.
TO BE CONTINUED... IN PART EIGHTEEN: WILD THANG