This story is pornoGRAPHIC fiction! Should depictions of homosexual acts or interracial domination offend your sensibilities, read no further!! If you're under the age of consent, turn back at once!!! Otherwise, read on...
THUG CASH MASTER, by Skorpio
Part Six: Chastity Belt
Brad's instructions were very clear. Every morning as soon as he woke up and every night just before bedtime, he was to kneel before the altar and kiss the floor 100 times, each time declaring: "I am a little white worm."
Reese told Brad to continue doing just that while he went on the computer.
Exhausted from sleeplessness and horny beyond belief, Brad did as he was told, pressing his lips to the floor, reciting the mantra, "I am a little white worm, I am a little white worm..."
Picture: a thirty-one year old white male in white briefs bowing before a shrine dedicated to his Black God.
Picture: a shirtless nigga sitting at the whiteboy's computer, a tall, muscular, inked, dark-toned nigga with eyes like a cat and the smile of a predator.
After half an hour, Reese handed Brad several printouts of various items: steel handcuffs, a leather collar and steel chain, a male chastity belt, plus at least a dozen straight black sex magazines and a dozen straight black porn videos.
"Get dressed, bitch," Reese ordered. "We goin' back out shoppin'."
Forty minutes later, close to sunset, Reese stood outside the Adult Bookstore downtown while Brad went inside to purchase the items on the printout.
For Brad, it was extremely embarrassing when the heavyset Black man at the cash register grinned at his purchases. Straight Black on white porn videos and magazines, the chastity belt, collar, leash, and handcuffs. The items Brad placed upon the counter told a tale of their own.
"Will that be all?" the Black shop clerk inquired, with the barest hint of amusement.
"Yes, that's all," said Brad, not brave enough to meet his gaze.
The bill came to $545, far more than Brad anticipated.
At this rate, he would be paying off his credit cards for the rest of his life! At the same time his little white dick was hard when he handed the shop clerk his VISA. He liked buying merchandise for a thug.
When they returned to the crib, Reese grabbed a forty of Steel Reserve from the fridge and sat down on the couch. He peeled off his black jersey and stripped down to his green-striped boxers.
Brad wondered if this was a Black thing, the way Reese shed his clothes as soon as he was indoors and how casual and comfortable he was with his own nudity. Not like Brad, ashamed to even take off his shirt in public.
His musings were cut short by a sudden, sharp command:
"Get nekkid, bitch."
Brad quickly doffed his clothes, not knowing what to expect. There was no longer an ounce of resistance left in him. Shoes, socks, shirt, trousers, and finally his white briefs came off until Brad stood naked and exposed. His little white member poked like a mushroom head from his thick blond pubic bush.
"Dayumm, bitch!" Reese exclaimed, genuinely startled. This was actually his first look at Brad's penis. "No wonder you such a sissy! Dayumm, bitch, you ain't got no dick at all! Now that's a shame!" He laughed.
Brad hung his head in abject shame. He had always been embarrassed about his diminutive penis.
"Get it hard, bitch," said Reese. `You got me curious as shit. Get it up! I wanna see what my little white faggot's packin'."
Reese's voice alone had the power to get Brad hard. A minute later, Brad was gripping his five inch penis between his fingers. He wanted to stroke, but didn't dare. Not without permission.
It felt good, gripping his stiff white dick between his fingers. He wanted more than anything to jerk off. He was so fucking horny.
"That's it? You got it hard?" Reese roared with devastating laughter. Dayumm! Nah, don't play with it. Now put on the belt! Don't act stupid and shit wit' me, bitch! You know what belt I mean."
The dazed look on his face notwithstanding, Brad knew indeed what Reese was referring to. He reached into one of the shopping bags and pulled it out.
The chastity belt had a stainless steel waist bad with rubber edging. In the front was a tube into which Brad slipped his penis. The tube was designed to hold the penis pointed down so that erections were possible, but there was no way for him to handle it.
The open tip allowed for urination. The tube was connected and padlocked to the back of the waistband by a pair of chains designed like straps on an athletic supporter.
Once Brad adjusted the belt into place, Reese turned the key in the lock, then hooked the key to his key ring.
"Don't need you playin' wi' yo'self," muttered Reese. "Not without permission!"
"Please," Brad requested, respectfully, "Will I ever be allowed to jack off, Sir? God?"
Reese chuckled. He liked it when the whiteboy called him God. Reese didn't so much hate white people as they disgusted him.
"I'll let you know," said Reese, indifferently. "Now put yo' collar on."
Brad wrapped the leather collar around his neck. He stood nervously on display, naked except for his chastity belt and collar, facing Reese sprawled across the couch, grinning cruelly.
Reese liked the way the cracker looked in this get-up.
It was all about taking control and giving the whiteboy what he wanted. All that was missing were iron shackles!
"Turn around," Reese commanded.
Brad revolved. Reese wasn't into fucking dudes, but Brad's sweet, plump white cheeks actually made his big dick quiver.
Blowjobs are sweet, but a nigga needs to fuck. It had been almost a month since Reese got laid and this whiteboy had an ass like a bitch.
Reese reached into his shorts and stroked his dick. This action was not lost on Brad, but unfortunately for him his sweet ass was only an incentive and not the objective.
Reese decided he needed a woman for the night, and since he had the cash and the crib, there was no reason why he couldn't get any pussy anytime he wanted.
Without a word, Reese snapped the steel chain to the back of Brad's collar, then led him to the bedroom and connected the chain to the radiator. The chain was only three feet long, allowing Brad to sit or kneel.
But Reese wasn't done yet. A minute later, Brad's mouth was gagged with a long white athletic sock knotted behind his head. He couldn't make a sound above a murmur. Steel handcuffs snapped around his wrists behind his back.
Then, just for the hell of it, Reese slugged Brad in the gut. Brad doubled over. Reese kicked him twice in the ribs for good measure.
"You liked that, bitch?" Reese demanded. It felt good beating this faggot, although he really didn't want to seriously hurt the bitch, not unless he had to.
"Y-yes, Sir," sputtered Brad, gasping for air.
"Who am I???"
"You are God, Sir."
"What are you?"
"I am a little white worm, Sir!"
"Don't fuckin' forget it, bitch!"
Reese stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Brad heard the stereo in the living room blast in volume.
For a few minutes Reese played with stations until he settled on some heavy hip hot. Music filled the crib.
Half an hour later, the radio clicked off and the outer door slammed shut.
Silence reigned.
Reese was gone and Brad was helpless: chained, cuffed, gagged, and locked into a chastity belt. His ribs ached as he trembled, wondering what would happen next.
TO BE CONTINUED. . . .
IN PART SEVEN: FUCKING