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 Seven: Fucking
Bradley McMahon sat on the bedroom floor in the dark and silence, resting against the old radiator. Chained to the pipes like an animal, he wondered for a brief moment what would happen if there was a fire.
No one would miss him, Brad realized: not his family and he had no friends. In fact, the only person in the world who actually benefited from Brad's existence was Reese, the handsome, muscular thug he picked up in the park on Thursday night who was out spending Brad's money.
A chastity belt confined Brad's penis and testicles, leaving his soft, fleshy buttocks bare upon the hard wood floor. His mouth was once more gagged with a white cotton sock and his hands were bound behind his back by steel cuffs. Brad was a prisoner in his own home.
His ribs ached from the swift, brief beating he received before Reese stepped out. Having been awake for almost a day and a half, Brad was mentally and emotionally shattered. In his head Brad heard himself reciting the mantra he was given by his Black God: "I am a little white worm, I am a little white worm...."
Even as he fell asleep in an awkward position, his lips continued to mumble, "I am a little white worm..."
Brad sank quickly into the blissful oblivion of sleep, but was soon visited by erotic dreams of his Black God standing over him, tantalizing Brad with his beautiful ebony cock. In the dream, Brad was begging Reese to suck him off, but the thug refused to grant that privilege.
"You ain't good enough to suck my dick," said Reese in the dream. "But you can watch me jack off."
The sound of music and loud voices from the living room woke Brad with a start. He heard two voices. One was deep and masculine, obviously Reese, but the other voice was that of a woman, shrill and harsh. It was hard to follow every word over the radio, but the gist of their exchange had to do with money.
Then, the radio was turned down a notch and Brad heard Reese say, "Like I told you, cash ain't no problem, baby. Why don't you wash up and then we can handle our business, aiight?"
Overhearing this, it was clear that Reese had picked up a prostitute to fuck. Brad felt a twinge of jealousy. Why couldn't he fuck me, he wished. That was an unusual thing for Brad to desire, since he had always been more of a cocksucker than a pussyboi.
Brad had long lost count of the cocks he had sucked over the years, cocks of every color although Black cocks were generally bigger and tastier. He could count on one hand the number of times he had been penetrated in the ass. Brad never relished getting fucked.
He much preferred the flavor and energy of a cock in his mouth. He loved the taste of semen, especially a Black man's cum: there was just something different about it, like a sauce with a secret ingredient.
Yet at this moment, knowing Reese was about fuck a real pussy, Brad wanted to offer his tight hole. He knew Reese was straight, yet still Brad yearned passionately to be everything for the handsome, muscular thug. Why am I not enough, he fretted.
It may be that there is an Omniscient African God who grants the prayers of white slaves, because Brad's deeply troubled musings were suddenly interrupted by the unforeseen.
Seeking the bathroom, the prostitute opened the bedroom door instead and walked in on Brad. A beam of light fell on him. There he sat, pretty much naked, chained to the radiator.
The black girl gaped in shock. She was light skinned with a round but pretty face and wore a tousled black wig streaked with gold. Her pink blouse was unbuttoned with one brown melon-sized titty hanging out. She wore a little black skirt with thick thighs and tiny feet in gold sandals.
All Brad could do was gaze back in abject helplessness. He didn't even attempt to murmur through the gag. The whore stepped back and shut the bedroom door.
The next thing Brad heard was an incoherent outburst and Reese shouting back. This went on for several minutes. Brad could make out some of it.
"Told you I don't do no freaky shit!"
"It ain't like that, baby! Hear me out!"
"Don't say shit! I seen what I seen!"
"Nah, that ain't how it is. That's just a fag. He does what I tell him to. He don't got nothin' to do wit' us!"
"Look, I don't care about your and your lil faggot, that between y'all. I'm outta here, bruh!"
"Hold up, hold up!"
"Listen, I don't got nothin' against you, baby, but this scene is not for me, ok? You a phyne ass nigga, ok, and your moneys good, ok, but next time you on the street ask for Theresa. That's who you want."
"Theresa, huh?"
"Yeah, she's a whitegirl but she likes the kinky shit.
That's who you want. Good luck, brotha.'
The outer door to the apartment slammed shut. The radio clicked off. There was dead silence for almost twenty minutes like the lull before a storm. Brad trembled.
Then the bedroom door flew open. Reese stood there, his handsome features twisted with rage. His panther eyes were glazed.
"You fucked this shit up, whiteboy!" he snarled. "So you gonna have to fix it, heh-heh. Looks like this is gonna be yo' lucky night!"
Reese unlocked the chain from the radiator and shoved the whiteboy to the floor. Brad floundered, still gagged with the white sweat sock and hands cuffed behind his back.
Brad couldn't see what Reese was doing above and behind him, but he heard Reese's zipper come down and felt the thug's strong hands grip his buttocks, spreading them open.
Reese gobbed spit on Brad's exposed hole, then lubed his long, thick Black cock with some Vaseline from the nightstand. Reese wanted to fuck this bitch dry if only to hurt the faggot, but decided what he wanted more was to bust a nut.
Reese hadn't planned on fucking the whiteboy. He wasn't sure he was even going to let the whiteboy give him head again. But right now, he needed to drop a load and this whiteboy had booty like a bitch. Brad's cheeks were soft and round like two white muffins.
The pain of penetration was intense, but Brad's screams were throttled by the gag as Reese's thick pipe pierced his sphincter and drove up into his guts, ten hot inches of Black meat, thrusting over and over, pounding like a piston.
It happened so suddenly. Reese had Brad's ass cheeks hiked up. Again and again he drove his iron dick into the whiteboy's soft, wet pussy.
"Oh yahhh, take this dick, whiteboy!" Reese growled. He owned that ass! "Ahh, dayum, yah, you feel it don't you, bitch! Take this dick all the way! Take it!"
Brad was helpless, cuffed and gagged. All he could do was yield to the relentless pounding of Reese's long, thick, throbbing, ebony cock between his cheeks and reaching deep inside his guts.
Eventually the pain subsided as Brad began to experience an exquisite sensation.
"Aww shitttt, yahhh, take it balls deep, bitch! The pussy's sweet! Show me how you like this dick, baby. C'mon, now, give it up. Yah, that's right! Work that ass for me!"
Reese spread Brad's white cheeks apart with his large brown hands and watched his thick cock stuff the cracker's tight asshole, stretching it wide and filling it deep.
"Mmmm, yahhh, unnhhh, ohhh, yahh, mmmm" Reese grunted.
The whiteboy's warm hole felt snug and wet like a real pussy cunt. Reese squeezed closed his panther eyes and pictured himself fucking a white girl in her ass as he thrust his cock again and again, slowly then rapidly then slowly.
"Yah, bitch, you got a real sweet hole. Mmm, yahh, squeeze them cheeks. Like that, yahhh! I can tell you want this dick, bitch! Nod yo' head if you want me to fuck you harder!"
Brad nodded. From behind as Reese drilled the whiteboy doggy style, the thug wrapped his powerful right arm around Brad's throat, slowly increasing the fury of his pelvic thrusts.
The pain of penetration was gone and now Brad craved being fucked! He loved this big-dicked, straight thug fucking him in the ass. It felt so good. He felt conquered.
"Come on, baby," panted Reese heavily, his heavy chest rising and falling with each deep breath. "I'm gonna bust this nutt, bitch! Take it, baby! Aww shittt yahhh.... Yahhh.....!!!"
A curse ripped through Reese as he rode his huge weapon deep inside the punk's pink cunt. He felt the molten white venom shoot out of him, enough for a hundred babies. Again and again his hot sperm filled the whiteboy's hole.
Reese's cock experienced an intense vibration of pleasure as he ejaculated over and over, one volcanic spurt after another.
This felt good as hell, as sweet as busting a nutt in any whore. More than the sheer sensual pleasure was the satisfaction of fucking a white guy in the ass!
Reese left Brad sprawled face down on the bedroom floor like a discarded puppet. The whiteboy's swollen hole gaped like a tunnel.
"Stay right there until I tell you to move."
Brad remained exactly as he was although his stretched, moist rectum twitched and his little white penis strained against the constrictions of his chastity belt. He felt so fulfilled, so content, with Reese's seed inside him.
Meanwhile, Reese settled in the living room and turned on the TV. He lit up a joint, needing time to think. Despite having a white fag at his disposal, Reese longed for real pussy, but he had to admit it was sweet waxing the whiteboy's ass.
Reese toked the joint. His ample lips formed a smile as he considered his recent purchases at the whiteboy's expense and the way the bitch obeyed and worshipped him. Despite tonight's mishap, Reese decided this arrangement was going to work out. It was good owning a slave, especially an obedient cracker!
Before long, Reese was sprawled across the sofa, snoring lightly. Brad remained gagged and handcuffed in the bedroom, free to move about if he dared. At one point he actually got up and looked upon his captor.
Reese was naked, stretched out on the couch, but looking far from vulnerable. His muscles were so magnificent and his features were so handsome that all Brad could do was look upon Reese in impotent envy.
It was almost agonizing seeing Reese's formidable cock, large but flaccid, recalling how it drilled his hole, striking deep inside him.
This was Brad's chance if he wanted to get away. All he had to do was make it to the door without waking his captor....open the door somehow with his hands tied behind his back, race down a flight of stairs and... .do what?
What could he accomplish by appearing in the street in his leather collar and chastity belt?
Brad remembered the Jeffrey Dahmer story, how one of Dahmer's victims escaped only to have cops restore him to that sadist's clutches, presuming nothing more than queers having a lover's quarrel.
So, Brad did nothing. That was his decision. He returned to the bedroom floor, horny as hell, and like a good slave resumed his submissive, face-down position, still gagged and handcuffed. His pussy ached for more.
Soon, he fell sound asleep with no idea what was in store.
TO BE CONTINUED. . .
IN PART EIGHT: PUNISHMENT