YMCA Black Attack, Part 3 by Skorpio
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Part Three
The sky was dark purple with low-hanging clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was coming. On the broad steps outside the YMCA, Mario and Tony paused in their tracks.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" wondered Tony aloud.
"That we shouldn't abandon Sal?" suggested Mario. "That whatever else he might be, he IS italiano - he doesn't deserve to be a fucktoy for a bunch of niggers?"
"Nah, I wasn't thinking that at all. I was thinking that's exactly what he deserves! Fucking faggot! He's brought disgrace down on all of us!"
"I'm glad you said that!" Mario laughed with relief. "That's EXACTLY what I was thinking! Say, how would you like a job at the pizza shop? We've got an opening!"
"Sounds good."
"C'mon, let's get out of here!"
Alone in his room on the fourth floor, tied to the bed, Sal was coming to terms with the truth about himself. The muscular young guido's small, slender penis was rigid, and his balls ached for release.
Was it true? Was he really a homosexual? All his life Sal had been shy around girls and he was strangely curious about other guy's bodies. The shame he felt over his meager cock had led him to lifting weights, to compensate for his inadequacy.
He thought back to the black cocks taking his virgin ass in the dark, and the queer, inexplicable pleasure he felt. Not just sensual pleasure, but something else, something wilder and deeper than sex.
Dashing through the foyer with nothing but a small towel for concealment – as embarrassing as that was, it now seemed strangely, powerfully erotic. Intoxicating.
Feeling helpless and used - not just giving other men pleasure, but being humiliated and liking it - was that what it meant to be a fag?
"Why am I like this,?"Sal pondered. Was I born this way?
He had no answers. All he knew was if Mario and Tony returned, he would beg to go down on them again. He would say anything, promise anything just to feel their cocks in his throat – to swallow their sperm while they taunted him with contempt.
How sick, how pathetic was that? And yet he wanted it. He wanted to be used, debased, degraded, reminded constantly of his inferiority as a man.
"Looks like you been through a lot," rumbled a deep, familiar voice.
Craning his head , Sal looked up and saw the black man from the locker room, the one who gave him the small towel.
"I never introduced myself," said the man, sitting beside Sal's spread-eagled, prostrate form. "Name's Trent Jackson."
Trent Jackson's sleeveless shirt was tucked into his pants. His bulging arms and chest were so massive he made Sal's sculpted physique look puny by comparison.
"What do you want?" Sal groaned.
" I want to know if you've learned your lesson."
"My lesson?"
"You had quite a chip on your shoulder. I'm wondering if you learned anything from what went down? Do you know now what you are now?"
"I think so," said Sal, weakly. His voice trembled in spite of all his efforts to control it.
"And what is that?"
"I'm... a faggot."
Shaping those three words out of the darkness of his mind was too immense a thing to be said aloud. And yet, somehow, the syllables tumbled from his lips.
"Yes, you are," Trent chuckled, patting Sal's round buttocks, giving them a little squeeze. "I knew you were a faggot the first time I saw you. It was written all over your pretty face. But I could tell you didn't have a clue. That's why I asked some of the fellas to give you an education. Hope they weren't too rough on you."
"It was you? You sent them?"
"That's right. I can always tell when a whiteboy needs to get his ass fucked. How does your ass feel now?"
"Sore," admitted Sal.
"What else?"
The question seemed to challenge Sal. He thought for a moment, before admitting with a pang of shame: "It feels good, I guess."
"You guess?"
"No," Sal corrected himself. "It does feel good. It does."
"So, what you're saying is it feels good when your ass is sore. That's good to know. You're already learning to experience pain as pleasure. That's what I look for in a slave."
"A slave?"
"I would have raped you myself," Trent went on, "but I'm not a violent person. I want you to come to me
Besides, I didn't think you were ready for me, if you know what I mean, and I know you do."
"I think I do," whimpered Sal.
"Tell me."
"You have a really big cock."
"Let me hear you say: you have a really big cock, SIR."
"You have a really big cock, SIR!"
"That's more better," Trent laughed rich peals of satisfaction. "Call me SIR from on. Or Mr. Jackson. Understand me, boy?"
"Yes, SIR," said Sal, adding, "Yes, Mr. Jackson."
"As a matter of fact I do have a big dick. I like to fuck... a lot!!! But not all you cunts can handle it."
Beads of sweat trickling down the crack of Sal's ass made his rectum tingle. How large was this man's cock, could it be bigger than the ramrods which took him earlier? Was that even possible?
And that word – slave. Why did it bring a flush of color to Sal's pale cheeks?
He gave his restraints a futile tug, for reassurance more than anything. He derived a strange comfort being nude, prostrate, legs and arms stretched, ass exposed and vulnerable.
"I'm prepared to offer you the chance of a lifetime. Are you interested?"
"I'm not sure I understand," said Sal, understanding more than he was ready to admit.
"I'm giving you a choice. I can leave you here. Sooner or later the fellas will be back. Or you can leave with me."
"With you?"
"I need a faggot to cook and clean for me, an obedient slave who can take care of ALL my needs. You'll have a roof over your head, three meals a day, and a chance to do something useful for a change. You decide."
"I'll do it...,"said Sal, without hesitation.
"Say it right – like I taught you."
"I'll do it, Sir. Mr. Jackson!"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Don't be so hasty," Trent advised. "Your job from this day forward will be to please me. If you can't dedicate yourself to working for me, obeying my every word, then I have no use for you. If you fuck up, I will punish you. Severely. That's a fact. But you like being punished don't you?"
Sal's stunned silence spoke volumes.
"That's what I thought," Trent gloated. "I'll be totally up front. If you choose to be my slave, you WILL be punished whether you fuck up or not. I'm gonna enjoy punishing you, do you wanna know why?"
"Why, Sir?"
Calling this man SIR came so easily.
"Because you're white! I love making whiteboys suffer. I can't help it. I love hearing a whiteboy beg for mercy. I don't expect you to understand. Tell me again what you want!"
"I want to be your slave, Sir."
"Aiiight," said Trent. "Let's get you free."
He untied the laces binding Sal's wrists and ankles. Sal rolled onto his back. His little cock stood erect, quivering.
"Look at you," Trent chuckled. "I'm gonna have to get you a jockstrap or I'm gonna start laughing every time I see your little dick! That's a damn shame! Have you ever fucked a girl?"
Sal shook his head from side to side in shame, but his prick did not lose its stiffness.
"I didn't think so!" Trent laughed some more. "I'm gonna call you Little Man. Yeah, that's your new name! Little Man! You like that ?"
"Yes, Sir," said Little Man.
Little by little, pieces of the guido's former identity were being crushed out of existence.
"Before we go," said Trent, "I want you to get on your knees!"
Obediently, Little Man dropped to the floor. His eyes were on the same level as Trent's bulging crotch.
"Unfasten my pants!" said Trent. His eyes blazed.
Out tumbled Trent's long, thick, flaccid cock, dangling in Little Man's face.
"Suck it!"
Little Man did not need to be told. In an instant, he wrapped his lips around the huge purple knob and commenced to suckle.
Like a baby with a pacifier, Little Man lavished the dickhead with attention. The black cock began to throb as blood pumped into the spongy tissue, doubling the length and girth.
It grew so large that Little Man's jaws were forced to the utmost. His throat tightened.
"I said SUCK IT!"
Trent held the whiteboy's head, and thrust, driving his massive pole down that gullet like a battering ram.
`CHOKE ON IT BITCH!" Trent boomed, loud enough for anyone in the hall to hear.
Little Man managed to keep from gagging, but it was more than he could handle. Trent's cock was bigger than Tony's or Mario's. Harder too. And it tasted different, smelled different, a rich and savory flavor he could not get enough of.
Trent pulled out and shoved his dick back into the cocksucker's mouth. In and out he worked his cock, fucking Little Man's face.
"You're gonna be a good slave, I can tell," Trent smirked. "You were made for sucking dick!"
Without skipping a thrust, Trent drew an object from his back pocket and buckled it around the guido's neck. It was a black leather dog collar with a stainless steel ring.
Little Man was collared like an animal while a big cock used his mouth like a cunt. He heard a voice like thunder, like the voice of God: "I own you, bitch!!!"
In that moment of perfect bliss, the guido felt a spark kindle his tiny testicles, a spasm of pleasure that exploded with spurts of milky semen.
At the same time, hot sperm gushed into his mouth, spilling past his lips, trickling down his chin like foam.
"I think you're gonna work out just fine," said Trent, zipping up. "But you made a mess on the floor. Better clean that up."
Little Man looked up, his brow wrinkling.
"With your tongue!" the black man barked. "Lick it up!"
Little Man's jellied cum tasted like acrid bleach. Nothing like his master's cum which went down like honey and licorice and gravy and molasses.
Trent tossed the naked youth a pair of pants and a tee-shirt, his stolen clothes, and ordered him to get dressed.
The collar was around the guido's neck as he walked barefoot behind his new master through the lobby of the YMCA, down the broad steps to a waiting taxi.
The driver was an older black gentleman who leered through his spectacles when he saw Little Man climb into the back seat.
"Thanks for waiting, Jimmy," said Trent, sitting up front.
"No problem," said the driver. "Looks like you found yourself a prime bitch!"
"We'll see."
"Too bad about the last one."
"I know, right!"
"You sure do go through a lot of fags, Trent. Ever think you might be too hard on them?"
"I'm looking for the right one."
"Say, Trent... You think maybe I can ..."
"Oh, hell, yahhh. Stop by anytime. I ain't fucked the bitch yet, so you might have to wait on that, but he can sure as hell smoke a dick! Natural born cocksucker!"
"That's what I'm talkin' about!"
"Yahh, anytime you want, Jimmy!"
Their dialogue went on as if Little Man was not present, as if he did not exist. Like a tool his Master set aside, of no use for the time being. Insignificant, despite being the topic of conversation.
The cab pulled up to a large, dark house with a front porch on a cul-de-sac in a rundown part of town. It was starting to rain.
"Welcome to your new home," said Trent.
Little Man looked around. The wallpaper was old and faded, the carpet worn. It smelled of incense.
Trent took Little Man through the kitchen, and explained how the stove worked and where pots and pans were kept, before taking him to the dimly lit basement.
In one corner was a soiled mattress next to a toilet and a shower stall. An iron ring was set in the concrete wall, attached to a long, heavy chain.
"This is where you will sleep. Now, strip!"
A moment later the whiteboy whose name used to be Sal was naked. From that day forward, Little Man never wore clothes again. His fate was sealed. He was a black man's slave!
THE END
Author's Note: This story was inspired by a true event. Many years ago at the YMCA where I worked out, there was a cocky young guido no one liked. One day his street clothes got stolen from his locker while he was taking a shower. He found most of his gear in a trash can, but never came back to the YMCA. No one owned up to snatching his shit, but I had a hunch he must have pissed off some brothers who got sick of his attitude.
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SKORPIO