Date: Thu, 18 Sep 2008 16:06:39 -0700 (PDT)
From: AfroerotiK <fantasies@afroerotik.com>
Subject: Black Daddy Domination (authoritarian, interracial, watersports)

Scott Clair hated his whiteness.  He wasn't able to articulate it exactly
in that way; he claimed to be coming to terms with his submissive nature
and his overwhelming desire to serve the Black race.  Had he been a bit
more self-aware, a bit more introspective, he could have accurately
described his self-hatred as stemming from his inherent need to feel
superior.  Whiteness was his disease, magnified by a Napoleonic complex of
huge proportions given his height of 5'1".  He suffered from narcissism
extraordinaire.  In his delusional mind, the universe owed him an apology
for his height and he compensated for it by singing "Woe is me," every
chance he got-- the 12" extended, remix, house music version.  Lying was
his first nature, he could construct a tale of deceit without so much as
the blink of an eye, all to make himself seem more important or to
perpetuate an image of his false sense of superiority.  He treated people
as objects to use and didn't give a damn who was hurt, used, or annoyed in
the process.  He felt he was the sun, the chosen son, around whom all the
world had an obligation to rotate.

He began feeling uncomfortable with his identity, with his whiteness, with
the advent of interracial porn.  Initially, he was outraged and angered by
Black men and their enormous cocks fucking white women.  He would watch in
disgust at the videos of men endowed with equipment that made his tiny
penis look infantile in comparison and seethe in anger, proclaiming how he
hated Black men for being lazy, ignorant, criminal, and nothing more than
savages.  Of course, all that internal dialogue was drowned out while he
was masturbating furiously for hours on end to image after image of white
women screaming in pleasure and pain while having the sex of their lives
with Black men.  He would go to Black blogs and forums and protest that
size didn't matter and Black men did not, in fact, have bigger cocks, that
it was all just a myth.  He took pleasure in his anonymous rants of
degrading Black men for being bad fathers, for all being illiterate
rappers, and he always seemed to find a way to espouse racist, hateful
beliefs that made white men seem inherently and naturally superior.
Immediately after taunting anyone and everyone who expressed even the
slightest outrage, disbelief, or anger at his psychotic rants, he would log
on to one of the numerous pay sites he subscribed to and download videos of
white women being fucked by Black men in every orifice so he could jerk
off.

In phase two of his awakening, he had a grand epiphany whereby he decided
he was sensitive to the Black race.  He became a self-proclaimed, liberal,
reformed racist who insisted that he was atoning for the sins of all white
men, past and present, and righting the wrongs of slavery by being
submissive to Black women.  His motives might have been pure except for the
fact that he wasn't even capable of seeing Black women as human beings but
merely things to satisfy his perversions.  He watched BET, he listened to
Black talk radio, and he rented every Black movie ever made so he could
claim expertise on Blackness.  In his submission, he would get off on the
idea of black women using him, making fun of his small appendage, slapping
him around, maybe even fucking him with a strapon and going home to his
white world where he never interacted with another Black person.  His
sexuality was compartmentalized.  For a few hours a month, if he was lucky,
a few hours a week, he could take off his white privilege, leave it at the
door, and role-play to his heart's content that he was a slave to a Black
woman.  When it was over, he could go home and feel absolved of his white
guilt and assured that he was free of all inklings of white supremacy and
racist beliefs.

In reality, he used Black women like life-like toys.  He used the threat of
giving them money to fuck with them.  He would promise them large amounts
of money and then, for no reason whatsoever, he would rescind the offer
with the hopes that the women would be irate and that they would in turn
then beg and plead for the money in order for him to feel powerful and in
control of their lives.  He would demand that they fulfill his fantasies,
in exactly the way he saw fit; he thought nothing of calling on them at
obscene hours of the day or night whenever he wanted to live out his
submissive fantasies, stalking them, completely disrespecting their time
and lives.  The fact that he erroneously viewed his fetish as being
submissive is what allowed him to believe that he was pardoned of his
responsibility of being a total and complete asshole who wanted what he
wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted, without regard, respect, or
reverence to anyone else.

His fascination with the Black female body was colored by his hatred of the
Black male one.  The more a woman looked like a man, the more he was
obsessed with being the "victim" of her abuse.  If she was pumped up on
steroids and bulging with muscles everywhere, if her facial features were
masculine, if she wore her hair short and natural or if she was
transgendered and sporting a big ole, juicy, fat cock, he would make that
woman the center of his lust to the extent it would become a maniacal
obsession.  He would spend endless hours, furiously masturbating, thinking
about being pulverized by these she-men, beaten to a bloody pulp, raped
against his will, and had no reason to associate his desires with his
hatred of the Black male.

It was, in fact, his hatred of the Black male, his odious and undeniable
jealousy at his strength, power, and unquestionable masculinity, all things
Scott dangerously lacked, which motivated his fantasies.  He wanted to
destroy the Black man, to castrate him, but short of being able to do that,
he could covet these women who were essentially men and feel secure in
knowing that he was dominating them passively with his threats of giving
and withholding money. In truth, he was worshipping the black male, just
minus the penis.  Many a night, he would sit at his computer, nipple clamps
in place, a black butt plug firmly in place stretching his anus, stroking
his small cock with his thumb and forefinger, fantasizing about taking on
Mike Tyson, Kimbo Slice, or some other black boxing champion and veritably
kicking their ass.  He was too stupid to even acknowledge or realize that
his fantasies were sexual in nature, that he was jerking off to these
images because they aroused him; he could only focus on the adrenaline he
felt when he imagined himself victorious over these bastions of Black
masculinity.  His warped, delusional mind could only comprehend that he
viewed the Black male body, the muscular black male body, as his enemy.

Simultaneously, he dreamt of being a Black man.  Being transformed to a
Black male body, in his warped mind, would mean women, both white and
black, would throw themselves at his feet, that he could fuck whomever he
wanted, whenever he wanted.  Never, not once did he consider that being a
Black man carried more burdens and responsibilities than just standing
around on the basketball court waiting for some white woman to get lost in
the hood.  In his mind, being a Black man was about athleticism, sexuality,
and masculinity.

It was indeed a Black man who masterminded phase three of his evolution.
Having "graduated" from serving masculine Black women, and compelled by his
deviant urges and conflicted emotions, Scott moved on to the worship of the
mythical big black cock.  He became obsessed with it, all the power it
represented and he CRAVED to be degraded and humiliated by Black men with
nothing less than 8 inches or more of man meat.  His need to be submissive
to Black men became obsessive, traveling to adult book stores, bath houses,
and gay bars in search of the biggest, blackest cock he could find.  The
men the cocks were attached to were inconsequential; it was the penis that
was his object of desire.  He became the proverbial slut for black cock.
That was, until he responded to a particular ad on craigslist.

The ad was simple enough.  "Professional Black male seeks same for LTR."
It outlined the specifics of who the guy was and what he was looking for:
complexion, similar interests, education, height, and age—all the
average things in a personal ad.  The photo section included several
pictures of a tall, very attractive, dark-skinned guy with a nice house, a
nice car, and a package that was so big UPS would have refused to deliver
it.

Had the ad not included the picture of the cock, Scott probably would have
moved on, clicking on another ad to find someone who was looking for a
quick, anonymous suck or fuck in the immediate future.  It was the perfect
cock: uncut, heavily veined, thick, Black, and what had to be 10 inches
. . . soft.  Scott's mouth watered and his asspussy throbbed at the thought
of feeling that huge monster invading him, pounding him, stretching him to
beyond capacity, ripping him, filling him with load after load of scalding
hot cum.  He had to have it.

He fired off a response, quickly detailing what a fuck slut he was and how
he had a hot, wet mouth perfect for sucking and a tight, hot, hole ideal
for fucking.  He attached a picture he found on the net of a beautiful
young twink who could have been a perfect Calvin Klein model.  It really
didn't matter to him that he looked NOTHING like the picture, nothing
mattered to him other than getting what he wanted.  He waited for a
response.  And he waited.  After two days, he figured he would send another
response, this time being more explicit.

"Dear, Sir.  I sent you an email the other day but it must have ended up in
your spam folder or something.  I'm a white, 30-something male," he lied,
"who would love to drain your big cock.  I'm expert at sucking cock, I have
a hot white hole just ready for pounding all night long, and you can do
whatever you want to me, treat me like shit, and I can take it all and then
some.  I especially enjoy race play and get off on being treated rough and
you can even beat the crap out of me if you want.  I'll kneel at your feet
and worship your superior, Black cock.  Anxiously awaiting your response.
Submissively, Scott."

The response came quickly this time, within a few minutes.  "Thanks you for
your interest. I'm not looking for a sub or anything of the sort, but
rather I'm looking for a long-term relationship EXACTLY like I described in
my ad."

For most people, that would have been sufficient.  Perhaps a few would have
sent a response saying, "Fine, you don't know what you're missing," and
left it at that.  Scott, however, was not satisfied with that response.  He
became belligerent and typically arrogant.  His response came in the form
of an essay, describing how he was informed on Black issues, how liberal he
was socially and how he supported Barack Obama.  He wrote of the
Trans-Atlantic slave trade and the history of racism.  He went on and on
with statistics about Black men in the U.S.  He ridiculed the man for his
lack of knowledge of Black issues, not even knowing the man's position on
anything.  The whole objective of the correspondence was to piss this guy
off.  Scott was adept at being irritating, it was his weapon of choice and
being rejected was not in his agenda.

Send.

No response.

He didn't even wait a full 24 hours for a response.  He fired off another
email, this time longer, this time more abrasive.

No response.

Outraged, Scott sat at his computer, looking at that picture of that
gorgeous cock, jerking off incessantly, and figuring out ways to get under
this guy's skin.  That's all he wanted at this point.  He wanted to annoy
him, anger him, to make him frustrated and pissed off.  He got a thrill
from the attention, the fact that he knew he was an irritant; that was
almost more arousing to him than getting fucked.

Still no response, he constructed yet another email, this time, taunting
him by reverting back to his tried and true nature of being racially
belligerent, claiming that the picture of the cock wasn't even real, that
he probably had a tiny cock and was trying to compensate for not being a
"real" black man.  That would surely get a response.

And this time it did . . . instantaneously.  Failure Notice.  Remote host
said: 554 delivery error.  The mail recipient, renegadeblack@gmail.com is
not accepting emails from your account.

"How dare that black piece of shit ignore me," Scott fumed.  "I'll fix
him," as he sent all three of his emails again, this time, each one from
one of his many other email accounts.  The drama was arousing to Scott and
he fisted his tiny cock in anticipation of a response.  This time, he was
sure to get some sort of rise out of this guy.  It wasn't even about the
sex anymore; it was a game of power.  Scott needed to prove that he could
not and would not be dismissed.  He needed to put this Black guy in his
place and teach him a lesson.  Scott's true racist nature had surfaced
again, victim of his own delusions of supremacy.

He got a real response this time, simply stating, "Okay, you win.  If you
want to be dominated, I'll do it.  Be at my house, Friday evening, and be
prepared to be pushed past your limits.  In fact, you better not have any
limits."  He gave an address and signed the email, "Your Black Dom Daddy".

Scott masturbated endlessly, for days on end, reading those few lines like
they held the key to the universe.  He fantasized about what it would be
like to be the plaything of a strong, Black man who towered over his
diminutive size.  He didn't do as he was instructed of course.  That would
have been anti-climactic.  He wasn't going to go through with it after
everything he had written, he just wanted to get off on the idea of being a
white fuck slut with no limits being tortured and used by a strong, Black
Daddy.  So he placated himself by pulling and stroking his tiny penis,
imagining unspeakable, disgusting things.

Barely a week went by when Scott's curiosity got the best of him.  He sent
another email and not surprisingly, it was returned as blocked.  He had no
less than 25 email addressed created for just such a reason so he quickly
resent it from another account and this time, he apologized profusely for
his abhorrent behavior.  He humbled himself, "Dear, Sir, what can I do to
have you forgive me?  I've been arrogant and I realize that now.  I'll
never do it again, I promise.  I want to be your boy.  I want you to own
me."  He didn't mean a word of what he said, it was all a part of his
twisted pathology.

The response was more detailed this time.  "I knew your faggot ass couldn't
resist.  The rules are simple.  For an entire weekend I'll use you in ways
that you've never thought of before.  You'll be my complete bitch.  Bring
food and beverages to fix me breakfast, lunch, and dinner the entire time
you're here.  You'll be dressed in slutty heels and lingerie all weekend.
You'll keep your holes ready for me to use . . . in any way I see fit.  If
I bring my friends over, you'll service them any way they want.  If I go
out on a date, you'll suck my cock clean when I come home.  You'll serve as
my maid and make sure my place is immaculate and you'll be my footstool,
ashtray, toilet, and cum dump.  You'll be anything I tell you to be and
you'll like it and beg for more."

Anger boiled up within Scott's soul, anger and pure, unadulterated lust.
He'd never really given up his fallacy of white supremacy, he'd never
really reconciled his hatred for Black men and their larger endowments, he
was just going through the motions in an effort to satiate his lust for
being degraded and abused.  His desires to be raped, used, and beaten until
unrecognizable were symptoms of a greater evil.  Scott wanted to use Black
sexuality to satisfy his perverse desires; he never had any intentions of
being used to satisfy the desires of a Black person.

His compulsion to be used outweighed reason as he drove around impatiently
in his car for 7:00 pm exactly.  Being nosey, he opened the mailbox and saw
that the name on the Car and Driver Magazine was Todd Harcourt.  At least
he had a name to put with the description of the supposed mortgage broker,
sports enthusiast, and openly gay black man he was about to meet.  Scott
had purchased enough food for a week, all frozen dinners and semi-prepared
deli foods and the like; he wasn't a great cook and didn't want to piss
this guy off by trying to be creative in the kitchen when he knew good and
god damn well that anything he fixed himself would taste like crap.  He
wanted to leave, to turn around and go home, but he knew that if he did, he
would regret it.  He'd packed an overnight bag with all the lingerie and
high heels he'd stolen from previous girlfriends.  With such a big cock
pounding him, he knew there was going to be potential for issues so he'd
given himself a series of intense and painful enemas to make sure his colon
was free from any shit so there wouldn't be any accidents or mess.  All
lubed up with a butt plug shoved in to stretch his hole, he knocked on the
door.

"Yes, how can I help you?"  The guy looked confused more than anything,
like he wasn't expecting anyone to show up.

"I'm . . . from the internet . . . you know . . . your boy.  You told me to
be here for you to . . ."  Scott paused mid sentence, afraid someone had
played a joke on him.  The guy standing before him was the guy from the
pictures in the ad, but he wasn't sure exactly what was going on so he
remained quiet, gripping his bags in his hands tighter and ready to make a
run for it.

"Oh DAMN, I knew the picture you sent was fake but GOD DAMN.  Could you
have found a picture more opposite of what you look like?  Shit!  Oh well,
get in here."  The guy looked like he wanted to throw up he was so
disgusted.  Scott stepped inside the foyer as the door closed behind him.
It was his nature to be so arrogant, so pathological in his need to
misrepresent himself, that he didn't care that he sent pictures that looked
nothing like his 40 something, unattractive self.

One thing was for certain, the guy hadn't lied one bit in his ad.  He
wasn't a millimeter shy of 6'4", he had a muscular, athletic build, bald
head, dark chocolate skin and he was VERY attractive.  Scott could see the
picture of his fantastic cock in his mind and his tiny prick pulsed in
anticipation.  With the difference in height, Scott did in fact feel like a
boy next to a strong Daddy.  "Take off your clothes," were his only
instructions.

Scott put his bags down and started to slowly undress.  "Hurry up,
shithead," the man bellowed and Scott began to pick up the pace.  He took
off his shoes and socks and pulled down his pants, standing there with
nothing but a pair of tighty whities on and pitching a tent, a pup tent,
but his erection was sticking out as far as possible.

"I thought I told you that you were to be dressed in women's lingerie the
entire time you were in my presence, bitch."

"Yeah, but I didn't know exactly what was expected of me so I figured I
would . . ."  His words were cut off by a backhand that sent him flying
into the wall.  Real tears formed in his eyes as he felt the sting of the
slap radiating on his cheek.  The taste of warm blood trickled in his mouth
from his cheek and he swallowed.  He tried to steady himself to stand but
he was disoriented and scared.

"You will be humble in my presence at all times.  You will answer only when
spoken to and if your answer isn't preceded by Yes, Master, or Yes, Daddy,
you can be sure I'm going to discipline you much worse than that little
tap.  I really don't give a damn what you think, I only expect you to
conform to my desires and that's it.  Got it?"

A knot formed in Scott's throat.  It felt like someone was choking him, no,
stabbing him with a knife in his vocal chords.  The words were stuck and he
swallowed hard and responded, "Yes, Daddy."

Scott was already broken.

Extending his hand in what seemed to be a gesture of kindness, this
exquisite male specimen helped Scott to his feet.  Scott's hands were
small; his fingers were stubby and short.  In contrast, Todd's hands were
large, not too large, but with long, graceful fingers.  With his hand
placed inside the much larger one, he instinctively knew what it was to be
a little boy with a strong, protective parent.  With tears in his eyes,
Scott removed his underpants and stood covering his small penis, profoundly
ashamed by its inferior size.  "Move your fucking hands, let me see what
you've got" were his only instructions and he instinctively covered his
nipples like a teenage girl whose top had been pulled down at the
neighborhood swimming pool.

Loud, uproarious laughter reverberated in the tiny alcove and Scott's heart
sank at the same ratio that his cock rose.  No matter how much he knew on a
visceral level, no matter how much he intellectualized and articulated that
his penis was small, extraordinarily small in fact, when he heard others
say it, especially Black men, he felt anger, shame, and arousal at the same
time.  He was aroused by the humiliation but he just couldn't let go of
that nasty "white male thing" that caused him to look at Black men with
nothing but contempt and disgust.  It was a part of his DNA, it was wired
into his brain that he was inherently superior so while his rage bubbled
beneath the surface, his lust dictated his need to give up that false sense
of superiority and become what he knew he was deep, deep inside: a
perverse, disgusting, depraved white pain, cum slut.  He needed to be set
free of his imprisonment of lies to be released so he could experience his
true nature as something lower than a human.

"Suck my cock, bitch."  The pressure of the hand on Scott's shoulder forced
him to his knees.  He knelt submissively before the fully clothed man
before him.  His hands trembled as he reached out to undo his jeans and
pull down the zipper.  Placing his hand inside his pants, he felt for the
first time what was possibly the biggest cock he'd ever felt in his life.
He could barely get his fingers around the girth.  Fishing it out, he was
struck with the strong aroma of unwashed masculinity.  It was an
intoxicating elixir of sweat, piss, and pure, manly funk.  Scott inhaled
the scent and it made him light headed; it made his cock leak precum.



Peeling back the foreskin, Scott looked up into the deep, dark eyes of his
new owner.  A foul, raunchy-smelling layer of head cheese coated the
enormous crown of the beautiful, brown cock.  "You like?  I made it just
for you.  Eat up."

Rather than hesitating, Scott made a real show of cleaning that nasty
smegma.  He devoured it like he was starving, proud to show off his
cocksucking skills and the devotion he had for the monstrous piece of meat
that was before him.  The thick paste filled his taste buds and Scott
worked first to clean it and then to worship it.  Barely able to get his
mouth around it, barely able to get even a third of its enormous length
into his mouth, Scott licked and kissed it passionately.  If a man could
form a relationship with a cock, this was the ideal mate for Scott.  In his
heart, he fell in love with that meat, feeling his chest expand and tighten
like a schoolboy with his first crush.  He tried to make love to it with
his mouth, planting soft and tender kisses along its length to show his
reverence.

"What the fuck is this kissing shit?  Bitch, I told you to suck my mother
fucking cock.  NOW SUCK!"  With that, he grabbed Scott's head and fucked
his mouth savagely.  Scott tried to push away, bracing himself against the
firm, muscular thighs of his tormentor, trying to catch his breath as that
cock ravaged his throat.  He gagged and choked, feeling his esophagus being
raped.  He was being skull fucked; he was nothing more than a hole being
abused.  The steady pounding of that cock, its full length wanted to make
him cry out in pain but he couldn't; he could barely gasp for air.  The
rhythm was fast and furious, his jaw was numb, and his gag reflect was
abating after what had to be more than 10 minutes of the most hard core
blow job he'd ever given . . . sort of.  There was no mistaking that he
wasn't "giving" anything, his throat was being fucked and it hurt in a way
that couldn't be described.  Hot, salty tears stained his cheeks as he
prayed for the torture to end, and simultaneously, never to end.

The reward at the end of his torture would come soon enough.  His master,
tormentor, and dream lover shoved the full length of his hardness deep in
Scott's throat.  His nose deeply embedded in the thick patch of wiry pubic
hairs, Scott felt the expansive cock actually grow and lengthen in his
mouth and could detect the peristaltic motion that brought the scalding
white, hot, cum from his nuts, through his impressive tube of manliness,
out and down Scott's throat, without even getting the benefit of tasting
the scummy spunk he craved so desperately.

Scott collapsed to the floor, exhausted and broken, his face inches away
from the feet of his skillful dominator.  He wanted to cleave unto those
feet, wrap his arms around those legs for protection and comfort and say,
"Daddy, I'm sorry I was a bad boy.  Please, forgive me."  He couldn't say
anything however because his throat was so sore he'd temporarily lost the
ability to speak.  It felt as if his vocal chords had been scraped with
sandpaper.

"Before I forget, give me your keys and your wallet. I want some assurances
you won't be leaving before I give you permission."  The last thing in the
world Scott wanted was to leave.  He wanted to stay forever.  He wanted to
give up his measly life and be the boi of this ominous stranger.  His
identity was sacred however and he had spent years protecting it, lying,
deceiving, and hiding his real life from those whom he used sexually.  This
time, he reluctantly handed over the requested items and felt a sense of
relief.  If he was going to be blackmailed, outed, and exposed to the
world, now was the time, he'd let his perversions drive him too far.  He
wanted this man to know his true identity, to have control of his life and
his destiny.  It was his freedom.

"I expect you to change your clothes, fix me dinner and bring it to me in
the den, and be prepared to service me in whatever way I desire."  He
pushed Scott away with his foot and went about his business like Scott
wasn't even there.

Unsure of the layout of the house, Scott stumbled around until he found a
powder room to change into his female attire.  He was an ugly male to begin
with which made him repulsive as a woman but he felt sexy in his red
see-through baby doll nightie, his high-heel, patent leather, stiletto,
Payless Pumps and black butt plug, framed perfectly by his crotchless
panties.  His tiny penis strained against the silky material and felt good.
He rubbed it for as long as he thought he might be able to get away with it
without being found out and emerged to fix dinner.

Cooking in someone else's house is a task.  He struggled to find the right
pots, the right plates, the tools he needed to pull off his linguine and
shrimp, all pre-cooked of course.  Salad was in a bag and all he had to do
was find an opener for the beer.  He wobbled and teetered in his heels that
were giving him a blister but he ignored the pain in anticipation of more
humiliation and degradation to come.  That was his finish line, his raison
d'etre.  He overheard his new Master talking on the phone, conversing with
a friend.  "Nah man, I ain't never done no shit like this before.  I figure
he'll be begging to leave after a few hours.  I ain't even going to tell
you the shit I have planned for him . . . Word.  That's what I'm saying.
Yeah man, I'll holla at you later, we'll hang out on Sunday morning or
something.  I'm out."

Scott fumed.  He felt cheated.  He wanted someone experienced in BDSM to
control him, not some fucking amateur.  His arrogance button was flicked on
and he had half a mind to call the whole thing off and leave.  He brought
the plates out to the den and placed them on the coffee table with
silverware and paper towels for napkins.  He went back to the kitchen and
got two beers and returned, sitting on the other end of the sofa.  "I hope
you like it, Sir.  I can't take real credit . . ."

Before he knew what was happening, he felt a stinging kick to his side and
he flew off the end of the sofa and landed flat on his ass.  "Bitch, I told
you I didn't want you speak to me unless spoken to.  That's not a hard rule
to follow, is it?"

Shaking his head, Scott mumbled, "No, Master," and apologized for being a
dumbass.

"And while we're at it, who the fuck told you that you could eat with me?"

Before he could make the same mistake again, he fought the urge to give his
opinion and state the obvious that he had to have some sort of sustenance
to keep up his strength throughout the weekend.

"I'll take this beer and let me have that plate so I can fix it for you."
Holding his finger aside one nostril, Todd hacked up phlegm from deep in
his chest that sounded like he had walking pneumonia and blew it from his
nose on Scott's plate of food.  Repeating the procedure several times,
there was a coating of green, brown, yellowish snot coating the Scampi.
Scott's stomach turned and his cock leapt.  Placing the plate on the floor,
Scott was told to eat without the benefit of utensils or hands and eat it
all.

With his ass high in the air, he lowered his face to the plate of food.
"Oh, and if you throw up anything I give you to eat, you can be sure I'll
make you eat it again.  Understand?"  Those instructions were clear and
Scott felt nauseated as he began to eat the mucous covered dinner.  It
wasn't as bad as he imagined it was going to be after he got down the first
few bites with thick, salty boogers, and before he knew it, he was proud to
show that he could be such a nasty pig, eating snot like a pig eats slop
from a trough.

Before he was done, his Master said, "Thirsty, bitch? Come here."  Scott
crawled between his Master's dark, brown thighs and looked up lovingly.
"Drink my piss, and don't you dare spill a drop."

Scott had known all along that this was coming.  It was the right of every
Black Dominant to use his white submissive as a urinal and Scott wanted the
opportunity to prove his rightful place as piss pig.  He placed the mammoth
cock in his mouth and knew to wait for his drink.  It came hard and fast;
it was rank, hot, yellow and thick, not at all like the watered down beer
piss he was expecting but coming from the Black Master of his dreams, Scott
swallowed like it was the sweetest wine he'd ever had.

"Oh fuck yeah, bitch, drink my rank, hot piss you fucking nasty toilet
whore.  Fucking white scum bag."  Those words were music to Scott's ears.
"Don't swallow it all, I want to see your mouth full of my piss.  Hold some
in your faggot mouth."

Before the stream stopped, Scott did as he was told and he held a huge
mouthful of urine in his mouth.  He sat back and opened his mouth with
pride to show what a good job he'd done.  He beamed with pride.  A few
drops escaped the corners of his mouth but surely that was to be forgiven
because he had such a huge amount of piss and had shown his talent for
being a toilet.

"Good boy.  Nice job." With that, his Master tussled his hair and Scott
felt an overwhelming sensation of love that made tears well up in his eyes.
His Daddy was proud of him.  That was all he ever wanted, for his Daddy to
say, "Good job, son."  But that's not exactly what he said.  He completed
his compliment by saying, "Lay down on the floor, under my feet, and hold
that piss in your mouth and don't you dare fucking swallow it until I tell
you to.  If you swallow it, spill it, or throw up, I PROMISE you'll regret
it."

Steeled with determination, Scott maneuvered himself to lie between the
sofa and the coffee table with his open mouth of golden nectar.  He stared
at the ceiling and decided to get into a space where he was going to breath
through his nostrils and ignore the overwhelming pain of his jaw.  In a
zone, he smelled the evidence of smoke and momentarily panicked.  It was
cigar smoke, and his owner had lit up to enjoy a night of watching TV and a
good smoke.

The sound of the ashes being extinguished in the piss he held so lovingly
in his mouth made Scott angered and alarmed all over again.  He'd never
anticipated this, and a foot was brought down on his chest to prevent him
from moving.  He wanted to scream but he couldn't, he thought he was going
to drown for a second, and the taste of the ashes, magnified by the piss,
made his body involuntarily heave.

"Easy there boy, I told you that anything I give you that you throw up, I'm
going to make you eat again.  And if you spill any piss or ashes on my
carpet, I'm going to beat your ass so bad you won't sit for a week."

A Buddhist monk didn't have more mind control than Scott did in that
moment.  Tears streamed steadily down his face but he remained focused on a
small, imaginary spot on the ceiling.  For the next 20 minutes, he was a
receptacle for ashes as he held the now cold piss in his mouth.  Piss
overflowed his mouth as the ashes displaced the pee and he smelled like the
men's room at The Port Authority bus station.

"Swallow!"  Those were Todd's only instructions.  "Swallow, it all, NOW!"

Scott rationalized for a moment and turned his head and spit out the foul
contents of his mouth all over his Master's cream carpet.  That's what this
game was all about, punishment and reward.  He wanted some more punishment.
He wanted to get to the fun part where he got fucked and spanked and fucked
some more.  Over and over, he spit out the nasty remnants of cigar ashes
and pee until he could only taste a hint of the disgusting mixture and
waited for the slap, the punch, or the severe verbal tongue-lashing.

The pause seemed like an eternity, the silence, deafening.  "Okay, okay."
"If you don't want to play by my rules, get out.  Get your shit and get
out."  Standing, he stepped over Scott and went to his laundry room to get
supplies to clean his carpet.

Scott was outdone.  He didn't want to go, he wanted to stay and get fucked.
He wanted to stay and be humiliated some more.  The man returned with a
bucket of water and cleaning supplies, threw Scott's keys and wallet on the
floor at his feet, and ignored him as he went about scrubbing the stains on
the carpet.

Scott had never felt more defeated.  His arrogance had maneuvered him out
of his dream situation AGAIN.  He'd fucked up big time and there was
nothing he could say.  Apologies would be empty because he obviously did
what he did on purpose.  He hated himself for getting himself into this
situation, he wanted to say something but the image of this beautiful Black
man, on his knees, cleaning the mess that he'd made, silenced him.

"Here, let me clean it.  I'm sorry."  The words sounded empty even to
himself and he waited for some sort of acknowledgement.

"Get out."  The command was soft-spoken, without emotion.

Scott started sobbing uncontrollably.  He had disappointed his Daddy.  He
had been a very bad boy.  He had disrespected the man whom he wanted to own
his very being.  As experienced as Scott was in the lifestyle, this novice,
this guy who had never dominated anyone else in his life, was controlling
him in ways he'd never imagined.  Scott became hysterical: crying,
pleading, and throwing a temper tantrum the likes of which couldn't be
paralleled by even the most monstrous two-year-old.  He wasn't even making
sense, he was just babbling about not wanting to leave and about how sorry
he was.  He got on his knees and tried to suck Todd's cock again.  He
offered him money, $1000 in fact, if he could be allowed to stay.  Sex and
power were all Scott understood so he was offering all he knew how.  The
fact that he was being ignored caused him greater pain than he'd ever felt
before.

"Stop crying bitch.  Damn, shut the fuck up.  I told you to get out.  You
obviously don't want to play by my rules.  You obviously think you can
dictate and control some shit up in my mother-fucking house so it's time
for your ass to go.  I will not be manipulated by some moronic little
asswipe like you.  Get the fuck out."

Scott's body was trembling.  He wanted to do what he had been told, to
follow orders and leave, but he wanted to stay more.  He was having a
mental breakdown.  Before he knew what was going on, he had been pulled
down across Todd's lap and he was getting spanked soundly.  Actually,
spanked seems like such a benign term.  He was being beaten.  Blow after
torturous blow rained down on his pale, flat ass, thighs, and even back.
His Master seemed to be in some sort of trance of his own.  "You fucking
white boys are all the same.  Thinking you can control shit.  I'll fucking
show you.  Dumb ass.  You want me to be your Daddy, I'll fucking make you
wish you were never born."  The pain was excruciating but comforting at the
same time.

With his hard cock sandwiched between those strong thighs and his ass being
abused, Scott was screaming and crying like a little bitch.  He was
incoherent. "Yes, Daddy, beat me for being white.  I'm so sorry, Daddy,
I've been such a bad boy.  I'm just a stupid, little-cocked, white boi who
deserves to be punished.  Take out your frustrations on me, Master.  I
promise I'll do anything you say."

Those words would prove to be the wrong thing to say.

Grabbing Scott forcefully by the arm, practically dislocating his shoulder
from the socket, this overwhelming Dominant pillar of masculinity pulled
him towards the Master Bedroom.  Scott felt a ray of hope.  Things were
about to get down to business.  Scampering along, practically on tiptoe,
scurrying to keep up with the long strides of his Master, Scott was flung
to the floor.  He looked up to see a look of pure, unadulterated hatred on
Todd's face.  This look wasn't one of lust; his eyes were distant and
glassy, filled with rage, reminding Scott of a rebel slave who had staged
an insurrection against an evil slaveholder and who was about to behead the
person who had taken his life, liberty, and manhood from him.

Scott watched as his Master undressed completely, muttering under his
breath something incoherent and disjointed.  Scott was genuinely scared.
He thought maybe this guy was having some sort of slavery flashback, some
sort of psychotic homicidal break and would go too far.  Just that thought
alone aroused Scott's sick libido.  This was it.  His fantasy come true.
For all of his posturing, for all his arrogance and bravado, Scott knew he
was about to feel the true wrath of the mighty Black man.  This was an
entirely different situation than pissing off Black women.  Black women
would get angry, they would threaten blackmail and revenge, they would
curse him out and try to make him pay with their strapons but they were
ultimately just victims of Scott's manipulative ploys, not capable of
pulverizing Scott to within inches of his life.  This man could crush
Scott's skull without breaking a sweat.  Clearly, he'd pushed too far;
clearly, he'd underestimated his ability to piss this man off.  He cowered
in terror, unable to run, held fast to the bedroom floor as he furiously
jerked his cock and waited for the savage beating of his perverted dreams.

Before Scott could say, "Treat me like the filthy, white slut I am," he was
being tossed face down on the massive California King sized bed.  As his
hips were pulled up, he grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it.  The
butt plug was pulled unceremoniously from his ass and he was instructed to
suck it.  Lubricant and ass slime coated the foul toy and Scott turned his
head in defiance.

"Oh, you want to play fucking games, bitch?  You better suck that fucking
butt plug or . . ."  There was no reason to finish the ultimatum because
within a fraction of a second, Scott was grabbed so hard by the back of his
neck he saw stars.  The plug was forced in his mouth and he sucked it like
a perverse black pacifier.  Scott couldn't decide which tasted worse; the
smegma, the ashes, or the funky ass mixture but he was sure that being
forced to perform such lewd acts was liberating, freedom from enslavement
to his false sense of manhood.

While Scott was wildly aroused, Todd was not.  He didn't find Scott
attractive or the situation stimulating in the least.  He looked at Scott
with utter contempt and disgust.  This whole thing had gone past
role-playing to something sick and twisted.  He grabbed his dick and
stroked it, willing it to hardness.  He grabbed the remote and flicked on a
vid that was in his DVD player.  With his flat screen filled with images of
hot, sweaty black men, he was able to get hard enough for the task at hand.

Fully erect, Todd was at least twelve inches.  This wasn't exaggerated,
Internet inches, when guys claim they are a foot long and they are really
only about two inches over average.  This was the real deal.  Scott felt
like he was in the presence of a true god for surely anyone endowed with
such a huge cock was more than a mere man.  A flash of fear came over Scott
as he realized he'd never had anything quite that large in his ass before.
He was a small guy and his mind raced with images of where all that meat
would actually go forced in his colon.  Fear and pain were aphrodisiacs for
Scott, so with his tiny cock leaking a steady stream of precum, he dove for
that humongous piece of meat with his mouth again, with the hopes that he
could get it wet enough to compensate for a lack of lube.

This time, the blowjob he gave was sloppy and wet and dripping with spit.
He used his hands to work the copious saliva up and down the shaft.  When
he felt himself heaving, rather than hold back, he let go with disgusting
amounts of slimy fluids from somewhere deep within him.

If that weren't degrading enough, his tormentor and master was punctuating
the scene with a serenade of degrading taunts.  "Yeah you fucking white
piece of trash.  That's is, suck that big fucking black dick!  You love
that, don't you?  Fagging out on my big, black knob.  Take it you sissy
fucking bitch.  You know I'm going to ram that big fucker so deep in you
that you are going to shit my cum for a week."  In the background, Scott
could hear the sounds of primal fucking on the DVD which aroused him even
more.  The only thing he could see was the muscled abdomen of his master
and the wiry pubic hairs that framed the glorious cock that was deep in his
throat.

Scott was crying, literally streaming tears of joy down his face.  Before
he knew what was happening, he was flipped over on his stomach and his ass
was pulled in the air.  His crotchless, red panties and his flimsy, red
nightie were ripped from his body and tossed on the floor.  Without a whole
lot of ceremony, Scott felt the head of that gigantic dick being pushed in
his boycunt.  He grimaced a little and took it with relative ease as he
felt his prostate being massaged.  He started moaning like a cheap whore;
his own tiny cock producing a steady stream of dick snot that flowed
freely.  He worked his ass like the true faggot bitch he was and luxuriated
in the sensations of the strong, masculine hands that held his hips and the
gigantic dick embedded in his ass making him feel like something sick and
perverted and feminine all at the same time.

While it seemed like an eternity, it was really only a few minutes before
Scott was filled to capacity.  He reached back to feel about four or five,
incredibly thick inches of cock that hadn't been able to fully penetrate
him.  He pumped his ass like the white women he had seen in pornos and he
tightened his ass muscles like he'd been taught by his experiences with
men.  While Scott was satisfied with that, proud of himself for being able
to take a full 8 inches like the insatiable ass slut he was, his Black Dom
Daddy was not.

"You think that's all you're going to take?  Oh, hell no.  Bitch, you are
going to take every fucking millimeter of my dick and you are going to love
it, do you hear me?"  With that, he pushed further and Scott tried to
scramble away.  He moved up higher on the bed and tried to resume wiggling
his ass, fucking back on that cock, confident that he was giving his Black
Daddy pleasure.

Not satisfied, Todd grabbed Scott by the shoulders and pushed harder,
forcing at least another two inches incredibly thick cock deeper in Scott
than he'd ever had before.  Scott screamed out in pain.  He did his best to
pull away, fighting and struggling, but his efforts were nothing compared
to the strength of the man fucking him.  The pain permeated every fiber of
his being, racing from his asshole to his nuts that were pulled tightly
against his body to his hardened nipples and then all the way to the back
of his eyes.  Sweat dripped from his forehead and he whimpered, "Please, I
can't take anymore. It hurts."  Surely, his pleas would be understood.  He
was only 5'1".  There was only so much space for all that meat to go.  It
wasn't because of lack of desire; it was logistics.  He fought back, trying
to save himself from serious internal damage.

"Oh is that so?  It hurts, huh?  You want me to stop?  Do you?  Do you want
me to stop?  Answer me, bitch!  I'll stop, all you have to do is say the
word.  DO YOU WANT ME TO STOP?"  None of this was new to Todd.  He'd met
lots of guys who couldn't take his entire dick before.  But the power, the
control, the domination was making him high.  His became relentless,
slapping Scott's ass, spanking him, causing him further pain that only
registered as pleasure for both of them.

All Scott had to do was say yes.  All he had to do was respond that he
wanted things to stop.  He didn't want to be raped; he wanted to be
dominated, that was entirely different.  He fantasized about being raped
but the reality of it was something different.  He reached back to feel the
last two inches of dick that remained outside his body.  They felt like two
feet, the heat from that dick seemingly scorching his hand.  He didn't
answer.  He let his silence speak for itself.  He wanted the pain.  He
wanted to be fucked unconscious and if he ended up in the hospital in the
process, then so be it.  He lowered his face to the pillow, braced his arms
against the headboard, and waited.

On thing Scott had failed to realize, even after all this time, was that he
wasn't in control of things.  He was grabbed by the back of the neck and
pulled up like a rag doll.  Instantly, he felt that dick being pulled
completely out of his asshole and he cried out, only this time the pain was
emotional.  He felt empty and alone and worthless.

"You dirty cunt, clean my prick."  The instructions were not at all
ambiguous.  Ass fucking was meant to be primal and dirty, so he knew that
his responsibility was to taste the ass slime that coated his master's
dick.  Not surprisingly, brown streaks coated the dick.  It could have been
a lot worse had he not prepared himself but the evidence of shit was still
apparent.  He deeply inhaled the scent, making his dick leak more and his
taste buds filled with the musky flavors of his ass as he licked and sucked
it clean.  It wasn't enough to make him sick but he reeled at all the
disgusting things he'd ingested over the past few hours: dick cheese, snot,
piss, and now butt sludge.  Just the mere thought of that alone almost made
him shoot his load.  The only thing that kept him from cumming was the
depraved thought that he might be pushed to do even more disgusting things
and he wanted to be totally horned up for that possibility.

"Ride my dick bitch," as the pair repositioned themselves so that his Daddy
was on his back, reclining in relaxation, as Scott prepared to mount him
and fuck himself silly.  Again, as before, the first eight inches went in
with relative ease.  His asslips sucked and nursed at the huge cock in him
as she bounced up and down.  Ashamed and aroused, he farted as the air was
pushed up in his ass and he rode that cock for all he was worth.  Still, he
couldn't get that entire dick up his ass.  He squirmed his ass down harder,
trying his best to take more but he couldn't.  Frustrated, his Daddy
grabbed him around his hips and pulled Scott down even further.  This time,
as before, Scott screamed out in pain, but this time, he loved it.  Pain
was his pacifier.  Scott was warped, twisted, and distorted, and he knew
that only a disgusting white worm like himself could be aroused by pain,
humiliation, and degradation.

Being tired of the cat and mouse games, Todd flipped Scott on his back and
pushed his thighs back to his chest.  He gripped the base of his dick and
aimed it up with Scott's hole.  He pushed forward, hearing Scott's cries in
a distant fog.  Encountering resistance, he pushed harder, working up a
sweat.  Determined, he pushed deeper, driving every inch of his dick deep
in Scott's bowels.  Giving him a full minute, he waited until he saw a look
of acknowledgement on Scott's face and he began pumping, pounding, pushing
and fucking.  "Take that, bitch.  Take all my big fucking Daddy dick you
little twat.  You white fucking faggot, I own you.  I own your body and
your soul."  As if in a trance, he hammered his dick deeper and harder than
he'd ever done before, grunting like an animal and turned on by the idea of
using a white boy so completely.  "I'm going breed your faggot pussy with a
gallon of my cum.  Do you want my baby, bitch?  You want to be pregnant
with your Black Daddy's baby?  Say it!"

Scott couldn't form words.  As the last of that massive dick invaded his
intestines, he could only moan and scream in ecstasy.  The sweat from his
master's body dripped into Scott's mouth and eyes, the smell of man fucking
permeated the air.  He grabbed his cock and stroked it in time with the
dick that punished his butthole.  Glancing down, he could actually see the
outline of that gigantic dick pushing against his stomach and he shot his
load all over his stomach.

In pornos, that would be the signal for his lover to cum also, to finish in
a blaze of glory in unison.  In reality, Scott's Dominant Black Daddy was
nowhere near the finish line.  He kept pumping Scott's hole raw.  Scott's
legs were cramped, pushed uncomfortably back and his insides felt like they
were being dragged out with each extraction of that black stick that fucked
him.  The pain was excruciating but it was comforting in a way.  He felt
absolved of his guilt, his arrogance, of his pretense of being bigger and
better, at last he was absolved of the wretched stigma of being white.  In
that moment, he was a filthy fuck pig to be used and abused.  He relished
in the sensation of his asshole being pumped full of scalding, white, hot
cum.

He passed out.  Drifting in and out of consciousness, he awoke to being
fucked and used time and time again.  Night turned to day and he found
himself being fucked in various ways, of serving his Black Master in
unspeakable ways.  Before he knew what was happening, it was Sunday night
and he was packing to leave.  He sobbed and bawled uncontrollably.  Falling
to the floor, he begged and pleaded with Todd to retain control of him.

From that day on, Scott Clair lived for the weekends.  Mondays through
Fridays were lived in a state of suspended animation for him, nothing
seemed real; everything sort of floated by in grainy images of black and
white.  Friday evenings were when life was lived in full HD Technicolor.
It was on the weekends when he could assume his true role and shed the
pretenses of his average existence.  Every weekend, Scott Clair became the
possession, toy, and sexual playing of a Black Dom Daddy who inflicted the
most horrendous and sadistic tortures on his pale, white flesh.  For
slightly more than 48 hours, Scott willingly put himself in a position to
be degraded, humiliated, and used beyond most people's comprehension and
he'd never been happier or more satisfied in his life.

Copyright 2008 AfroerotiK