Date: Fri, 10 Sep 2010 14:52:22 -0400
From: T.O.N.Y. <topofnewyork1989@aol.com>
Subject: De'Quarious Part 7

This is a fictional story, any similarities between the characters and
anyone living or dead is totally coincidental. Furthermore, this story is
not intended for minors. The following story contains hardcore unprotected
interracial sexual acts between men and the use of racial slurs. If such
content is offensive to you, please do not read. I welcome comments,
critiques, suggestions, and feedback of all types, please email me at
TopOfNewYork1989@aol.com.


De'Quarious lay on the floor, on his side, his arms bound behind his back
and his ankles tied together, a throbbing pain in the back of his head and
feeling slightly disoriented. He realized that he'd passed out but he
wasn't sure how it had happened. He definitely didn't understand why he was
tied up and struggled to free himself, but his attempts were futile. Scott
had been an expert at tying knots as a Boy Scout, and the ropes binding the
black boy were securely tied. His struggling only made the rope rub against
his chocolate skin, making his wrists and ankles ashy. He managed to sit
up, and it was then that he heard voices, male voices, and he wondered what
the hell was going on and what was in store for him.

The bedroom door opened abruptly and Scott walked in wearing a pair of
jeans and a clean t-shirt, his barefeet slapped against the hardwood floor
and his golden brown hair was tousled as usual. De'Quarious was too
apprehensive to become aroused at the sight of that handsome white
stud. Fear had caused his black African manhood to shrivel up, and his
Negro balls to shrink. Scott smiled at him, showing off his perfect
teeth. "Good, you're awake. Now the party can really start."

De'Quarious gulped. "P-party?" He stammered.

Scott kneeled so that he was closer to the young nigger. "Mmm-hmm, I'm
having a little shindig. Nothing much, just a few college buds, some of my
frat bros from my days at Yale. You'll never guess how alike we are." Scott
said. "Privileged, raised to rule, raised to be served, we're a bunch of
young WASP men whose parents weren't deluded by all that Civil
Rights/Affirmative Action bullshit. Our families know our place, the place
that us German descended people properly occupy within the world. And
better yet, we know your place, the place that you niggers occupy within
the world. And we make it our business to ensure that you know your place
as well." Scott stood and paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind
his back. "We don't all live here in the city, some live in Hartford, some
live in Boston, some live in New York, some live in Philadelphia, hell some
live in L.A. But the places that we live, they all have something in
common. Can you guess what that is?" De'Quarious shook his head and Scott's
handsome face was made even more handsome by the smile that broke out upon
it. "Lots of niggers."

Scott stopped before the boy and continued, "And we have this thing...short
of like a competition. See, every so often we come across a nigger boy--or
a nigger girl--that's just exceptional, perfect in almost every way. And we
can't wait to tell each other about it, you know, spread the good
news. It's like in the good ol' days when you niggers were South picking
cotton in the fields, singing your songs and eating your watermelon,
utterly content to belong to the generous and benevolent white man. It's
like in those days when a master would come across a good slave, a nigger
that did everything that he was told with no delay, that picked cotton like
a black machine, that cleaned house impeccably, and this master simply
couldn't believe his luck; he just had to show this nigger off.

"Well that's what I'm doing tonight; I'm showing my nigger off. You're on
display tonight nigger, you're representing your race within this city, the
reputation of all the niggers in this town--as far as my WASP buddies are
concerned--rests upon your ashy black shoulders. And also, you represent
me, since I'm presenting you to civilization. Which means that if you fuck
up, I'll fuck you up, and in the worst way nigger. Don't misunderstand, I
love fucking niggers; I love their thick nigger lips around my cock, I love
their tight nigger holes around my cock, I love to see them in their
rightful place, on their ashy knees servicing and worshipping the white
man. But I don't give a shit about niggers, I'll kill all of you if I have
to, and I'll do it in a motherfucking jiffy with no fucking qualms either,
just the same as smashing a cockroach to me. You embarrass me in front of
my buddies and I will kill you. I'll kill you and I'll call the cops
myself. Tell them that some jive ass street nigger tried to rob me and I
had to air him out. And do you think I'll serve any time for it? Fuck no;
I'd have done the brave and valiant policemen of our city a favor, just one
less jigaboo they'll have to worry about. Just one more dead nigger, who
cares? You'll probably be killed by some monkey in your hood anyway; at
least if I kill you you'll die with the privilege of having had your life
taken away by a white man." Scott grabbed De'Quarious by the back of his
neck and hauled the young nigger to his feet. "Now, it's showtime." Scott
then untied the boy and led him out the room.
*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
There were at least five white men in the living room; De'Quarious saw them
before they saw him. They were all around Scott's age, all young, handsome,
and privileged like he, some with blonde hair, some with brown hair, some
with red hair and some with black hair. They all dressed like preppies; the
young materialistic nigger could spot their Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger,
Ben Sherman, Calvin Klein, and Perry Ellis clothing. Despite his terror at
what he knew was about to happen, despite his hatred of them for being
white, handsome, and privileged, De'Quarious had to respect their style and
the wealth required to wear such expensive clothes. De'Quarious knew
niggers in the hood that wore the same labels, hoping that they could
compete with the white man, but to De'Quarious' eyes the clothes looked
much better on the white studs, he realized that they clothes weren't made
for monkeys like him, but for handsome white men like this. Inside Scott's
dingy jockstrap, De'Quarious' monkey meat began to come back to life.

"Gentlemen." Scott began, "This is the pièce de résistance; feast your eyes
upon this specimen of young, ghetto nigger perfection." Scott pushed a
reluctant De'Quarious into the fray, the boy bewildered as the eyes of all
five white men--varying in shades from gray to black--stared at his young,
ripped, nigger body with evident lust. Many licked their lips and some
grabbed their crotches.

"Goddamn Scott, this is one pretty ass monkey." One, a gorgeous blonde stud
said. "He's not one of those faggot niggers is he?"

Scott shook his head. "Definitely not Tom, this nigger loves him some
pussy, don't you nigger?"

De'Quarious, taking Scott's threat against his life all the more serious
now that he had ten accomplices, nodded his head. "Yes, sir." He said
softly.

"Don't sound too enthusiastic." Tom said, grabbing his crotch through his
Perry Ellis shorts. He thought that De'Quarious was the most gorgeous
nigger he'd ever set his smoky gray eyes upon, and he certainly wanted to
test him out.

Scott smiled. "He's a little shy. But we had a pep talk before I brought
him out here, I think he'll show quite the enthusiasm from now on, won't
you nigger?"

"Yes, sir." De'Quarious said with feigned enthusiasm.

"What's his name?" Another man, this one with brown hair, asked.

Scott shook his head. "Some unpronounceable Negro name, shit sounded like
monkey babble to me. I just call him by his real name: Nigger."

"Well I'd love to see Nigger dance. They like to do that anyway. Go ahead
Nigger, do a dance for us." The brown haired man commanded.

De'Quarious hesitated and Scott slapped him upside the head. "A master made
you a command boy; you better listen to it or suffer the consequences."

"Make him get that fat nigger ass on the table." Tom said. "Make him jiggle
his coon ass for us." The other three men all voiced their
agreement. De'Quarious knew that to look at Scott was futile, the white man
had put this all together to further humiliate him, and De'Quarious knew
that he was getting off on this. In a way, De'Quarious was too. There was
something about being commanded by a white man that gave him a thrill, the
same kind of thrill that he would get whenever stopped on the street and
randomly frisked by a police officer. Something about white authority had
always thrilled him, and there was plenty of authority in the voices of
those men, who didn't hear the word "no" very often and who didn't react
kindly when they did.

When De'Quarious climbed on the table he was greeted with applause. The
white men were enchanted with the nigger's fat muscle butt sticking out of
Scott's jock. Even though the formerly white jock was now a beige color
from years of Scott wearing and not properly washing it, against
De'Quarious' deep chocolate skin the jock presented a striking
contrast. Not knowing what to do, De'Quarious began to move stiffly.

"Aw c'mon boy, you can do better than that." The brown haired
man--George--said.

"Maybe he needs music." Another guy, Owen suggested. "Niggers love music."
Owen began to clap, a rhythm the handsome black haired stud made up. "C'mon
nigger, c'mon dance for us nigger. Shake that juicy nigger booty for us,
c'mon." Owen said this in the same tone that he'd use to coax a dog into
performing a trick. But De'Quarious did as he was told, moving his body in
time with Owen's rhythm, moving his thick and toned black legs, jiggling
his fat Mandingo ass, and flexing all his other nigger muscles. His
performance became frenzied, as the other men clapped in time with Owen and
the rhythm took over, transporting De'Quarious back to the jungles where
his half-ape ancestors roamed, beating drums and moving to the music in a
trance that they couldn't control. His performance became so frantic that
the table began to creak under his weight and movement, and he began to
sweat, making his black body shine as if he were greased.

The white men grew wild watching the monkey dance, working up a sweat that
soon perfumed the room with nigger funk, the jockstrap tight around his fat
Negro knob and framing that perfect ass of his. They were whistling and
screaming their approval, and through the trance provoked by the rhythm,
De'Quarious could hear them, and that made him dance even more,
suddenly--and for reasons that he couldn't explain--he craved their
approval. Their noises of enjoyment only made him want to perform for them
even more. Without thinking the nigger turned his ass to them and bent
over, making his fat ass cheeks clap together like those hoes at the strip
clubs he used to go. The men clamored to the table, squeezing, pinching,
and slapping his ass, each anxiously awaiting the moment when they'd be
able to plunge their hard tools of white supremacy into that hot African
cunt.

De'Quarious soon became tired, but was afraid to stop dancing without being
told. Scott was standing to the side with his whip, and De'Quarious was
terrified at the prospect of being flogged like a slave. The sweat poured
off the nigger like water, dripping down his chocolate body to his big
nigger feet, puddling on the table and making a wet smacking sound every
time he moved. His ripped chest heaved from his breathing, his mouth hung
open as he inhaled, his thick Sambo lips moist and quivering, and the boy
began to grunt. His true primate nature was coming out; the young ghetto
stud was turning into an orangutan.

Tom was the first to stop clapping; his cock was hard as a rock and was
painful inside of his briefs. He was ready for some action; the young spook
was driving him wild. "I wanna feel those juicy tar baby lips on my hard
meat." Tom said and the others agreed. With the cessation of the clapping,
the spell was broken, and De'Quarious stopped dancing and stood there, wet
with sweat, panting and frantically licking his parched lips. He watched in
awe as the five white men disrobed, quickly pulling off their clothes until
they all--except Scott who was still wielding the whip and standing to the
side--were completely naked.

Tom was six foot two and weighed two hundred pounds of pure muscle. The
blonde haired and gray eyed stud's physique came as a result of years of
playing lacrosse and tennis, as well as wrestling in high school.
De'Quarious couldn't help but stare at his body, which was in better shape
than Scott's. Although he tried to fight it, his hard Mandingo spear got
hard in the jockstrap, and pretty soon precum started to wet the front.
Tom's chest was smooth but he had flaxen pubes, the same color as the hair
on his head, and from them stuck out a fat dick that was eight and a half
inches long, cut, and as round as a soda can. The white stud played with
himself and stared at the porch monkey standing on the table with a mixture
of disgust and lust.

George was six feet tall and weighed a hundred and eighty pounds, he too
had been a lacrosse player but he'd also been on his high school rowing
team, and that gave him strong and powerful arms and shoulders. Under the
hair on his chest, it was extremely ripped, and his cock was seven inches
long and seven inches thick, a cut cock with a helmet head. Owen was five
eleven and one seventy, a former swimmer, completely smooth, and with nine
inches of cut white cock, six inches thick, and it was so hard that
De'Quarious could see the veins in it throbbing. The other two guys,
Maurice and David were five eight and six one, one sixty and one ninety,
both with smooth chests big dicks, Maurice had eight and David had seven
and a half, they were both cut.

The five men sat on the large sectional in the living room side by side,
legs open, stroking their cocks. The scent of their sweaty white manhood
mingled with the scent of De'Quarious' coon funk and made the room hot and
the scent of man sex strong. "C'mon spearchucker, suck our cocks, go on
down the line." And De'Quarious climbed off the table, on his knees, and
did as he was told, getting in between Tom's powerful legs, opening his
mouth as wide as he could, and attemping to tackle Tom's thick white cock.