Date: Sun, 8 Jan 2006 12:59:55 -0800 (PST)
From: Skorpio <j_skorpio_2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: Thug Cash Master, Part 11 (authoritarian, interracial)

THUG CASH MASTER,
by Skorpio

Part Eleven:  Down with the Crew


Brad slaved over the Thug Cash Master project for
hours.  Assembling the website was easier than he
anticipated, although much more work remained.  He
saved notes on his progress to a folder on the desktop
where Reese would be sure to see it.

The whiteboy labored in silence.  How would his Master
react if he caught him listening to the radio or
watching TV when he should be devoting one hundred
percent of his attention to his chores?

A few minutes before ten o'clock, Brad shut down the
computer, turned off the lights, and retired to the
unfurnished spare room.  It was much smaller than the
master bedroom, with one window, one closet.  His
wardrobe and all his personal effects lay in
disordered heaps.

After stripping to his Fruit of the Loom briefs and
undershirt, Brad curled up on the hard floor under a
white linen sheet.  A bunched-up blanket sufficed for
a pillow.  Brad was almost comfortable.  A voice
inside his head said:  this is where you belong.  Brad
knew that he would never sleep in a real bed again.

The open window admitted a sluggish, warm breeze,
along with the noisy symphony of the city after dark:
screeching tires, horns honking, sirens wailing,
voices hollering, air conditioners roaring, boom-boxes
blasting, glass shattering, dogs barking, cats
fucking.

Brad huddled beneath his thin sheet, feeling very
small and alone.  Somewhere in the night was his
Master.  What was he doing and when would he return?
The slave's heart ached like that of a spurned lover.
Had he displeased his Master in some way, was that why
he left?

No, Master Reese has a life, Brad reminded himself.
His Master was young, handsome, and virile, probably
getting pussy at that very moment.  And why shouldn't
he?  Brad was not jealous, although he wished that he
could provide his Master with women.  He recalled when
his Master brought home a prostitute and how that
went.

It also occurred to Brad that he did not know his
Master's last name.  In fact, he knew very little
about the sexy thug he encountered in the park several
nights ago.  He wondered about Reese's family and
friends.  Having neither, Brad felt alone and
abandoned.  All he had was his Black Master, but that
was enough.
It was everything.

Flashbacks of getting fucked and beat kept Brad awake
long into the night.  It seemed like he barely drifted
off when a commotion in the outer room suddenly
snapped him to alertness.  The digital clock on the
floor said 3:35.

A light came on in the living room.  He heard his
Master's familiar voice and two others.

Reese:  "Like I was sayin', y'all da only niggas
I can trust wit' this shit.  That's why I wanted y'all
to come up here, so you know it's on the real.  This
my crib, yo!  Ain't much, but I'm just gettin'
started.  Like I said, I got me a li'l white faggot
who does whatever the shit I tell `im.
He works, I get paid!  It's like dat!"

Thug One:  "Dag, nigga!  Pimpin' crackers!  So is this
faggot the whitegirl you said you was shacked up wit'?
 That's deep, dawg!  But you coulda told me from the
git-go. You pimpin' a ho, that's all!  You makin' that
paper, that's what it is!"

Thug Two:  "Word, cuz!  It's all about that grip."

Reese:  "Word is bond.  I don't want this gettin' out.
 Keep it to yo'selves, aiiight?"

Thug One: "That's a bet!"

Thug Two:  "We down, cuz!"

Reese:  "That's why I love you cats.  Knew y'all would
unnerstand.  I didn't plan for  this shit.  It just
went down like dat, know what I'm sayin'?  This
cocksucker is like a regula' jailhouse bitch, y'all!
So fixed on dick he can't think right!  Ain't just any
dick.  He only likes nigga meat, yo!  He got the
jungle fever!"

There was a raucous burst of knee-slapping laughter.
Brad shuddered, realizing they were laughing at him,
dreading what might come next.

Thug One:  "Faggots WILL buy you shit!"

Thug Two:   "True dat."

Thug One:  "So, what's wit' the setup, bruh?  Sup wit'
the candles an' shit? This yo' picture, ain't it? "

Reese:  "That's where the whiteboy worships me.
That's his fuckin' altar, yo!  I'm a God to him."

Both Thugs One and Two recited:  "Like a god? Son, I
am God.  God, Allah, Buddha, all rolled up into one
big nigga."

This was a line from "Get Rich or Die Tryin'."

Reese laughed:  "Y'all niggas crazy!"

Thug Two:  "So where is this slave?"

Reese:  "In his room, `sleep.  Wanna have some fun?"

Thug Two:  "Watchu mean sum fun?"

Thug One:  "I'm down."

Reese hollered:  "Yo, worm, get yo' ass on out here.
Now.  This second!"

Brad scrambled to his feet.  No time to dress. Now
meant NOW!   His heart pounded as he lumbered into the
living room. The bright light dazzled his eyes.

Blinking, the first thing Brad saw was Reese in his
black jersey and black three-quarter shorts, sitting
on the sofa like a pharaoh, hands on his knees,
shoulders back.

Beside Reese sat a tall, slim, brown-skinned roughneck
in wifebeaters and a white do-rag.  He had large
heavy-lidded eyes, angular cheekbones, a broad nose,
more than ample lips, and a jet-black goatee.  A thick
gold chain glittered around his throat.  Kanji tats
adorned his wiry arms.

In the armchair reclined a smooth-bodied,
molasses-colored youth, maybe twenty-one years old,
with fierce jeweled eyes and three gold teeth. His
hair was in twists with wisps of baby hair at the
temples. He was shirtless and on his left pec in
flowing letters was inked "Katrina," his baby mama.

"Yes, Sir," said Brad meekly, eyes downcast, hands at
his side.  "How may I serve you, Sir?"

Although startled and uncertain, a frisson of sexual
excitement nonetheless ripped through him. His little
white dick would have gotten hard, were it not
constrained.

"Bring us beer," commanded Reese.  His two friends
exchanged nods of approbation.

Brad hurried to the kitchen and returned with three
tallboys of Olde English 800 and three glass steins.
With the air of a butler, he placed coasters under
their mugs on the coffee table and stood at attention.

"Dayumm, this some crazy shit!" laughed Thug One.
"Nigga, you got yo' own Mr, Belvedere!"

"Check dis out," said Reese, with more than a little
braggadocio.

He placed a Newport between his soft, thick lips and
snapped his fingers.  Immediately, the whiteboy
reached for the lighter and sparked the cigarette.

"Awww, sookey sookey!" exclaimed Thug Two.  "I like
dat shit, cuz!  Snap yo' fingers and dat bitch know
just what to do!  Dat's cool like dat!"

"Worm!  Pour the beer!" said Reese, puffing smoke
rings.

Brad held the steins at an angle so as not to draw
excessive foam.  This was not easy, because he was
extremely self-conscious and afraid of punishment.
His hands trembled, feeling three pairs of eyes
following his every move.  Luckily, he managed not to
spill a drop.

"Kneel, worm," Reese commanded.

Brad immediately obeyed, falling to his knees. He
complied reflexively, without any second thoughts,
without hesitation, as if animated by his Master's
will.

"Worm, meet my crew - Malik and Dre!  Fellas, this the
freak I was tellin' y'all about, my cash money slave.
I own his azz.  He can't even touch his li'l white
prick without my permission. Ain't that da truth,
worm?"

"Yes, Sir!" Brad squeaked.  He did not mean to squeak,
but that was how it came out.

"Nice," said Malik, "but how do you know you can trust
this cocksucker?  How do you know he ain't jakkin' off
every time you step out?"

"Dat's right, yo!  Y'all know what dey say," muttered
Dre, alluding to the commonly held belief that white
guys prefer masturbating to fucking.

"I don't trust this cracker, not fo' one second," said
Reese, emphatically.  "I don't trust no one, `cept
y'all two, `cause y'all two my dawgs.  But, I know for
a fact this faggot ain't touched its junk since I took
over!"

"How you know dat?" said Dre.

"Show `em," said Reese.

Obediently, Brad lowered his white briefs to his
kneecaps, revealing the chastity belt with its
miniature padlock and transparent plastic cage for his
penis.

Malik and Dre doubled over in laughter at this
spectacle.  Brad blushed pink.

"Booyah! " Reese crowed.  "This MY freaky slave bitch!
 He don't do squat `less I say so."

"Dayumm, make him cover that shit up," said Malik,
with a look of sheer disgust.

"Pull up yo' drawers," said Reese.

"Can he suck dick?" asked Dre.

"Can he suck dick? Hell, yahhh!"  Reese boomed.
"He's a stone cocksucker!  Loves chokin' on pipe!  He
got a tight cunt too if you wanna tap it."

"Yo, we need some honeys up in here," Malik
interjected.

"I want muh dick sucked," said Dre.

"Ain't gonna be no honeys," Reese stated, flatly  "We
gonna get us some, just not tonight."

"I want some skully now," Dre insisted, rubbing his
crotch.  "Why don't chu tell yo' slave to suck muh
dick, cuz."

"You heard the man!"  Reese snapped his fingers.  "Do
yo' job, bitch.  Suck that dick!"

With a cocksure smile, the young brother with eyes
like gems arched his narrow hips so the whiteboy could
pull down the loose-fitting Rocawear jeans.  His soft,
cinnamon-brown cock sprang free, plump and juicy, the
length and girth of a frankfurter.

"There ya go," said Dre. "Now, fix it, bitch!"

Stretching his lips into an O, Brad engulfed the cock
in one fell swoop.  It fit comfortably inside his oral
cavity.  He massaged it vigorously with his tongue and
drooled to make it slippery.

Suddenly, the thug's meat nearly doubled in size, and
Brad found himself choking, unable to breathe.  He
struggled to pull away, but Dre gripped his skull like
a basketball, forcing him to swallow every inch of his
rigid cock.  Dre chortled softly as the whiteboy's
eyes bulged and his face turned beet-red.

"Dat's right," he muttered.  "Choke on dat dick, choke
on it!  Dis what you wanted.  Choke on muh dick,
muthafucka!"

Just when Brad thought he would pass out, the cocky
roughneck shoved his head away.  Brad sputtered and
coughed.  His face was wet with tears.  Catching his
breath, he licked his lips and received the thug's
long, dark-brown cock back into his mouth.

Brad was confident he could handle it.  Dre was hung,
but not like Reese.  Brad continued sucking, bent on
proving himself, sucking hard and deep.

Meanwhile, Reese and Malik were oblivious to the
carnal activity going on less than a few feet away.
It was not like this was the first time one of them
got a blowjob in front of the others.

 "Explain to me again how this is gonna make you
money," said Malik, intrigued by the Thug Cash Master
enterprise.

Reese broke it down.

"Deeper and mo' deeper," said Malik, nodding his head.
 "If you makin' money, I want in on it, bruh!"

Reese and Malik were both twenty-four years old.  They
grew up together in the projects and were tight like
kin.  Reese did a three year bid at the county
workhouse on a bum rap, while Malik went on to
community college but never graduated.  They hooked up
again about the time Reese got released.

"It's all about cash, blood," said Reese.  "That's the
reason I'm doin' this and you know I don't just got
myself to think about.  I got two rugrats by two baby
mamas.  I'm puttin' some of these duckets away for
them."

Malik:  "Hell, I think you onto somethin' major,
nigga!  You sayin' this cocksucker gives up them
dollars, just like that?"

"Dat's right," said Reese. "He worships me, yo!  He
wants to gimme his money and he ain't the only one out
there.  Word up!  Plenty crackers, just like him,
waitin' to be pimped!"

"Show me the money!" whooped Malik.

"What I'm talkin' about, nigga!" said Reese, with a
dap.  "I'm gonna hook you up!  Just let me get this in
gear, aiiight?"

"I wanna make dat money too, y'all," said Dre, as his
dick was getting sucked.  "Count me in!"

The three thugs conversed as if the whiteboy sucking
Dre's cock did not exist.  Malik fired a blunt and
passed it to Reese, who took several long satisfying
drags before offering it to Dre.

"Can yo' bitch get summa dis?" asked Dre, exhaling
smoke over the cocksucker's head.

"Yah, why the fuck not," Reese indulged.  "He been a
good slave... so far."

"You the cash master, nigga!" said Malik.

"Yahhh, but I'm a generous master!"  Reese roared.

Dre alerted the worm:  "Hold up for a second.  Get sum
of dis, bitch.  Enjoy yo'self!"

Brad accepted the blunt and inhaled deeply.  Sweet
smoke saturated his brain, clouding the jagged edges
of thought and feeling.  It was over a week since the
last time Brad got high, yet it seemed like an
eternity.  His thoughts soared and tension seemed to
drain from his body.

"That's enough," said Reese, snatching away the blunt,
handing it to Malik.

"Git back to what you was doin'," ordered Dre.

Malik remarked, "I ain't smokin' this, not after that
cracker been doin' Dre.  No offense, nigga, but I
don't wanna taste yo' shit."

Reese laughed.  "S'aiiight, blood.  We got mo'."

Dre's nuts churned, gathering power, about to explode.

"Dere ya go, yahhh, dat's right, yahhh, oh yah, just
like dat," he grunted.  "Suck it, suck it hard!
Un-hunnhh, un-hunhhhh, suck it harrrrrrrrrd...."

"Do it! Suck his dick, bitch!" contributed Malik from
the sidelines. "Suck that dick!"

"Give it up!" demanded Dre. "Suck it right!  There ya
go, yahhh, like that!  Suck it, bitch!"

Urged Malik:  "That's right, cracker, do yo' job! Suck
that motherfuckin' dick!  Suck it like a ho, you
goddamn bitch!  Suck it!"

Said Dre: "Suck dis dick!"

Added Malik:  "No hands, cocksucker!"

Brad's mind collapsed and went blank, falling back on
instinct.  He was nothing but an orifice for cock, a
mindless, robotic, cock-sucking machine.  Sweaty brown
nuts slapped his chin.

"Awww, shittt, yahhh, sukkkkittt, sukkkkkitt,
sukkkkkkittt!"

The horny twenty-one year old could never get enough
brain.  Dre's preference for blowjobs bordered on
obsession.  He was eager to get his dick sucked any
time, any place.  With an expression of smug
entitlement, he observed the cracker bobbing on his
dick like a chicken-head.  It was a power trip.

Meanwhile, Reese grabbed Malik by the arm, "C'mon,
nigga, let's check somethin' on the computer.  I wanna
see how much the worm got done."

"Thug Cash Master," said Malik, smacking his lips.  "I
like how that sounds!  You really think this gonna
make you some money?"

"Don't know yet," said Reese, with a shrug.  His
thick, brown fingers tapped the keyboard, bringing up
the worm's notes.

Both grinned at the Mission Statement:  "Make money by
any means necessary!"

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" said Malik.

Inordinately pleased, Reese scrolled through the rest
of the report, more than satisfied with the worm's
progress.  Malik looked over his shoulder.  If there
were as many whiteboys into this freaky-deaky shit as
Reese claimed, this thing might got some potential.

"Check out Dre," said Reese.

The young roughneck was steadily pumping the
whiteboy's throat, over and over and over!   Bam, bam,
bam, bam, bam, pounded his long, dark-brown cock,
harder and harder, faster and faster!  It was poetry
in motion.

Dre's head fell back with a groan and his body
quivered as he ejaculated.  A moment later, he heaved
a sigh and sat upright, twisting his neck and flexing
his biceps.

"How was that shit?" said Malik.  His heavy-lidded
eyes glinted.

"Nice," said Dre.  "Naw'mean?  Da bitch knows how to
give a nigga head!"

"That's what I wanted to hear," Malik replied, jumping
back on the sofa.

He lifted his white, sleeveless undershirt, exposing a
rugged, muscular stomach with a furry treasure trail.
Then, he unzipped his pants and extracted his long,
brown cock.

"My turn!" said Malik.  "Come here, boyeee! Put that
mouth to work!"

Brad did not have to be told twice.  In less than a
heartbeat, his mouth engaged Malik's cock, smelling
it, tasting it, feeling it expand between his lips.
This was what he lived for.

"Mmmm, yahhh, suck it," said Malik.  "Unnnnh, yah,
that's right, there ya go!"   The rigid brown dick
slid between the whiteboy's salivating lips.

"Suck it right!  Yah, do yo' job!  Suck that dick!
Suck it good!  Suck it, bitch!"

As Brad sucked with fervor, he glanced upward and
found Malik looking back at him. The cold, mineral
brilliance of the young man's eyes sent an icy chill
down Brad's spine.  He had to look away, unable to
bear the intensity.  He stopped thinking altogether.

Malik growled, "Yahhh, now you hittin' it, keep that
up, just like that, ohhhh shittt, yahhh, mmmnnnhh,
aiiight, there ya go, sukkkkkitt, sukkkkkitt!!!"

Brad sucked wildly, relentlessly, until hot, salty,
viscous semen shot down his throat.  This was his
reward.  Hearing the young thug groan with animal
satisfaction was a bonus.  Brad savored the flavor.

He looked at Reese, hoping his Master wished his dick
sucked as well.  Once Brad got started sucking cock,
he could not get enough.  He was addicted to it.

"You can go back to yo' room now," Reese enjoined.
"Yo' azz is stayin' home tomorrow, so call out sick
when you get up!  Then, get breakfast ready!"

"Yes, Master," said Brad.

"Good slave!" said Reese. "You're dismissed!"


TO BE CONTINUED...

IN PART TWELVE:   CYBER THUGGIN'