Date: Mon, 1 May 2006 15:05:18 -0700 (PDT)
From: Skorpio <j_skorpio_2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: Thug Cash Master - Part 17  (author, interr)

This is pornoGRAPHIC fiction for adults only.


THUG CASH MASTER,
by Skorpio


Part 17:   Mackadocious


"Miss me, chickenhead?" said Dre.

Startled, Brad looked up as if jerked by a leash.  He
was on his knees, naked and fleeced from the neck
down, wiping the bathroom floor with paper towels.
Excitement swept over him like a wave, swelling the
buds of his pink nipples, making his rectum twitch and
his throat thirst.

The youthful, onyx-eyed thug eased his shiny black
leather pants midway down his muscular thighs. He wore
no drawers.  His stiff, nine inch dick projected like
a crowbar in the whiteboy's face like an instrument of
violence.

"Do yo' job," stated Dre, matter-of-factly.

Nothing else needed to be said.  Without one moment of
hesitancy, the white subservient opened his mouth and
swallowed the thug's long dick. Technique and sheer
determination combined to compensate for the
inadequacy of his meager mouth, thin lips, and short
tongue.

Brad took the hot cylinder of silky flesh into his
throat until the pubic hairs scratched his face and
tickled his nostrils.  His head, with its receding
hairline, bobbed up and down like a yard-bird pecking
grain until the molasses-colored dick exploded inside
Brad's mouth.

Spurt after spurt shot into the cracker's throat like
lava, like venom, like bullets, like nectar. A pearly
drop dribbled from his chin and fell to the floor, but
only a second passed before the white cocksucker
licked it up.

"Dat's right," snickered Dre.  "All for you, bitch!
Lick it up.  You love my juice, don't chu!"

"Yes, Sir."

Being addressed as "Sir" was not something Dre was
used to hearing, but it sounded right, making him feel
like a prince.

"You want sum mo', don't chu," said Dre. This was not
a question, but a cold assertion.

"Yes, Sir."

"Say: please!"  Dre savored the moment.

"Please, Sir, may I suck your cock?"

"My what?  Dis ain't no cock, boy.  You need to fuck
dat shee-it!  Dis here is pure nigga dick, bee-yotch!
Grade Triple-A, top-shelf, high-octane, Mandingo,
Shaka Zulu, Malcolm Fucking-X, ghetto dick!  Dis da
real thang, motherfucka!  You ain't never gonna get no
better than dis here!  Ask for it right!"

"Please, Sir, may I suck your Black dick?"

"Heh, dat's better," snorted Dre, inserting his juicy
brown sausage into the white fag's receptive mouth.
"Yah, there ya go... dat's right, suck it some mo'!
Suck it like you wanna.  Dat's all fo' you, baby."

Meanwhile in the living room, Reese and Malik rested
from their exertions.   Aaron was face down on the
floor, sobbing softly.

"Know what?" said Malik, sparking a Newport.   "That
was some hot-nice pussy, yo!"

"You liked'd that?"

"Hell, yahhh!  Did you hear that bitch holler when I
ripped her hole?  If you run into some more virgin
whiteboys, gimme first crack, aiiight?"

"I'm gonna tell you what," said Reese, taking a drag,
amusement in his large feline eyes. "You pumped the
hell out that pussy fo' damn sure!  Never knew you
could fuck like dat, nigga!"

"Now you know," replied Malik.

Reese's cannonball biceps were inked with tribal
bands.  His washboard abs were inked like Tupac's with
THUG LIFE in ornate black letters.

"Is you awake, toad?" Malik sneered.  Kanji tats
illustrated his rangy arms.  Encircling his smoldering
throat was a thick gold chain.  "Did you learn
somethin' from this?"

Aaron turned over and gasped, "Yes, sir."

He was utterly, overwhelmingly defeated.  His spirit
was broken, crushed, demolished.  It was evident in
the tears streaming down his face.  The defiance which
once illumined his eyes was reduced to ashy cinders.

These thugs were the most masculine men Aaron ever
encountered.  He still felt impaled by Malik's
ruthless cock.  Long ago, Aaron gave up believing a
paragon of masculinity could even exist, but now he
knew otherwise.

These thugs were vastly superior to him.  Whatever
privileges he enjoyed, derived from income, education,
or social standing, were immaterial compared to their
natural, physical endowments.

Years later, Aaron looked back and wondered when the
turning point occurred.  Was it getting flushed in the
toilet bowl?  Wearing the chastity belt or sucking
cock on command or forced to shave his body?
Ultimately, Aaron would conclude that it was the
brutal stemming of his rose which wrecked his pride
and put him in touch with his deepest desires.

"Kiss my feet, toad!" demanded Reese.

Without a second thought, Aaron obediently pressed his
thin, red lips to Reese's feet.  He felt grateful for
even a fleeting moment of contact with his master's
body.

"You gonna make me sum scrilla," said Reese.   "Make
that paper like a good bitch and I'll look out for
you, unnerstand?"

"Yes, Master!" gasped Aaron, his pebble eyes
glistening wet with emotion.

"You need me, don't you, bitch?" said Reese.

"Yes, yes, I need you," Aaron bawled, forced to
acknowledge what lay deep in his heart. It was painful
to admit.  "Yes, Sir, yes, I need you, I need you, I
need you!"

"That's right, cracker!" said Reese. "You need me!
You always gonna need me, but you don't mean dookey to
me and don't chu forget it!"

"I want to make money for you," offered Aaron,
sincerely.  "Please, let me prove myself.  I'll do
anything you want."

"Who do you worship, toad?"

"You, Sir!" said Aaron.  "I worship you, Master."

"Tell me why," demanded Reese.

"Because, because I'm your.... I'm your bitch."

"Go on."

"Because... because I'm inferior to you... you're
everything I can never be...."

"Keep going," said Reese, cat-eyes gleaming. "Tell me
why you wanna worship me and don't stop `til I tell
ya."

"I worship you because --," Aaron convulsed in tears.
It was so painful to admit the truth.

"I worship you..." he struggled, "because... you're a man
and I'm not.  I'm so sorry... I've been so wrong, so
stupid... I'm not a man!  I'm a joke!  You're a man, not
me!  You're a man!"

Reese laughed harshly.  "Damn straight, I'm a man,
bitch!"  His laughter was belittling.

"I'm your bitch," rambled Aaron, uncontrollably. "Your
bitch, Sir. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I'm not a man. I
wish I was, I used to think I was, but I'm not, I'm
not, I'm not..."

"So, what chu gonna do for me?"

"Make money for you, Sir!" Aaron sobbed.

"Now you makin sense!" said Reese, nodding with
approval.

"Yah, that's what we talkin' about," said Malik. His
eyes were heavy with grim satisfaction.

Reese hollered:  "Yo!  Dre! Ain't chu done yet,
nigga?"

"Hold up, cuz!" shouted Dre from behind the bathroom
door.

Dre and Brad emerged several minutes later. The young
thug zipped his leather pants. Brad followed, naked
and docile.

"Worm, take a good look at yo' boss," said Reese. "I
don't think he gonna be a problem no mo'."

Brad looked at the once high and mighty Aaron Levitz
on his knees.

"I ain't gonna punish the toad for playin' you in the
bathroom," said Reese.  "I gotta give him props fo'
trickin' yo' ass.  He's a sneaky bitch, so from now on
you needs to watch yo'self.  But he still gotta pay
fo' makin' you suck his dick after you said you was
owned. That shit was messed up, so that's why I want
chu to pick his punishment."

"Me, Sir?  I have to decide?"

"Yep," said Reese.  "What's it gonna be?"

"Well, I guess he should be whipped," Brad suggested,
half-heartedly, recalling his own floggings.  Brad did
not want to see Aaron punished.

"How many times?"

Brad reflected pensively.  "I guess, twenty times?" he
ventured, uncertainly.  Twenty was the number of
strokes from his first punishment.

"Sounds good."  Reese handed Brad his long, leather
belt.  "Take care of it."

"Are you saying you want me to punish him?"

"This yo' main chance, worm.  You hate this mutha,
don't chu?"

"Yes, Sir, I do," admitted Brad.  Hate was too strong
a word.  Resentment was closer to the mark.  But Brad
knew this distinction was not up for discussion.

"Whup that ass, or I'll do it for you!" said Malik,
impatiently.

Dre grabbed a beer from the fridge.  Inflicting pain
and suffering did not interest him, except when some
bitch was choking on his pipe.

Reese snarled:  "Hike that azz, toad!"

Obediently, Aaron pressed his head to the floor and
lifted up his brawny white ass.  He braced himself.
Reluctantly, Brad swung the belt and, weak as it was,
the sting of leather made Aaron holler in pain.  Brad
recoiled as if he received the blow himself.

"No hollerin', bitch!  Take yo' punishment!" said
Malik, savoring the spectacle.

It was not so much the pain, not at first, which
degraded Aaron.  Forced to take this abuse from a
faggot like Bradley was insult added to agony.

After a dozen strokes, Aaron's mettle crumbled and he
began sobbing.  Brad's reluctant strokes were too much
for him. The twenty-first blow left Aaron a
blubbering, groveling idiot.

"You done?" said Reese.

"Yes, Sir," Brad panted from both physical and
emotional exertion.  He hated being forced to do this.
 Whipping Aaron left him feeling more helpless than
ever. It went against his nature. He loathed himself.


"On yo' knees!"  Reese commanded.  "Do it now, both
y'all!"

Brad and Aaron quickly assumed kneeling positions.
Tears streaked Aaron's face and his ruddy lips
quivered.  Welts striped his brawny buttocks.

"Toad, we gonna see how much paper you can make for
me," said Reese, with a sly smile. "Or have you
changed yo' mind?"

"No, no, Master!" Aaron beseeched. "Take my cash, take
my credit cards. They're all in my wallet."

"Bitch, we ain't gonna rob ya," said Reese.

"Uh, yah, we are," Dre interjected, looking fly in
Aaron's leather pants.

"Aiiight, yahhh, you is gettin' plucked," Reese
conceded, "but what I'm talkin' `bout is you makin'
entertainment for my payin' customers."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You gonna find out soon enough.  Right now, both
y'all go put on some clothes.  I'm sick of seein' yo'
nasty shit.  Get dressed and get back out here,
pronto.  Do it now!"

At the snap of Reese's fingers, the two naked
whiteboys sprang to their feet and dashed to the small
bedroom, where they found boxers and tee-shirts among
piles of Brad's clothing.  They dressed quickly and
returned to the living room.

Reese turned to his lieutenant, Malik, "So you know
what we need?"

"Yah, but you sure `bout this, nigga?"

"Talked it over wit' the west coast," said Reese. "He
thinks there's a chump market for this shit, so I'm
givin' it a shot."

"Sum crazy motherfuckas out there."

"True dat."

"Chumps wit' too much money in their pockets."

"And some hardcore brothas too.  I'm puttin' on a show
to please all comers."

Malik snatched the keys to Aaron's Mercedes Roadster
and left on his mission.

Reese ordered Brad to sit at the computer. The tall,
muscular thug broke down what needed to be
accomplished. The scrawny, submissive whiteboy
listened with his head bowed and eyes averted.  As
always in his Master's overpowering presence, Brad
wilted with submission like a delicate blossom exposed
to too much light and heat.

"Think you can handle it?  I'm countin' on you to make
this happen, so be straight wit' me."

"I'll do my best," Brad promised, immediately
correcting himself:  "I can handle it, Sir."

"You can do it, worm," Reese assured, almost gently.
"I got confidence in you.  Ain't you glad we hooked up
that night in the park?  Ain't you glad I own you?"

Brad hung his head, not knowing what to say,
completely overwhelmed with love and loyalty.  He
wanted to serve and obey this extraordinary man for
the rest of his life.  The merest hint of praise or
approbation from Reese made Brad deliriously happy.

Repairing to the living room, Reese found his cousin
Dre sprawled on the sofa, watching TV with the toad's
face pressed to his loins.  The whiteboy held Dre's
dick within his mouth, but was not sucking it, per
Dre's instructions.

"Can't git `nough, can ya!" said Reese.

"What chu say, cuz?"

With his semi-hard dick resting in the faggot's warm
mouth and anxious to see who the foxy Spanish chick
was gonna choose for her Spring Break date on Room
Raiders, Dre was definitely distracted.

"Forget it, yo."  Reese rolled his eyes.  "Lissen, I
got to bounce.  Keep an eye on these faggots while I'm
gone, aiiight?"

"This one ain't goin' nowhere," smirked Dre.

"He got a job to do," said Reese.  "Toad, take yo' ass
in there wit' the worm.  He'll tell you what I want
chu to do. Run along now, git in there!"

Aaron scurried to the bedroom, where Brad, at the
computer, swiveled in his chair to face him.

"It's okay if you close the door," Brad advised,
meekly.  "The Master won't mind."

Aaron shut the door and crossed the room.

"What's going to happen? What am I supposed to do? "

"He wants you to make money for him."

"I already know that.  I told him that I would."

"Did you mean it?"

"Of course I meant it...  Look, Bradley, I didn't like
the whipping you gave me, but you only did it because
that's what HE wanted...  I see that .... I'm different
now... I'm not going to cause any problems..."  Aaron's
voice trailed off.

"You got... I mean, they, you...?" faltered Brad.

Aaron's dark brows wrinkled with helplessness.

"No one ever did that...  to me ... "

"Was it Master Reese?"

"No, the other one..." Aaron shuddered. "I felt so weak...
I never knew... I didn't know..."

"Malik?"

Reluctantly, Aaron nodded his head.  His cocky
demeanor was gone.

"I couldn't stop him... It hurt so bad at first I almost
blacked out, but then I began to enjoy it... feeling him
inside me like that, being used like that, it felt
good, it felt right...  it made me realize..."

Aaron's voice quavered with emotion.

"What did it make you realize?"

"I can't say it..."

"You can say it," Brad comforted.

"I'm so ashamed. He used me... like a pussy...and I
wanted it... that's all I am, isn't it... I'm just a
hole... all this time, I've been nothing but an
asshole.  I've been pretending to be a real man. I've
lost so much time trying to be someone I'm not.  I
hate myself. I really do, but you wouldn't
understand."

"Maybe I do," said Brad.  "I guess I've always known
I'm a pussy, but I wasted a lot of time too...playing
games on the internet... it was all just a fantasy until
I met Master Reese."

"Yes, Master Reese," echoed Aaron, solemnly.  "He's
like no one I ever met.  He's unique, isn't he?  He's
different."

"He is God," said Brad.

"You keep saying that," Aaron replied, slowly
regaining his composure. "But I get it now. He is a
Black God."

"That's true, but he's not just a Black God," said
Brad.  "He is my God.  I pray to him every morning and
every night."

"Maybe I should start praying to him, too."

"I think God would like that."

"What's supposed to happen now?"

"I can only tell what you what I actually know," said
Brad.  "On the internet, Master Reese is known as
Master Thug.  Tonight, he's offering a pay-for-view
webcam and you're the headline performer."

"What do you mean, like that guy on `Queer as Folk'?"

"Something like that, I suppose," equivocated Brad.
"I don't know all the details."

"Doesn't sound too bad." Aaron relaxed a bit.  "I
don't mind stroking on cam if it makes HIM money.  I
told him I would earn money for him and I meant that.
I really did!"

"Are you sure you're happy with this?"  Brad ventured
cautiously.

"He IS the Master."

"Exactly," Brad concurred. "He IS."

"Is that all I have to do, you think, just whack off?"

"I really can't say," Brad hesitated.  From what the
Master had shared, Brad guessed more was involved, but
he thought it better to keep this to himself.

Brad explained it was Reese's task to prepare a
section of the room for his performance. That meant
relocating congeries of clutter from one of the walls
and taking down a few old art deco posters.  Aaron set
to work in earnest.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door swung open.
Brad and Aaron looked up.  Dre stood there with his
twisted locks and gold teeth.  He was shirtless, black
leather pants unbuttoned and unzipped.  His smooth,
molasses-colored torso was surcharged with physical
magnetism.

"Come wit' me!" he pointed to Aaron.

"But, Sir... Master Reese wants me to prepare the room
for tonight," said Aaron, uncertainly.

"Reese ain't here.  I'm in charge.  Worm, you gonna
take care dis fo' him, ain't cha?" smiled Dre, large
eyes gleaming.  "Dat's a good white boy.  Toad, come
wit' me.  Got somethin' mo' better fo' ya."

Shooting a backward glance at Brad, Aaron trotted
behind Dre on bare feet into the living room.  The
handsome roughneck planted himself on the sofa and
slid down his leather pants.

"Put yo' mouth on my dick while I watch TV!" dictated
Dre.  "Careful, yo, don't suck it none, not `til I
tell ya.  Keep it in yo' mouth jus' like befo'!"

Several hours passed as the randy youngblood
channel-hopped from Maury Povitch to Jerry Springer to
Dave Chappelle to Pimp My Ride to rap videos to reruns
of The Jeffersons, with his fleshy dick resting
comfortably inside the whiteboy's warm, wet mouth. It
was a perfect fit.


TO BE CONTINUED...
IN PART EIGHTEEN:  WILD THANG