Date: Tue, 13 Sep 2005 18:19:54 -0700 (PDT)
From: jerome skorpio <j_skorpio_2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: Thug Cash Master, Part 6 (author, interr)

This story is pornoGRAPHIC fiction!
Should depictions of homosexual acts
or interracial domination offend your
sensibilities, read no further!!  If
you're under the age of consent, turn
back at once!!! Otherwise, read on...


THUG CASH MASTER,
by Skorpio

Part Six: Chastity Belt


Brad's instructions were very clear. Every morning as
soon as he woke up and every night just before
bedtime, he was to kneel before the altar and kiss the
floor 100 times, each time declaring: "I am a little
white worm."

Reese told Brad to continue doing just that while he
went on the computer.

Exhausted from sleeplessness and horny beyond belief,
Brad did as he was told, pressing his lips to the
floor, reciting the mantra, "I am a little white worm,
I am a little white worm..."

Picture: a thirty-one year old white male in white
briefs bowing before a shrine dedicated to his Black
God.

Picture:  a shirtless nigga sitting at the whiteboy's
computer, a tall, muscular, inked, dark-toned nigga
with eyes like a cat and the smile of a predator.

After half an hour, Reese handed Brad several
printouts of various items:  steel handcuffs, a
leather collar and steel chain, a male chastity belt,
plus at least a dozen straight black sex magazines and
a dozen straight black porn videos.

"Get dressed, bitch," Reese ordered.  "We goin' back
out shoppin'."

Forty minutes later, close to sunset, Reese stood
outside the Adult Bookstore downtown while Brad went
inside to purchase the items on the printout.

For Brad, it was extremely embarrassing when the
heavyset Black man at the cash register grinned at his
purchases.  Straight Black on white porn videos and
magazines, the chastity belt, collar, leash, and
handcuffs.  The items Brad placed upon the counter
told a tale of their own.

"Will that be all?" the Black shop clerk inquired,
with the barest hint of amusement.

"Yes, that's all," said Brad, not brave enough to meet
his gaze.

The bill came to $545, far more than Brad anticipated.
 At this rate, he would be paying off his credit cards
for the rest of his life!  At the same time his little
white dick was hard when he handed the shop clerk his
VISA.  He liked buying merchandise for a thug.

When they returned to the crib, Reese grabbed a forty
of Steel Reserve from the fridge and sat down on the
couch.  He peeled off his black jersey and stripped
down to his green-striped boxers.

Brad wondered if this was a Black thing, the way Reese
shed his clothes as soon as he was indoors and how
casual and comfortable he was with his own nudity.
Not like Brad, ashamed to even take off his shirt in
public.

His musings were cut short by a sudden, sharp command:
 "Get nekkid, bitch."

Brad quickly doffed his clothes, not knowing what to
expect.  There was no longer an ounce of resistance
left in him.  Shoes, socks, shirt, trousers, and
finally his white briefs came off until Brad stood
naked and exposed.  His little white member poked like
a mushroom head from his thick blond pubic bush.

"Dayumm, bitch!" Reese exclaimed, genuinely startled.
This was actually his first look at Brad's penis.
"No wonder you such a sissy!  Dayumm, bitch, you ain't
got no dick at all!  Now that's a shame!"   He
laughed.

Brad hung his head in abject shame. He had always been
embarrassed about his diminutive penis.

"Get it hard, bitch," said Reese.  `You got me curious
as shit.  Get it up!  I wanna see what my little white
faggot's packin'."

Reese's voice alone had the power to get Brad hard.  A
minute later, Brad was gripping his five inch penis
between his fingers.  He wanted to stroke, but didn't
dare.  Not without permission.

It felt good, gripping his stiff white dick between
his fingers.  He wanted more than anything to jerk
off.  He was so fucking horny.

"That's it?  You got it hard?" Reese roared with
devastating laughter.  Dayumm!  Nah, don't play with
it.  Now put on the belt!  Don't act stupid and shit
wit' me, bitch!  You know what belt I mean."

The dazed look on his face notwithstanding, Brad knew
indeed what Reese was referring to.  He reached into
one of the shopping bags and pulled it out.

The chastity belt had a stainless steel waist bad with
rubber edging.  In the front was a tube into which
Brad slipped his penis.  The tube was designed to hold
the penis pointed down so that erections were
possible, but there was no way for him to handle it.

The open tip allowed for urination.  The tube was
connected and padlocked to the back of the waistband
by a pair of chains designed like straps on an
athletic supporter.

Once Brad adjusted the belt into place, Reese turned
the key in the lock, then hooked the key to his key
ring.

"Don't need you playin' wi' yo'self," muttered Reese.
"Not without permission!"

"Please," Brad requested, respectfully, "Will I ever
be allowed to jack off, Sir?  God?"

Reese chuckled. He liked it when the whiteboy called
him God. Reese didn't so much hate white people as
they disgusted him.

"I'll let you know," said Reese, indifferently.  "Now
put yo' collar on."

Brad wrapped the leather collar around his neck.  He
stood nervously on display, naked except for his
chastity belt and collar, facing Reese sprawled across
the couch, grinning cruelly.

Reese liked the way the cracker looked in this get-up.
 It was all about taking control and giving the
whiteboy what he wanted.  All that was missing were
iron shackles!

"Turn around," Reese commanded.

Brad revolved.  Reese wasn't into fucking dudes, but
Brad's sweet, plump white cheeks actually made his big
dick quiver.

Blowjobs are sweet, but a nigga needs to fuck.  It had
been almost a month since Reese got laid and this
whiteboy had an ass like a bitch.

Reese reached into his shorts and stroked his dick.
This action was not lost on Brad, but unfortunately
for him his sweet ass was only an incentive and not
the objective.

Reese decided he needed a woman for the night, and
since he had the cash and the crib, there was no
reason why he couldn't get any pussy anytime he
wanted.

Without a word, Reese snapped the steel chain to the
back of Brad's collar, then led him to the bedroom and
connected the chain to the radiator.  The chain was
only three feet long, allowing Brad to sit or kneel.

But Reese wasn't done yet.  A minute later, Brad's
mouth was gagged with a long white athletic sock
knotted behind his head.  He couldn't make a sound
above a murmur.  Steel handcuffs snapped around his
wrists behind his back.

Then, just for the hell of it, Reese slugged Brad in
the gut.  Brad doubled over.  Reese kicked him twice
in the ribs for good measure.

"You liked that, bitch?" Reese demanded.  It felt good
beating this faggot, although he really didn't want to
seriously hurt the bitch, not unless he had to.

"Y-yes, Sir," sputtered Brad, gasping for air.

"Who am I???"

"You are God, Sir."

"What are you?"

"I am a little white worm, Sir!"

"Don't fuckin' forget it, bitch!"

Reese stormed from the room, slamming the door behind
him.  Brad heard the stereo in the living room blast
in volume.

For a few minutes Reese played with stations until he
settled on some heavy hip hot.  Music filled the crib.
 Half an hour later, the radio clicked off and the
outer door slammed shut.

Silence reigned.

Reese was gone and Brad was helpless: chained, cuffed,
gagged, and locked into a chastity belt.  His ribs
ached as he trembled, wondering what would happen
next.


TO BE CONTINUED. . . .

IN  PART SEVEN:  FUCKING