Date: Mon, 19 Sep 2005 08:41:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: jerome skorpio <j_skorpio_2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: Thug Cash Master, Part 8  (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 Eight:   Punishment


Early the next morning bright sunlight flooded the
living room, waking Reese on the sofa. He sat up and
stretched, tensing his muscles.  The brother was
naked, a living sculpture in black marble and his cock
was rock-hard.

The first thing Reese remembered from the night before
was tapping the whiteboy's ass.  Although not a real
cunt, that hole was tight and hungry for his dick.  On
another level, it just felt good putting dick to a
cracker.

Reese looked around the room.  Against one wall was an
altar where the slavish whiteboy worshiped him.
Reese's photo was flanked by two tall black candles.
The brother's ample lips parted in a selfish,
self-satisfied grin.

With cat-eyes like Tyrese and the physique of Terrell
Owens, Reese was blessed with the face and body of a
Nubian God and he knew it. He was a god, compared to
this pitiful white faggot.  He liked being worshiped.
Maybe that's the way it was supposed to be.  Maybe
whiteboys were meant to serve Black Men.

Reese found his cash slave sleeping soundly on the
bedroom floor, right where he left him after giving
the whiteboy an ass-fucking he would never forget.
Brad was curled up on his side in a fetal position,
snoring lightly, still wearing the collar and chastity
belt with his hands cuffed behind his back and his
mouth gagged with a sock.

Seeing a puny caucasian trussed up like this gave the
nigga a measure of satisfaction, not to mention a
surge of contempt.  He nudged the whiteboy in his side
with his bare foot.

Brad groaned and opened his eyes. Reese towered over
him, naked and hard.  Brad's asshole was sore and
every muscle in his body ached.  He wanted to close
his eyes and go back to sleep.  More than anything it
was the sight of Reese's rigid cock that dragged him
into wakefulness.

"Make breakfast, bitch!" Reese demanded. "And roll me
a fuckin' joint!"

Reese untied the gag from Brad's mouth and unlocked
the cuffs around his wrists.  There was something
about seeing a whiteboy in bondage that steeled his
dick.

"Sir, may I use the bathroom first?" said Brad.

"Yah, sure," Reese acquiesced.  "Do what you gotta do,
then get my breakfast on the table.  You should have
been did that!"

Brad quickly peed in the toilet, and then washed his
face and hands before proceeding to the kitchen where
he prepared scrambled eggs and toast.  There hadn't
been time to purchase grits or more bacon.

As before, Reese chowed down at the kitchen table
while Brad took his meal in the living room.

Reese spent Saturday morning chilling in his new crib,
smoking joints, drinking a few beers, channel surfing,
while Brad did his time at the altar, kissing the
floor 100 times, reciting:  "I am a little white
worm."

Those words sank deep into his soul and affirmed his
sad existence for what it was worth.  Brad was a
little white worm, nothing more, and he knew it.  It
was almost degrading for Brad but not quite as this
ritual had the effect of engorging his penis.

Not that Brad's little penis could get too stiff,
restricted by the chastity belt.  Brad found it was
painful getting hard.

While Reese smoked herb and channel surfed, Brad
scrubbed the bathroom spotless and changed the sheets
on Reese's bed (formerly Brad's).  When the clock
struck noon, Reese summoned Brad who kneeled before
him.

Brad wore a white tee-shirt.  Briefs covered his steel
and plastic chastity belt.  Reese was still nude.
Brothers like him prefer going naked whenever
possible.  Reese didn't have a home of his own.
Usually he slept on his sister's couch in the house
she inherited from their parents.

"You doin' a good job cleanin' the crib, but I got
somethin' else for you to do."

"Yes, God!"   Brad's voice quavered.

"Good slave."  Reese liked calling this pitiful
whiteboy a slave.   It sounded right and made sense.

"Now, listen up, yo!  I got a shopping list for you.
These stores are right down the street.  You got one
hour to find everything on this list and get yo' ass
back here, understand?"

"Yes, Sir," said Brad.

"If you ain't back in an hour, I'm gonna hurt ya!"
Reese promised.

"Yes, Sir, I understand, Sir."

"Good bitch.  Before you go, gimme some head."

Brad went down on Reese's erect cock at once, sucking
hard and deep, taking it in his throat.  There was
strength and power in Reese's dick.  Brad sucked and
slurped.

"Aiight, that's enough," said Reese, pushing Brad
away.  Reese stood up.  "Kiss my ass."

Brad planted his soft lips on Reese's muscular butt
cheeks.

"Yah, kiss my Black ass, worm!  That's right.  Kiss
it, bitch!  Now, lick my asshole, whiteboy.  Get it
wet with yo' tongue!"

Brad spread Reese's tight brown cheeks apart and
thrust his eager pink tongue into the crack, slurping
away, relishing the tang.  This went on for twenty or
thirty minutes before Reese told him to stop and get
dressed.

"Remember, you better be back in one hour!"

"Yes, God, I understand, Sir."

After Brad set out on his mission, Reese spoke to a
few of his homeboys on his new cell phone.  No one had
seen Reese for a few days.

Reese told his nigga Malik that he was gonna be laid
up at a bitch's crib for a few days.  Reese and Malik
went back to grade school. They grew up together.

Malik wanted to know who this bitch was and where they
met, so Reese admitted it was a white slut he picked
up the park, which was the truth.

Reese was dying to break down the real deal, but knew
Malik would want in on the goldmine and Reese wasn't
about sharing a cash slave.

When Brad returned from his shopping mission twelve
minutes late, Reese was pissed.

"What don't you understand about sixty minutes,
bitch?" he shouted.  "I told you to be back here in an
hour.  Did you think I was joking??? "

Reese didn't like this one bit.  The whiteboy had to
be punished.  He needed to be taught total obedience.
No half-stepping could be tolerated.  Either Reese was
the Master or he wasn't.

After Brad put the groceries away and mixed Reese a
Tanqueray and tonic, Reese told him to fetch a belt
from the closet.

"You need to be taught a lesson, bitch!"

Brad was told to drop his trousers and grab his ankles
  He stripped down to his chastity belt.

"Bend over and grab yo' ankles, bitch!" said Reese.

Reese gave the whiteboy a dozen fierce whacks with a
leather belt.  At the first stinging blow, Brad
yelped.  It was more painful than anything he had ever
experienced.

Reese didn't hold back.  He applied the belt to Brad's
plump white booty as fiercely as he could.

Reese told Brad to shut the fuck up or he would get
five more strokes every time he opened his mouth.
Brad grit his teeth and took the beating.

Reese whupped Brad hard.  This was one cracker who was
gonna learn to do exactly what he was told!

"Listen up, worm!"  said Reese.  "When I say be back
in an hour, that's what I fucking mean! Not an hour
and twelve minutes, you got that through yo thick
head, bitch???"

He swung the belt as hard as he could and thought
about slaves in the old South who took lashings far
worse than this.  The whiteboy had it coming.  One
hard whack of the belt followed another.

Whack! Whack! Whack!!!!!!

After the twentieth and final slap, Brad crumpled to
the floor in tears.  His fleshy buttocks felt raw.  If
he could have seen his ass, he would have observed
broad crimson welts raised across his plump,
milky-white cheeks.

Brad was in extreme anguish.  Tears ran down his face.
 He never wanted to get whupped like this again.  He
couldn't handle the pain and Reese knew it.

"You gonna disobey me again, worm?"

"No, Sir!" whimpered Brad, breathing heavily,
sweating, crying, broken, crushed, conquered.

"Give me 100 pushups, slave!"  ordered Reese, casually
sipping his gin and tonic.

Brad started enumerating pushups, but faltered at 25.
He rested for a moment on the floor, until Reese
kicked him in the head.

"Keep goin'!  I didn't tell you to stop!"

Brad struggled to pump out another 25, then dropped to
the floor exhausted after gasping "fifty!" and got
kicked in the head again, this time a little harder.
Brad's ears rang and his chest and arms were sore.

Reese smirked.  He wished Malik could see this shit,
taking a belt to a white dude, breaking the bitch down
into a fucking cry-baby sissy.

Beating the whiteboy with a belt gave Reese almost as
much pleasure as fucking him in the ass!



TO BE CONTINUED. . .
IN PART NINE:  MAKING THAT MONEY.