Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2006 22:54:51 -0600
From: Dream Spinner <authorsix@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Aaron: Batty Bwoy Sex on the Down Low 3/4" (celeb, interracial,
     m/t,t/t,nc)

Caution/Welcome.  While filming "Fat Albert" Aaron and Omari Grandberry get
it on and invite Shad Moss and Zac Hanson to join them.  When word of two
hot teens available for some fun gets around the black rap and reggae
recording artists crowd they are joined by some wanted, and some unwanted,
partygoers ending with Aaron commemorating the occasion in ink.  Although
incorporating many real facts, this story does not reflect nor imply a real
event nor the real sexuality of these celebrities.  If you do not like
reading gay fantasies about celebrities, hot interracial and
intergenerational gay sex, some non-consentual scenes where we find out
just how tough some tough rappers are, or tattoos, this is where you stop
and hit the back or delete key and wait for the next story.  This is the
fifty-seventh of 75 standalone stories in a series of Aaron Carter and
Friends fanfic gay fantasies and chronologically follows the story "White
Meat, Black Bread."  Bow Wow (Shad Moss) has been in six stories in this
series (8, 19, 21, 35, 51 and 56) and Zac Hanson in one (44).  This story
is posted at gay adult story sites for the purpose of adult entertainment.
Permission is not given to copy electronically for the purpose of
redistribution or posting at sites other than described without the
permission of the author.  Lyrics of "Boom Bye Bye" copyright by Buju
Banton and Mercury Records.  Comments can be sent to the author
J.O. Dickingson at authorsix@hotmail.com

       AARON: BATTY BWOY SEX ON THE DOWN LOW, PART 3 OF 4

     "Hey, FizzO!"
     "Well, Jermaine my man, wut a surprise.  Wut are you doing here?"
     "Enjoying a helping of Popeye's famous New Orleans chicken and Cajun
battered fries," he said with a smile.  "And you?"
     "Come fo my usual chicken and sausage jambalaya and buttermilk
biscuits, wut else?"
     "You wit someone?"
     "No."
     "Come join us."  Dreux Frederik, better known to the public as the
teenage rapper Lil' Fizz from the recently defunct B2K band, sat down.
"Dis is my friend Alphonso," Jermaine introduced.  "Alphonso McAuley."
     "Glad to meet you," Dreux said, giving Alphonso a high five.  "So,
whazzup?"
     "Me and Alphonso were rehearsing our lines together and decided to
take a break, and where better dan Popeye's?"
     "Can't argue wit dat.  Rehearsing lines?"
     "We've got parts in Cosby's 'Fat Albert' movie.  We're shooing right
now," replied the twenty-one-year-old dancer and bit actor.
     "Cool."
     "And wut about you?"
     "Working on an album," Dreux responded.
     "So, t'ings are picking up since B2K broke up?"
     "Oh yeah."  They weren't exactly, but Dreux was not about to admit to
that.
     "I was surprised when I heard you guys split.  I'd heard 2004 was
going to be an even better year dan last year fo you boys."
     "Yeah, well, we had some differences," Dreux said vaguely.  What
Jermaine had heard was true, and Dreux'd had high expectations back in
January.  The breakup of the band had been a major disappointment.
     "Speaking of differences, dere's somet'in' I'm curious about.  Maybe
you can shed some light on it."
     "Shoot."
     "How well you know Omari Grandberry?"
     "Why you askin?" Dreux asked defensively.  Omari Grandberry was not
one of his favourite acquaintances, for several reasons.  As for Jermaine
Williams, he barely knew the man, having only crossed paths with him at a
couple celebrity events.
     "He's got a part in 'Fat Albert' too.  Him and Aaron Carter, the hip
hop singer."
     "Yeah, I know of Carter.  Didn't know he was an actor besides a
singer."
     "He's not," Jermaine said with a smile and a glance at Alphonso.
"You'll see wut I mean if you see the movie.  Nor's Omari as far as dat
goes."
     Dreux smiled.  He was starting to like Jermaine, and if there was
anything he could get on with his former band mate Omari he was all ears.
"So, why you askin' about Omari?"
     Jermaine thought a moment before responding.  "I was just wondering if
you noticed any funny stuff wit him while he was wit the band, or while you
were filming 'You Got Served'?"
     "Funny stuff?"
     "Well," Jermaine said with a glance at Alphonso and lowering his
voice, "yesterday on the set, dere was somet'in' going on between him and
Carter."
     "Wut do you mean?"
     "If I didn't know better, I'd say they were hittin' on each other,"
Jermaine said, glancing over at Alphonso again.
     "And gitting turned on," Alphonso added.  "Very turned on, in an
embarrassing way, if you git my meaning."
     Dreux snorted.
     "So?"
     "Well, dere were differences of opinion where we should head wit B2K,
but one t'ing we all agreed on was we didn't want not'ing more to do wit
dat faggot.  My first name is Omari and dat means African King, and 'ion'
means foever," Dreux said in a poor imitation of Omari explaining his stage
name Omarion.  "My Mom always told me wuteva you do, just be the best at it
and you'll stay on the throne," he said, continuing the imitation.  "Huh,
African Queen is more like it, and the only throne he sits on is in the
men's room trying to catch a look at wut real men have between their legs."
     "So, we were right," Jermaine said, glancing at Alphonso once more.
     "When I heard 'em making arrangements yesterday to go to Carter's
brother's place fo the weekend, I knew it," Alphonso observed.
     "Fo the weekend?  Dis weekend?"
     "Yeah.  Heard Carter saying his brother would be away til Sunday so
they'd have the place to 'emselves."
     "Omari and Carter?  Dat's disgusting," Dreux responded, wrinkling up
his nose.  As he left Popeye's half an hour later, he thought about what
the two actors had said and about Omari, and the more he thought about his
former fellow performer, the angrier he got.  Taking out his cell phone, he
began making calls.
     "Hello?" Omari said curiously a couple hours later.  That was the
second time that weekend that someone had buzzed the intercom at the Carter
security gate and had asked for him.
     "Hey, Omari!"
     "Fizz?"
     "You got dat right.  Tell Carter everyt'ing is cool and to let us in."
     "In?  Us?"
     "Duh, yeah, why do you t'ink we rang the intercom?"
     "Who are we?"
     "Me 'n some friends.  Now let us in."
     "Just like dat?  You t'ink I'm a fool?"
     "Yeah.  But wut's dat got to do wit lettin' us in?"  Omari didn't
answer.  "Look, you and Carter don't want any fuss dat is goin' to attract
the media or the cops, and I know the two of you don't want the media to
learn wut we know.  So just let us in and everyt'ing will be cool."
     There was a long silence.  "Just exactly who is wit you, and wut do
you want here?"
     "Just open the fucking gate and you'll find out the answers to both
questions."
     There was an exceptionally long but not unexpected wait during which
Fizz impatiently buzzed the intercom several times.  To his surprise and
that of his three companions the electric gate finally opened.  Fizz's plan
had been an impromptu one, and his three fellow conspirators, their
judgement blurred by several shared bowls of hashish, had not given the
plan much thought.  To be truthful, they were operating more on spleen than
on brain.  None of them were going to make convincing queers to gain
entrance to the Carter property, and they certainly did not know a gay boy
who would willingly, or even under force, act as their Trojan horse.
  So, they'd decided on the only strategy they knew, blunt language and
brute force.  It was a strategy that had served his companions well enough
in the past, and their quarries were, after all, two mincing teenage
faggots.  They didn't need much of a strategy.  If worst came to worst,
they had only to climb over the fence and bash in the front door.  And
afterward, maybe they'd all go find some hos and have some fun like a man
is supposed to.  It was a Saturday night after all, and still early in the
evening.
     "So, wut do you want Fizz?" asked Omari, standing there in the entry
way with Aaron by his side.
     Dreux had never realized just how much like faggots the two looked.
They'd probably been in bed making out when he'd buzzed the gate.  "Now,
wut sort of hospitality is dat?  Dat is no way fo hosts to treat their
guests."  Dreux and Omari stared at each other, making no effort to hide
their mutual animosity.  Although Omari and Aaron were putting on a good
bluff, fear was evident in their eyes and Dreux saw it.  "The proper way
would be on yo knees, or on yo backs wit yo legs spread and raised," he
continued with a smirk and growing confidence.
     "Juh wudn be suggesting doing di nasty wid dese batty bwoys, wud juh?"
asked a slim, gravelly-voiced man with long, thick, greasy-looking
dreadlocks and tar black skin standing beside Fizz, his voice clearly
filled with disgust and contempt despite the heavy accent.
     "I wud certainly hope nah," agreed a fat black man with large ears and
absurdly bright yellow-orange hair, his voice filled just as much with
hatred.
     "Ah, no, of course not," stammered Dreux, "I was just observing, you
know, how these fag boys normally greet their friends."  Truth was, ever
since he'd found out Omari was gay he'd imagined forcing his former
co-performer into the very positions he'd just mentioned.  Not only was he
angry with Omari for disagreeing with him in what direction B2K should go,
and perceived him as being the main reason the band had broken up though
the more popular opinion was it had been Raz-B, but he was envious of the
singer's greater singing skills and greater popularity.  His being gay
particularly grated on Dreux considering that while his cousin Jhene had
been with the band on their 2002 tour Omari had frequently chatted her up
and Dreux had thought that Omari had been genuinely interested in her.
Discovering Omari was gay and learning about how some gays used women as a
cover for their sexual orientation, Dreux had accused Omari of doing just
that though there had been no truth in it.
     "Nuff taak-taak," observed the fourth member of the intruders, a tough
looking man with his long, thick hair also in dreadlocks and with the
darkest skin Aaron had ever seen and the thickest accent of them all.
"Let's du wa wi cam ja tu du."  He took out a wooden mallet he'd concealed
inside his jacket, and it was evident he hadn't come to play coquette.
     "And just wut might dat be, Beenie Man?" asked Nelly, stepping into
the room behind Aaron and Omari and looking at the thirty-one-year-old
Jamaican DJ and dancehall singer with a smug confidence.
     The two men stood there and glared defiantly as they took stock of
each other and the situation.  Nelly, two years younger, was a muscular and
imposing man, but Anthony Davis, better known publically as Beenie Man, had
an evil about him that left no doubt he still planned on using the mallet,
and was likely good at it.  No stranger to down and dirty fights, he'd
glared down many a man before, and the stranger did not frighten him.  He
might look like a tough gangsta, but he figured the American would be no
match for the street fighting he was accustomed to.  "I know juh?"
     "No, we've neva met, but I know of you, of yo music, and yo
homophobia."
     "Huh," grunted the slim, gravelly-voiced man as he took out the chain
he'd concealed under his jacket, wrapped one end around his fist and let it
uncoil.  "En wha are juh?  Juh a batty bwoy lova, or a batty bwoy juhself?"
He set the end of the chain swinging.

                          Boom bye bye
                      Inna batty bwoy head
               Rude bwoy no promote no nasty man
                        Dem haffi dead.

     "Don't imagine dat matters much to you, Mark," observed Cool J as he
stepped into the room and joined Nelly.
     Mark Myrie, better known to the public as the Jamaican dancehall and
reggae singer Buju Banton, turned to look at the speaker, showing no
surprise at his sudden appearance, nor any concern over the older man's
evident strength.  "Well, well, James.  Nau juh ah wud newah haff expected
tu szieh jah, mun.  Is it Lads Love Cool James nau?" he asked with a sneer.
     "You have no business here, Mark.  Why donchew and yo goons leave
while you can on yo own two feet?"
     "Juh might be a muscle bwoy, bot Ah doan tink h'enni any match fo us,"
observed the orange-haired black man, pulling out a switchblade and
snapping it open.
     "And I don't t'ink dat little toothpick is any match fo dis," observed
Ludacris, brandishing a long butcher knife he'd retrieved from the kitchen
as he joined the others.
     "Wut di fucking hell is dis, a fucking batty bwoy party?" asked Buju.
Evidently the rumour about two fag teenagers being alone was wrong.  "Just
hau many more batty bwoys juh gat hidin' behind juh?"
     Shad and Zac joined the others.  The two groups stood there eying each
other nervously, their bodies tense as they tried to put on a show of
strength and confidence.  Outnumbered seven to four, Buju and his two
Jamaican companions were not overly concerned, and though they outnumbered
the new arrivals, Aaron and his friends were not so sure they could take
them given their supposed reputation according to James.  "Why don't the
four of you just turn around and leave?" suggested Aaron finally, feeling
as host he should say something though he knew what he had asked was not
likely to happen.
     Buju's response was to draw his arm back and swing his chain at Cool J
as he stepped forward, knowing the value of the element of surprise and
attacking first.  At the same time Beenie Man advanced on Nelly with his
mallet and the fat, orange-haired man, O'Neil Bryant, better known as
Elephant Man because of his big ears, a nickname he'd had ever since a
child, advanced on Ludacris.  Fizz, who knew of his companions' penchant
for violence, which was why he'd contacted them after his conversation at
Popeye's, but unaware they'd come armed, hesitated.  He hated Omari but he
was basically a shy person, and just wished people would be honest.  Hell,
Omari's mom did his hair for him!  Biting his lip as he glanced over at
Omari and then the smug looking Aaron Carter, thoughts of what the two of
them had been doing clouded his reason and he felt the anger welling up in
his chest again.  His dislike for homosexuals was even greater than his
dislike for Omari.
     Shad Moss, better known to the public as Bow Wow, was standing beside
Omari, looking just as smug and pretty as ever.  Shad had joined B2K on
several of their tours and had been planning a big album with them just
before their breakup three months ago, and Shad's success and wealth Fizz
was even more envious of than Omari's.  Movies, platinum albums, his own
clothing line, commercial contracts with Campbells and Kraft, the
seventeen-year-old was rolling in the dough.  He even had the luxury of
suspending touring while, in his words, he was "knuckling down" to
concentrate on school and getting ready for college.  Now, seeing him with
the rest of these faggots, Fizz's vivid mind could imagine just what he and
Omari had been doing on the sly while on Shad had joined them on tour.  His
jealousy combined with his sexual prejudice overwhelmed reason and he
charged.  It really wasn't going to matter which one of them he punched
out.
     Cool J had his share of street fighting as a youth and knew the signs
to watch for in a confrontation.  The look in Buju's eyes the second before
he stepped forward gave him away and he was able to step back out of the
way of the swinging chain, though on the back swing it did give his thigh a
solid whack though it hadn't wrapped around it as Buju had planned.  Nelly
meanwhile had been able to counter Beenie Man's swing with the wooden
mallet and use the momentum of the man to swing him around and deliver a
kidney punch that slowed him down a measure.
     Ludacris and Elephant Man had meanwhile been given wide berth as the
two men cautiously circled each other with their knives, Ludacris having
the longer weapon but Elephant Man not having received his other nickname,
Energy God, without good reason as he leaped and dashed around Ludacris
with amazing speed and agility.  The two men being only a year apart, they
were well matched in strength.  While Elephant Man was incensed that
Ludacris, a married man and father, would have sex with other men, Ludacris
himself had found the man's comments and attitude insulting.  Having swung
both ways ever since a teenager, and having married only because he'd
knocked his wife up, it had been attitudes of men such as Elephant Man that
had kept the guilt over his enjoyment with men gnawing at him.  Now, as he
lashed out, it was lashing out against all men like Elephant Man more than
the individual himself.
     As for Fizz, he raced forward, fists flying like a madman, driven by
prejudice and jealousy.  With four of them as targets, he had to connect
with someone, and he did, delivering a solid blow to Shad's face quickly
followed by one to Aaron's and like a madman, ignoring the kicks and
punches delivered by Omari and Zac and his bruised knuckles.
     The three Jamaicans were tough fighters, Buju having been born in Salt
Lane, a slum near Kingston, one of fifteen children, and having had to
fight just to survive; the dancehall singer and DJ Beenie Man having had a
long involvement with the Kingston crime culture, himself having been
investigated in the United Kingdom for inciting hatred and solicitation to
murder under the Offences Against the Person Act; and Elephant Man's lyrics
promoting hatred and violence being a true reflection of the man's
arrogance and attitude towards anyone in power and anyone he chose not to
like.  All three were driven by their mutual hatred for homosexuals, widely
supported by the Jamaican culture and legal system which considered sexual
relations between men a crime punishable by jail and possibly hard labour,
and buoyed up by the hashish they'd been smoking when Fizz had contacted
them, having known of their reputations regarding homosexuals, and knowing
the three of them were in LA at a ragga and reggae meet.  Fizz, though
portraying a rough and tough rapper from the streets on stage, was not in
real life, but his hatred for homosexuals matched that of his three
companions.
     Despite their aggressive personalities and their strong motivation,
they were fighting four on seven, and what edge they did have had been
dulled by the hash they'd been smoking, complements of Buju whose nine
thousand dollar fine earlier that month for the possession and cultivation
of two plants found at his studio was mere petty cash.  Fizz had eagerly
taken them up on their offer to share a bowl while he'd explained his idea
to them when he'd finally tracked them down, flattered to have been treated
like one of them, and thinking to boost his confidence and courage without
thinking the effect it could have on his senses.
     Besides, with Cool J, himself a bully and having been so ever since
childhood, and Nelly, who was no stranger to street gangs and hoods,
leading the charge for the other side, and all of them being physically fit
by nature of their active performing styles, Fizz and his companions were
not fighting the limp-wristed wimps they thought they'd be fighting.  The
seven also had just as much motivation as the four they were fighting,
having their careers and reputations on the line should their secret
lifestyles be revealed, and having their anger sparked by the contempt and
disrespect displayed by their attackers.
     The fight was furious, and vicious, but mercifully brief.  Beenie Man,
still recovering from life-threatening injuries including a collapsed lung
and several broken ribs received in mid- January when his Hummer had rolled
over in a road construction zone, found his arms and legs bent behind him
and his ankles and wrists tied together with elastic straps found in Nick
Carter's exercise room.  Buju was sitting beside him, his arms tied to his
sides with a nylon rope and his legs lashed together.  Suffering minor cuts
to his arms and knuckles in addition to several bruises, Elephant Man found
himself sitting on the floor bound with duct tape and beside him, his
knuckles bruised and bleeding and his fingers feeling like they'd been
broken, his nose bloodied and his lip swollen and cut, sat Fizz, his wrists
and ankles tied with electrical cords.
     Their captors sprawled out around them nursing their bruises and cuts.
Shad was going to have a nice shiner and Aaron's nose had been bloodied but
fortunately not broken, and both along with Zac and Omari had bruised
knuckles and bruised ribs in their fight with Fizz.  Nelly had received a
half dozen bruises from Bennie Man's mallet before he'd managed to disarm
him, but fortunately no broken bones.  Even with his longer knife, Ludacris
had suffered several minor cuts to his chest, thighs and arms, and Cool J
had a number of wicked welts and bruises from Buju's chain.
     "So, wut are we going to do wit 'em now?" asked Ludacris, glancing at
their captives and then at their host.  Bandages adorned half his fingers
and his right cheek, and gauze had been taped to his right biceps and to a
cut across his chest, fortunately neither deep enough to require stitches.
     Aaron glanced at Omari and then at the four men tied up before him as
he considered his answer.  Even before Ludacris had asked an idea had come
to him, an idea based on Fizz's opening comments about how they should have
been greeted and his lame excuse he'd just been referring to how he figured
fags greeted their friends, which had not fooled Aaron, and he figured had
not fooled his companions nor Fizz's either.  For all his talk and his
dislike of gays, he really had been thinking of having sex with them.  How
some guys thought that just because they were not the one on the receiving
end made it not a homosexual act Aaron would never understand.  Anyway, the
idea Fizz's comment had given him was a good idea, made even better given
the homophobia of the four bound men.
     "Well, I think these four straight dudes need to be educated on the
pleasures they've been missing not being gay or bi," he began with a smile
curling his lips as he glanced slowly around the room.  The immediate
revulsion in the eyes of the four bound men and the slight smiles of at
least seeing humour in the idea if not outright acceptance by his
companions encouraged him to continue.  "We could consider it sort of a
batty boy training session," he continued with a wider smile, as if it was
a joke.  The hatred and revulsion in their captives' eyes deepened and the
approval in the eyes of the others increased as they considered the idea.
"Maybe if they learn how good it feels to get their asses fucked or how
great it is to suck cock they might have second thoughts about badmouthing
gays in the future."  Not one of them believed that.
     "I like the idea," Omari said with a slow smile curling his lips as he
stared directly at Fizz.  People needed to stick up for each other more in
the world in his opinion, which was one reason he'd supported Aaron's idea
to confront Fizz and his gang head on, and which was why he was supporting
Aaron now.  Besides, bending FizzO over and taking his prune would be hot,
especially after the way he'd treated him.
     "No fucking way," Fizz said indignantly.  "Touch me wit yo faggot
hands and you die brother," he warned despite his vulnerable position.
     "Oh, it wasn't my hands dat I had in mind dat would be touchin' you,"
Omari said with a grin as he rubbed himself and looked at Fizz seductively.
     "You fucking faggot.  Don't you dare," Fizz responded with a glare,
but his heart was rising in his chest in fear.  Omari could and would do
it, and with delight, right there in front of everyone else.
     "You know, I agree wit Omari.  I t'ink Aaron's got a fine idea," Cool
J said looking at Buju in particular.  "I bet yo virgin ass would be nice
and tight."  Buju knew better than to respond, but if looks could kill at
that moment, Cool J would have been dead.
     "Bet yours would be too," said Nelly, looking at Beenie Man.  "Though
I t'ink our host should have first crack at it," he added, looking at
Aaron.
     "Actually, you can have his ass while he gives me head," Aaron
replied.
     "Now dere's an idea.  Bet you can give great head," Ludacris said to
Elephant Man.  "Yo ears would make perfect handholds anyway."
     "In yo dreams chichiman," he snarled.
     "I like Aaron's idea of doubling up," Shad observed.  "You mind if I
join you in educating FizzO here on how a man can give another man
pleasure?" he asked, looking at Omari.
     "Not at all, but I git his big mouth."
     "No problem.  His tight pussy ass will be fine fo me," Shad said with
a smile.
     "So, I guess that just leaves you, Zac," Aaron observed.  "If you want
to join in."
     Zac looked at the four captives.  "Well," he said slowly as he looked
over at Cool J, "I think I'd like to join you if you don't mind."
     "Watching Buju sucking a white boy's cock while I shove mine up his
ass would be hot," Cool J responded with a grin.
     Untying Fizz's ankles and dragging him kicking and cursing into the
centre of the room, Omari and Shad pulled off his baggy trousers and his
boxers and forced him to his knees.  Omari looped a leather strap he'd
found in Nick's exercise room around Fizz's balls and drew it tight,
threatening he would draw it even tighter until it cut off the circulation
and leave it there until his balls fell off if he bit his cock.  Pulling
down their flies and pulling out their pricks, the two black teenagers
stood there and slowly stroked themselves as they leered down at the now
not so proud and cocky rapper, their bruises and scraped knuckles
momentarily forgotten.  As he stepped forward, his cock partially erect,
Omari felt no regrets about what he was about to do, and nor did Shad as he
lubed up his swelling cock in anticipation of it being a tight fuck.  The
two teenage boys were about to rape another boy, something totally out of
character and something the two celebrities would normally be vehemently
opposed to, but given Fizz's attitude toward gays in general and them
specifically, and the reason he and his companions had come to the house,
they felt justified in what they were about to do.
     Thinking back over the angry words they'd had when B2K had broken up
and of Fizz's unfounded accusation of using his cousin Jhene as a beard,
and his threat to tell Shad's mother her son was a fag next time Fizz went
over to have his hair braided into dreadlocks, Omari felt no guilt as he
watched his former co-performer's lips slowly and reluctantly slip over his
partially erect cock and his cheeks sink in as he began to suck.  Revenge
was not his way, but it was sweet just the same.  Shad meanwhile placed the
tip of his now stiff cock against the eighteen year old's virgin asshole
and grasping his hips, he slowly pushed forward, whispering to Fizz to push
out with his stomach muscles as if he was taking a crap if he wanted his
penetration to be with as little pain as possible.  Knowing the rap
singer's attitude about gays and having heard about his jealousy over his
own career and success, especially when he hadn't joined the B2K Scream III
tour back in May of 2003, he felt no qualms about fucking the singer or
causing him pain, but he knew given the size of his cock and that Fizz was
a virgin and reluctant besides, it was going to be difficult enough
penetrating him as it was.
     Dreux was handsome in a way, even sexy what with his fine, thin
moustache and his mixed black, white and Indian heritage giving him more of
a copper complexion. He looked younger than his eighteen years with his
five foot eight and a half frame and hundred and forty- five pounds.  As
Shad pushed his hips forward and forced his lubed cock against Dreux's
asshole, he felt Dreux's sphincter slowly stretching and giving way and
then heard Dreux gasp with the penetration as his knob popped inside his
rectum.  Tightening his grip about the rapper's slender hips, he slowly
sank his cock up his rectum, a feeling of triumph added to his usual
feelings of pleasure as he felt hot, moist flesh enveloping his stiff cock.
     Fizz was totally mortified.  He could not believe what was happening
to him.  He'd come there that evening fully expecting to end up with Omari
getting his ass fucked and being forced to suck cock, and him rejoicing
with his revenge against the faggot who had broken up B2K and used his
cousin.  Instead, it was he who was sucking Omari's filthy cock, and
getting his ass fucked at the same time.  His aching fingers, bloodied
nose, and cut and bruised lip were totally forgotten as shame and
humiliation flooded over him.  He was kneeling there naked from the waist
down save for his socks, his arms bound to his side with an electric
extension cord, his mouth around Omari's filthy cock, his no longer virgin
ass being reamed by Shad Moss's thick, throbbing cock.  He stared at
Omari's flat stomach and belly button, unable to see the others but
painfully aware of their burning stares.
     The others were staring in spite of themselves, the apprehension of
those who had been bound growing with each thrust of Shad's lubricated cock
up Dreux's abused hole and with each bob of Dreux's head as he worked his
lips up and down Omari's stiff cock and the desire of their captors growing
as they watched the three black teenagers grunting and panting in the
middle of the room, Shad and Omari with evident pleasure and Dreux with
great torment.
     Buju Banton was next.  Leaving his arms tied to his sides, James and
Zac untied the nylon rope binding his legs and began to drag him over
beside Fizz.  The moment his legs were free he leaped to his feet and
attempted to kick his captors as he struggled to loosen the rope still
binding his arms.  He was strong and desperate and put up a good fight,
knocking one and then the other over and then a lamp in the struggle, and
cursing both of them as he tried to break loose.  It wasn't until Cool J
sat on Buju's chest and grabbed the thirty-year-old Jamaican's balls and
squeezed until the pain forced the man to yield that the struggle stopped.
Six years Buju's senior and with his muscular thighs and biceps, Cool J had
the advantage, and Buju knew the man would continue to squeeze his nuts
until he passed out.  He had seen the man's determination in his eyes as
they'd fought, and he'd been in enough fights to know that the man's fear
combined with his strength and anger gave him the upper hand.  Besides, the
faggot's career and reputation were endangered.  He could just imagine what
his wife of seventeen years and his boy and three girls would say if they
knew he got off making out with men.
     Pulling him up and forcing him to his knees beside Fizz, Cool J
wrapped a muscular arm about Buju's throat and told him that if he didn't
cooperate he'd crush his voice box and he'd never sing again, and Buju had
no doubt James would do just that.  And so he reluctantly knelt there as
Cool J lubed and stroked his cock, and he spread his legs and gritted his
teeth as he felt the tip of the older singer's thick black prick press
against his butthole.  He did consider clenching his ass closed and making
it difficult, perhaps impossible, for the rapper to penetrate him, but he
knew that the man was determined and angry and would eventually get his
way, and that ultimately the damage would more likely be to his rectum than
the faggot's cock, and so instead he strained to open his anus as wide as
he could.  As a devout Rastafarian he could not condone homosexual
relationships, but his faith did not require self-induced pain.
     Cool J of course recognized the action immediately and commented about
Buju straining to open his ass wide and that the Jamaican was evidently
eager to be fucked.
  Buju immediately clamped his sphincter shut in retaliation, but as James
continued to press his hips forward and Buju felt the man's lubed knob
stretching him open, Buju quickly relaxed.  Whether James's comment had
been to humiliate him or to get him to close his asshole and cause him
pain, it didn't matter.  If it was the former, James would pay for it, and
if the latter, he wasn't falling for the trick.
     Although James always felt guilt and shame after a night of sex with
the guys or with strangers he'd picked up through the Internet and were
into submission and muscle worship, dominating men gave him a sense of
power and a sexual charge that nothing else did, which was why despite
being happily married for seventeen years, he still sought out men when he
was feeling especially randy.  Grasping Buju's hips and wedging his thick
cock in the man's tight virgin hole, he had the feeling that in Buju's case
he was not going to be having feelings of remorse or shame afterward.  The
man was going to get exactly what he deserved, and the fact that he was
unwilling was going to make it all the hotter.  It was the exhilarating
pleasure of domination that he was presently feeling that he'd remember.
     As he felt the older man's lubed cockhead slowly spread apart his
sphincter and finally pop inside him, Buju cursed the man silently and
swore he would get even.  He didn't have much time to dwell on that thought
as the teenager they'd called Zac stepped up in front of him.  Getting
fucked in front of the rest of the fucking faggots, and especially in front
of Anthony and O'Neil, was degrading and humiliating, but the fat white boy
whose name meant nothing to him stepping up before him and expecting him to
go down on him was the ultimate debasement.  The boy looked like a faggot
with his chubby cheeks and beefy breasts and his pansy haircut, and as he
glared at the boy's stiff, six and a half inch cock, he was tempted to bite
the end off.  As if James had read his mind, the big man leaned close and
whispered in his ear loud enough for only him to hear that if he so much as
grazed the boy with his teeth he'd rip off his balls and shove them down
his throat.  From the tone of his voice, he knew that James had not
threatened him idly.  Inhaling deeply and closing his eyes, he slowly
slipped his lips over the white boy's knob and began to suck.  The faggot
would pay for this.  They all would.
     Elephant Man was next, being forced to his knees with his arms and
legs still bound to suck off Ludacris under threat of having his ears cut
off using his own switchblade if he tried anything funny, followed by his
balls.  Ludacris had mixed feelings about what was happening right from the
beginning.  Not overly comfortable with his sexual orientation or with the
rendezvous he and the others had been having over the past year, he hadn't
totally agreed with Nelly that it was time that they stood up against
bullies and the promoters of violence against gays.  At the same time, from
what James had said, the three Jamaican singers outside the gate weren't
going to be stopped by a few iron bars or a brick fence.  They had no
choice but to defend themselves.  Quite frankly he'd been scared shitless
during the fight, and if he'd hadn't had the presence of mind to seek out a
weapon, and fortuitously had chosen a butcher knife, who knows what might
have happened between him and the Jamaican?
     Although not as far into the closet as James, and having been able to
rationalize his sex with men, mainly that it was not his fault men found
him attractive, nor that he'd been born with such excessive sexual energy
that he needed satisfaction, with whichever sex was available, he was still
hesitant about what he was about to do.  Caught up in his elation that they
had defeated the four men, and especially that he'd beaten the one they
called Elephant Man, and by the sexual revenge the others had suggested, he
had found the idea of the fat, orange-haired hate-monger and fag hater who
had intended on harming him, perhaps even killing him, sucking his cock
erotic and justified.  However, what he was about to do had nothing to do
with the man finding him attractive, or with him being sexually aroused.
It had to do with revenge, and his own pleasure, themes found in his lyrics
but not necessarily something he believed in and practised.
     As he thought about it though, that was what sex was about, pleasure.
His wife, the women and the men he had sex with on the sly, they really
were all bitches whose sole purpose was to bring him pleasure.  Other than
a couple teen rappers who played to the teeny bobber crowd, like Shad Moss,
he didn't know a rapper who's lyrics didn't claim that.  Cornell and James,
their lyrics were about hos and pimps and getting sexual pleasure and they
weren't having any reservations about what they were doing.  And that was
what Elephant Man was at that moment, an orange-haired fat ho bringing him
pleasure.  Having convinced himself, the corners of his lips slowly curled
as he grasped the man by his big ears and shoved his cock forward, ramming
it down his throat and causing him to gag.
     Being told as the straps binding his wrists and ankles were untied and
his trousers and underwear removed that if he resisted he'd have his nuts
smashed in with the mallet he'd brought, Beenie Man had no doubt the man
who delivered the threat would do just that even though he had no idea who
the man was.  Besides, given that the others had all reluctantly but
ultimately taken their positions, he did also, kneeling there in the middle
of the room with the others and slipping his lips over the white hip hop
singer's cock while the black faggot who had threatened him got on his
knees and began to prod his ass with his stiff prick.  Being forced to suck
cock was the most humiliating and demeaning thing he could imagine a man
being forced to do, and that it was a teenage boy on top of it, and a white
boy on top of that, made it triply so.  Being fucked up the ass by some
faggot whose name he didn't even know at the same time added to the
humiliation.  The two of them would pay for this.  They would pay dearly,
and their punishment would be long and painful.

             Caw me say dis is not a bargain me say
                       Dis is not a deal
                        Guy come near we
                    Then his skin must peel
             Burn him up bad like an old tire wheel
                  gwaan buju banton you tough.