Date: Sat, 7 Dec 2013 11:01:57 -0800 (PST)
From: Skorpio <j_skorpio_2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: YMCA Black Attack, Part 3 (authoritarian, interracial)

YMCA Black Attack, Part 3
by Skorpio

Author's Preface: After you read this, make a generous donation to Nifty so
this site can continue to provide you with more porno-GRAPHIC stories like
YMCA Black Attack.

Part Three

The sky was dark purple with low-hanging clouds. Thunder rumbled in the
distance. A storm was coming. On the broad steps outside the YMCA, Mario
and Tony paused in their tracks.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" wondered Tony aloud.

"That we shouldn't abandon Sal?" suggested Mario. "That whatever else he
might be, he IS italiano - he doesn't deserve to be a fucktoy for a bunch
of niggers?"

"Nah, I wasn't thinking that at all. I was thinking that's exactly what he
deserves! Fucking faggot! He's brought disgrace down on all of us!"

"I'm glad you said that!" Mario laughed with relief. "That's EXACTLY what I
was thinking! Say, how would you like a job at the pizza shop? We've got an
opening!"

"Sounds good."

"C'mon, let's get out of here!"

Alone in his room on the fourth floor, tied to the bed, Sal was coming to
terms with the truth about himself. The muscular young guido's small,
slender penis was rigid, and his balls ached for release.

Was it true? Was he really a homosexual? All his life Sal had been shy
around girls and he was strangely curious about other guy's bodies. The
shame he felt over his meager cock had led him to lifting weights, to
compensate for his inadequacy.

He thought back to the black cocks taking his virgin ass in the dark, and
the queer, inexplicable pleasure he felt. Not just sensual pleasure, but
something else, something wilder and deeper than sex.

Dashing through the foyer with nothing but a small towel for concealment –
as embarrassing as that was, it now seemed strangely, powerfully
erotic. Intoxicating.

Feeling helpless and used - not just giving other men pleasure, but being
humiliated and liking it - was that what it meant to be a fag?

"Why am I like this,?"Sal pondered. Was I born this way?

He had no answers. All he knew was if Mario and Tony returned, he would beg
to go down on them again. He would say anything, promise anything just to
feel their cocks in his throat – to swallow their sperm while they
taunted him with contempt.

 How sick, how pathetic was that? And yet he wanted it. He wanted to be
used, debased, degraded, reminded constantly of his inferiority as a man.

"Looks like you been through a lot," rumbled a deep, familiar voice.

Craning his head , Sal looked up and saw the black man from the locker
room, the one who gave him the small towel.

"I never introduced myself," said the man, sitting beside Sal's
spread-eagled, prostrate form. "Name's Trent Jackson."

Trent Jackson's sleeveless shirt was tucked into his pants. His bulging
arms and chest were so massive he made Sal's sculpted physique look puny by
comparison.

"What do you want?" Sal groaned.

" I want to know if you've learned your lesson."

"My lesson?"

"You had quite a chip on your shoulder. I'm wondering if you learned
anything from what went down? Do you know now what you are now?"

"I think so," said Sal, weakly. His voice trembled in spite of all his
efforts to control it.

"And what is that?"

"I'm... a faggot."

Shaping those three words out of the darkness of his mind was too immense a
thing to be said aloud. And yet, somehow, the syllables tumbled from his
lips.

"Yes, you are," Trent chuckled, patting Sal's round buttocks, giving them a
little squeeze. "I knew you were a faggot the first time I saw you. It was
written all over your pretty face. But I could tell you didn't have a
clue. That's why I asked some of the fellas to give you an education. Hope
they weren't too rough on you."

"It was you? You sent them?"

"That's right. I can always tell when a whiteboy needs to get his ass
fucked. How does your ass feel now?"

"Sore," admitted Sal.

"What else?"

The question seemed to challenge Sal. He thought for a moment, before
admitting with a pang of shame: "It feels good, I guess."

"You guess?"

"No," Sal corrected himself. "It does feel good. It does."

"So, what you're saying is it feels good when your ass is sore. That's good
to know. You're already learning to experience pain as pleasure. That's
what I look for in a slave."

"A slave?"

"I would have raped you myself," Trent went on, "but I'm not a violent
person. I want you to come to me

Besides, I didn't think you were ready for me, if you know what I mean, and
I know you do."

"I think I do," whimpered Sal.

"Tell me."

"You have a really big cock."

"Let me hear you say: you have a really big cock, SIR."

"You have a really big cock, SIR!"

"That's more better," Trent laughed rich peals of satisfaction.  "Call me
SIR from on. Or Mr. Jackson. Understand me, boy?"

"Yes, SIR," said Sal, adding, "Yes, Mr. Jackson."

"As a matter of fact I do have a big dick. I like to fuck... a lot!!! But
not all you cunts can handle it."

Beads of sweat trickling down the crack of Sal's ass made his rectum
tingle. How large was this man's cock, could it be bigger than the ramrods
which took him earlier? Was that even possible?

And that word – slave.  Why did it bring a flush of color to Sal's pale
cheeks?

He gave his restraints a futile tug, for reassurance more than anything. He
derived a strange comfort being nude, prostrate, legs and arms stretched,
ass exposed and vulnerable.

"I'm prepared to offer you the chance of a lifetime. Are you interested?"

"I'm not sure I understand," said Sal, understanding more than he was ready
to admit.

"I'm giving you a choice. I can leave you here. Sooner or later the fellas
will be back. Or you can leave with me."

"With you?"

"I need a faggot to cook and clean for me, an obedient slave who can take
care of ALL my needs. You'll have a roof over your head, three meals a day,
and a chance to do something useful for a change. You decide."

"I'll do it...,"said Sal, without hesitation.

"Say it right – like I taught you."

"I'll do it, Sir. Mr. Jackson!"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Don't be so hasty," Trent advised. "Your job from this day forward will be
to please me. If you can't dedicate yourself to working for me, obeying my
every word, then I have no use for you. If you fuck up, I will punish
you. Severely. That's a fact. But you like being punished don't you?"

Sal's stunned silence spoke volumes.

"That's what I thought," Trent gloated. "I'll be totally up front. If you
choose to be my slave, you WILL be punished whether you fuck up or not. I'm
gonna enjoy punishing you, do you wanna know why?"

"Why, Sir?"

Calling this man SIR came so easily.

"Because you're white! I love making whiteboys suffer. I can't help it. I
love hearing a whiteboy beg for mercy. I don't expect you to
understand. Tell me again what you want!"

"I want to be your slave, Sir."

"Aiiight," said Trent. "Let's get you free."

He untied the laces binding Sal's wrists and ankles. Sal rolled onto his
back. His little cock stood erect, quivering.

"Look at you," Trent chuckled. "I'm gonna have to get you a jockstrap or
I'm gonna start laughing every time I see your little dick! That's a damn
shame! Have you ever fucked a girl?"

Sal shook his head from side to side in shame, but his prick did not lose
its stiffness.

"I didn't think so!" Trent laughed some more. "I'm gonna call you Little
Man. Yeah, that's your new name! Little Man! You like that ?"

"Yes, Sir," said Little Man.

Little by little, pieces of the guido's former identity were being crushed
out of existence.

"Before we go," said Trent, "I want you to get on your knees!"

Obediently, Little Man dropped to the floor. His eyes were on the same
level as Trent's bulging crotch.

"Unfasten my pants!" said Trent. His eyes blazed.

Out tumbled Trent's long, thick, flaccid cock, dangling in Little Man's
face.

"Suck it!"

Little Man did not need to be told. In an instant, he wrapped his lips
around the huge purple knob and commenced to suckle.

Like a baby with a pacifier, Little Man lavished the dickhead with
attention. The black cock began to throb as blood pumped into the spongy
tissue, doubling the length and girth.

It grew so large that Little Man's jaws were forced to the utmost. His
throat tightened.

"I said SUCK IT!"

Trent held the whiteboy's head, and thrust, driving his massive pole down
that gullet like a battering ram.

`CHOKE ON IT BITCH!" Trent boomed, loud enough for anyone in the hall to
hear.

Little Man managed to keep from gagging, but it was more than he could
handle. Trent's cock was bigger than Tony's or Mario's.  Harder too. And it
tasted different, smelled different, a rich and savory flavor he could not
get enough of.

Trent pulled out and shoved his dick back into the cocksucker's mouth. In
and out he worked his cock, fucking Little Man's face.

"You're gonna be a good slave, I can tell," Trent smirked. "You were made
for sucking dick!"

Without skipping a thrust, Trent drew an object from his back pocket and
buckled it around the guido's neck. It was a black leather dog collar with
a stainless steel ring.

Little Man was collared like an animal while a big cock used his mouth like
a cunt. He heard a voice like thunder, like the voice of God: "I own you,
bitch!!!"

In that moment of perfect bliss, the guido felt a spark kindle his tiny
testicles, a spasm of pleasure that exploded with spurts of milky semen.

At the same time, hot sperm gushed into his mouth, spilling past his lips,
trickling down his chin like foam.

"I think you're gonna work out just fine," said Trent, zipping up. "But you
made a mess on the floor. Better clean that up."

Little Man looked up, his brow wrinkling.

"With your tongue!" the black man barked. "Lick it up!"

Little Man's jellied cum tasted like acrid bleach. Nothing like his
master's cum which went down like honey and licorice and gravy and
molasses.

Trent tossed the naked youth a pair of pants and a tee-shirt, his stolen
clothes, and ordered him to get dressed.

The collar was around the guido's neck as he walked barefoot behind his new
master through the lobby of the YMCA, down the broad steps to a waiting
taxi.

The driver was an older black gentleman who leered through his spectacles
when he saw Little Man climb into the back seat.

"Thanks for waiting, Jimmy," said Trent, sitting up front.

"No problem," said the driver. "Looks like you found yourself a prime
bitch!"

"We'll see."

"Too bad about the last one."

"I know, right!"

"You sure do go through a lot of fags, Trent. Ever think you might be too
hard on them?"

"I'm looking for the right one."

"Say, Trent... You think maybe I can ..."

"Oh, hell, yahhh. Stop by anytime. I ain't fucked the bitch yet, so you
might have to wait on that, but he can sure as hell smoke a dick! Natural
born cocksucker!"

"That's what I'm talkin' about!"

"Yahh, anytime you want, Jimmy!"

Their dialogue went on as if Little Man was not present, as if he did not
exist. Like a tool his Master set aside, of no use for the time
being. Insignificant, despite being the topic of conversation.

The cab pulled up to a large, dark house with a front porch on a cul-de-sac
in a rundown part of town. It was starting to rain.

"Welcome to your new home," said Trent.

Little Man looked around. The wallpaper was old and faded, the carpet
worn. It smelled of incense.

Trent took Little Man through the kitchen, and explained how the stove
worked and where pots and pans were kept, before taking him to the dimly
lit basement.

In one corner was a soiled mattress next to a toilet and a shower stall. An
iron ring was set in the concrete wall, attached to a long, heavy chain.

"This is where you will sleep. Now, strip!"

A moment later the whiteboy whose name used to be Sal was naked. From that
day forward, Little Man never wore clothes again. His fate was sealed. He
was a black man's slave!



THE END



Author's Note: This story was inspired by a true event.  Many years ago at
the YMCA where I worked out, there was a cocky young guido no one liked.
One day his street clothes got stolen from his locker while he was taking a
shower.  He found most of his gear in a trash can, but never came back to
the YMCA. No one owned up to snatching his shit, but I had a hunch he must
have pissed off some brothers who got sick of his attitude.

If this story got your dick hard, you might like my Tumblr blog:
http://blackdominion.tumblr.com/



SKORPIO