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From: "Dream Spinner" <authorsix@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} ST: "Aaron: Batty Bwoy Sex on the Down Low 3/4" (celeb, interracial, m/t,t/t,nc)
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Date: Mon, 14 Aug 2006 10:10:01 -0400
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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.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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