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From: Joe Ewing <joeewing45REMOVE@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} ST: More Than I Bargained For (MMM/b,MM,M/t,racial,pedo,oral,anal)
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Date: Mon, 23 Jul 2007 01:10:02 -0400
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===================

MORE THAN I BARGAINED FOR

By JoeKid
(MMM/b, MM, M/t, extreme pedo, oral, anal, incest)
Copyright 2007.  All rights reserved.
Okay, what follows right below is a blatant steal from DannyR and his
Incest Tales and Another Mike the Soccer Coach stories:

Author's Reminder:  Don't forget that inquiring authors want to know
-- what did you think?  So when you're done, put your fingers to a
dried-off, cleaned-up keyboard and start by typing:
joeewing45@yahoo.com.

DISCLAIMER:  Some folks apparently have trouble distinguishing between
fantasy and reality.  This story is a fantasy.  It didn't happen.
Never will.  And anyone who attempts to do in real life all or any of
the things depicted in the story needs to be hanged, then drawn and
quartered, and then turned over to the cops for the harshest penalties
the law allows.  Now that we're clear on what's what, and what's not,
read on.


MORE THAN I BARGAINED FOR


I'm lazy.  I admit it.  Glory in it at times.

Three weeks ago I bought this huge old house with the huge, like "holy
shit, Batboy, look at the fuckin' size of this" back yard.  And way
off in the corner, where the 8-foot south brick wall intersects with
the hedge on the west that acts as a property line divider, there's
this old-fashioned gazebo.  I hadn't really looked at it before today.
Saw it off in the distance when I was on the back porch...damned
veranda actually...and glanced at the pics in the brochure.  Bought
the place the same day.  For cash.  Shocked the shit out of the real
estate agent when I wrote the check.  The poor bitch was almost peeing
in her panties over all that nice, lovely, freshly-laundered money.
Not that she had any idea about that last adjective.

I'm in the dry cleaning business, you see.  You probably didn't know
that dry cleaning has gone global these days.  And I'm the best there
is.  People from all over the world send me their huddled masses of
cash yearning to be clean, and I give my clients what they ask for.
For a price.  A hefty price.  But given the volume of repeat business,
whether it's an abso-fucking-lutely amazing number of Republicans
either in the current administration or associated with them (does "in
bed together" ring a bell?), or the Russian mob (the real fucking
Russian mob, not the "lite" variety in the States), to anonymous
clients in the Middle East, well, so are they all, all anonymous men,
let's just say that as a workman I'm damned worthy of my hire.

I suppose if I only did this occasionally, my percentage would have to
be higher.  Or maybe use a sliding scale depending on the amount.  As
it is, though, a flat rate for all clients is greatly appreciated by
each of them, as is my reliability and trustworthiness.  Yes, even in
this business there is trust.  There has to be, when you are turning
over to a cleaner millions of the marks, yen, bucks or pounds that
make the underworld go 'round.

My clients trust me to do the job I'm well-paid for.  They also trust
me to be reasonable when I skim a little off the top.  I doubt that
one unreasonable skim would cause me problems, provided I groveled
acceptably to the client (a task for which I have no talent, and
therefore little interest to engage in) and returned not only the
amount by which the skim was made unreasonable, but all of the skim,
and a goodly percentage of my fee.  A second unreasonable skim would
undoubtedly result in my very painful, possibly public, demise.  A
warning heard 'round the world, as it were.

While my business necessitates being very well protected, no one is so
well-protected that he cannot eventually be reached.  To make it more
difficult to reach me, only a few people have actually met me in
person.  The rest of my clients communicate through electronic
communications so expertly and thoroughly scrambled I suspect Homeland
Security, the Mossad, MI-6-8-10-whatever-the-fuck, or plenty of other
alphabet agencies, would kill to get their hands on the software and
hardware.  Except they don't have any idea it exists.  For obvious
reasons, professional privacy is absolutely necessary.

For my own sanity, personal privacy is as well.

Thus, the new house.  As I said, old, huge.  Yet curiously modern. The
brick wall at the end of the yard, hell, it's more like the "south
forty" than a yard, was fitted with sensors, cameras, etc., as part of
a sophisticated security system well beyond most systems installed in
private homes in this country.  So much so that it had only taken a
week to upgrade the system to meet my standards. There was a similar
wall on the east side of the property, past the carriage house, tennis
court, swimming pool and formal garden.  And another on the
north/front of the house.  The only place there wasn't a wall was the
west.  Instead, that was occupied by a thick, tall as the brick walls,
well, fucking hedge, I guess.  A couple of feet thick, too.  It was
wired into the system, as well, and it must have taken years, hell,
decades to grow.  But still, I'd feel a hell of a lot better with a
wall there, even though the only thing on the other side of it was the
back yards of four much smaller houses.  So it was going to have to
come down.

Just not until I'd finished watering it.

I mean, why bother going all the way back to the house to piss when
there's this big hedge available, and it's not like an occasional piss
or three is going to kill the damned thing.

I had my head tilted back, eyes shut, enjoying the feel of the
slightly cool for mid-June air, the warmth of the late afternoon sun,
the sound of a long steady stream splashing on the leaves and the
ground, as I pointed my dick away from my body with my left hand and
finished off the current long-necked, ice-cold Bud.  Two at lunch, one
while I was looking over my new domain, master of all I surveyed and
all that jazz, the third and part of the fourth while I started
looking at some special porn on my laptop in the gazebo, and the last
during the piss.

The "wow!" to my right surprised me.  Made me freeze for a moment.
Even wondered for a split second before the actual word and tone sank
into my consciousness, just who I'd pissed off, how they'd found me,
how they'd gotten to me, and what the fuck was my
get-your-fucking-asses-out-here-and-protect-me gadget doing sitting
next to the laptop.

The voice had said, "Wow."

Couldn't be Thomas or Diego, the two bodyguards currently on duty,
since (a) they were up in the fucking house and (b) they'd seen my
dick before so there was nothing "wow" about it to them and (c)
neither of their voices were that soft, that high-pitched.

So I looked.

To my right, and down.  Then down again.

It was a boy.  No more than six, probably younger.  Bright-eyed,
wide-eyed, curly-haired, with a big toothy grin on his face.

A little boy wearing nothing except thin shorts that didn't hide his
little hardon.

A little nigger boy.

Oh.  Perhaps you weren't aware.

I'm white, forty-five, and a Southern white trash redneck born and
bred racist.

Oh, yes.  And I'm a pedophile, too.

And there is nothing I like more than breeding nigger kid cunt.  Girl
cunt if I have to, but my preferred cunt is young boy. Very young boy
cunt.  I wondered if the kid had a baby brother.

I smiled at him.  A good smile.  A friendly smile.  A sheep smile to
hide the lean and hungry look behind.  I think too much and I am
dangerous.  But he doesn't know that.  Not now.  Not yet.  But he
will.

"What's your name?" I asked as I tucked my dick back into my shorts
before it got all the way hard.

As my cock disappeared from sight, his big smile went away, and he
looked a little sad.  "Tyrone," he said, his voice sounding as sad as
his face looked.

"You know you're on my property, don't you?"

"Yessir."  He made it all one word, and oh how I love respectful young
niggers.

"And little boys who trespass get punished, don't they?"

His head went down and his "yessir" was even softer.

I squatted down in front of him, set the bottle in the grass, tilted
his head up with my forefinger under his chin.  But before we got to
the punishment, the idea of which was getting my dick hard, I had to
know how he got in without setting off the alarms.  Because if he
could do it, someone else could.  Because fuck, it's not exactly as if
this half-naked nigger kid walked up to my front door, rang the bell,
and asked to come visit me out back.  "How'd you get into my back
yard?"

"There."  He twisted his plump little body and pointed farther north
on the hedge.

"Show me."  I got up, followed him five or ten steps, and then he
showed me.

Shit!  You know, if it looks like a duck, it's supposed to quack like
a duck and be a fucking duck.  So if it looks like a goddamned fucking
hedge it's supposed to be a goddamned fucking hedge.  Except it
wasn't.  There was a goddamned motherfucking hole in my goddamn hedge.
A square fucking hole.  Tunnel.  Whatever the fuck.  Not a kid-sized
hole, either.  An adult could get through this.  Perfectly disguised
so unless you knew it was there, you wouldn't know it was fucking
there.  Presumably, hopefully, equally well disguised at the other
end.  And obviously, two-by-four between the eyes obviously, not
fucking wired into the fucking security system.

Fuck!

What else didn't I know about this property that would make me
vulnerable?

But I shoved that thought aside.  Smiled at the kid again, though I
have to admit it was probably a bit frayed around the edges.  Hunkered
down beside him again.  "So, what's over there?" I asked, tilting my
head toward the far end of the tunnel.

"Our house."

"Who lives there?"

"Me 'n my daddy 'n my brothers."

"And you all just come through that hole whenever you feel like it?
Without asking?"

Now that question was definitely more than a little edged.  Tyrone
kind of winced and just nodded.  Then said, "Mr. Chen said it was
okay."

"Mr. who?  Oh.  The guy who used to own this place."  I made it sound
as if I had no idea, or not much of an idea, who he was.  The reality
was that Mr. Chen was a retired Chinese diplomat, with many useful
contacts in Beijing and elsewhere, and we knew each other quite well
in a professional sense, though oddly enough we had never met in
person.  He was aware I was looking to upscale my living arrangements,
and we had in fact been negotiating for the purchase of this house
when he suddenly died.  No radioactive poison pellet.  Merely age and
a heart attack.

"Uh huh."  His head bobbed up and down eagerly.  I wondered if he'd
bob that eagerly on my dick.  

"Well, you didn't ask me first, did you?"

"Nosir."

"So you still need to be punished, don't you?"

A little sigh.  "Yessir."

I told myself as I stood up and held out a hand, which he promptly
took, that messing with the boy next door was just plain stupid.  I
told myself as we walked to the gazebo that it didn't matter that his
little boy tits were plump and pointy and that he'd probably squeal if
I twisted them.  I told myself as we walked up the three steps and
through the door into the air conditioning...old Chen had definitely
built himself a modern gazebo as it came with a comfortable bed, a
desk with an internet connection, tables and chairs, a small
refrigerator, a minibar...getting some nigger boypussy after a long
dry spell would seriously endanger my privacy when his father had the
cops come break down my door.  Especially when I was so new to the
area I hadn't gotten around yet to buying any important cops.  I told
myself as I closed and locked the door behind us and walked over to
sit on the edge of the bed, to be sensible, to not shit where I ate,
to lightly swat his bottom so he couldn't complain of child abuse,
then scare him and send him home with a note to his daddy.

I wasn't all surprised that myself ignored every stern word I'd said
to him.

But first, my curiosity got the better of my hardening cock.  Hell, my
fucking stiff cock.  But only momentarily.  "So why did you come over
here?  You're a little young to be in the pool by yourself."

If a nigger that black could blush, he probably would have.  He shook
his nappy little head and then kind of peeped up at me.  I guess he
could tell I was waiting for an answer.  He said very softly, "Wanted
to see a white peepee."

Well, fuck.  I could do that for him.

Instead of just whipping it out, though, I asked him why he thought
he'd see one, or see mine, if he came over here.  Turns out that the
late Mr. Chen...whose fucking estate lawyers had to "approve" me as a
potential buyer before I even got to see the house and grounds...liked
to swim nude.  So he'd seen plenty of chink dick, I guess.  And nigger
dick at home.  I figured if he was wandering around naked and was used
to coming over here that way, he'd seen his brothers' dicks, maybe
even his daddy's.  Young nigger boy, hot nigger daddy.  Damn! but that
thought got me leaking.

One last fucking question for the kid...before getting down to, well,
the fucking.  Hot damn.  He was "almos' four."

I asked him if he was sure he wanted to see my dick.  He'd didn't look
puzzled by the word, so obviously he knew what it meant.  He nodded
and gave me a huge smile.  Christ, those teeth were blinding white
against that spade skin.  I stood up, unbuttoned my shorts, skimmed
them down so they dropped to my ankles, stepped out of them and stood
there with my cock straight out, hard and leaking.  His mouth dropped
open.

Not because of the size.  I'm a little more than average, but not all
that much.  An exact seven inches, uncut, just under five inches
around at the thickest, so that's about an inch and half or so wide. I
do have very large balls, hanging down in a sac that looks like
saddlebags, the way the skin drapes around the base of my dick.  "Like
what you see, boy?"

He nodded again.  Put his hand down between his legs, inside his
shorts, and played with himself.  Couldn't resist.  Leaned over,
pulled his shorts down to the ground while he got his tiny...hey,
damn, not so fucking tiny...dick hard.  Okay, enough Mr. Nice Guy
shit.

I sat back down on the edge of the bed, spread my legs wide, grabbed
his shoulders and pulled him to stand between them.  Put my hand down
to him, pushed his aside, and began playing with his hard little
boidick.  Used my left hand to grab his boy tit, tug on it a little,
feel it stiffen up, listen to a faint whimper from him.  Squeezed his
little package.  Hard.  Same time as I used my thumb and knuckle on
his tit.  He squealed and gasped, and tears filled his eyes.

"Do you love your daddy?"

He nodded frantically as if that would get my hands off him.  Didn't
work.  I just squeezed harder, he squealed louder, whining "please,
please" and I told him to speak up and asked him again.  His "yes" was
almost shouted.

So I told him if he told anyone about what we did I'd have his daddy
killed and it would all be his fault, and he and his brothers would go
to foster homes, separate fucking foster homes, where the people would
be mean to them and hurt them, and that would be his fault too,
getting his brothers hurt, if he ever told.  He'd been very articulate
up to that point, but he took a few language baby steps backward right
then, babbling and begging, "pease, pease, don't hurt, I do, I do."

So I rewarded him.  I eased up, turned the squeezing into fondling,
let him get his breath back.  "You gonna do what I tell you?
Everything I tell you?"

He started to nod, stopped, ran "yessir" together again.  A quick
learner.  Time to see what else he could learn quickly.

I put my hands on his shoulders.  Moved him forward.  Such soft skin.
I caressed his hairless body, tweaked his tits gently, making him
moan.  Ah, yes, a very trainable nigger slut boy.  Fondled his still
hard pricklet, tugged on his tiny balls. Made him lick and slobber all
over my fuck-you finger.  Reached behind him to squeeze a butt that in
a few years was going to be the proverbial two-basketballs butt,
prodded his tight little hole and rammed my finger in.  He shrieked
and tried to dance away, to lift himself off the invader, but I was
holding him tight.

He calmed down a little when I just held my finger there, and didn't
struggle too much when I started finger fucking his
soon-to-be-cock-fucked boipussy.  He was a little slick inside, more
than the spit on my finger, which meant it was going to be a little
bit messy.  Not my worry.  I wasn't the one who was going to be
cleaning fingers or anything else.

I pulled my finger out, shoved it in his mouth.  Guess he didn't like
the taste, but at least he wasn't stupid enough...or perhaps he was
too scared...to try to bite me.  We repeated the process with two
fingers, but I wasn't going any higher than that.  Getting virgin boy
cunt loosened up so you can actually get your dick in it is one thing,
making it so loose it was easy on the kid is too much of a fucking
another thing.

I picked him up, tossed him belly down on the soft bed, his legs
dangling over the edge.  Li had clearly had the bed built with boy
fucking in mind since it was the perfect height for an ordinary man to
kneel on the floor and have his dick line up with kiddy asshole.  Or
it just could be coincidence since I'd never met Li in person and
didn't really know what his sex kicks were.  But it was a nice fantasy
to think of the old chink getting his rocks off with the neighbor
niggers.

I spread his cheeks and looked at the tight, tight dark little
rosebud.  It was so beautiful I spit on it again.  Used my left hand
on his shoulders and some of my weight to hold him in place...he might
have a little trouble breathing with his face in the duvet, but that
could wait.  Used my right hand to line my cock up just right and then
shoved the head in so his pussy lips snapped tight around the shaft. I
guess he was squealing from the "mmph mmph mmph" I heard, but then I
realized that would just add to the flavor.

Ever had your dick, even your cock head, inside a virgin boy pussy?  A
virgin, very young boy pussy?  Or best of all, a virgin, very young
nigger boy pussy? Christ, you have no fucking idea what you're
missing.  There are only two better highs in the whole fucking
universe.  Getting your cock balls deep in the kid's cunt for the
first time.  And then raping his little hole until his
no-longer-virgin pussy gets a huge load of white man's cum.

There's no work of art that compares with the view looking down at
some flavor of brown boy butt-coffee with lots of cream, milk
chocolate, Nestlé's chocolate morsels for Tollhouse cookies, dark
chocolate bars fro Hershey's or Switzerland, or really special
chocolate from the Parisian chocolatiers which is what 70-80% cocoa
and so dark it's almost black- with a white man's dick in high
contrast, holding still or moving in and out of the little cunt.

This kid was Parisian chocolate, dark and pure.  Well, pure until he
got dicked by a white man.

The boy's voice was loud and shrill.  Apparently it hurts to have
white cock head rammed into your tight little boy's pussy.  Your
almos' four little pussy.  This time he was bright enough to turn his
head to the side...so he could keep breathing and screaming...as I
held his shoulders and pushed about six and a half inches in.  Leaving
an annoying half inch of white cock meat all alone and uncovered by
nigger boy cunt.  That half inch was lonely.  I eased back so another
inch or so could join it, then shoved hard and all fourteen
half-inches were deliriously happy.  They were in a hot, clutching,
moist very young nigger ass.

I let him scream a few more times and thrash around a bit as I started
more serious raping.  Then I clamped a hand around his mouth to cut
him off.  Not that I wasn't enjoying the screams and the pain and the
pleas, it was a fucking turn-on, enhancing my hardon tremendously
since I didn't get this kind of sex very often.  But I didn't want him
to lose his voice and draw even more attention to himself when I sent
him home.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen for a while yet.  If I'm buried
balls-deep in little boicunt, I'm a fucking Energizer bunny when I'm
fucking.  Except, well, this first fuck was going to be over soon.
Raping an almost four-year-old nigger boy, starting the process of
teaching him his place in life, when you haven't had this kind of pedo
sex in a long fucking time doesn't make for long first fucks. And it
wasn't.  Partially because of my being so goddamned turned on, but
partially the kid.  He actually had a dry cum and when he started
spasming and clenching his pussy walls around my dick I just exploded.

I pulled out and left him laying there, crying quietly now.  I guess
the threat to cut off his balls might have had something to do with
that.

I pulled a plastic bottle of water out of the refrigerator and took a
good long swig.  Then walked back with my hardon leading the way.  I
got on the bed again, grabbed a hunk of his nappy hair, raised his
head, and didn't bother with letting him struggle or defy me.  I told
him to open his mouth at the same time I squeezed his nose so he
couldn't breathe and when he gasped his mouth wide open I slid my cock
in.  The way he started struggling and spitting I guessed he didn't
like the taste on my dick any more than he had on my fingers.

Not my problem.  He's a nigger.  His only real place in life is to do
what whites, especially white men, wanted him to do.  And at the
moment that was to clean up my dick and get it wet again for his next
fuck.  Next rape, actually, since he definitely wasn't going to
understand his proper role just yet, which was to enjoy whatever sex
his master, permanent or temporary, such as the length of this rape,
for example, might choose to allow him.

The second time I reminded him of his promise to do everything I told
him. And of what would happen to his daddy and brothers if he didn't.
So this time I made him cooperate with his own rape.  Made him try out
various poses to entice me.  Told him how little value he had except
as a fuck toy for white men.  Made him suck and slobber on my cock,
even getting about three inches down his throat, and then berating him
for his unwillingness to do what his master wanted.  Made sure he
understood, at least as well as an almost-four,
first-time-raped-starting-on-the-second little nigger boy could, that
this time it was his fault he was being raped, because he'd flaunted
his little boy titties, his little boy hardon, his little boy pussy
until he got me so turned on I had no choice except to rape him.

As I said, even the quick high of an over-too-fast virgin rape is the
best.  A long, leisurely second rape using his nigger cunt in a
variety of positions before filling him with white man's spooge was
nearly as good.  He still begged, though not as much, and interspersed
with all that were three cums.  I held off though, relentlessly,
ruthlessly fucking him for nearly an hour before cumming.

He was exhausted, tears gone, body limp, his cunt almost loose it had
so much cum in it.  I had a beer while I contemplated what next, and
decided to just stick with the basics.  Garden variety virgin nigger
boy rape.  Dick in holes and nothing more.

I occasionally enjoy sloppy seconds, because usually the kid cunt,
teen cunt, man cunt you're sliding into is still reasonably tight and
you can feel more cunt flesh than lube and cum around your cock.
Sloppy thirds or fourths were to be avoided.  Even with fresh-fucked
boy cunt, most of the time the first two or three loads of cum leave
so much slime in his pussy it's too easy, too loose, like a whore's
pussy that's almost worn out from over-use.

I caressed his nappy head.  Gently woke him up.  Cradled his head in
my hands.  Gently, lovingly told him to "Wake the fuck up, nigger slut
boy!"  Decided those overly plump lips were too enticing.  I held him
in place and skull-fucked him until he was swallowing most of my dick.
But when I knew I was about to cum, I pulled out, forced him belly
down on the bed, crawled onto him and fucked the shit and my cum out
of him until I came a third time in his hole.

At 45, I figure the third time is a pretty damned good fucking charm.
So I cleaned him up, washed his face and hands, got his clothes back
on, and took him to the not quite secret tunnel into my property, and
told him I'd really hurt his daddy before his daddy finally died if he
said anything.  Dry-eyed, he just said "Yassuh."  Fuck, I don't think
he even knew what he was doing, but it was damn good to hear out of
lips that were swollen not with kisses but with white man cock going
in and out of his mouth cunt.  I hoped his family didn't recognize a
freshly-skull-fucked little boy's face.

I went back to the house to work, occasionally running my fingers
through my sticky, messy pubes, lifting my fingers to enjoy the smells
of raping the neighbor boy.  Christ, the neighbor nigger boy.  Fixed
myself a steak and a salad later, had a glass of wine, and headed to
bed.  Eager for noon tomorrow.

The next morning I woke with a nice hardon, and the memory of hot,
tight boipussy wrapped around it.  I was planning on a little jackoff,
but no cumming, before getting up, logging in and dealing with the
three million arriving from Moscow.  There were some tricky aspects to
cleaning this particular batch, of course not nearly the problems
associated with currency and the Middle East, but still I wanted to
get a good start on the first stage stain removal processes.  I'd told
Tyrone to come back at noon so I could fuck his tight little cunt
again.  He was too scared not to agree, and I'm sure he'll be here.

I'd just worked up a good stroke, and was thinking about changing my
mind about the not-cumming bit, when Diego interrupted me.  Not in
person, although God knows he's seen me in action before, solo
and...not so solo...since if you're too far away from the body you're
guarding you're liable to be guarding a dead body.  The intercom.
Telling me I had visitors.  I glanced at the clock.  Eight a.m. on
Saturday morning?

I started to tell him to tell whoever it was to politely fuck off I
wasn't in the mood, but he continued speaking.  "A Maurice Benton, Mr.
Randall.  He apologizes for not calling ahead and for the early hour,
but a quite urgent matter has arisen, he says, which requires your
immediate attention."

Ah.  Mr. Benton was standing right there, so Diego must have been
close to the front gate when the man arrived, so this was an in person
request, rather than an electronic one.  While Diego looks precisely
like the Latino thug he in actuality is, he was trainable, had been
trained, and could now say things like "a quite urgent matter" with
flawless diction that shocked the shit out of people the first time he
did it to them.  I firmly believe in rarely living down to someone's
expectations, and then only when necessary to achieve what I wanted.
Diego started to say something more but it was my turn to cut him off.
I told him to let Mr. Benton know I would be available in ten minutes
(as if I wasn't aware Mr. Benton was standing nearby); to let him
through the gates, and to call Thomas to let him in.

Thomas is my nigger bodyguard.  Oh, yes, I'm a racist, but I'm not a
stupid racist.  Thomas is roughly the size of my Escalade, with
muscles that make him seem as armored as a tank, is deadly with just
about anything, including the obvious things like guns and knives, is
fluent in four languages besides nigger-speak from the ghetto he grew
up in, was an experienced and highly-paid mercenary before he
"retired" into my employment, and is both an incredibly good fuck and
an incredibly good player.  I've never been quite certain whether the
"yes, massa" when I use him is because he really does know that he's
merely a nigger whose place in life is to be used by whites, or
whether it's merely a role he plays for the fun of it, for the money,
for the sex.

I took a quick piss and shit, splashed some water on my face, did Mr.
Benton the courtesy of using mouthwash, didn't bother with deodorant
(I sniffed, I wasn't that ripe...yet), pulled on a pair of jeans
(commando), a black tee, and headed barefoot down the steps to the
library where Thomas would have placed him.  I could have done more to
conform to my usual image of wealthy, powerful businessman...fuck, how
many local accountants have a team of bodyguards for 24/7/365 coverage
and own a place like this...but I was still pissed at Mr. Benton.  Not
so much for the Saturday morning intrusion sans invitation, but he was
the lawyer for the Chen estate who had been so fucking difficult about
getting in to see the property in the first place.  So as far as my
attire and possible ripeness from the kiddy cunt fucking I'd done
yesterday, fuck Mr. Benton if he can't take a joke.

As I reached the door Thomas started to say something but I waved him
to silence, opened the door and stepped in.

I got to see if I could take a joke.

Diego had probably tried to tell me.  Thomas certainly had.  So I had
no one to blame except myself.

It was, indeed, Mr. Benton standing there by the end of the sofa.  The
very black, nigger Mr. Benton, though I'd not known about the nigger
part until just now, who was one of five partners who ran a very large
firm in the city.  A pretty damned powerful and well-connected law
firm, connected at every fucking level of society.  And I was sure
that included the levels down below in which I so very often worked.
He introduced himself.  He had no reason to lie, and in any event I
recognized his voice.

He also introduced the four boys on the sofa, each as well dressed as
their father in suits and ties, which somehow did not seem incongruous
despite the day.  Left to right by age and height:  Jamal (14),
DeShawn (9), Darnell (6) and of course the joke of the day on
me...Tyrone (almos' four).

The Benton family.  My neighbors over (or under) the hedge.

Accompanied by children or not, I knew Diego wouldn't have let him
past the gates if he'd been armed.  Thomas would have quietly checked,
too, from his anything goes, "give me a stale Twinkie and I'll kill
the guy for you," perspective.  Mr. Benton wasn't visibly raging.
Thomas was just sitting quietly, head down, a little solemn, hell, all
five of them were solemn, but still....  Okay, so maybe I could get
through this without pressing the panic button for Thomas and Diego.
Who would of course howl with laughter at the idea of protecting me
from a father and four young sons.

There was a moment of slightly awkward silence.  I am not a renowned
conversationalist...renowned cleaner, yes, polite social chit-chat,
no.  Perhaps some food...a fancy etiquette type thing to do.  I only
got the "May I" out before Mr. Benton interrupted me.

"Did you rape Tyrone yesterday, Mr. Randall?"

I am rarely flustered.  I don't have a fucking idea when the last time
was, it was so long ago.  Perhaps the first time my father fucked me,
when I was five.  Perhaps when I was fourteen, just like Jamal
there...although of course I was and am white and he's a nigger...and
I first fucked a boy cunt.  A three year old I was babysitting.
Perhaps the first time I killed a man.

The silence, even though it was only seconds long, was itself an
admission.  A truly innocent man would have howled in outrage at the
charge, a nanosecond after the last word was spoken.  I guessed Tyrone
wasn't too scared after all.  He probably told a brother, who told the
oldest, who told their father.

I was well and truly fucked.

But the silence wasn't broken by me, it was broken by Tyrone, who well
and truly fucked me again.

"Honest, Mr. Randall, I didn't tell daddy.  I promised!"

"He actually didn't say anything, Mr. Randall.  At least not until
now. He's a very honorable little boy."  He glanced at me as he
caressed the nappy little head I'd so ruthlessly skull-fucked
yesterday.  Somehow I knew that "so are they all, all honorable little
boys" was going through his mind, too.  But aside from that fleeting
thought I was aware of how big that hand was.  Huge.  Which went with
the huge fucking rest of him.  

I spread my hands wide in a calming motion.  Backed up just a little.
Maybe I could get to the door ahead of him, despite his being ten
years younger, twenty years fitter, a head or more taller.  And my
fucking panic button nowhere around.  Fucking again.

"It's really a very simple question, Mr. Randall.  We both already
know the answer.  He was acting a little odd last night, walking a
little strange.  So when I gave him his bath I checked him.  His hole
was bruised and swollen.  There was semen still inside and his pants
were wet with it.  I knew he had been over here and nowhere else.  I
knew none of my other sons could have done that to him.  None of their
dicks are big enough.  Q.E.D., Mr. Randall."  

His voice became, well, not edged with granite, solid granite.  And
began getting steadily louder, harsher.  "Did he try to get away from
you?  Did he cry?  Did he beg you not to hurt him?  Did he struggle
and scream when you shoved your dick balls-deep inside this tiny
little boy body?  Answer me, Mr. Randall.  Just answer the
god...damned...fucking...question!"

"Yes."

It was indeed my day for getting interrupted.  And flustered.  I'd
known I was going to have to answer him.  I was prepared with the "but
he enjoyed getting dicked" line.  I was prepared with money.  No
matter how good he was, this lawyer didn't have my financial
resources, and he had to be used to negotiating settlements.

His soft, "Thank you, massa," along with the change from the posture
of a hard-assed Harvard lawyer going for the kill at trial, to that of
a submissive nigger slave, nearly blew away what was left of my
fucking mind.

I somehow managed to keep a straight face.  To show no surprise.

"I'se s'posed to give you this, massa."  He pulled a thick envelope
out of his inside pocket, handed it to me, head bowed.  My name was on
it in an elegant script I recognized.  Chen's.  Occasionally we
communicated the old-fashioned way.  In writing, but never about
business, of course.

I looked at that bowed head.  Nigger-speak...plantation
nigger-speak...with a vengeance.  I looked over at the boys as I
started to open the envelope.  Christ.  All four of them were playing
with themselves.  The oldest, Jamal, had unzipped and had his hands
inside his slacks, jacking what I could see would be an impressive
piece of teen nigger meat once it was out.  But first I had to find
out what the fuck was going on.  I ignored my own new-sprung hardon,
which would be clearly visible given the age and tightness of the
jeans, and began reading.

"My dear Jonathan,

"As the cliché goes, if you are reading this I must be dead.  I truly
expected to have longer, to complete our 'negotiations' over the house
I am sure you now both own and occupy.  Time to surprise you with the
deed to the property as a gift, returning your payment.  It would have
been cash, wouldn't it?  Time to surprise you with my second gift. One
that I think you will find more appealing than something as tangible
as land or cash.

"If you are reading this, and Maurice has followed his instructions,
as I have every expectation he will have, you have now met your five
niggers.

"Yes, Jonathan, your niggers.  You see, I am well aware of your
predilections, have known of them for years.  They are, my boy, the
same as my own.  But once I knew with reasonable certainty from my
doctors...although not quite so much certainty as all that, however,
if you are reading this...I knew I had to make arrangements to
properly dispose of everything I own.  Which included my niggers.

"I bought Maurice when he was fifteen.  Quite beautiful, especially
those very thick nigger lips that look so well when they are being
used to suck cock.  His first 'massa,' a white man whose name you will
undoubtedly recognize if you trouble to inquire, had fallen on
financial hard times.  Actually, to be honest, and when you are dying
I suppose you must be, he didn't so much fall on hard times as he was
pushed.  By me.  I ruined him with a great deal of malice
aforethought.  A variety of sound reasons, both economic and highly
personal, that you would certainly appreciate, but which are
irrelevant at the moment.

"I saw a great deal of potential in Maurice, both as a nigger and as a
tool.  I owned an eight-year-old nigger girl, quite beautiful, with
good genes, and I wanted to breed her to another high-quality nigger.
Enter Maurice.  He was reluctant to fuck her at first.  He had been
used so often and so well by his previous owner and his previous
owner's friends and acquaintances, and passers-by on the street to
whom he was loaned, that he had little interest in females.  But a
judicious use of the whip on his back and buttocks...he still car-ries
some scars, which he will proudly show you when you wish...a large
dildo in his cunt, and a promise that if he got hard he'd get the
education he'd always wanted, if he didn't I'd sell him to a brothel
in the Middle East, worked wonders on his erectile dysfunction.  No
need for pills at all.

"He fucked her long and hard the day he took her cherry.  He wasn't
full-dicked yet, but it was large enough for her to scream and scream
again when he did as he was told, like good nigger boys should, and
rammed it home all at once.  Twice more that day, the last with only
modest encouragement from the whip.  Of course, as she grew up, I
allowed others to use her.  She had to earn her keep, after all.  But
only with condoms, and only with dicks no larger than Maurice's at the
time.

"I realize the stories about the general size of nigger meat are
supposed to be unscientific and merely anecdotal, but they are
definitely true with Maurice.  Nine inches, my dear boy, nearly three
inches in diameter, over nine around.  Unfortunately, she did not
reach puberty as early as I had hoped.  She was thirteen, and Maurice
was twenty-one and starting Harvard Law after having graduated from
Harvard with honors, when he bred her.  Jamal is the happy result.

"My very own nigger buck to put out to stud.  My very own baby nigger
boy to use.  Of course Maurice was not allowed to touch him, at least
not sexually, although Jamal lived with him in the same condo I
purchased for Maurice when he graduated from high school.  However, as
a special treat, I did allow Jamal to suck his daddy off the day
DeShawn was born.  Gratitude for Maurice breeding true and producing
another little boy for me.  When Darnell was born, I felt my young
buck deserved a greater reward...besides the shares of stock in the
principal business you own, Jonathan, which everyone else believed to
be because of the twelve-million dollar verdict he'd recently won.

"Maurice was very gratified when I allowed Jamal to fist fuck his
daddy, over and over again until his daddy came buckets, as the saying
goes.  A truism for Maurice, and a treat to lick up for Jamal and
DeShawn.  When little Tyrone was born, Jamal was ten, and I had some
big-dicked men who wanted some boy-cunt to seal a deal, and I knew
they would be rough.  So I let Maurice...ordered him to,
actually...rape his own ten year old boy.  While I watched.  And
jacked as the boy screamed and writhed and eventually, surprisingly
fast, began to beg his daddy to fuck him harder.  When the second fuck
was over I had Maurice sit on his boy's face, while he pulled Jamal's
hips up in the air, spread his legs almost into a split, and I jacked
off into the gaping raw hole left by the daddy rapes.

"Tyrone?  Well, I always intended him as a gift for you.  So I kept
him virgin, although he was allowed to watch when I used his brothers,
or on occasion, his father.

"Perhaps not so much a gift, though, dear boy, as a treasure you
earned.  We have had little contact these last few years, and my plan
had been to present Tyrone to you on his fourth birthday.  Although a
nigger who knows his place when he is with me, Maurice is, as you know
now, or at least have guessed,  quite powerful outside of that
context.  He knew I owned his soul.  Owned his body, too, as I branded
him on his 18th birthday.  By the way, that is a tradition I know
Jamal, at least, is hoping you will continue.  He may even try to
persuade you he should be branded sooner.  He does love pain.

"Maurice would have gone with whoever I gave him to, or sold him to,
with or without the boys.  Just as they would have obeyed.  All of
them fully understand they live only to be used and to serve in any
way they are told to serve.  But they only knew of you, and though
they knew my plans, Maurice had my permission, if I died before I gave
you your niggers, to devise a test involving Tyrone.  To find out what
kind of master you would be.  Whether you could treat your niggers as
they should be treated.  If you are reading this, you have passed the
test.  I hope, my dear Jonathan, that you raped Tyrone and raped him
well.  Seducing him into giving up his cunt would have been
acceptable, but I counted on you to do the right thing.

"And the mere fact you are reading this, if indeed you are, as how the
fuck would I know at that point, then that means Maurice has made his
decision.  He did not know until I was dead and received his own
letter, that I gave him the right to decide whether to submit himself
and his boys to you, after the test.  If he decided against you, he
had to pick one of two other masters.  Both of whom knew of the
possibility as they had both used Maurice and the older boys more than
once, so he couldn't just ignore my wishes.  Not that he would.
Maurice is a very, very good nigger.  Just as he will be a very, very
good lawyer for you.

"And last...are you grateful, my friend, that this epistle of epic
proportions is nearly  at an end...it is not fair in light of our long
friendship to burden you with the costs associated with the care and
feeding of five new niggers.  I hope the fifty million dollars which
accompanies them will help ease that burden.  Sixty if Tyrone was well
and truly raped.

"Chen Li."

I stopped reading and couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry or do
both.  I did neither.  I looked at Maurice.  "Fifty or sixty, nigger?"

"Sixty, sir."

This time I did laugh.  My niggers knew better than to laugh with me,
but I could see the smiles they were hiding with varying degrees of
success.  Or no success at all in Tyrone's case.  I looked at them,
then, and said coldly, "Niggers don't wear clothes in my home.  If I
want to fuck one of your holes, or whip one of you just for the
pleasure of doing so-" I looked pointedly at Jamal whose head had
jerked up from focusing on getting his pants off at those words-"I
don't want to waste time getting to skin.  And I don't fucking care if
there's six inches of snow on the ground when I tell you to go out and
get the paper, or a tornado heading directly for the wall, you'll do
it all naked.  Now line the fuck up."

They did.  The boys in front of the sofa.  Their daddy towering over
little Tyrone.  And like good niggers, all their dicks were hard.
Their heads were bowed, their hands were clasped behind them.  Even
little Tyrone was making a good attempt at a nigger civilian version
of parade rest.

I inspected the essentials first.  Cocks and balls and tits.  Maurice
was just as the letter had said, thickly veined and uncut.  All the
boys were uncut, too.  I liked that in a nigger.  Good masters enjoy
their niggers' dicks in a variety of ways.  One of my ways was
sucking.  I've always preferred dark meat...in everything.  I took as
much of Maurice's dick as I could...I was going to enjoy having that
around to practice my deep throating techniques on...and twisted his
tits while I did.  Like a well-trained nigger his only reaction was a
slight whimper although I could tell from his body that his tits were
wired into his dick.  The little spurt of precum was a clue.

Tyrone was next.  I picked him up and balanced him on the wide arm of
the sofa...so wide it almost seemed as if it had been intended for
young boys to stand on while they get their tiny balls licked and
their dicklets sucked.  Tyrone certainly enjoyed it.

Darnell scrambled up there when I told him to, after I put Tyrone down
again.  Grinning broadly when I played with his surprisingly-large-for
six cock, and whimpering, too, when I twisted both his tits.  Maurice
bred true in multiple ways.

DeShawn was somewhat different from his brothers and his father.  Oh,
the big dick had bred true even though he was just nine.  Working his
tits made his dick twitch, too.  He was as strongly built as everyone
else, but gave an impression of softness.  As if, given half a chance,
he'd become a screaming queen.  Not on my watch.  A soft, effeminate
boy, teen, man, almost girlish, but always both a man and a
lady...yes, that would work.

I told Jamal to stay where he was and keep his hands behind his back.
I didn't have to measure to know that his dick was already bigger and
fatter than mine.  But that doesn't matter does it, since it's just
nigger meat, easily replaced, while mine is white cock, a master's
dick.  I hefted his nigger prick in my hand, stroked it, used my left
to squeeze his balls.  Leaned forward since he was only an inch or so
shorter than me, began tongue fucking his mouth.  Just my mouth on
his; nothing else touching except when his dick twitched and the head
rubbed my belly.  I began giving his tits a work over...a thorough,
rough, almost vicious work over...twisting, pulling, caressing,
squeezing.  Nothing but tongue fucking and tit work until he began
whimpering into my mouth louder and louder, panting, writhing while
desperately trying to stay still, until at last he jerked his head
back, looked at me with eyes almost blind with lust.  Begged me.
"Please, massa, please, massa, fuck yo nigga' boy's teen pussy, hurt
him, fuck him, let him suck your white cock, use yo nigga boy."

I did as he asked.  I fucking hurt his right tit, and slapped his left
cheek.  Hard.  He gasped and started cumming.  I whirled him around,
forced him down so he was bent over, holding onto the back of the
couch, ripped my jeans open and crammed my dick in his hole.  He
whimpered again, said "Thank you, massa."

Little fucker was lubed.  Well trained, indeed.  Thank you, Li.

"You like your white master's dick in your nigger bitch ho pussy?"

"God yes, massa!"

"Better than an old chink cock, huh?"

"Yes, massa!"

I yanked my dick out of his cunt, leaving his gasping with surprise
and dismay.  I turned to bark an order but the sound would have been
wasted.  The other four were already in position, ready to have their
pussies inspected, or fucked, or whatever their master chose to do to
them.  I stripped.  Their cunts were well-lubed, too, as I learned
when I fucked three of them for a few strokes.  DeShawn was a good
cunt, taking me in her soft pussy not quite as easily as she wanted me
to believe.  Yes, "she" and "her."  I was already starting to think of
him as feminine.  Darnell grunted when I shoved in him and his
whimpers were more pain than anything else.  Tyrone...well, Tyrone
looked hurt (because I didn't try out his pussy) and relieved (because
I didn't try out his pussy).  Maurice was just what I expected.  A
thoroughly trained, well-used, talented nigger mancunt eager to please
its new massa.

But still, horny as I was...five nigger dicks, five nigger ass
pussies, five nigger mouth pussies...and only one white man.  I needed
help.  I knew where I could get it.  Or was fairly sure I could get
it.  And getting it would also answer a question I'd long wanted
answered.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, hardon leading the
way.  Thomas' dropped jaw appeared only in the almost-hidden
expression in his eyes.  "Call Diego.  Both of you strip and come in.
Now!"

I went back inside and played with my niggers.  It wasn't a long wait.
Boss.  Stiff. Strip.  Come in.  An easy equation to calculate.  After
all this time guarding me not only in business meetings but while I
was sexing other men, young men, little boys, they were going to get
in on the action.  I didn't know if either of them had ever fucked
with kids before, though they sure as fuck knew I did, but there was
always Maurice's cunt holes if they balked at boipussies.  

My bodyguards stopped just inside the door, which for some reason they
locked.  Neither one was completely hard, but they were clearly
heading in that direction, especially when they got a good look at me
with four fingers inside Jamal's teen ho cunt.  Asking them if they
saw anything they'd be interested in fucking got them all the way
hard.

Now to get my answer.  "These are not blacks, gentlemen.  They're
niggers, at least when they're in my home or under my direct
supervision.  I own them.  They're mine to use and abuse as I
choose...a farewell gift from Chen Li.  I thought I'd share this
morning.  But first, I have a question.  Two, actually."

Both of them nodded as if giving me permission to ask...anything to
hurry things along so they could get their dicks into nigger pussy.
"Thomas, would you be interested in a new job?  Well, actually, an
additional job with some perks."

"Sure, boss.  Doing what?"  He wasn't really paying attention.  I
think he was eyeing DeShawn's rump as he stroked his enormous meat.

"Being my head nigger."

That fucking got his attention.  Along with the attention of everyone
else in the room.  Diego was both shocked and bewildered.

Thomas was fucking furious.  In that moment, if any of my enemies had
come knocking on the door, Uzi or whatever in hand, Thomas would have
opened it, waved them in and pointed at me.  I'm sure Diego knew I was
having sex with Thomas.  Just like Thomas knew I sometimes had sex
with Diego.  But the games, the mind games, Thomas and I played had
been strictly secret.  Until now.  Until I "outed" Thomas.

I waited for my answer.  The answer to was he/wasn't he.  

If it was just a game, role playing because I wanted it, needed it,
then he'd laugh off his fury as a game, too.  Act embarrassed at
having it found out that he was pretending to be a subservient nigger
while having sex with his white boss.  Shrug it off, and end the
games.  Possibly end the bodyguard job, too.

If it was real, he'd answer as a good nigger should.

Turned out Thomas was a good nigger.  He glared at Diego one last
time, daring him to judge, to diss him, and then bowed his head to me
and said, "I'd like that, massa."

When it needs to, as it so often does in my line of work, my mind
works quickly and well.

"Good.  You're in charge of these niggers.  They'll be moving into the
house this weekend."

Lawyer Maurice's head snapped up at that.  Nigger Maurice backed off
and bowed his head at the expression on my face.

"I want the breeding program started again.  Maurice, did Li leave any
instructions about going on with putting you out to stud?"

"Yes, massa.  He had me find some high quality nigger bitches.  Some
we might have to kidnap, but with all of them, most of the women on
both sides of their families bear males.  All beautiful, intelligent,
talented in a variety of ways, or probably talented.  The youngest is
six.  The oldest is fifteen.  The next oldest is thirteen."

"Thomas, get the two oldest.  Bring them here, but only after you make
sure they'll have quarters they can't leave.  Oddly enough, I suspect
if we look around carefully, Chen Li will have thought of that
already.  Virgins, Maurice."

"So far as I know."

"One of you find out.  And even if they aren't it's okay, as long as
they're not pregnant.  After you get them settled in, we'll rape them.
I get their cherries so they know who's in charge.  First the older
one while the younger one watches.  We all wear condoms except
Maurice.  Then the younger one.  Thomas, you get to bareback her.
After that Maurice and Thomas will keep on barebacking their bitches
until we find out if either one is pregnant.  If neither gets pregnant
on the first round, Jamal joins in and you work out a schedule where
one of you fucks your ho at least once a day until it's time to change
fuckers.  I want to know who the father is when they do get pregnant.

"Diego, you want me to get the littlest bitch?  You can have her, fuck
her first, use her whenever you want.  On the other hand, you've got
six niggers here to use."

Thomas raised his head.  Looked at me.  "Six...massa?"

"You're a nigger, Thomas.  We all know it.  When you're on duty you'll
get every bit of respect and cooperation you've always had from
everyone, just like it's always been.  Just as if you were white. When
you're off duty, you're just one of my house niggers.  The head house
nigger, true, but that only makes you first among equals.  I fucking
own you.  If I choose to squat over your face and shit in your mouth,
I will.  If I choose to give my good Latino friend here the right to
use you if he wants to, then you'll gladly let him use you because you
know it's all you're really fucking good for.  Right, ho?"

The pause before he said, "Yes, massa," was just a nappy nigger hair
too long.

I guess there's always some rebellious attitude after a regime change.
And for Thomas this was a major regime change.  But I sure the fuck
wasn't going to tolerate the attitude.

"You like sucking white dick, don't you, Thomas?"  

"Yassuh."

"And having white dick in your nigger pussy, right?"

"Yassuh."

"You ever been pissed on, nigger?"

The "fuck no" was behind his eyes, the "no, suh" was all he said.

"Drunk piss?"

"No, suh."

"Would it humiliate you if people watched you being pissed on, made to
drink piss, maybe even had someone piss in your ass after fucking
you?"

Once again, the "oh god yes" was in his eyes.  The "yassuh" was what
he said.

"So let's start with two out of three.  You know, I think it would be
even more humiliating if some of the house niggers who answered to you
got to use you for a toilet.  You think so, Diego?"

"Damn right, boss.  I'd be fucking shamed if some goddamn nappy-headed
nigger kid pissed on me, or his daddy did."

I answered Diego's grin with one of my own.

"Any of my niggers have to piss?"

Jamal eagerly said he did.  I think DeShawn had to but was too shy.
Both Darnell and Tyrone agreed they had to piss.  I could tell Maurice
had a big load built up, but...perhaps wisely...said nothing.  I
wasn't about to order them to piss on or in Thomas.  And from Thomas'
expression behind the stoic bodyguard/nigger mask I knew Thomas was
remembering what the boys had yet to learn, but were undoubtedly about
to learn.  Payback is a bitch.  And Thomas was head nigger.

Jamal strutted over, eager to ingratiate himself with me by helping
me, he thought, humiliate an uppity nigger.

"Thomas.  On your knees."  He didn't look at me, just whispered
"yassuh" and dropped.

Jamal stopped in front of him.  "Open your mouth, nigger.  I want to
see you drink nigger piss."  Thomas did what he was told; his face
absolutely calm.  The same kind of calm as just before he broke the
legs of the assassin sent by one of my competitors...and then broke
both wrists and both elbows and returned him in a body bag, albeit
still breathing.  Sort of.

Jamal moved closer to his new urinal, paused to relax his muscles, and
slowly started to piss in Thomas' mouth.  Thomas let his mouth get
full, closed it, swallowed, while Jamal kept on pissing, opened his
mouth, repeated the process until the boy was done.

Darnell must have sensed something because he suddenly decided he
didn't have to go after all.  Tyrone was fairly dancing with the need
to piss, but also looked a little bit afraid of the huge man on the
floor.  Thomas wasn't quite as tall as Maurice, but his sheer bulk
made him look even bigger and taller than he actually was.  Thomas
suddenly smiled, a condition I'd always thought virtually impossible,
as even sex was for him a serious business.  He said to Tyrone, very
gently, "You know, I've always heard that little boys had the sweetest
tasting piss of anyone.  Even better than their daddy's piss."

He shot a sly look at me.  "Why, I've even heard someone say that
little boy piss tastes better than a white man's piss."  He shook his
head sadly.  "But I guess I'll never know, 'cause I've never tasted a
little boy's piss."

Tyrone grinned back at him.  "An' you're gonna taste Massa John's
piss, too, aren't you?"

Thomas clearly didn't need that almost teeth-gritting reminder, but he
gamely forged ahead.  "If Massa John wants to honor me that way, sure.
But could I taste yours?"

Tyrone nodded.  

Thomas put on a puzzled expression.  "Now how....  You're so little
and I'm so big, Tyrone.  How are we gonna do this?"

Tyrone thought a moment.  "Silly.  I can stand up on the couch just
like when Massa John was sucking my peepee."

"What a smart boy!"

Thomas picked him up by his waist, knee-walked to the couch and stood
him on the arm.  He leaned over and told Tyrone, "Now wait until I get
my mouth around that big dick of yours and then you just pretend I'm a
toilet and go ahead and pee."

That's exactly what they did.  Thomas swallowed every drop and licked
the baby boy hardon-again clean.  Told him softly, like it was a
secret that no one else could hear, even though we all could, "I think
you've got the best-tasting piss in the whole wide world, but we
better not tell Massa John that.  We might hurt his feelings."

Tyrone's proud smile lit up the room.  He'd just pissed in a human
toilet like his big brother just did, like his white master was going
to do.  He patted Thomas' cheek and whispered back, "Okay."

Thomas' real kindness, not the hey-look-at-me-I'm-doing-a-nice-deed
version, almost won him a reprieve.  But I couldn't.  I was white; he
was a nigger-the lowest form of life on earth, except maybe for the
ragheads.  During working hours I paid him, and paid him well for all
the services he was capable of providing, things even a nigger might
have done for his owner.  Outside that, or temporarily off duty like
now, his only use was as meat to be used according to his owner's
whims.  And my whim, my order, right now was that I needed a toilet.
My Latino thug needed a toilet.  Even my house niggers needed a
toilet.  Tag!  He was it.

I wiped the Tyrone-kindled smile from my face.  Turned cold.  Made
sure he saw it.  Understood.  Turned the same cold look on Diego.
"Piss him, Diego.  On him, in him, I don't fucking care.  He's a
nigger toilet that needs to be used.  And the fucking carpet can
always be replaced."

"Crawl over here, bitch.  I don't feel like walking over to my urinal
when it can come to me."

Thomas crawled, head down, every taut muscle in his body screaming his
misery, his shame...his need, his fucking craving.  If he did this, he
crossed the next to last line.  Everything would change between him
and Diego.  They'd been good friends.  Occasional fuck buddies.
Skilled professionals working together.  Once he swallowed his buddy's
piss everything was gone except for the skilled profession.  I was
confident that on duty nothing would change; they were good enough;
they had the kind of focus, concentration, whatever, to do their jobs
and do it well, regardless of what they knew or thought might happen
when they were off-duty.  But once the shift changed, for as long as I
gave Diego the right, fuck-buddy Thomas was going to be nigger slut
Thomas, whose holes were available for whatever use Diego dreamed up
as long as my property wasn't damaged.

"Head up, nigger.  I want my toilet looking at me while I use it.  And
tomorrow, when we get off shift you're going to go clean your pussy
out, lube it, come back to my room and beg me to fuck your worthless
nigger ho cunt.  Right, boy?"

He didn't answer aloud.  He just lifted his head, looked Diego in the
eyes and opened his mouth.  Diego followed orders, too.  Pissed
Thomas.  On him, all over him, in him, drenching his body, giving him
several mouthfuls of bright yellow, hot piss to swallow.  Then Diego
carefully shook off the last few drops into his toilet and stepped
back.

My turn.  I looked down.  A new carpet was definitely in order.  Now
to see if everything was in order with Thomas.

"Last chance, Thomas.  You fucking know it is, as well as I do.  You
can get up now, walk out the door, grab your clothes and go clean up.
I'll write you a check for $100,000 and you can walk away.  I'll make
sure your reputation doesn't suffer and that you won't be short on
work that requires your highest level of skill.  But if you walk,
that's it.

"Understand me, Thomas.  What I own, I fucking own.  I control it.
Control everything about it.  I can use the Rolls every day and three
times on Sunday, or let it sit untouched for a year.  I can loan it
out.  Hell, I can fucking rent the damned car out.  The only thing
I'll require is that it comes back in pretty damned near the shape it
was in when it left, and like they say, ordinary wear and tear
excepted.  But once the car is gone, once I give it away, or sell it,
or fuck, just let it head down a steep hill under its own power to
whatever smashup it might encounter, that car is fucking gone.  I
won't take it back, I won't buy it back, I won't repair it if I find
it damaged along the side of a road."

I gestured to my other niggers who were all very, very still.  "My
other niggers understand all this, Thomas.  It was bred into Maurice,
probably the first time his boicunt was used by his master.  How old
were you, Maurice?"

"Four, massa."

"Was he gentle?"

"No, massa."

"Did he rape your virgin pussy?"

"Yes, massa."

"Why?"

"Because it was all I was good for.  Because I was just nigger meat.
Because he could.  Because I made him do it, flaunting my fat lips,
and my plump bottom, until he couldn't stand it any more and had to
dick my cunt."

"You see, Thomas?  Maurice understands.  No matter how powerful he is
out in the work world, no matter how many women he dates to keep up
appearances, no matter how many women he fucks, condom-covered, until
they scream in ecstasy from his big cock and brag to their friends
about getting fucked by him, once he hits the front door he knows that
it's all a sham, all a game he's playing, and that behind the door is
his real world.  His nigger life.  Where he's happiest being used.

"Hell, his boys even know it, though they probably can't explain it.
They started getting it bred into them the first time they took the
head of Chen's chink meat in their tiny baby mouths and sucked him off
and swallowed and gurgled happily.  They learned most of the lesson
the first time Li's prick shoved into their young pussies.  They
learned the rest of the lesson the first time he let another man use
them.  Jamal!"

"Yes, massa?"

"How old were you?"

"Six."

"What did Master Li do?"

"Took...."  His voice shook.  He paused.  Started again.  "Took me to
an adult bookstore.  Left me in the alley behind the store and told me
to offer to suck any man who came by while he was inside.  Came out
the back door with another man who held it open for him.  Stripped me
naked and spanked me hard outside when I told him the two men who came
by didn't want me.  That they'd just turned and left real quick.  Left
my clothes in the alley.  Took me inside and told the man to take me
to the room.

"He...he walked me through the halls, up and down every one so all the
men there could see the naked nigger boy trying not to grimace from
the feel of the wet, sticky floor, not to struggle because of the
smell.  Christ, the smell of liquor and cum and piss and sweat and
poppers; the raunchy smell of horny men sexing each other.  I get hard
thinking about it, harder the few times Master Li took me back there,
once I understood, once I learned.

"We finally got to the room.  I thought we were going in.  That Master
Li would close the door, use me, and then let this other man use me,
fuck one of my cunt holes since that was what master had told me was
going to happen that day.  And then we could go home.

"There was one of those big console TVs to the right of the door, with
the thing for dropping tokens.  Opposite there was this
big...fuck...couch?  bench?  About six feet wide, a couple feet deep,
with a cushion or mattress covered in what looked like leather.  The
whole wall behind the mattress was a mirror.  The ceiling was mirrored
too.  I didn't realize it then, but when I was older and used again in
that room, I knew they were good quality mirrors, kept clean except
for the occasional cum or piss stains, so they'd provide sharp images.

"Once Master turned up the dimmer so the lights were bright and the
men saw me and understood why it wasn't the usual dim lighting for sex
in those rooms, they weren't at all shy.  Master Li told me the man
who'd let us in was the owner so I'd better give him a good fuck.  He
put me on my back, unzipped, pulled out his meat, dribbled spit on it
a couple of times, bent his knees, lined his cock up with my cunt,
shoved it in.  I'd only had Master Li's cock in my cunt.  This white
man was longer and fatter.  I screamed from the pain, over and over,
but he ignored me and just started fucking me harder and harder.  I
think I passed out for a little but when I came back, he was hunched
over me, staring right into the mirror and I knew he was watching his
fat white dick thrusting in and out of my black young nigger boy cunt.
And then he was grunting and saying "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck" and I
felt his hot cum spraying up inside me.

"He held still for just a moment, then yanked his dick out, wiped it
off with his hand and wiped his hand off on me.  Master asked him how
I was and he said I was okay, but he'd had better; that maybe he'd
come back later for another round and see if I improved with practice.

"The rest of the time we were there is pretty much a blur.  I remember
how most of the men wanted to fuck me, and always in positions where
they could watch their dicks going in and out of my hole.  I gave a
few blowjobs.  The only one I remember is a big hairy man with a shiny
silver ring around his dick and balls who got naked and kneeled on the
bench and told me to suck him.  He leaned back so he could watch me in
the ceiling mirror and then look at the side mirror.  Finally he sat
up straighter, grabbed the back of my neck with one huge hand, and
then used that to face fuck my mouth and throat while he watched in
the mirror, until finally he shoved his dick all the way into my
throat and nearly choked me to death with his cum.

"I remember really learning my place when Master let me have a break
and gave me a drink of his piss from a bottle he'd brought.  It was
chilled when we left the house, but by then it was just kind of
lukewarm.  After a couple of swallows he asked me if I knew what I was
worth.  I shook my head 'no.'  He opened a drawstring bag and emptied
out a bunch of quarters and two dollar bills onto the bench.

"He told me he thought I was a really good fuck, that I was valuable,
that men who pay good money to fuck me even though I was just a
nigger.  That there were other boys, white boys and dagos and kikes,
who came in there and sold their pussies and the men lined up to use
them.  How they paid good money.  One boy even got twenty bucks every
time someone fucked him.  He really sounded disgusted when he told me
that no one was willing to pay him more than a quarter for either of
my holes.

"I started crying in shame, babbling, pointing to the dollar bills to
prove I was worth more than just a quarter.  Master Li cut me off and
told there were only dollar bills because the men didn't have change.
And then he picked up another coin.  Held it up to my face.  'You see
this, you little shit?  A fucking nickel!  That's all the cash he had
on him, and he said from the looks of things he wasn't sure a nigger
boy slut like you was worth even that much.'

"After...after that the only thing I remember was, for a while,
hearing Master's voice announcing what each man was paying.  Quarter.
Quarter.  Quarter.  Fucking Goddamn Dime You Worthless Nigger Slut
Boy!  Quarter.  Quarter.  Eventually I passed out, but they kept on
fucking my pussy anyway.  The next thing I remember is being at home
in my bed, propped up on pillows so my butt was at the edge, and
Master was holding my legs up and wide while he ate out my cunt and
swallowed all their cum.

"I decided I was going to be the best nigger boy there ever was for
Master Li.  But...but he had all these baby pussies to use, and he
didn't use me as much, and Massa John, please, I'm a really good slut,
please don't just use the babies.  Please, use me, too."

He was crying at that point.  But he didn't look like he expected
comforting; Li had bred these niggers well.  Jamal knew he'd get used
if and fucking when I decided he would.

I turned back to Thomas.  "Last fucking chance.  You cross this line
and you're mine forever...or until I get tired of you and dispose of
you.  Like the man says, my way or the highway.  Choose, Thomas."

No fucking hesitation.  Tears in his eyes, but still, not a
nanosecond.  "You, massa."

"Why?"

" 'cause I'm jus a fuckin' nigga cunt whore who needs to be owned, to
be bos-sed, to be used."

"What're you going to get out of this?"

"Nothin', massa, 'nless you let me."

"And what kind of slut are you gonna be tomorrow, when you go to
Diego's room?"

"Fines' kine, best nigga bitch ho he evah had, boss.  Give him the
fines' fuckin' damn ride he ever had in my nigga cunt."

"And what if you're on a lunch break or something similar, and Diego
wants you to drop trou and give you a quick fuck."

He thought about that for a moment.  And then his professional voice,
not his house nigger voice, was back.  "Not a fucking chance in hell,
sir.  Break or not, we're on the clock.  He tries anything like that,
I'll break his fucking arm, rip his balls off and shove them in his
spic mouth."

Everyone in the room knew that wasn't role-playing.  That was a
statement of pure, unadulterated fact from a man who had killed
before, would kill again if he needed to, and let nothing, but fucking
nothing, get in the way of his mis-sion...whether it was taking out an
Afghani warlord, rescuing an Army major friend from the insurgents
just west of Baghdad and in the process blowing away an important
leader and ten of his top men (which good old Dubya claimed credit
for), or just protecting my ass.

And he was all mine.  My head house nigger.  My nigger pussy.  My cum
whore slut.  My toilet.  Back now where he belonged, submissive nigger
on his knees waiting for massa to use him.

I obliged him.  Actually, obliged myself since I needed to piss wicked
bad.

"Good buddy Diego was right, nigger.  Portable toilets need to crawl
where they're needed.  I need one over here."

He crawled again, eagerly this time. Knelt, got his head in the right
position, opened his mouth wide.  Time for a small test.

"You assumed, nigger.  What if I need to shit?"

Instant panic.  A huge fucking flare of it in his eyes.  But I don't
give a fuck what's in a nigger's eyes, just what he says and does.
"Then I'se gonna eat yo hot white shit, ah guess, massa."

Christ, it killed him to say that.

Hell, it killed me to suggest it.  I've got no problem with piss play,
I've just never done a lot of it.  The future looked like it was going
to hold a lot more of it, though.  But scat?  Maybe I'm a wimp but the
idea of it causes my hardon to go south for a long vacation.  Even the
really good writers of pedo stories on Perverts 'R Us who get me
stroking with hot pedo action kill the action the moment the baby boy
starts eating shit, whether he loves it or not.  So, yeah, my head
nigger was going to learn to be a highly talented toilet...for piss.

But still.  I knew something now that not only terrified but sickened
him.  Maybe the ultimate humiliation.  Save it for a time when he
really pissed me off.  When he needed what would be for him the
ultimate degradation, the ultimate demonstration of what a worthless
piece of nigger trash he was, unless his master chose to give him
worth.

I let him see the idea on my face.  Let him understand that I could
and fucking would do it.  To put him in his place if he ever got out
of it again.

What I got back from his eyes was a confident smirk.  He was Thomas.
The best fucking merc on the planet.  The best fucking goddamn
bodyguard on the planet.  The best fucking head nigger bitch slut cum
ho pussy on the planet.  No fucking way was he ever going to fuck up
that bad.

Except....

Except there was just this little flicker around the edges, like
something you can't quite see with peripheral vision but you know it's
there or was there only a second ago.  A still, soft voice saying, "I
won't fuck up.  I know I won't.  But Christ!  What if I do...."

"Open your mouth, toilet."

Thomas did and I put my stiff meat right down his throat.  He
swallowed and took it all.  Held very still.  Fortunately, I can piss
with a hardon...okay a 99% stiff dick, so maybe not technically a
hardon.  But still...I relaxed just a little, just enough and began
pissing directly down his throat.  I patted Thomas' nigger head,
smooth and shiny, caressed it a little, you know, just like you would
a dog that was being good and needed praise.  My head nigger swallowed
every drop.  Then the bastard began massaging my sensitive knob with
his throat muscles, working me with his lips and his tongue.  Ready to
be very surprised and hurt if I challenged him because all he was
doing was cleaning massa's dick like a good nigger should after his
massa uses his worthless nigger mouth for a toilet.

I pulled out, let them all see I was back to full hard, leaking.
Started playing with myself, just lightly stroking.  Let them know
they should do the same.  Looked around.

Four nigger boys with hardons, and well lubed pussies.  A nigger daddy
with a huge fucking cock and a lubed pussy.  My even bigger...in every
fucking way, including dick size...head nigger.  With a dry pussy.  A
spic bodyguard temporarily off duty and eager to plug his fat Latino
meat into some hole, any hole.  And the white man running the fucking
show, just as he should.

"Nigger daddy, you ever fuck any of your kiddy cunts besides your
oldest slut?"

"Nosuh, massa."

"How old was Jamal when Master Li had you rape his unworthy nigger
boicunt?"

"Ten, massa."

"Well, that's close enough for DeShawn.  Rape his nigga boipussy,
Maurice.  Get that fat hurting cock of yours into his cunt and then
just hold still."

So we watched while a big-dicked nigger daddy forced his meat into
nine-year-old boyhole, jacked and leaked and played with ourselves
while the kid cunt got the first taste of rape.  DeShawn's little
girl-boy pussy was used to Li's dick; my few strokes earlier were
painful but didn't loosen him up all that much.  He screamed and
begged and tried to get away.  He sounded like every little girl I'd
ever rammed my dick into.  Maurice finally got all the way in and
DeShawn slumped beneath his daddy, panting and whimpering.

"Diego, I know you want to use my head nigger, but have you ever had
young cunt?  Like, say, a six-year-old nigger boy with a tight lubed
pussy?"

I could tell he was going to be having some new jackoff fantasies
after that idea settled in.  Not that he'd need to jack off much any
more.  My head nigger might be off limits while they were on duty. But
all that nigger boy cunt was going to be regularly available. Diego
obviously liked the idea.  His piss slit oozed precum.  I made a
suggestion.  Offered him little Darnell to rape.  Same deal as
Maurice, plunder his ass, show him what he was good for and all he was
good for, and then stop.

Diego's meat was somewhere around Jamal's size, maybe just a little
smaller, but still bigger than me.  Maybe dick size matters in other
queer contexts, but when you're a white pedo master with your own
matched set of house niggers, it's the power that counts.

Diego sat on the couch, leaned back with his legs spread so we could
all see.  As ordered, Darnell scrambled up like he'd been told.  Diego
laid the nigger kid back, his head resting on Diego's left shoulder.
Diego's left arm was wrapped around the boy's belly, holding him in
place for now.  Using his right to hold his dick still while he lined
it up with the tight pussy, the six-year-old cunt that had never had
anything close to the size of Diego's dick up inside it.

Jamal, like a good nigger brother who cares, stepped in to help his
little brother with his first rape.  He helped Diego get his knob
pressed right into the little boy cunt, then Jamal grabbed his young
brother by the hips and yanked him down just hard enough to get the
whole huge knob buried inside his boicunt.  Darnell howled.  And
howled some more as Jamal held the Latin thug dick in place, guiding
it as Diego put his hands on the little one's shoulders and forced his
meat into the howling, thrashing little boy's cunt.  When it was in,
that left two empty boyholes.

I knew Jamal was eager to have his new massa use him, but there was
plenty of time for him later.  He needed to start learning the lesson
Thomas was about to start teaching him.   I told him to go to the far
end of the couch, bend over so he was looking at Diego and Darnell,
and hold onto the arm.  I nodded Thomas in the same direction.  He got
up and stalked over like the predator he was.  I watched Jamal's eyes
glaze over in a combination of horror and lust when he got his first
really good like at Thomas' cock.  Poor Jamal had never had anything
that big in his cunt.  And I knew just the thing to help.

Well, help Thomas.  And me, since I'd get extra pleasure as well.
"Thomas, Jamal likes to be hurt.  Give him a few strokes to show him
what hurt really is."

It was apparently enough.  I didn't think Jamal's eyes could have
opened any wider after seeing Thomas' cock, but the expression on
Thomas' face, hidden from the rest of it, sure caused them to widen
even further.

The adults saw the cold, hard expression on Thomas' face as he turned
around, briefly used his right hand to position his cock at Jamal's
hole, leaned forward to rest his forearms on the edge of the arm so he
could angle them up and grab the teen nigger's tits.  First he hurt
the boy's tits, ensuring they would be tender and bruised the next day
and for a good while after, and then he fucked his cock into the teen
cunt without the slightest mercy or tenderness.  When Jamal's shrill
scream had stopped echoing in the room and faded into sobs, Thomas
raised his head to look at his new master.

"Very good, nigger."  Once again my voice carried all the affection of
one praising a dog who was just going to hear blah-blah-blah and maybe
understand the word "good."

I grabbed Tyrone off the floor, casually laid him belly down on the
opposite arm from Thomas and Jamal, his little legs dangling and
kicking.  I spanked his ass hard, and if his skin had been white I'm
sure it would have turned bright red.  Except for his own sobs when I
stopped, joining his brother's, the room was mostly quiet.  I spread
his plump butt cheeks wide, and because I really am a nice man at
heart, I generously leaned over and spat twice into his hole.  I hoped
that was enough together with whatever lube hadn't been absorbed into
his body to make it easier on him.  But not too easy.

This wasn't love.  This wasn't sex.  It was still a white man doing
what he does best, what he was born and bred to do, what he had an
absolute right to do...rape young nigger cunt.  So I did.  I followed
the example of my head nigger and shoved my dick into his raw, aching
boipussy.  Ignored his wails, his tears, his incoherent pleas to stop,
that his bottom hurt. 

Told the others to go ahead with their own rapes.  Because that's what
it was.  A revenge rape for Thomas for the humiliation by Jamal.  Just
ordinary adult male, tiny young nigger boy cunt rape for Diego and
Maurice. Neither one had ever had cocks that size in their holes, and
they were indeed in severe pain, which the men properly ignored.  I
wasn't going to wait as Li had done.  I wanted my nigger boys used to
big cocks in their cunts, both mouth and ass, as soon as possible.
Once Darnell got used to his daddy's dick so it wasn't painful to be
fucked any more, I'm going to turn him over to Thomas and start the
pain-pleasure process all over again.  There are men in my business,
and the society in which I deal...I could think of two Senators, a
governor, and a local cop happily married with four little girls...who
would be eager to use my niggers.  Especially the young ones.

Both Tyrone and DeShawn seemed to have passed out.  Not that that
detracted from the enjoyment...just loosened their pussies a bit and
made it easier to get in farther, fuck them faster.  Maurice was close
enough that I could lean over to him and whisper as we rape-fucked his
children, "Breed me a nigger baby boy quickly, and you can have
Tyrone's pussies for 24 hours, starting the moment my new nigger gets
his butt slapped and screams."

"Fuck, yes, massa!"  And Maurice started pumping his poor worn out
son's raped asshole even faster, as if it was a real pussy that he
could impregnate.

I don't know what level of heaven I was in.  107th?  207th?  Within
less than twenty-four hours I'd gone from being an ordinary white
trash pedo with a lust for little boys that was only occasionally
filled to the owner of six niggers who would devote the rest of their
lives, or until I tired of them and gave them away or sold them, to
pleasing me.  The right to rape this almos' four baby boy cunt until
he got used to my dick and then it was just ordinary rough pedo sex.
Three handsome bucks to breed me more boys, or maybe a girl to grow up
to breed more.  Fuck, ten months from now I could be the proud owner
of my own nigger baby, able to raise him as nigger boys should be
raised, sucking their daddy's dicks almost from the moment they suck
their first bottle of milk.  Milk laced with daddy cum.

Jamal's eyes were dead.  He no longer saw or heard anything.  Just
felt the incredible cock in his cunt pounding it into mush, heard the
vicious degrading words spewing into his ears from Thomas' talented
lips, grinding him down, reinforcing his status as property, a nigger
owned by a white man who was going to let a head nigger abuse him,
hurt him, whenever the head nigger wanted to.  "Cum, nigger!" I told
Thomas.  One more thrust, a second, and on the third he slammed in,
knocking Jamal sprawling flat over the arm of the sofa, Thomas' back
arched, his head thrown back, every muscle taut as he pumped his
nigger slime into nigger teen cunt while he yelled out, "Yessuh,
massa, thank you , massa!"

Darnell had passed out, too, probably from too many dry cums to count,
his body loosely flopping, his mouth sagging open and drooling as
Diego punched fucked his first six-year-old nigger cunt.  It
definitely wasn't going to be his last.  "Cum, Diego!"

His "yo! massa!" was sardonic, proof to the niggers that as a free man
he could pretend...like Thomas had believed all this time he was
merely pretending...and then when the fuck was done, walk away from
it.  When he finally finished shuddering, gasping for breath as much
if not more than Thomas...whoever said rape wasn't hard work sure as
fuck never tried it...he sagged back into the couch.

DeShawn was awake, though, as his daddy fucked him.  Taking daddy's
long fat nigger dick with as much ease as a woman might with a cunt
designed by nature for the job.  He was begging his daddy to rape his
little girl cunt hard and fast, and daddy obliged, finally blowing a
load in her sated pussy.

My turn.  I braced my hands on the arm of the sofa for leverage.  Told
Maurice to reach over and hold his youngest boy down so I didn't have
to worry about anything but raping his hurting, painful kiddy cunt.
When I'd reduced him to quivering incoherent pleading, I gave him the
supreme gift.  White man's cum.  His owner's cum.

The room smelled of piss and cum and sweat and general raunch.  Best
fucking goddamn scent combination in the world.  I looked around.  My
dick wasn't out of my boy's pussy; none of the others were either.
Amazing what nigger boy pussy can do for your staying power.  I was
still hard.  They all recognized the question I asked with my eyes,
and nodded "yes" to indicate they were hard as well.

"Then let's rape their little nigger cunts again."

We each handled...manhandled...our nigger meat into a different
position for a different feel, some of us regretfully having to remove
a cock from its warm wet, somewhat bloody, cummy hole, before plunging
back in.  The boys were limp now, unresisting, all the fight gone out
of them, though their ability to feel pain was still there, just a
little bit numbed from what they'd already gone through.

As we each settled into a steady rape-fuck pace, I almost laughed
aloud, but kept it to myself.  When I signed the check that bought
this place I sure the fuck got more than I bargained for.

I looked down to watch my white cock rapidly stroking in and out of
not-quite-four nigger boy pussy.  And I leaned down to whisper the
words of deep affection a white man gives to one of his niggers.
"You're a nigger cunt, little boy.  I fucking own you.  You're
worthless trash who isn't of any use to anyone except as a hole for a
white man's piss and cum, or any other man your owner gives you to.
You're meat.  You're property.  And you're going to love everything I
do to you, going to love me with all your useless nigger heart and
soul, because that's your place in the world.  And if you don't
understand all of this, yet...well, you will.  And soon."  

I gave him a few extra hard thrusts and he whimpered.  "Would you like
to do something nice for your master, Tyrone.  Show Massa John how
much you love him?"

He barely managed a nod.

"Beg me, Tyrone.  Beg me to please, please rape your nigger boy
pussy."

I could hear the tears in his voice as he whispered back, "Pease,
massa.  Pease rape my nigger boy pussy."

"Louder, Tyrone.  My other niggers didn't hear you."  I squeezed his
plump little tits hard again, adding to the bruising.

He screamed and then nearly shouted, "Pease, Massa!  Pease, pease rape
my nigger boy pussy."

A good white master always pleases his niggers.  Whenever possible. If
it doesn't inconvenience him.  If what they want is reasonable.

Tyrone's request was reasonable.  It was possible since my dick was
already in his hole, which was very convenient.  I proved to Tyrone
what a good "massa" I am.

I raped his baby nigger boy cunt long and hard.

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