Adult Youth/Authoritarian/Interracial
I received a lot of requests from mixed race and black men for more raceplay type stories. I haven't been interested in writing or had the right ideas to continue Missouri Slave Summer so here is sort of a different spin. It's about a skinhead finding out he's mixed. Then he and his master explore their sexuality together.
Usual disclaimer, it has violence and is very not politically correct. It was written for black and mixed guys and others into raceplay. The n word is used a lot.
These chapters are more like mini-chapters so including a few at once. That way you can stop anytime and resume later or keep going.
Do not read if you are under eighteen. All characters are over eighteen. Do not ever act this way in real life. Respect everyone, regardless of their race, sexuality, country of origin, gender, etc.
If you enjoy these stories, consider donating to Nifty.
A Case of Perfect Timing
Part One
Daryl Eisner considered himself a pretty typical All-American man. His daddy worked for the local railroad and got him a union factory job in Indianapolis when he was 18. It paid good and Daryl lived modestly.
At 53, Daryl decided to retire. He sold his house for a tidy profit. He used the money to buy 50 acres in Kentucky and have a small house and shed built. It was quiet and isolated with no neighbors for miles.
He was 6'3, 230 pounds, had a thick ginger beard, and was ready for a quiet life like his Irish and Scottish ancestors probably had. All he was missing was company and a garden.
About a month after he got the place, he was bored and downloaded a chat app on his phone.
There was a chat room on it called West Kentucky Connections.
Almost everybody in there was a hillbilly. He fucked a few ladies from there, but most were so old and trashy it was barely worth the lube and drive to get into their dried out old pussies.
He hit a low when he let some bearded redneck in overalls watch him as he fucked what had to be the man's college aged daughter.
Most of the time that chatroom was fairly empty and you took what you could get, if you could get anything.
There was a kid on there who went by WhitePride00 who he shot the shit with sometimes. His profile was all Confederate flags and swastikas, but he seemed nice enough.
When he direct messaged Daryl though around nine at night one evening, everything changed.
WhitePride00: Do you believe in one drop?
EisnerKy: One drop?
WhitePride00: One drop of black blood makes you a nigger.
EisnerKy: never thought about it.
WhitePride00: I do. We always talked about grabbing some mixed nigger and teaching it a lesson.
EisnerKy: That sounds like trouble.
WhitePride00: We even got a shock collar and whip. And my daddy made a breaking bench. I've jerked off thinking about being a white master with a nigger slave on it's knees before me or tied to a whipping tree.
EisnerKy: Get to the point kid.
WhitePride00: (picture of DNA test)
EisnerKy: Shit.
WhitePride00: Yeah. It was my eighteenth birthday present. I'm adopted. They thought it'd help me find my parents.
EisnerKy: Fuck. You okay?
WhitePride00: One fucking drop. Fuck. Can I come over? I need to ask you something.
EisnerKy: You can't ask on here?
WhitePride00: Not really. I can be there in an hour.
EisnerKy: Ok.
The next hour was interesting. Daryl wasn't scared of anyone and like most men in Kentucky he kept a loaded shotgun and had a pistol and strap for when he left the house.
And this was a depressed eighteen year old kid.
But he had no real clue what the boy was talking about with one drop and spent the next hour doing research on the Confederate South and slavery and white pride.
It grew on him and confirmed a lot of prejudices he never knew he had. Nigger blood was what was fucking up the country.
When the boy got there, he had a lot less sympathy for him.
Daryl opened the door and stared at the boy for a minute before letting him in. The kid had a shaved head, but his eyebrows were light brown so he was probably a brunette. He had green eyes, though, and was slender and only about 5'6. No facial hair and looked like he couldn't grow it. He was wearing a wife beater and cutoffs. The standout detail was a large swastika tatoo on his pale right arm.
Daryl figured his nose was a little niggerish. Everything else about him looked white.
The next hour, the kid spent crying. He told Daryl his name was Adam and he couldn't tell anyone else about the test and he didn't know what to do.
Daryl made it clear.
He said:
You got two choices, boy. You accept you're a nigger and do the right thing. You tell your parents. You find yourself a white man and beg him to collar you and teach you your place. You admit you don't deserve to be treated as human and become chattel for a master.
Adam asked, "What's the other choice?"
Daryl answered:
You keep pretending you're white, boy. You can pass. You know it's a lie, but you pack up and go somewhere and just lie to every white man you meet. You lie to your adopted parents or stay away from them.
Adam, no longer sounding tough at all, whispered, "I want to do the right thing."
Daryl helped him over the next hour. The first thing Adam did was send his parents the results and a goodbye letter. He told them not to try and find him. He said they wouldn't look once they saw the DNA test and they would see it by morning.
The second thing he did was make a video in case whoever his master wound up being got caught or in trouble. It said he was consenting to be whipped and beaten and hurt. I had him add he consented for mean sex too because of the buck breaking bench he had talked about. I told him I'd keep the video and send it to the authorities if anything happened.
He seemed to understand and be resigned to a life of beatings and service.
And then that was it. Everything was done.
I walked him to the door and went to bed.
Part Two
The doorbell rang. It was two am. Daryl never had visitors. The kid had been gone for hours. He thought about ignoring it, but then it rang again.
When he opened the door, Adam was there.
The boy had a backpack. Daryl's patience was thinning.
They sat at the table again. Adam placed the backpack on the table and unzipped it.
Then Adam said, "I went home. This is the stuff we had for if we ever caught a nigger."
Adam pulled out what looked like a dog collar with a remote.
Then he pulled out an old fashioned whip made out of cheap rawhide.
Then a chain, handcuffs, and leg cuffs.
He pushed all of it over to Daryl.
Then he gulped.
He got down on his knees and said, "Please. I want to do the right thing."
Daryl thought about it. His retirement would give him enough to feed the boy. He could use the labor for that garden he had been thinking about.
Daryl nodded.
Then he said:
Let's be clear, boy. That collar goes around your neck you ain't human no more. You're chattel. Like your ancestors. I can beat, sell, rape, or work you to death. Only way you leave here free again is if I die before I sell you. Understand? I take you as a nigger, you're a nigger. I could brand and sell you tomorrow like cattle.
Adam nodded.
Then he reached for the collar from where he knelt.
He snapped it on his neck.
And just like that, Daryl owned a quadroon boy.
He squeezed the button on the remote to see what it did and the boy fell to the ground and flopped around for a second like he was tased. When he stopped, Darryl picked him up and carried him to the shed.
Then he locked the boy in and went back to sleep.
Part Three
The next morning, Daryl made a run into town. He bought twenty bags of mulch and a tiller, along with a lot of seed. He also bought some plywood, bricks, and tools. He even splurged on a garden fountain. He bought a leash to attach to the boy's collar.
Then he went to the grocery store and bought a months supply of those meal in a can nutrition drinks. No reason to cook for the kid if a can would do. Antibiotic cream was also a must.
He also made a run to the adult bookstore there. He thought about buying lingerie and a wig and seeing if he could get the boy to make a passable woman, but settled on just buying a gag for the boy and a few jock straps.
He read some slave masters actually cut their slaves tongues out, but that seemed crazy to him.
He'd just order a human muzzle or something online if the boy talked too much.
When he unlocked the shed, the boy was huddled in a corner.
He threw him a can and said, "Drink."
It must have tasted terrible because the boy gagged, but he finished the drink in a few gulps.
When he was done, Daryl grabbed the boy's collar and dragged him to the truck.
Then Daryl said, "Strip."
The boy took his shirt off in one motion, then unzipped his shorts, let them fall, stepped out of them, and stood there in tattered white briefs.
Daryl sighed.
Then he punched the boy in the stomach as hard as he could.
Adam almost fell to the ground, but Daryl caught him. As the kid tried to catch his breath, Daryl jerked the boy's briefs down.
As the boy gasped, Daryl placed his mouth next to the boy's ear.
Then Daryl growled, "Niggers don't think, boy. I say strip, you say yes master and you strip everything off. I speak and you obey. Understood?"
Adam, still out of breath and with tears in his eyes, nodded.
Then he said, "Yes, master."
The next three hours for the boy were all about unloading the truck. The kid probably weighed 115 pounds and the bags were fifty pounds each. It was made worse for him by the rapidly developing bruise and the pain in his stomach from the earlier punch.
Daryl watched the boy from a lawn chair. Then, around bag ten, Daryl noticed the boy faltering and slowing down. He knew what to do to handle that.
He stood up, pulled out the whip the boy gave him, and lashed the boy on the back.
The kid screamed and fell to his knees. The bag in his hand fell to the ground.
Daryl said then, "You got ten seconds to stand up and get going or I'm gonna tie you to that tree and give you ten more lashes."
The boy said yes master, stood up, and made it before time was up.
Daryl went back to his chair.
Then he sipped tea and watched his nigger work.
When the truck was finally unloaded, he set the boy to mowing what would be the garden area. When that was done, he gave the boy some water to drink and set him to weeding.
It was evening by the time the boy was done.
He sprayed the boy all over with the water hose and brought him inside.
Part Four
I took the boy inside, removed his collar, and showed him where the shower was. The water hose had helped get the dirt and stink off him, but I wanted him clean so I could inspect him.
Watching him shower was also interesting. The day before I would have protected the little shit or helped him out if he needed something. He came over for that reason.
Now, I owned him.
He was chattel. My property. I could choke him to death and it would be my right. He was my nigger. And he chose that.
When he stepped out, I threw him a towel so he could dry off.
When he was done, I took the towel and inspected him.
He was skinny. There was no getting around that. His ribs were practically jumping out and I realized I needed to pull my punches until he built up some stomach muscle. I was lucky I didn't break his ribs with that punch earlier.
He had a little muscle on his upper arms. I'm guessing he had had hand weights or something at home.
His tackle was average at best. He was soft and about 4 inches. His balls were held tight and more peanuts than golf balls. I fondled him for a second as he winced.
When I turned him around, I saw the lash from earlier up close. I hadn't hit too clean. It was deep towards his right shoulder blade and then shallow going down to the curve of his back. I'd get better with practice.
I fetched the antibiotic cream and rubbed it on the lash mark. The boy trembled under my hand and whimpered, but didn't move or cry. He was learning quick.
After the basic once over, I ran my hands on his body and enjoyed the way he felt. The curves of his shoulders, his flat belly, his trim ass, it all felt tight and smooth. He was also darkening and sunburned already.
I've never been into boys, but I realized right then I could throw away the little pocket pussy I used when I couldn't find a woman.
I jammed a finger up his ass and he let out a whimper.
His shithole was tight as fuck.
I put the boy on his knees in a corner and went to eat.
I didn't make myself anything fancy, just heated up a bowl of chili from the fridge. I gave the boy what was left and watched him eat.
We both had a lot to get used to.
Part Five
I knew I didn't have time to drill and set up a system to keep Adam chained to the wall that night. I figured we'd have to make do with sharing a bed. I pulled him by the collar to my bed and then pulled his hands behind his back. I handcuffed him tight.
Then I walked to the door and used my key to lock us in from the inside.
Then I laid him on his stomach with his hands behind his back. I put the ballgag I had purchased in his mouth so he wouldn't disturb me at night.
Then I undressed.
I saw his eyes watching me. He hadn't seen my body when he had given himself to me.
When I took off my shirt, he saw how hairy I was. I wasn't all muscle, but was mostly solid. Only a little bit of a belly. My arms were solid muscle, though.
I don't wear underwear. When I pulled my blue jeans off, he saw my thighs, ass, and cock. My thighs were like hairy tree trunks. My ass was solid as a rock.
I think my cock scared him.
I'm a shower, not a grower. My dick soft is almost as big as it is hard. But even soft it's seven inches. I have a lot of foreskin too which makes my dick look even bigger.
My balls tend to hang low and my nuts are like golfballs.
They're a handful and girls love fondling them when they blow me.
I climbed into bed next to him. I ran my hand down his stomach and weighed my options for the night.
Then I reached out and undid the ball gag.
I told him:
I want to get to know you, boy. Pretend it's a few days ago and tell me about you. For the next couple of hours, we can talk like you ain't a niggerslave. Like you're the white boy you look like.
I learned a lot about him then.
His eighteenth birthday was the day before. He had been homeschooled because his adopted parents didn't want him going to an integrated school. They were afraid he'd become what he called a wigger or be tainted by exposure to different races.
Everything he did socially was with a white nationalist group called The Federation to Preserve White Identity.
They had basketball teams and baseball teams and even had football games at stadiums.
The Federation was spread around the whole US. Chapters in every city.
He had wanted to go to college for engineering or learn to weld.
He had a girlfriend named Erica Jones he said would be missing him until she found out he was mixed.
Adam was also a virgin, but said he had gotten head from a few drunk girls.
When Daryl had heard enough, he put the ballgag back in the boy's mouth.
Then he tried to comfort the boy a little by saying, "You should know I'm not a faggot, boy. I ain't saying I won't use a piece of nigger pussy in a pinch, but you got nothing to worry about tonight."
He reached out and grabbed the boy's cock.
He said, "This little thing of yours does nothing for me."
Then Daryl let go of the kid's dick and rolled over and fell asleep.
Part Six
I woke up when I felt pressure on top of me. The room was pitch black and I forgot for a minute where I was. All I knew was there was something heavy on top of me.
Then the sensation of the ballgag in my mouth hit me.
Everything came crashing back.
The next thing I felt was a heavy weight on my back. Then legs wrapping around mine. Then an arm wrapped around me.
My master was on top of me.
But he had promised he wouldn't do anything. He wasn't gay. He told me that I was safe for the night.
Then I felt his dick. It had to be his dick.
It was rubbing between my butt cheeks. And it was slick.
I tried begging him to stop. To remind him he was straight. But all I could make were muffled sounds through the gag.
Then I felt his dickhead on my butthole. I didn't even care about the whip anymore, I tried bucking him off. But my hands were handcuffed and my legs held still.
My master spoke then and said, "Don't fight it, babygirl."
I wanted to remind him I was a boy. He was straight.
We were straight.
Then it was too late.
Part 7
I woke up around six am with a hard-on. The past couple of days had messed with my routine and I realized it had been a week since I had jerked off or cum in anybody.
I looked at the boy next to me. He was sound asleep on his stomach with his face facing the wall and away from me. The lash from yesterday was scabbing over. I ran my hands over his skin and realized from this angle he resembled my high school girlfriend, Jennifer. She had that same slender build.
I also realized I had blackout curtains in my bedroom so with the lights off, the ballgag, and a little fantasy I could experience her tight little pussy again.
I flipped the light switch off.
Then I climbed back on the bed. I straddled him for a second and pressed my hand on his back to get balance and line my body up with his as I lubed my cock up. It was a little difficult in the dark. Some of the lube fell on his back.
Then I laid on top of him. He felt nice and small and even a little girly under me.
I wrapped my legs around his to hold his still and then wrapped an arm under him to hold his chest still.
Then I used my other arm to rub my dick on his tight little ass and try to find his hole.
He was definitely awake then.
He tried bucking under me and I could hear him trying to shout something through the gag.
But I didn't want to fuck Adam the nigger boy this morning.
I wanted to fuck Jennifer.
I whispered, "Don't fight it, babygirl."
Then I rammed my dick in.
I ignored the muffled screams.
My dick was barely in and it felt like heaven. It was warm and hot and slick and so tight.
I pulled out and humped back in deeper.
Then again.
It took sixteen strokes before I felt my dick bottom out and my balls meet his ass on each stroke.
It took thirty minutes to cum.
Sometimes I pictured Jennifer under me. Her little cheerleader skirt lifted up as I railed her outside the school gym.
Other times, I actually thought about Adam. I'd pinch his tiny nipples and lick the tears off his cheeks and enjoy him as my chattel. I'd spit on his face and call him a worthless little nigger cunt.
Both our bodies became slick with sweat. Mine dripped all over him.
When I finally creamed, it was the biggest load I'd shot in years.
I shot once deep in him and when I tried to pull out, I nutted again.
I kept my dick in him and fell back asleep on top of him.
Part 8
I had never felt anything as painful as my Master's cock in my ass.
The lash earlier wasn't even close.
From the first thrust, I was broken. I felt my ass rip under his cock.
And he was relentless and without mercy.
I realized then this was real.
This was what being a nigger slave meant.
This was no game. There was no escape. This was how white men treated niggers.
And I was a nigger.
He was my master.
I wasn't a man. I was chattel. Like a cow.
This was right.
I started crying then not from the pain, but the reality of what that meant.
Then I blacked out.
When I woke up, he was still pounding me. His hands twisted my nipples and I yelped through the gag. They were all over me, kneading my legs and thighs and side. His tongue licked the tears off my face. His breath was on my neck and he occasionally reminded me of who and what I was by spitting on me and calling me names.
For what seemed like hours, that was my world. Punctuated only by hard grunts and heavy breathing.
Then it happened. His body tensed and he pressed deeper than he ever had. It was like he touched something deep in me.
Then my butthole was flooded with his cum. I felt his cock shooting in me. Then he started to pull out and it started to shoot again.
I could feel his cum deep in my guts.
He never pulled out.
His heavy weight laid on top of me and then I heard him snoring.
I wanted to cry then for a different reason. Somehow, what happened at the end when his dick jabbed so deep, it made me hard.