This is a fictional story, any similarities between the characters and anyone living or dead is totally coincidental. Furthermore, this story is not intended for minors. The following story contains hardcore unprotected interracial sexual acts between men and the use of racial slurs. If such content is offensive to you, please do not read. I welcome comments, critiques, suggestions, and feedback of all types, please email me at TopOfNewYork1989@aol.com.
Sorry for the delay, I recently started school full-time and between that and working full-time I haven't had much spare time for writing.
The shame that De'Quarious felt from his being used by Nimrod and his boys ate at him for weeks. He couldn't work for Nimrod anymore, not after how the man had fucked him like the jailhouse ho. How could he stand on the corners and drink forties, smoke blunts, and sell weed with Tariq, Warren, and Paul, when he'd taken each boy's dick deep into his ass, and even worse than that, had enjoyed it? De'Quarious couldn't even hang out in the hood anymore, so afraid that someone had snitched, so afraid that niggas would be able to see how he'd been bitched out. This new episode added a new level of humiliation, at least Scott didn't live in the hood and De'Quarious would never have to see the white stud again. But he couldn't avoid Nimrod and them, every time he looked out of his project apartment window he could see Tariq and the rest standing in front of the liquor store, hollering at all the girls that walked past and grabbing their crotches, and De'Quarious would remember what each boy had in his boxers, and the memory of it would make his own dick hard.
For two weeks De'Quarious wouldn't leave the apartment, spending his days at home in his drawers watching TV, smoking weed, and locked in his room, beating his hard nigger meat until it was sore, his mind filled with images of his various humiliations. It was especially bad at night, while his mother and sisters were in their room asleep, while the boy's bedroom was dark, while the projects buzzed with late-night activity around him, that De'Quarious would really get the urge to pleasure himself. There was something about the nighttime that made those sexual thoughts become so vivid, that raging erections woke the teen from fitful sleep characterized by humiliating sexual dreams, and he had no choice but to reach into his boxers, pull his uncut meat out, slather it with Vaseline, and then stroke it while he imagined being used and abused by various men, but his orgasms were always the most intense when he thought about the white stud Scott.
De'Quarious wanted to hate him, he knew that he should, that if the white man hadn't come into his life and fucked him that first night he would have never gotten into anything with Nimrod's girl, but whenever he thought about Scott's ruddy skin, his patrician features, his confidence and his arrogance, the jock's hard body and his fearlessness of the young black thug, De'Quarious felt himself become sick with lust, and deep down inside desire to have Scott use him again. For some reason that De'Quarious couldn't understand, something about Scott using him seemed so right, as if the white man was entitled to enjoy his body. The thought made the boy angry and at the same time extremely horny.
When De'Quarious did leave the house it was on a Sunday morning, when half of the hood was in church and the other half were still asleep after partying the previous night. De'Quarious figured that he was less likely to run into someone that he knew at that early hour of the day. Dressed simply in baggy black jeans, a long white t-shirt, his Air Jordan sneakers and a black durag over his braids, De'Quarious had no destination in mind when he set out. However, he figured that a walk would clear his mind and perhaps give him the resolve to bring himself out of isolation.
It wasn't until he was in front of the building that he realized where he'd walked to. De'Quarious noticed that Scott's building looked different in the day time, that the entire neighborhood looked different in the day, with people milling around, enjoying the nice warm Sunday morning. De'Quarious relived the night that he was brought to this building and raped like a nigger slave, and he became angry and knew that he should leave. However, his feet were planted on the concrete; it was as if he were stuck. And it was at that moment that Scott came jogging around the corner shirtless, his smooth and chiseled chest heaving from exertion, his gym shorts slung low on his hips, his powerful legs flexing with each movement, his handsome face flushed and golden brown hair perfectly tousled; De'Quarious felt weak.
Scott slowed as he approached the boy and put on his cocky grin. "I knew sooner or later you'd come crawling back on your ashy knees. All of you do, once you get your first taste of white cock you become addicted to it." He said as he approached De'Quarious, removing the headphones from his ears.
De'Quarious glared at Scott with hatred and suppressed lust, his eyes glued to the man's perfect chest and his prominent pink nipples. He knew what he should do, wipe that supercilious grin off that bastard's face, beat that white boy's ass with all the fury and anger that he had in his young ghetto body. Here Scott was, this perfect white man, the All-American, a jock/preppy fuck who went to private schools and boarding schools, whose family's money and connections got him into Ivy League colleges and allowed him to travel the world, Scott was all that was wrong with America, and De'Quarious knew that, the reason why he was standing there was because Scott's ancestors kidnapped his own and brought them to the U.S., and yet De'Quarious felt powerless before this white stud. He hung his head and mumbled in shame, "I--I came to see if you needed me to move anything else for you."
Scott's smile widened and De'Quarious still looked down at the ground, to ashamed of himself to look the white man in the eye. "The only thing I want you to move is that juicy nigger ass on my cock." De'Quarious' face got hot. "Come on boy, let's go upstairs." De'Quarious followed Scott into the building, stood behind him as the white man stopped and talked to the doorman, and then got into the elevator with him. From his morning jog, Scott smelled sweaty and the scent of the strong white man was making De'Quarious' dick hard. Scott opened the door to the apartment and let it close on the young thug, who softly closed it behind him and stood there.
"Can we just hurry up and get this over with?" De'Quarious asked, weak with lust and yet overcome with shame.
"Oh no boy, we're gonna make this last." Scott said. "See, I know how you're feeling right now, I've seen other niggers feel the same way. Thought you were so fucking tough, thought you were actually a man, only to have a superior male like myself show you what your true nature is. See, there's an order on this earth, a hierarchy, and I'm on the top. The Teuton, the Aryan, the German warrior, a member of the greatest race of people to ever live, the descendant of the Angles and the Saxons, of the Vikings, of a strong race of people who conquered the world. Who can compare to us? Spics? Chinks? Fucking towelheaded Arabs and Indians? The red niggers who my ancestors used to hunt for sport? You black niggers?" Scott scoffed derisively. "You all were made to serve men like me, to be our fucking slaves. Don't let all this P.C. Liberal bullshit corrupt your mind, you're not an Afro-American, you're a nigger. One step up from a goddamned ape, a fucking jungle animal. Why do you think we call you all coons? It's survival of the fittest nigger, and you dark fucks couldn't defeat the power and the might of the German peoples of Europe, that's why you all are subservient to us." De'Quarious quivered with rage, but his dick throbbed in his boxers. "See, I don't think you get it yet nigger. I don't think you understand how much of an animal you are. I think, that you think, that you're still a man, that you're as much of a man as me. Well, we know that'll never be. Act out your animal nature nigger, get on your hands and knees and crawl over here like the fucking nigger dog you really are."
Scott glared at De'Quarious challengingly, and the black boy wanted to hit him, but he sank to his knees, got on all fours, and crawled to the white man standing before him. Scott smiled and then put his foot on the boy's back, forcing him to the floor. De'Quarious grunted, aroused by the gall of the white man, and realizing that it wasn't just the sex that he came for, but the degradation. De'Quarious came to realize that he actually liked being degraded and disrespected. He realized that he liked the humiliation of having Scott call him names and disparage his race. He realized that this was what made his dick harder than it had ever been before.
Scott enjoyed having the young nigger on the floor before him, his sneaker pressed firmly on the boy's back, asserting his superiority. Scott had fucked his fair share of niggers, but something about the one at his feet really turned him on. He removed his foot from the boy's back and put them on the floor. De'Quarious stared up at him with his big and beautiful brown eyes. "What do you want?" Scott asked the boy. "Huh? Tell me what you really want; tell me what brought you from your roach-infested project apartment to my part of town. What did you come here looking for?" De'Quarious shrugged and looked down. Scott smiled. "Uh-uh boy, you don't get off that fucking easy. Tell me what you came here for."
De'Quarious couldn't bring himself to actually verbalize what he had come for. "You know what I came for." De'Quarious whispered. "Let's just do it please?"
Scott kicked De'Quarious and the boy fell flat on his back. "Do what? Huh? Do what? What do you wanna do? I wanna hear you say it. I wanna hear it out of those fat, greasy, fried chicken eating coon lips of yours. What the fuck do you wanna do?" De'Quarious was fighting back tears. He didn't want to say why he had come, he didn't want to openly admit it, and he hated Scott for trying to make him say it when Scott knew just as well as he did why he'd come. "Say it nigger!" Scott screamed.
"I want your dick!" De'Quarious sobbed. "I want that big white dick, I wanna wrap my lips around it, I wanna deep throat it, I want it up my ass, I want you to fuck me!" De'Quarious broke down into tears of shame, crying like a little bitch.
"What do you want me to fuck you like?" Scott asked, enjoying how the nigger broke down before him, but wanting him to break down further. De'Quarious continued to cry. "Answer me boy."
"Like a bitch!" De'Quarious screamed.
"What kinda bitch?" Scott kneeled beside the boy and stared at him, his sky blue eyes gazing intently into De'Quarious' big brown eyes, filled with tears. "What kinda bitch boy?"
"Please..." De'Quarious begged, "Please don't make me say it."
"Oh, you're gonna say it nigger. What kinda bitch do you wanna get fucked like?"
"Scott, please--" Scott slapped the boy across the face and De'Quarious yelped in pain and surprise.
"What did I tell you the last time you were here? What are you to call me?"
De'Quarious closed his eyes as more tears slid out. "Sir." He said softly. "Sir, please, have mercy on me."
"Fuck mercy bitch, you tell me what the fuck I wanna hear right now or you can get your nappy headed ass outta here!"
"A nigger bitch! I want you to fuck me lick a nigger bitch!" De'Quarious screamed in frustration, ashamed of what he was saying and in front of whom, but wildly turned on by it as well. He started to sob in shame.
"Yeah? That's what you want?" De'Quarious nodded and Scott smiled and patted the boy on the head. "Good nigger. Now, kiss my sneakers." Scott stood and put his sneaker out for the young nigger to kiss. De'Quarious, still sobbing, crawled to Scott and kissed his the toe of his sneaker. "Good boy. Now, do it again." De'Quarious complied, leaving the toe of Scott's sneaker wet with tears and snot. Scott lifted his sneaker. "Now kiss the sole."
"Sir...please." De'Quarious begged. "That's nasty, please don't make me do that."
Scott kicked the boy in the jaw. "Do as you're told goddamnit! You know what, I'm expecting too much from you. I forgot, you're a nigger, and I'm here trying to deal with you like you're a real man." Scott shook his head and sighed at his mistake, and then walked into his room. He came out with a long leather whip, rolled up neatly, until, with a flick of his wrist, it hissed through the air. De'Quarious gasped and backed up into a corner of the living room. "My grandfather always said, `You gotta treat a horse like a horse, a dog like a dog, and a nigger like a nigger.' Do I have your attention now?" Scott asked, making the whip crack once more. De'Quarious nodded. "Now get the fuck over here and do as you're told." De'Quarious crawled to Scott and licked the sole of his sneaker, closing his eyes and willing himself to not think about the fact that Scott had just jogged around the neighborhood in those sneakers and had stepped in God knows what on his way back.
"Take them off." Scott demanded and De'Quarious looked up at the white man, strong and dominant, his large hand gripping the whip's handle so hard that his knuckles were white, and untied Scott's sneakers. He pulled first one off and then the other, the scent of Scott's sweaty size thirteen feet making the young nigger's dick hard. Scott could sense De'Quarious' arousal and he smiled, still twirling the whip in his hands. "Smell them boy, go ahead. Get a good whiff of these big white feet." De'Quarious lowered his broad Negro nose to Scott's socks, deeply inhaling the smell of those huge, sweaty white feet. De'Quarious sighed in pleasure and slid his hand into his jeans, stroking his hard uncut jungle cock. "You like that nigger?" Scott asked. De'Quarious nodded, his nose still buried in Scott's socks. "Take them off now." De'Quarious reached for them with his hands, but Scott took the handle of the whip and hit the boy on the knuckles with them. "Not like that, use your teeth."
De'Quarious hesitated, but overcome by his lust, the boy used his teeth to pull Scott's socks off, and was rewarded by the white man putting his large sweaty feet in the boy's face, using his big toe to rub the nigger's thick lips and sliding it into his mouth. "Suck it boy, suck it like a fat cock." De'Quarious closed his eyes and sucked Scott's toes, starting with the big one and working his way down, doing the same for both of the man's feet. De'Quarious' dick was rock hard; his African precum was dripping from the head, wetting his boxers.
Scott used his foot to gently knock the nigger on his ass while he pulled down his shorts, his huge piece of Anglo-Saxon meat barely contained by the dingy jockstrap that he wore. De'Quarious' mouth watered at the sight of that big bulge, wanting more than anything to wrap his thick nigger lips around that fat white cock and show Scott that he was in fact a good little nigger. His mouth craved that white donkey dick and inside his drawers his coon cock was throbbing uncontrollably. Without being told, the boy crawled to Scott, rising up on his knees and obediently waiting with his face in front of Scott's crotch, the scent of virile white masculinity, sweat, and piss assaulting his wide Negro nostrils and making him groan softly. "You know what to do boy, you know what I want." Scott smiled at De'Quarious, blinding the young Negro with his brilliant white teeth. "And I know what you want too." Scott grabbed De'Quarious by his cornrowed head and shoved his face into his sweaty crotch. De'Quarious grunted in surprise and then because he couldn't breathe, but Scott kept him there, wishing to imprint the scent of his white crotch on the nigger's face.
Without pulling his jockstrap off, Scott freed his huge cock, the fat tumescent dick slapping De'Quarious upside the head as it fell from the jock. De'Quarious felt a pang of shame, but the feelings of lust overpowered that, and the boy eagerly wrapped his thick, juicy, African lips around Scott's dick and sucked the monster to life. De'Quarious sucked Scott's dick with gusto, feeling the most at peace that he'd felt in a long time. There was something soothing about what he was doing; it was as if by taking Scott's huge white cock into his hot monkey mouth he was somehow improving himself. There seemed to be no better manifestation of his inferiority to this white stud than to be on his ashy black knees, slobbering all over that thick cock, and frantically stroking his own thick meat. De'Quarious sighed and Scott's dick was able to slide down his throat further, which caused the white man to groan and gently rub De'Quarious' face with the whip. "You're such a good nigger." Scott kept saying. De'Quarious was silent save for the gagging, slurping, and sucking noises that he made while doing his best to deep throat the man's meat. "You like this white cock?" Scott asked. De'Quarious didn't answer and Scott used the handle of the whip to hit the boy upside the head. "I'm talking to you nigger, answer my question."
"Yes sir."
"'Yes, sir' what?"
"Yes, sir I--" De'Quarious couldn't believe what he was about to say, holding Scott's throbbing pink meat in his dark hand, slick from his own saliva. He loved the power that Scott held over him, how even without the money as a factor Scott was able to force him to do what he wished. Perhaps what Scott had been saying all along was true, perhaps niggers were made to serve white men. "Yes sir, I like this white cock." De'Quarious mumbled, looking down at the floor.
Scott lifted the boy's head. "You look me in the eye and say that, and you better not flinch boy."
De'Quarious looked up at Scott, his pretty brown eyes staring into Scott's gorgeous sky-blue eyes, and he said, his voice low but steady, "I like this white cock."
Scott smiled. "Good, now keep sucking on it." De'Quarious was so intent on stuffing as much of that white cock down his throat that he didn't notice Scott move his hand, nor did he notice that the white man had raised his hand--that which held the whip--over his head. In fact, De'Quarious would only feel it, the handle as it crashed into his skull, and after that he passed out. Several hours later he awoke on the floor of Scott's bedroom, naked save for the same dingy jockstrap that Scott had worn earlier, arms and legs bound tightly with rope, and, in the distance, he could hear the sound of several male voices. De'Quarious struggled to free himself from the rope tying his limbs together and wondered what the hell he'd gotten himself into this time.