In this ongoing series, a naïve college student finds himself drawn into the mysterious and perilous world of Black Domination from which there is no return. If this story does not appeal to you, Nifty Archives has hundreds of thousands more to choose from. You can help keep this site running by making a tax-deductable donation now. Income tax, that is. If you're currently paying fag tax or cracker tax, you still have to make those payments. That's not gonna change.
Dustin and the Psychiatrist,
by Skorpio
Part Three
The next morning, Dustin woke with his usual early wood, but of course, it was locked away, out of reach, in the stainless steel cage. There was space for his penis to become engorged but not enough to permit a full erection. It might have been painful if he was not already diminutive to begin with or if his prick ever got really hard in the first place.
The black dildo stood upright on the nightstand like an obelisk. An inanimate object, the exact replica in hard rubber of an enormous black cock. Dustin remembered vividly the spasms of ecstasy he experienced in Dr. Ezinwa's office yesterday, jamming his hole with the dildo and sucking it relentlessly. Now it was silently calling to him.
As the lubricated dildo slid into his receptive ass, Dustin thought to himself: "I am a hole. Everything the doctor said is true. I really am a hole." It felt so good in his ass. So big, so hard, so black, yet lifeless and cold. Dustin rammed the dildo in and out as if brute force would make it feel more real, wishing it was the real thing. His penis wilted in favor of this new sensation tickling his prostate.
Dustin felt wonderful having something in his ass. As he fucked himself, Dustin pictured Dr. Ezinwa's incredible black cock, but what sparked little bursts of pleasure inside his bowels was hearing in his head his own voice reciting, "I'm the hole between a woman's legs." That was becoming Dustin's mantra.
Maybe the doctor's treatment was already having some effect? Dustin craved black cock as much as ever, but now the thought of black cock was in competition with the idea of being the hole between a woman's legs. "I'm a pussy!" Dustin thought, with a thrust of the black rubber cock. Those three simple words pushed a button that sent an orgasmic wave ripple inside him. "I'm a pussy!" Again, like pushing a button.
Dustin wished he did not have to stop and get ready for his next session. He could not wait to tell Dr. Ezinwa how much he enjoyed using the dildo. Maybe the doctor would be pleased enough to give him a taste of the real thing? At least another peek at that throbbing cobra, another whiff of that intoxicating scent. He could not help himself. He was a hole. He needed cock. He thought about this in the shower and as he dressed.
Walking from his off-campus apartment to the office downtown, the sight of other students reminded Dustin that he had cut classes that week. All of them. The semester was half over. Dustin would graduate in less than two months. He could not put off his classes any longer. He decided to show up for his independent study with Prof. Taft, make an apology for missing Tuesday's meeting and get back on track.
The canvas backpack over Dustin's shoulder contained books for school, along with the black dildo, KY jelly, and a washcloth. It felt thrilling carrying the dildo around like a magical talisman or holy relic. Making love to the dildo while Dr. Ezinwa observed was hot.
Having a dildo made Dustin feel incredibly sexy. He wondered how many other guys used dildos. "Why am I always the last one to find out?" he mused. His hole twitched and tingled, making his prick stir within its cage of steel. Dustin hoped the doctor would let him jerk off today, maybe even service that magnificent "bura."
These and other erotic thoughts occupied his mind until he reached the doctor's suite. Although Dustin arrived early as he had the other two times, on this occasion he was not kept waiting. Without looking up from her magazine, the receptionist said, "The doctor has been expecting you. Go right in."
Dr. Ezinwa was behind his well-organized desk, but not alone. In one of the two leather armchairs rested a heavy-set black man with a thick, grizzled beard, wearing a worsted-wool brown blazer over a cashmere sweater, and gray slacks. He remained seated.
"Come in, Obo." Dr. Ezinwa beckoned the whiteboy to approach. "I want you to meet my associate, Dr. Conrad Kaufmann. He is a physician who has occasionally encountered cases such as yours. Do you remember Owen? Dr. Kaufmann referred Owen to me after treating him for a sexually transmitted disease. With your consent, I would like for Dr. Kaufmann to sit in on our sessions. He may have something of substance to contribute."
"Yes, sir," said Dustin, meekly. How could he refuse? Why would he want to refuse? He was already quivering with excitement at the probing touch of Dr. Kaufmann's dark eyes, magnified behind thick lenses into blurred onyx stones with a mineral gleam.
"I have heard a lot about you, Dustin," said Dr. Kaufmann. His deep resonating vocal cords gave the words a Germanic crunch. For some reason, Dustin had expected him to have an accent like Dr. Ezinwa's. "You are one of the fortunate -- to have sought help in time."
"Dustin became infected approximately six months ago," said Ezinwa.
"I see," said Kaufmann. "It is generally between three and six months before the craving becomes intolerable. I am surprised he held out as long as he did."
"Obo," said Ezinwa, turning back to Dustin, "On a scale of one to ten, how strong would you say your craving is?"
"At this moment, sir?"
"Yes, at this very moment."
"Twelve!" announced Dustin, decisively.
Both doctors chuckled heartily. They conferred for a few minutes as if Dustin were not present, speaking a professional jargon Dustin could not follow. There were both levity and gravity in their dialogue and so many shades in between.
Despite different accents, there was a shared richness in their voices that was spellbinding. Dustin could listen to them talk all day and never understand a word. The power of their deep, authoritative voices was not dissimilar to the effect of a black man's natural musky scent upon the whiteboy's vulnerable senses.
Suddenly, Dustin snapped out of his daze, realizing that the room was conspicuously silent. The doctors had stopped talking and were both frowning in his direction. Dustin felt as if he had done something wrong.
"Remove your clothes," said Ezinwa. While Dustin stripped, the psychiatrist addressed his confederate, "I find that actual nakedness encourages the patient to be psychologically naked, as well."
"I concur," said Kaufmann. "Complete nudity is essential if I am to give a patient a proper examination. Modesty is of no consequence."
Ezinwa rejoined, "Of course, nudity might well be expected in a physician's office. Not so when one comes to see a psychiatrist. In this setting where a state of dishabille would be quite inappropriate, nudity becomes nakedness which in turn invites feelings of shame and inadequacy. It is my task to fuse those emotions to the patient's identity if he is to view himself realistically. There must be no illusions, no false pride, no escape from the truth no matter how harsh."
Save for the steel cage encasing his genitals, Dustin was naked. He had a nicely proportioned physique with some definition and a firm stomach. His small, flat nipples were like pink dimes on alabaster mounds. A wisp of dark yellow curls ran from his navel and disappeared beneath the flexible band around his waist.
"Turn around," said Ezinwa. "Show Dr. Kaufmann your hindquarters. Spread your buttocks for him."
Dustin did as he was told. It was both thrilling and embarrassing being naked like this.
"Did you use your dildo as I instructed, Obo?"
"Yes, sir," said Dustin, straightening up. "I used it first thing this morning."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I did, sir." Dustin looked down at his bare feet. For some reason, he could not look the doctor in the eye when he added, "I think that I'm ready for the real thing, sir."
"Do you, indeed, Dr. Obo?" Ezinwa laughed. "Tell me, where did you get your degree? I thought we agreed that I will be the doctor, you will be the patient?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Of course," said Ezinwa, adding as an afterthought, "You are."
Not only was there the flickering hint of a sneer on the Nigerian's sensuous lips, Dustin wanted it to be so. He wanted a superior man like Dr. Ezinwa to sneer at him. It reminded him that he nothing but a hole and that, in turn, made Dustin long to be filled. His face turned red.
"That's quite interesting," Dr. Kaufmann observed. "Do you suppose the patient is blushing due to embarrassment or arousal?"
"Both," said the psychiatrist. "I have managed in a very short time, utilizing a standard therapeutic methodology with an injection of personal magnetism, if you will, to trigger the patient's long-repressed self-loathing. He has always been ashamed of what he is. He has always known that he is a source of bitter disappointment to his parents, family, and society. What I have done is to remind him of that truth."
"How could he forget those emotions?"
The Afro-Germanic physician leaned forward in his chair to get a better look at Dustin. Something about those black, marble-like eyes enlarged and distorted by the thick lenses frightened the naked whiteboy.
"You have resided in this decadent country longer than I have, my friend," said Ezinwa. "If one heeds popular media, indeed if one were to grow up under its malignant influence, one might be inclined to think homosexuals have a right to be proud of their deviancy. They hold marches and parades. Picnics, too, I imagine. And let us not forget weddings. How they love those!"
"It is a sign of the Time to Come," said Kaufmann, solemnly.
"May it come sooner than later," said Ezinwa. "May I offer you a sherry that we may toast that proposition?"
Kaufmann vigorously concurred. Ezinwa directed Dustin to pour two sherries from the collection of decanters on the mahogany credenza. There was also a pitcher of clear water and several crystal goblets of varying shapes and sizes. Dustin was so nervous as he performed this simple task that he came close to spilling a drop. The doctors clinked glasses to their cause and drank deep.
Dustin had no idea what was going on. Nor did he care. He stood naked in an office with two fully dressed, professional men of color. It was like being in a pornographic movie which led Dustin to hope for a happy ending. He wondered what Dr. Kaufmann's cock looked like. It had to be huge. He could tell just by looking at the man.
"What are you thinking, Obo?" asked Dr. Ezinwa.
After a flustered moment, Dustin spoke up. "I was wondering about Dr. Kaufmann's cock... its size, shape..." Being frank about his sexual thoughts was getting easier.
"Don't you know these things already?" said the psychiatrist. "Take a good look at my associate. I know, it is like looking into the sun. We are in truth, Men of the Sun. You are a troglodyte. Shade your eyes if necessary. Be comprehensive in your scrutiny. Look at his physical structure, his hands, his face. Do not let mere fabric stand between you and your heart's desire. Now, close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Open your mind's eye. Can you picture Dr. Kaufmann's "bura?"
"Yes, yes, I can!" Dustin gasped, excitedly. "I can see it!"
It was uncanny. The horny twenty-one-year-old could picture the physician's cock vividly: plump and large like a dark brown sausage, uncircumcised and thickly veined, more than good enough to eat. Dustin's mouth watered.
"You will find, Obo," said Dr. Ezinwa, lighting one of his black, gold-tipped cigarettes, "that you possess a preternatural gift. It is quite common among your kind. If you put your mind to it, you can observe a fully dressed man and intuit what is hidden. Maybe your subconscious mind calculates the dimensions of his hands and feet, or some particular ratio of body parts? We do not yet know exactly how homosexuals are able to achieve this. With experience, females can acquire this apperception, but it appears to be innate in homosexuals."
Kaufmann rose to accept a cigarette." "Most remarkable!" he exclaimed. "Would the patient care to confirm his inner vision? In the interest of science, of course."
Said Ezinwa, "Would you like that, Obo? Would you like to see Dr. Kaufmann's "bura" for yourself?"
Dustin nearly swooned. "Yes, sir," was all he could manage to croak. Heart pounding, mouth agape, wanting to say more, wondering if he should drop to his knees. He could almost taste that monster cock.
"That was a rhetorical question," sighed Ezinwa, dismissively. "Of course you do. Well, perhaps later, if there is time. Now, pour yourself a glass a water." He placed in Dustin's nervous hand a small pink capsule. "It's an herbal compound that will help you relax. Take a seat on the sofa."
Dustin swallowed the pill without hesitation. His buttocks, damp with perspiration, clung to the leather upholstery. A trickle of sweat between his flattened cheeks made his hole tingle. Clasped fingers rested on the steel cup caging his private parts.
"Have you ever been hypnotized, Obo?" asked Ezinwa.
"Yes, sir," said Dustin. "Sort of."
"Explain."
Dustin told how he attended as a freshman a performance of stage hypnotism sponsored by the Psychology Club. He was among a dozen volunteers from the audience eager to be hypnotized. Dustin listened to the hypnotist's soothing voice and counted down from ten to one, but when it came to licking an imaginary ice cream cone or quacking like a duck, he simply could not bring himself to follow through. He wanted to go along, but that would be pretending, wouldn't it? In the end, Dustin sat still while the others finished their ice creams and made unusual sounds.
"Afterwards, I asked the guy what happened," said Dustin. "Why didn't it work for me?"
"What did the mesmerist say?" asked Dr. Kaufmann, leaning forward, pupils magnified and distorted. It was only the second time the Afro-Germanic physician had spoken directly to the young patient.
"He told me some people are too self-conscious to be hypnotized, sir," Dustin replied, trying not to flinch under scrutiny. "He said people like me have the kind of minds that never shut up. We're always thinking or analyzing. He said his wife was like that. He said a lot of things." Dustin frowned.
"What else did he say?" insisted Dr. Ezinwa, reaching for the jade ashtray. "Hold nothing back."
Dustin cleared his throat before resuming. "The hypnotist said people like me are `fundamentally insecure.' He said we have a tendency to be paranoid of others because we lead secret lives. We don't know how to relax. We're always up to something, he said. Like his wife. He told me that I would benefit from seeing a psychotherapist."
"How did that make you feel?" Ezinwa took another sip of sherry.
"He described me to a tee," Dustin admitted. "I was still in the closet to a lot of people. Or thought I was, I guess. My folks knew because they found the porn under my mattress, but they told me not to tell any of the relatives, you know?"
"You were a disappointment to your parents." Ezinwa shook his head with dismay absent any glimmer of compassion in his dark eyes. "So, you pretended to be the man you are not. Who else knew of your aberrant desires?"
"I only told one other person," said Dustin. "My best friend, Parker. I had a crush on him. Even though he was a year younger than me, he was such a hunk. We got drunk one night on a bottle of raspberry schnapps when his mom was out of town, and I blurted out my feelings. Parker told me he didn't have those kinds of emotions for me, but he would let me give him a blowjob if that was what I wanted. He made it sound like he was doing me a favor."
"What did you want from Parker?"
"I wanted him to hold me... and love me," said Dustin. "I wanted to feel his body close to mine but it wasn't about his cock. I wanted Parker. I was fifteen. I had never sucked a cock before, but I ended up going down on my best friend. Parker's cock was so massive that I couldn't cram it all the way into my mouth, but he came anyway, and I threw up, and we both passed out."
"Did you and Parker remain friends after this encounter?" asked the psychiatrist.
"No...no, we didn't," said Dustin, reliving the heartbreak. "The next morning, Parker made me promise not to tell anyone that I was a cocksucker. That's the word he used. He threatened to hurt me if I told anyone what we did. I never breathed a word, but the kids at school started calling me names behind my back. Someone wrote stuff on my locker. Parker avoided me like the plague. I went out with a lot of girls to prove the rumors about me were wrong, but that backfired when I never made a pass at my dates. I wanted to have sex with a girl, but my cock could not get hard, not even for a blowjob. High school was horrible."
"Yes, Obo, you are quite useless to women," chuckled Ezinwa. His sardonic mirth was met by chortles from his distinguished associate.
"I'm the hole between a woman's legs," Dustin intoned.
"That was indeed what your acquaintance saw when he looked at you," Ezinwa expounded. "How deluded you must have been to imagine that he could continue to regard you fraternally after what you did? Parker could not accept you as an equal, let alone a friend. You were a disappointment to him just as you betrayed your family."
Dustin hung his head to hide the moisture welling in his eyes.
"Let's try something," suggested Dr. Ezinwa. "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and listen to the sound of my voice. Don't think of this as hypnosis. I want you to relax because I can see that you are tense. My voice can take the tension away. My voice, Obo, drowning out the silly monkey chatter in your skull, hear my voice instead, inside you, feel my strength and follow my voice deeper and deeper toward total peace and trust. Are you with me, Obo?"
"Yes," murmured Dustin, beginning to slouch. "I'm with you."
"That's very good, Obo. Very, very good. Yes, you are a good hole, a very good hole. You are in fact a very special hole. You may be the hole we've been looking for. Would you like to be that hole?"
"Yes... sir," said Dustin like a man on the edge of sleep.
"I am going to count to three and snap my fingers," said Dr. Ezinwa. "When you hear the snap, you will enter an alert but restful state of mind eager to do whatever you are told without a second thought, do you understand?"
"I understand."
"One, surrender!" said Ezinwa. "Two, submit! Three, serve!"
Ezinwa snapped his fingers with a sharp pop and Dustin instantly sat erect. A glaze came over his long-lashed, green eyes and his pretty lips, slightly parted, froze in place. With his symmetrical features and flawless skin, Dustin could have been mistaken for a department store manikin.
"Now we are making progress, `mein Freund,'" said Dr. Kaufmann, cracking his large, brown knuckles. "May I inquire why you did not hypnotize the subject before today? Surely, it would have hastened our objective. One wearies of listening to these subhumans talk. It's amusing at first, like marveling at a voluble parrot, but I cannot be around them for long."
"The subject has, in fact, been subject to hypnotic conditioning since first he entered this office only three days ago. You see, there are more subtle means of induction than swinging a pendulum or spinning a spiral wheel. Those are parlor tricks. An old shaman taught me how to modulate my voice while manipulating a gullible white man's attention with precise gestures until he slides into a state of slack-jawed suggestibility. It's not unlike the way one speaks to a horse or dog to win its trust. No fast movements unless you want to startle a caucasoid deliberately. Something about our vocal register triggers their fight-or-submit reflex. They are very easy to manipulate. I am sure you have observed this in your own dealings with them."
"I have not," replied Dr. Kaufmann in his harsh German accent, crunching the words between his uneven teeth. "I find caucasoids insufferably irritating. They have little impulse control. They don't listen. They are indefatigable liars. They are so deformed it is unsettling to even look at them, although, I must say, this one here has a rather appealing aspect."
"I think so, too." The Nigerian's perfect teeth gleamed against his dark brown skin. "He has a natural seductive quality. That white angelic face belies a whore whose lust knows no surcease. He looks at you with innocent green eyes as he licks his lips to moisten them. He wants to be taken in the most brutal way. He wants to suffer for his joy."
"I was speaking of his hindquarters," Dr. Kaufmann leered. "I may need to see him in my own examination room if there is time. May we get on with it? Time is of the essence." He produced from inside his jacket a small wooden case which opened to reveal a tourniquet and hypodermic needle.
"Quite true," Dr. Ezinwa concurred. "We are in a race against time, but this stage cannot be rushed. The subhuman's N.E.P. must be induced to spike. Its deviant sexual craving must be all-consuming if we are to succeed." The three initials stood for Nubian Eropyrexia, the medical term for what is popularly known as "jungle fever."
"Proceed," said Kaufmann.
The Nigerian psychiatrist turned to the motionless whiteboy on the sofa. "Can you hear my voice?"
"Yes, sir," uttered Dustin without fluttering an eyelash. Only his soft, pink lips moved.
"Very good," said Dr. Ezinwa. "What is your name?"
"My name is Dustin Reynard, but you call me Obo, sir."
"Why do I call you that?"
"Because I am the hole between a woman's legs."
"Obo is your true name because it is what you are. When a Black Man speaks your true name, you will become as you are now, totally obedient. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Let us be certain of that." Dr. Ezinwa took off his jacket. His white dress shirt tapered from his deep chest to slender waist, following the contours of his powerful physique. "What is your true name?"
"Obo."
"What happens when a Black Man speaks your true name?"
"Total obedience, sir."
"Being obedient makes you very happy, doesn't it?"
"Yes, sir. Very happy."
"Good `obo.'" The psychiatrist unbuttoned his French cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. "Do you remember how your first session ended?"
"Yes, sir. I sucked your cock."
"What was that like for you?"
"It was wonderful, sir. I've been thinking about your cock ever since."
Although the hypnotized whiteboy spoke normally, his body and face remained immobile. His eyes looked blankly into space.
"Do you wish to suck it again?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why I should insert my `bura' into your mouth?" Dr. Ezinwa unbuckled his belt.
"Because I'm a hole, sir. I'm a hole for black cock."
"Elaborate. Tell me how you feel about black cock? What is it you love about my bura?' Why do you worship it? Tell me everything you feel about black cock and do not stop until you actually see my bura' with your own eyes. No lies. No hyperbole. Speak from your heart that the truth may set you free. Begin!"
Dustin extemporized: "I love black cock because it's so big and powerful and juicy. I love black cock because I need it. I need black cock inside me. Because I'm a hole. I'm a hole for black cock. I love your cock the most. I was so excited when you let me suck your cock. It's the biggest black cock I've ever had in my mouth. It was amazing. It felt like I died and went to heaven. I worship your almighty black cock because it's the black cock of God and I am worthless without your black cock inside me..."
"'Donnerwetter!'" growled Dr. Kaufmann, lapsing into his native tongue out of exasperation. "`Der Schwule'...he has an enticing way of stating the obvious, but may we get to the point?" He brandished the syringe.
"Again, patience, my friend," said Dr. Ezinwa, unzipping his pants and lowering them to his knees. Kente-patterned boxers draped a print the length and girth of a prized cucumber at the county fair. His long, muscular thighs were like tree trunks. "The subject is almost ready. The more he fetishizes his obsession with words, the hotter burns his Eropyrexia. Listen to him chatter, pouring his heart out, feeding the flames of desire. Soon, quite soon."
"Black cock has flavor..." Dustin rambled on like a man at a séance possessed by a loquacious spirit with a lot to get off its ectoplasmic chest. "White cock doesn't taste like anything at all. It's nasty. So is white cum. It tastes like bleach. If I had known black cock has flavor, I would have hooked up with black dudes a lot sooner. Black cock actually a flavor. It's savory and sweet. Some black cocks are more savory. They really taste like beef. I have had really sweet black cocks that actually taste like carob and dark chocolate. Some black cocks have a nutty taste. Black cock is so delicious. When I see black cock, I just want to put it in my mouth. I get this starving sensation in the pit of my stomach, this cavernous, empty feeling inside me like I'm nothing but a hollow shell, famished for black cock, and I need it to go on living. I have to have black cock..."
"You see? Now he is salivating," Dr. Ezinwa observed, unbuttoning his dress shirt, dark brown abdominals sculpted to perfection. "We are almost there."
Drool trickled from the corners of Dustin's lips as he persevered: "Every black cock has its own special aroma. It's an overpowering, musky smell with so many more notes than I can describe. When a white dude is sweaty he smells like he needs a shower. But when a black man is sweaty, I want to lick his ebony skin and bury my nose in his crotch and inhale. But the best thing about black cock is when it fills my mouth with sperm. Nothing in the world tastes better than a black man's semen. It's pure ambrosia and you get so much. Black men gush buckets more cum than white guys. If I swallow too fast, it makes me choke."
"Stop speaking." Dr. Ezinwa hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers as Dustin fell silent. "In a moment, I am going to show you my bura.' As soon as you see it, you will get on your knees and take my bura' into your mouth. Your task is to make me ejaculate as quickly as you can. Pay attention to nothing else but doing your job. Do you understand, Obo?"
"Yes, sir," Dustin replied.
With that, the Nigerian psychiatrist dropped his drawers, and at once Dustin had the formidable member between his lips. It began to swell in size as the cocksucker's mouth stretched open as far as his jaw would allow. Beads of perspiration collected on his fair brow.
"His mouth is very hot," grunted Dr. Ezinwa. "He is consumed with fever now. Prepare your instrument, Conrad. Wait for the moment. It's coming."
Dustin continued sucking relentlessly, taking the Nigerian cock all the way down his throat with ease, oblivious to the Afro-Germanic doctor tying a rubber tourniquet around his bicep. "Obo, make a fist," said Dr. Kaufmann.
After tracing the pinkish vein with his large brown index finger until it dilated, Dr. Kaufmann dabbed the site with an alcohol wipe. Then, the hypodermic needle was threaded into the holder and a collection tube inserted.
"Do your job, adabesi,' worship your God, little aibu,' you wretched, subhuman hole!" growled Dr. Ezinwa, low and deep. He grabbed the whiteboy's tousled head with both hands and took over with a series of deep, brutal, pounding thrusts. "Now, Conrad. Now!"
Two things happened at once. With a prolonged groan of orgasmic satisfaction, the Nigerian ejaculated a flood of foaming nectar. The young caucasoid choked with joy as it coursed down his esophagus and spurted from the corners of his mouth. The Afro-German inserted the needle, pushing the collection tube to draw blood. He repeated this procedure until three tubes were filled with the precious sanguine fluid.
"It is finished, `mein Freund,'" said Dr. Kaufmann, applying a band-aid to Dustin's needle mark. He carefully put the equipment away save one vial which he held up to the light. "The color is striking. Is this why he is called the Scarlet Catamite?" He made a deep guttural sound that was either a chortle or clearing his throat.
"He might not be the Scarlet Catamite at all," shrugged Dr. Ezinwa, drawing up his pants. "I do not know why he is called that. I have not studied the prophecy. I leave that to... others... who know about such matters. Strange things are happening, things, perhaps, a man of science should not look into too closely."
"Bah," scowled Dr. Kaufmann. "On that, we disagree. There can be no limits to scientific inquiry, no sacred boundaries. I do not believe in prophecies or voodoo. Yes, I know there are those who cling to superstition, who devoutly fear the advent of the Scarlet Catamite ushering in the dawn of the Faggot Apocalypse. It's mumbo jumbo, but the cause is real. It is a fairytale to them, but to you and I, Herr Doktor, it is a scientific possibility. One that only a doctor of the mind and a doctor of the body working in collaboration can aspire to manifest. I assure you, witch doctors have nothing of significance to contribute, although I cannot find fault with their enthusiasm."
"You have not seen what I have seen," replied Dr. Ezinwa, buckling his belt. "Do you or do you not believe in the ancient prophecy?"
"I believe if the subject's blood holds the key to synthesizing the pathogen," replied the burly skeptic, "we can make the ancient prophecy come true. That is all that matters. That is what I believe."
"Then, we are in accord, my friend." The two clasped hands in solidarity. "For my part, I believe the subhuman was sent to me by forces beyond your understanding or mine. If I am correct, then he is, in fact, the Scarlet Catamite. Patient Zero, if you will. That means we will succeed, and yet my heart misgives me."
"What do you mean?"
"It is said in my homeland, `when the wind blows in all directions, anything is possible.' We must be on our guard. It is a feeling I have."
"Your presentiments amuse me. What of the subject?"
"If he is the one, in a few days he will be packed into a crate and delivered by means unknown to me to an undisclosed location. What fate awaits him is not mine to speculate."
"And if he is not the one?"
"Then, I will find some productive use for him. Did I mention he has a trust fund?
"I should like to become better acquainted with the subject before he goes... or stays," said Dr. Kaufmann, standing at the door.
"Of course," roared Dr. Ezinwa. "We are only human, after all, and he is a hole. One would have to have ears of stone not to hear that hole crying out to be filled."
"It is not my ears the curvature of his rump has turned to stone."
"Then, be on your way, my friend," chuckled the psychiatrist. "Call me as soon as you have results. I have an assignment for the subject to fulfill this afternoon. After that, the subhuman is ours to use as we please, within reason, until Monday."
"My work will be done in a few hours," said Dr. Kaufmann, confidently. "And I do not need a weekend with the subhuman. I do not think that hole would survive an entire weekend."
"You might be surprised."
After Dr. Kaufmann took his leave, the psychiatrist returned to his patient. The naked whiteboy was on his knees between the sofa and the desk, hypnotically transfixed, oblivious to anything but the sound of Dr. Ezinwa's voice. Dried semen out of tongue's reach glistened like pearly scabs on his chin and nose.
"Are you still present, Obo?"
"Yes, sir."
"Sexually inverted creatures like you are most unsettling. You are fetching in some ways, that cannot be denied. Yet, the very fact you are somehow able to appeal to a man's basest instincts makes you a loathsome abomination. It's ironic we must increase your number in order to subjugate all caucasoid subhumans once and for all. My colleague may disagree, but the Apocalypse was foretold. There are more things in heaven and earth than Conrad dreams of, but you know that, don't you, Obo. You know that you are a very special hole, don't you? Yes, a very, very special hole."
"Thank you, sir," intoned Dustin.
Dr. Ezinwa looked startled. "What's that, Obo? Ahhh, I was not really speaking to you. But it pleases me you are paying attention. I have instructions for you. When I say the word `adebesi' you will awaken refreshed and alert with no memory of being hypnotized. You will not remember servicing me or meeting Dr. Kaufmann. The semen on your face and the band-aid on your arm will puzzle you, but it is just one more mystery in a world you know is too complicated and intimidating for your inferior mind to comprehend. You know what a small, weak hole you are. Not a special hole at all. A very common, ordinary hole that needs to be told what to think, what to do, what to feel. A typical American faggot. After you leave this office, you will proceed to the college campus where you will drop out of all your classes. If anyone asks why you are quitting so close to graduation, tell them whatever is required to allay their concerns. Tomorrow is Saturday, but I expect to see you here at the usual time. Do you understand what you are to do?"
Robotically, Dustin repeated almost word for word his instructions.
"Very good," said Dr. Ezinwa, returning to his desk. "Take your seat on the sofa. Hands in your lap. When I say that certain word, you will no longer be hypnotized. You will awaken alert and able to make decisions again except for the post-hypnotic commands you have been given. The next time you hear me or any Black Man call you by your true name, you will become absolutely obedient to him. You will not be in a trance as you are today, but you will happily comply with any order until he speaks the word that restores your free will: `adabesi!'"
The dull glaze faded from Dustin's eyes. His entire body relaxed as he looked around. "I'm ready, sir," he said.
"Ready for what, little `aibu'?"
"To be hypnotized, sir."
"You don't remember?" Dr. Ezinwa feigned surprise. "I attempted to hypnotize you. I certainly think we succeeded at some level, but your personality was too strong. Too self-conscious, just as you said. We may try this another day, but I am afraid your time is almost up."
The disappointment on Dustin's face, the way his brows scrunched and pink lips pouted, bordered on histrionics.
"Don't be sad, little one," said Dr. Ezinwa, consolingly. "You are coming along quite well. I want to see you again tomorrow morning. It's Saturday, so there should be no conflict with your classes."
"Actually," said Dustin, "I was thinking of dropping out. I mean, I've got this weird infection, right? This insatiable craving for black cock is going to make my life miserable if I don't learn to deal with it. I just can't deal with anything else right now. I am a hole, I know that now. I am a hole, but I need your help. I can come see you every day of the week if you'll let me."
"Are you sure dropping out of college so close to graduation is wise?"
"I'll be okay," said Dustin, bringing a burst of enthusiasm to his decision. "I can always go back to school later. I don't care about school. I need to see you every day."
"Can you even afford that?" The twenty-eight-year-old Nigerian's elbows rested on his desk, brown fingers steepled, index fingers at his ample lower lip. "If you are no longer enrolled in college, you will not qualify for the student rate. My normal fees are quite steep."
"That's not a problem," said Dustin, sounding like a giddy teenager with a solution to all of his parents' objections. "I have a trust fund."
"You may have mentioned that. Very well, then, I shall see you tomorrow at ten, and every morning thereafter...unless something comes up. In the meantime, I have something for you, something you will enjoy." The psychiatrist gestured for Dustin to lift the lid from a small cardboard box on the desk. "Go ahead. Take it out. It is for you, as I said, but in truth, it is something both of us may take pleasure in."
Dustin had never used a butt plug before, but he knew what they looked like. It was shaped like a large, black pinecone attached to a base with a compartment for batteries.
"Put it in," said Dr. Ezinwa. The plug fit snugly inside Dustin's anus, not likely to slip out. "How does it feel?"
"It's not as big as the dildo, but it does feel good," Dustin admitted.
"It feels good in your hole?"
"Yes, sir."
"What you like it to feel even better?"
"Sir?"
Dr. Ezinwa's cell phone was in his hand. He tapped the screen, swiped and tapped again. At once the butt plug began to vibrate. It made no sound as it massaged the sensitive tissue lining Dustin's rectum. A smile lit the whiteboy's face.
"You like that?"
"Yes, sir. It feels strange, but it feels good."
"I can operate it from any distance," Dr. Ezinwa explained. "From time to time when I am thinking of you, I will activate the device. A pleasant reminder from me that you are a hole."
"I am a hole," sighed Dustin.
"Take your clothes and get dressed in the outer room. Don't worry about Vanessa. She's seen whiteboys sporting chastity belts before."
"Are you sure?" Dustin gulped, looking down at the steel cage.
"I anticipated this might be a problem for you." Dr. Ezinwa did not look pleased. "You suffer from overweening self-consciousness. We need to work on that. A hole must never be self-conscious. What has a hole to be ashamed of? You are what you are, and my receptionist knows that."
"But she's a woman."
"What do you even know of women?" Incredulous laughter. "Do as you are told, little `aibu.' This experience will be good for you. When you pay Vanessa for today's session, why don't you give her an extra hundred for her troubles? That's a good hole. Run along. I will see you tomorrow morning."
Udeme Ezinwa swiveled his chair to face the window hung with large-leafed plants as Dustin anxiously ventured beyond the door. There was much to ponder. If the whiteboy was indeed the Scarlet Catamite, if a synthetic pathogen could be developed from his sero-chemistry to infect all white males with N.E.P., regardless of their orientation, then the Faggot Apocalypse would be upon them soon.
The psychiatrist took out his phone to look at pictures of his wife and sons. He was doing this for them. They deserved a better world; and the caucasoids deserved everything that was coming to them. With a smile, he swiped the small screen to an app with three settings: low, medium, and high. He tapped the third option with his finger. From the outer room rose peals of feminine laughter.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Note: with this third installment of Dustin and the Psychiatrist, our hapless protagonist finds himself drawn into the mysterious world of Black Magick and the coming Apocalypse. Although the supernatural plays no explicit role in this tale of mad science, it is part of a larger saga that will unfold as time goes on. For more erotic adventures set in the world of Black Magick, check out:
STORIES OF THE SUPERNATURAL SET IN THE BLACK MAGICK UNIVERSE
Black Magick: Snowflake Black Magick: Halloween Story World Class Cocksucker Master of Black Magick All in the Family
STORIES SET IN THE BLACK MAGICK UNIVERSE WITHOUT EXPLICIT SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
Dustin and the Psychiatrist >From the Journal of Jaxon King The Clearing in the Woods What Fags are For