This story is a work of erotic fiction. It is intended for entertainment purposes only. It may contain racial slurs and sexual acts which some readers may find offensive. This story is not intended to be read by minors or by anyone who might be unduly influenced by its contents, or where community standards prohibit this type of literature. If any of these prohibitions apply to you, please find something else to read for your entertainment.
Notes from the Hip Hop Tour
Dear Diary,
Every day is a new adventure for me. As the only white boy on this tour I am so excited. I feel that I am learning so much about myself since taking this job as a roadie on a hip hop tour.
After long hours on a chartered bus we finally pulled into Memphis where we are to put on a show. To save money -- these concert promoters are always cheap -- us roadies have had to double up in our hotel rooms. The tour reserves rooms with a single bed, telling the hotel that there will only be one nigga in a room, so they can get cheaper rates. Meanwhile, they assign two, sometimes three or four niggas to a single room and we all have to share a queen sized bed.
It's a good thing none of us are faggots.
I was lucky last night -- I only had to share a bed with one nigga. His name is Clemont. Everybody on the tour calls him "C-Monster."
Clemont is a dark-skinned nigga in his early 20s, who always wears his hair in tight corn-row braids. We spent a night on the town, taking in all the sights and sounds of Memphis. By the time we were ready to turn in for the night C-Monster and me were pretty toasted. Malt liquor mixed with the blunts C-Monster kept rolling got both of us good and wasted.
We got back to the hotel room and stripped down to our boxer shorts so we could call it a night. We both wanted to be good and rested before putting in a full day of unloading gear and setting things up for rehearsal and tomorrow night's concert.
We checked each other out. C-Monster is pretty cut for a little dude. He's short, but he's compact -- built solid like a tank. I'm not bad myself. I've been working out -- pumping a little iron -- so I can hold my own with the niggas who seem to be naturally muscular.
I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a shit. By the time I got back to the bed C-Monster was out cold. Even though we had a queen sized bed, with lots of room for two niggas, C-Monster had sprawled out across the bed. I had to squeeze in and rest my head on his arm just to have enough room to try to get some sleep.
Clemont smelled of coco butter and regular nigga body funk, it was a musty, sweet yet manly smell he gave off. Sleeping snuggled up next to him like that, with his arm under my neck and his firm black body pressed against mine I couldn't help getting a hard-on. I don't know why that happens every time I sleep next to a nigga. I aint gay or nothing, but it always seems to happen. It's kinda annoying.
Anyway, I finally drifted off to sleep and started having weird dreams about being raped by a gang of wild black niggas in an African jungle. Their big long nigga dicks kept firing jizz all over my face and in my ass. It was a crazy dream. I don't know what caused it; maybe it was the weed and the malt liquor playing tricks on my mind, but that's the kind of crazy shit I was dreaming about.
Anyway, the dream got more and more intense -- so intense, in fact that I woke up. When I was fully awake I realized that Clemont still had his boxers on, but he was grinding his cock into my thigh. The nigga was still asleep, but he was absent-mindedly giving into his instincts and humping on me like I was his woman or something. I felt that big nigger cock pushing against the side of my belly. I never realized before how big his dick was.
I was kinda aroused, having that big nigga cock pushing up against me like that, but I was also offended. I don't want to be anyone's bitch. I said out loud, "Oh hell naw." I reached out my hand to push Clemont away from me, but all I managed to do was grab a handful of fully-erect nigger cock.
That cock was thick and warm under his cotton shorts. I felt it pulsating in my hand. I didn't want to let go of it. I felt like I was holding onto big Black Mamba snake or something. I didn't know what to do with it. I started stroking that bitch up and down, trying to see if I could make it go down or something; I guess I was trying to tame the bitch but it just kept getting harder and harder.
Finally Clemont started stirring. I think he was waking up. I tried to lay still, but I was still clutching his big black manhood. Then I heard Clemont mumble in a low voice, "Yeah, keep doin' dat."
So I kept doing it.
I slowly resumed stroking Clemont's hard black cock. Gradually I picked up speed and did it with more and more vigor. Clemont brushed my hand away and pulled down his boxer shorts, freeing the black python between his legs. I was shocked. I was embarrassed. I didn't want him to think I was some kind of faggot who was into stroking a nigger's man meat while he was sleeping. I held my hands close to my body, hoping he would forget about what I had just done and fall asleep again -- but he didn't.
Instead he reached out, grabbed my hand and placed it squarely on his cock and mumbled, "I said keep strokin' dat bytch."
So I stroked it.
I stroked him harder and harder, making his body quiver. I felt like I had power. I felt I controlled that nigger's body. This really made me horny. I whipped out my own cock and started stroking it while I kept stroking Clemont.
I heard him breath heavy. It really went to my head. It's an intoxicating feeling, knowing that you have control over someone by grabbing their cock. I felt I had Clemont, literally, in the palm of my hand.
I made that nigga grind and moan. I hissed in his ear, "Yeah, I own you, nigger. I own your cock. This cock is mine -- give it to me."
I could see Clemont's lower lip quivering with pleasure in the darkness. His black face was full of ecstasy. His eyes rolled up in his head.
"Gimme that nigger cum," I hissed, "I wanna see you shoot that load all over your black body."
Clemont's lip kept trembling. He sniffled with pleasure.
I leaned over and licked the tip of his cock head. It tasted funky and sweet, like earth mixed with mango juice. I licked his cock head again. Then I slowly slid it into my mouth and sucked on it like a chicken bone.
His cock was thick, and warm in my mouth. It was pulsating with hardness. I sucked on that nigger's cock and took more and more of his shaft into my mouth. I heard him moaning and gasping. He surrendered himself to me.
I licked up and down the shaft of that big black cock, tasting the tropical flavors of coconut and jungle oil. I licked his hairy black balls and tasted the musty flavor of nigga jock sweat. I had the taste and the smell of nigga manhood all over my mouth.
I gasped for breath and whispered, "Come for me, nigger -- come for me. Let me feel that nigger jism splash down the back of my throat."
I felt his hips gyrate against my face. The coarseness of his kinky pubic hair brushed against my nose. I started gagging on that cock as he thrust it deeper and deeper in my mouth, fucking it like he was fucking one of his baby mamas in the ghetto.
He grabbed the back of my head and fired cum down my throat.
Thick, hot splashes of white coconut juice oozed across my tongue, arousing me like a can of fresh oysters.
C-Monster kept pumping load after load of cum juices in my mouth, making me one of his boys -- part of his posse. Big nigger cock firing away in a white boy's throat.
I slurped it all down. I fired shots of cum from my own cock and they landed across Clemont's black thighs. I don't think he noticed. His smooth black body was covered with a coat of sweat, making it shine, even in the moonlight.
When I finished shooting my load I was exhausted. So was Clemont. We both just lay there in the bed, trying to recover from our orgasms.
I came up for air and rested my head in the crook of his arm, which was still sprawled across the bed. I saw his gleaming bicep in front of me and couldn't resist sticking out my tongue and licking it for good measure -- getting yet another taste of his powerful black manhood.
Clemont shot me an alarmed glance, as if I had just done something faggoty. "No homo," I reassured him, "Just chill. No homo."
Clemont looked at me to be sure I meant it, "No homo?" When I nodded that I meant it he said, "Okay, cool," and relaxed.
We both slept soundly through the night with a newer and deeper respect for our manhood. This is the way it should be with all guys when they reach the point where they can trust one another without having to make bitch moves, like getting jealous the way women do. This is how guys should relate when there aren't a bunch of flighty women around who always get in the way and distract you from manly things.
I'm sure Clemont and me will work together much better now. That's what manhood is all about. It's about having your partner's back and he's got your back too. It would help the morale of the whole crew if other guys could get a chance to bond that way.
Sincerely,
Evan (on the road with the hip hop tour)