THUG CASH MASTER, by Skorpio
Part 20: Gangsta's Paradise
Roused by the alarm clock bright and early Sunday morning, Brad and Aaron sat upright and stretched their aching limbs, rubbing sand from their eyes. Sleeping on the hardwood floor without pillows or blankets was not a comfortable experience. Aaron was naked, but Brad's nudity was somewhat compromised by the chastity belt caging his little penis.
Moving in unison, Brad and Aaron kneeled side-by-side before a low altar draped with kente and set with ebon candles and a framed picture of Master Reese. It was uncanny the way his panther eyes followed their every move.
"I am a little white worm... "
"I am a little white toad... "
With each utterance they kowtowed, kissing the floor. Aaron had little doubt and Brad had none whatsoever that their Black God would know if they failed to perform this daily ritual of submission. Its intent was to drill into their heads the reality of their insignificance, that they were vermin in their Master's eyes, easily crushed beneath his heel.
Purpose seized the reins of their undirected, meaningingless lives. It was their destiny to become useful servants. Like many others of their kind, the potential for submission lurked in their nature waiting to be actualized by an alpha male, scion of an alpha race, heir to the Original Man.
Reese walked in on this tableau fresh from a shower, wearing only a white towel around his loins. His slaves had their backs to him with rumps hiked high in the air. Reese suppressed a smile. Being worshiped not only felt good, it felt ordained.
As soon as the two slave-boys completed their devotions, Reese barked: "Front and center!"
Startled, Brad and Aaron spun around on their knees and hung their heads with lowered eyes. Their Master towered over them, arms akimbo.
"You got fifteen minutes to wash up and get ready! Toad, make my breakfast. Scrambled eggs, grits, bacon, coffee, OJ. And cook up a pot of oatmeal for y'all. You two gonna need yo' strength! Those your orders."
"Yes, Sir!"
"Worm, make yourself useful in the kitchen," Reese went on. "After you clean up in there, get on the computer. You know what chu supposed to do."
"Yes, Sir!"
Master Thug's website was receiving a lot of traffic. There were requests to speak directly with Master Thug, to purchase articles of his clothing or copies of Thug Theater videos, not to mention offers to become his servant. It was the worm's chore to separate the wheat from the chaff, not just fakers from spenders but the thrifty from the magnanimous.
As soon as the breakfast dishes were scrubbed and put away, Aaron received his orders: "Get dressed, toad! We takin' a ride."
Since the leather pants he wore on Friday night were now in Master Dre's possession and his linen shirt was nowhere to be seen, Aaron had no other option but to adopt a pair of Brad's medium-size gray sweatpants and one of his white tee-shirts. Since Aaron was two inches taller and had him by almost thirty pounds, the outfit left nothing to the imagination from the front or behind.
"You look ridiculous," snorted Reese, wearing Pelle Pelle jeans and a throwback jersey. Dark shades concealed his eyes. Coconut oil lent his jet-black goatee a sweet-scented sheen. "Let's roll. You get to be my chauffeur."
The car was parked on a side street around the corner. Time was when Aaron cherished his cherry-red Mercedes, a generous gift from his extravagant Aunt Sylvia, but now it meant nothing to him, nothing at all. He wanted his Master to take everything that was his. None of his material possessions meant anything.
For the slave formerly known as Aaron Levitz this swoon of surrender was like a dream from which he did not dare to awaken. At long last he had found a real man whose fundamental virility and strength of will surpassed his own by immeasurable degrees. This was no mere fantasy or fetish, but the fulfillment of his very nature, his inborn character at its deepest roots.
Their destination was Aaron's townhouse at 13 Pennington Circle, a small cul-de-sac in a quiet neighborhood on the west side. It was a two story brick edifice with an attached garage and a short driveway. Birds warbled in the hedges. Aaron trotted behind his Master to the front door. Reese turned the key and stepped into a high-ceilinged, tile-floored foyer. Standing a few paces behind his Master, the toad's heart beat rapidly, hoping to impress..
Aaron had calculated various ways he might contribute to the Master's bank account. He was always clever if not outright lucky when it came to money and he wanted to share this with the man who taught him decisively the meaning of true submission.
"This might work," muttered Reese, lifting his shades.
"You can live here from now on, if you want, Sir!" Aaron gushed obsequiously, regretting his outburst at once.
The thug turned to him with narrowed eyes and a sneer of implacable disgust.. Aaron bit his tongue and felt sick to his stomach, a deep visceral stabbing. He came close to pissing himself like a nervous dog.
"Did I just hear you run yo' mouth without being spoken to?" The bass in Reese's voice boomed like thunder.
"Uhhh, yes Sir." Aaron cringed. His eyebrows wrinkled. "I'm s-sorry, Sir."
"You're sorry??? You fuckin' disrespect me, and say you sorry??? Hell, no! On yo' knees, bitch!"
Aaron's kneecaps cracked against the tiles. An instant later, a swift, brutal kick from Reese's Jordans sent him sprawling ignominiously.
"You invitin' me to live wit' chu? Izzat what chu was sayin'?" Reese roared with disbelief. "You don't invite me to shit! I fuckin' own you, faggot! WHO'S YO' GOD?"
"You are, SIR!"
"WHAT ARE YOU???"
"I'm a little white toad, SIR!"
"Say it like you mean it, TOAD!"
"I'M A LITTLE WHITE TOAD, SIR!!!!"
"Don't chu EVER, EVER FUCKING FORGET THAT! I own yo' azz! What don't chu fuckin' understand? Do I gotta beat yo' silly white ass? Izzat what chu need?"
"I'm s-sorry," quaked the stiff-necked toad. "I'm sorry, Sir, please don't beat me, Sir. I'll never do it again, Sir."
"Aiiiight," said Reese, calming down, satisfied for the time being that the threat of discipline was sufficient. "Why don't you give me the grand tour! Do it on yo' hands and knees like a toad! Make like a hop-frog and bounce!"
Springing from one room to the next like his batrachian namesake was a totally humiliating reminder that his Black Master did not see him as a human being.
The townhouse featured a kitchen with granite countertops, stainless steel sinks, a dishwasher, and a large refrigerator. The master bedroom and attached bathroom with a Jacuzzi were on same level as the spacious living room area furnished with a leather sofa, fifty-inch plasma TV on the wall, and a state of the art sound system.
Aaron hopped his way to a den which boasted an elaborate computer work station equipped with a Toshiba Satellite notebook. There was another large-screen plasma TV. Books, CDs, and DVDs lined the walls.
Bouncing to the second floor, the toad led his Master to two unfurnished bedrooms and a small second bathroom. Then, the whiteboy hopped awkwardly down a flight of stairs to the basement, tumbling head over heels at the bottom step. Reese stepped over him.
In one corner of the finished basement was a washer, drier, and a utility sink. At the other end stood a Bowflex home gym and a boxing bag hanging by a chain from a ceiling beam reflected by mirrors on the walls. Reese ran his long fingers along the expensive machine with approval.
The townhouse was ripe for the taking. The whiteboy wanted him to have it, yet it was not sufficient that the obsequious faggot begged to be relieved of his property.
"Drop them pants, slave!" Reese commanded. "Show me the pussy!!"
Obediently, Aaron tugged down the snug-fitting sweatpants to expose his firm brawny buttocks. Sweat trickled between his pallid cheeks making his rectum tingle.
"You like that? You like showin' me yo' ass? You like what chu doin'? Wiggle it!"
Face pressed against the floor, Aaron shook his rump like an over-exited dog wagging its tail. Once again he felt humiliated and aroused at the same time. He longed to get fucked, yet it was the idea of being dominated and not yet the sensual sensation of being penetrated that excited him.
"Looks like my bitch is in heat!"
Stripping down to his socks, Reese pried apart the toad's taut cheeks and drooled spit on his pink hole. Skinning back the hood, the thug pressed his rigid tool against the sphincter and forced his way, breaking and entering.
Aaron hollered as Reese's crowbar pummeled his guts, thrusting in and out, working the hole brutally, driving away at it like a cunt, drilling deep, pumping relentlessly.
"Who owns you?"
"Unhhh, unhhh, you do, Sir..."
"Who's yo' Master?"
"Unhhh, unhhh, unhhhh, unhhhh... you are... Sir.... unhhh, unhhh, you're my Master..."
"Nah, I ain't yo' Master. You don't even know me, bitch. You can't never know me. All you know is my dick! That's all you know! That's yo' Boss! You serve the dick! Am I gettin' through to you?"
"Yes, Sir," Aaron croaked through gritted teeth. His handsome features were twisted in a grimace of endurance, beady gray eyes bulging like they were about to pop from their sockets.
Reese slammed harder and harder, showing no mercy, working his long inch cock as if he was jamming the barrel of a rifle up the fag's white ass. The thug's nut-sack tightened just before his sperm shot like bullets. Booyah, booyah!
Overwhelmed by waves of orgasmic pleasure, Reese remained in the whiteboy's hungry cunt long enough to catch his breath. His muscular, tattooed chest rose and fell, glistening with sweat. Abruptly, he pulled out with one swift move, shoving the punk away from him with sheer contempt.
Aaron sprawled with his sweatpants tangled around his ankles, his asshole throbbing from a confusion of pain and pleasure. He felt empty without that force of nature inside him. Only now did he begin to equate anal penetration with exquisite sensual pleasure.
"On yo' knees," said Reese.
Aaron scrambled, kneeling before his Master, palms on thighs, cock half hard, nipples firm, eager to please.
"Look at me, bitch" said Reese. "Look me in the eye!"
The instant Aaron lifted his glance his face was struck by Reese's open hand. He tumbled back from the force of the blow.
"Get back up and look at me again!"
Once more, Aaron was subjected to a merciless slap that sent him flying.
"Do it again!"
Whack! Reese's open hand connected brutally with the side of Aaron's face. The bruised punk clambered to his knees but did not dare look up. The lesson was sinking in.
"From now on if you ever look me in the face, that's what you gonna get. Keep yo' eyes on my dick at all times, understand me?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I'm gonna get chu a picture of my dick for yo' altar so you can pray to it. Worship the dick! That other picture of me, that's for the worm. Don't ever let me catch you lookin' at it unless you want a beat down. From now on if you want something you speak to the dick!"
Reese pulled up his boxers and buttoned his jeans. His cock was horny for real poontang.
"Keep yo' eyes level at my crotch, bitch! You maybe can't see my shit when I'm dressed but chu know it's there. I want chu focused on my shit all the time. This ain't punishment. This is what's right. Let me hear you say it, who's yo' Master?"
"Your cock, sir."
"Good bitch." Reese chuckled with approval. "Now get yo' clothes back on and fix me a gin and tonic, slave." That last word rolled off Reese's tongue in two syllables like slay-ave with particular satisfaction.
"Yes, sir!" the toad replied enthusiastically.
Reese made a call on his cell phone. An hour and two cocktails later, Malik arrived in ankle-length shorts, black wifebeater, black do-rag, and gold hoops in both ears.
"You movin' on up," cracked Malik, checking out the place, bumping knuckles. "You finally got a piece of the pie!"
Reese turned to Aaron: "Pay attention, Toad! I'm goin' back to the crib. Malik gonna stay here wit' chu tonight. Obey him like you obey me, understand? Transfer all yo' shit out the master bedroom to one of them empty rooms upstairs. Tomorrow morning, get to yo' job. The worm will meet chu there. You supposed to be his supervisor, so keep him busy. Goes for you, too. Don't forget, y'all there to make me money!!! When y'all get off, report back to the old crib, understand?"
"Yes, Sir," acknowledged the pitiful toad, eyes trained on his Master's crotch, daring to look no higher. "I understand, Sir."
"You fuckin' better!"
Reese drove back to South State Street, leaning gangsta-style behind the wheel of his ride. Pleased with the way everything was going, he peeled off his jersey, letting the blazing sun caress his skin.
TO BE CONTINUED...
IN PART 21: NEVER-ENDING FUCK