Black Daddy Domination

Loud, uproarious laughter reverberated in the tiny alcove and Scott's heart sank at the same ratio that his cock rose. No matter how much he knew on a visceral level, no matter how much he intellectualized and articulated that his penis was small, extraordinarily small in fact, when he heard others say it, especially Black men, he felt anger, shame, and arousal at the same time. He was aroused by the humiliation but he just couldn't let go of that nasty "white male thing" that caused him to look at Black men with nothing but contempt and disgust. It was a part of his DNA, it was wired into his brain that he was inherently superior so while his rage bubbled beneath the surface, his lust dictated his need to give up that false sense of superiority and become what he knew he was deep, deep inside: a perverse, disgusting, depraved white pain, cum slut. He needed to be set free of his imprisonment of lies to be released so he could experience his true nature as something lower than a human.

"Suck my cock, bitch." The pressure of the hand on Scott's shoulder forced him to his knees. He knelt submissively before the fully clothed man before him. His hands trembled as he reached out to undo his jeans and pull down the zipper. Placing his hand inside his pants, he felt for the first time what was possibly the biggest cock he'd ever felt in his life. He could barely get his fingers around the girth. Fishing it out, he was struck with the strong aroma of unwashed masculinity. It was an intoxicating elixir of sweat, piss, and pure, manly funk. Scott inhaled the scent and it made him light headed; it made his cock leak precum.

Peeling back the foreskin, Scott looked up into the deep, dark eyes of his new owner. A foul, raunchy-smelling layer of head cheese coated the enormous crown of the beautiful, brown cock. "You like? I made it just for you. Eat up."

Rather than hesitating, Scott made a real show of cleaning that nasty smegma. He devoured it like he was starving, proud to show off his cocksucking skills and the devotion he had for the monstrous piece of meat that was before him. The thick paste filled his taste buds and Scott worked first to clean it and then to worship it. Barely able to get his mouth around it, barely able to get even a third of its enormous length into his mouth, Scott licked and kissed it passionately. If a man could form a relationship with a cock, this was the ideal mate for Scott. In his heart, he fell in love with that meat, feeling his chest expand and tighten like a schoolboy with his first crush. He tried to make love to it with his mouth, planting soft and tender kisses along its length to show his reverence.

"What the fuck is this kissing shit? Bitch, I told you to suck my mother fucking cock. NOW SUCK!" With that, he grabbed Scott's head and fucked his mouth savagely. Scott tried to push away, bracing himself against the firm, muscular thighs of his tormentor, trying to catch his breath as that cock ravaged his throat. He gagged and choked, feeling his esophagus being raped. He was being skull fucked; he was nothing more than a hole being abused. The steady pounding of that cock, its full length wanted to make him cry out in pain but he couldn't; he could barely gasp for air. The rhythm was fast and furious, his jaw was numb, and his gag reflect was abating after what had to be more than 10 minutes of the most hard core blow job he'd ever given . . . sort of. There was no mistaking that he wasn't "giving" anything, his throat was being fucked and it hurt in a way that couldn't be described. Hot, salty tears stained his cheeks as he prayed for the torture to end, and simultaneously, never to end.

The reward at the end of his torture would come soon enough. His master, tormentor, and dream lover shoved the full length of his hardness deep in Scott's throat. His nose deeply embedded in the thick patch of wiry pubic hairs, Scott felt the expansive cock actually grow and lengthen in his mouth and could detect the peristaltic motion that brought the scalding white, hot, cum from his nuts, through his impressive tube of manliness, out and down Scott's throat, without even getting the benefit of tasting the scummy spunk he craved so desperately.

Scott collapsed to the floor, exhausted and broken, his face inches away from the feet of his skillful dominator. He wanted to cleave unto those feet, wrap his arms around those legs for protection and comfort and say, "Daddy, I'm sorry I was a bad boy. Please, forgive me." He couldn't say anything however because his throat was so sore he'd temporarily lost the ability to speak. It felt as if his vocal chords had been scraped with sandpaper.

"Before I forget, give me your keys and your wallet. I want some assurances you won't be leaving before I give you permission." The last thing in the world Scott wanted was to leave. He wanted to stay forever. He wanted to give up his measly life and be the boi of this ominous stranger. His identity was sacred however and he had spent years protecting it, lying, deceiving, and hiding his real life from those whom he used sexually. This time, he reluctantly handed over the requested items and felt a sense of relief. If he was going to be blackmailed, outed, and exposed to the world, now was the time, he'd let his perversions drive him too far. He wanted this man to know his true identity, to have control of his life and his destiny. It was his freedom.

"I expect you to change your clothes, fix me dinner and bring it to me in the den, and be prepared to service me in whatever way I desire." He pushed Scott away with his foot and went about his business like Scott wasn't even there.

Unsure of the layout of the house, Scott stumbled around until he found a powder room to change into his female attire. He was an ugly male to begin with which made him repulsive as a woman but he felt sexy in his red see-through baby doll nightie, his high-heel, patent leather, stiletto, Payless Pumps and black butt plug, framed perfectly by his crotchless panties. His tiny penis strained against the silky material and felt good. He rubbed it for as long as he thought he might be able to get away with it without being found out and emerged to fix dinner.

Cooking in someone else's house is a task. He struggled to find the right pots, the right plates, the tools he needed to pull off his linguine and shrimp, all pre-cooked of course. Salad was in a bag and all he had to do was find an opener for the beer. He wobbled and teetered in his heels that were giving him a blister but he ignored the pain in anticipation of more humiliation and degradation to come. That was his finish line, his raison d'etre. He overheard his new Master talking on the phone, conversing with a friend. "Nah man, I ain't never done no shit like this before. I figure he'll be begging to leave after a few hours. I ain't even going to tell you the shit I have planned for him . . . Word. That's what I'm saying. Yeah man, I'll holla at you later, we'll hang out on Sunday morning or something. I'm out."

Scott fumed. He felt cheated. He wanted someone experienced in BDSM to control him, not some fucking amateur. His arrogance button was flicked on and he had half a mind to call the whole thing off and leave. He brought the plates out to the den and placed them on the coffee table with silverware and paper towels for napkins. He went back to the kitchen and got two beers and returned, sitting on the other end of the sofa. "I hope you like it, Sir. I can't take real credit . . ."

Before he knew what was happening, he felt a stinging kick to his side and he flew off the end of the sofa and landed flat on his ass. "Bitch, I told you I didn't want you speak to me unless spoken to. That's not a hard rule to follow, is it?"

Shaking his head, Scott mumbled, "No, Master," and apologized for being a dumbass.

"And while we're at it, who the fuck told you that you could eat with me?"

Before he could make the same mistake again, he fought the urge to give his opinion and state the obvious that he had to have some sort of sustenance to keep up his strength throughout the weekend.

"I'll take this beer and let me have that plate so I can fix it for you." Holding his finger aside one nostril, Todd hacked up phlegm from deep in his chest that sounded like he had walking pneumonia and blew it from his nose on Scott's plate of food. Repeating the procedure several times, there was a coating of green, brown, yellowish snot coating the Scampi. Scott's stomach turned and his cock leapt. Placing the plate on the floor, Scott was told to eat without the benefit of utensils or hands and eat it all.

With his ass high in the air, he lowered his face to the plate of food. "Oh, and if you throw up anything I give you to eat, you can be sure I'll make you eat it again. Understand?" Those instructions were clear and Scott felt nauseated as he began to eat the mucous covered dinner. It wasn't as bad as he imagined it was going to be after he got down the first few bites with thick, salty boogers, and before he knew it, he was proud to show that he could be such a nasty pig, eating snot like a pig eats slop from a trough.

Before he was done, his Master said, "Thirsty, bitch? Come here." Scott crawled between his Master's dark, brown thighs and looked up lovingly. "Drink my piss, and don't you dare spill a drop."

Scott had known all along that this was coming. It was the right of every Black Dominant to use his white submissive as a urinal and Scott wanted the opportunity to prove his rightful place as piss pig. He placed the mammoth cock in his mouth and knew to wait for his drink. It came hard and fast; it was rank, hot, yellow and thick, not at all like the watered down beer piss he was expecting but coming from the Black Master of his dreams, Scott swallowed like it was the sweetest wine he'd ever had.

"Oh fuck yeah, bitch, drink my rank, hot piss you fucking nasty toilet whore. Fucking white scum bag." Those words were music to Scott's ears. "Don't swallow it all, I want to see your mouth full of my piss. Hold some in your faggot mouth."

Before the stream stopped, Scott did as he was told and he held a huge mouthful of urine in his mouth. He sat back and opened his mouth with pride to show what a good job he'd done. He beamed with pride. A few drops escaped the corners of his mouth but surely that was to be forgiven because he had such a huge amount of piss and had shown his talent for being a toilet.

"Good boy. Nice job." With that, his Master tussled his hair and Scott felt an overwhelming sensation of love that made tears well up in his eyes. His Daddy was proud of him. That was all he ever wanted, for his Daddy to say, "Good job, son." But that's not exactly what he said. He completed his compliment by saying, "Lay down on the floor, under my feet, and hold that piss in your mouth and don't you dare fucking swallow it until I tell you to. If you swallow it, spill it, or throw up, I PROMISE you'll regret it."

Steeled with determination, Scott maneuvered himself to lie between the sofa and the coffee table with his open mouth of golden nectar. He stared at the ceiling and decided to get into a space where he was going to breath through his nostrils and ignore the overwhelming pain of his jaw. In a zone, he smelled the evidence of smoke and momentarily panicked. It was cigar smoke, and his owner had lit up to enjoy a night of watching TV and a good smoke.

The sound of the ashes being extinguished in the piss he held so lovingly in his mouth made Scott angered and alarmed all over again. He'd never anticipated this, and a foot was brought down on his chest to prevent him from moving. He wanted to scream but he couldn't, he thought he was going to drown for a second, and the taste of the ashes, magnified by the piss, made his body involuntarily heave.

"Easy there boy, I told you that anything I give you that you throw up, I'm going to make you eat again. And if you spill any piss or ashes on my carpet, I'm going to beat your ass so bad you won't sit for a week."

A Buddhist monk didn't have more mind control than Scott did in that moment. Tears streamed steadily down his face but he remained focused on a small, imaginary spot on the ceiling. For the next 20 minutes, he was a receptacle for ashes as he held the now cold piss in his mouth. Piss overflowed his mouth as the ashes displaced the pee and he smelled like the men's room at The Port Authority bus station.

"Swallow!" Those were Todd's only instructions. "Swallow, it all, NOW!"

Scott rationalized for a moment and turned his head and spit out the foul contents of his mouth all over his Master's cream carpet. That's what this game was all about, punishment and reward. He wanted some more punishment. He wanted to get to the fun part where he got fucked and spanked and fucked some more. Over and over, he spit out the nasty remnants of cigar ashes and pee until he could only taste a hint of the disgusting mixture and waited for the slap, the punch, or the severe verbal tongue-lashing.

The pause seemed like an eternity, the silence, deafening. "Okay, okay." "If you don't want to play by my rules, get out. Get your shit and get out." Standing, he stepped over Scott and went to his laundry room to get supplies to clean his carpet.

Scott was outdone. He didn't want to go, he wanted to stay and get fucked. He wanted to stay and be humiliated some more. The man returned with a bucket of water and cleaning supplies, threw Scott's keys and wallet on the floor at his feet, and ignored him as he went about scrubbing the stains on the carpet.

Scott had never felt more defeated. His arrogance had maneuvered him out of his dream situation AGAIN. He'd fucked up big time and there was nothing he could say. Apologies would be empty because he obviously did what he did on purpose. He hated himself for getting himself into this situation, he wanted to say something but the image of this beautiful Black man, on his knees, cleaning the mess that he'd made, silenced him.

"Here, let me clean it. I'm sorry." The words sounded empty even to himself and he waited for some sort of acknowledgement.

"Get out." The command was soft-spoken, without emotion.

Scott started sobbing uncontrollably. He had disappointed his Daddy. He had been a very bad boy. He had disrespected the man whom he wanted to own his very being. As experienced as Scott was in the lifestyle, this novice, this guy who had never dominated anyone else in his life, was controlling him in ways he'd never imagined. Scott became hysterical: crying, pleading, and throwing a temper tantrum the likes of which couldn't be paralleled by even the most monstrous two-year-old. He wasn't even making sense, he was just babbling about not wanting to leave and about how sorry he was. He got on his knees and tried to suck Todd's cock again. He offered him money, $1000 in fact, if he could be allowed to stay. Sex and power were all Scott understood so he was offering all he knew how. The fact that he was being ignored caused him greater pain than he'd ever felt before.

"Stop crying bitch. Damn, shut the fuck up. I told you to get out. You obviously don't want to play by my rules. You obviously think you can dictate and control some shit up in my mother-fucking house so it's time for your ass to go. I will not be manipulated by some moronic little asswipe like you. Get the fuck out."

Scott's body was trembling. He wanted to do what he had been told, to follow orders and leave, but he wanted to stay more. He was having a mental breakdown. Before he knew what was going on, he had been pulled down across Todd's lap and he was getting spanked soundly. Actually, spanked seems like such a benign term. He was being beaten. Blow after torturous blow rained down on his pale, flat ass, thighs, and even back. His Master seemed to be in some sort of trance of his own. "You fucking white boys are all the same. Thinking you can control shit. I'll fucking show you. Dumb ass. You want me to be your Daddy, I'll fucking make you wish you were never born." The pain was excruciating but comforting at the same time.

With his hard cock sandwiched between those strong thighs and his ass being abused, Scott was screaming and crying like a little bitch. He was incoherent. "Yes, Daddy, beat me for being white. I'm so sorry, Daddy, I've been such a bad boy. I'm just a stupid, little-cocked, white boi who deserves to be punished. Take out your frustrations on me, Master. I promise I'll do anything you say."

Those words would prove to be the wrong thing to say.

Grabbing Scott forcefully by the arm, practically dislocating his shoulder from the socket, this overwhelming Dominant pillar of masculinity pulled him towards the Master Bedroom. Scott felt a ray of hope. Things were about to get down to business. Scampering along, practically on tiptoe, scurrying to keep up with the long strides of his Master, Scott was flung to the floor. He looked up to see a look of pure, unadulterated hatred on Todd's face. This look wasn't one of lust; his eyes were distant and glassy, filled with rage, reminding Scott of a rebel slave who had staged an insurrection against an evil slaveholder and who was about to behead the person who had taken his life, liberty, and manhood from him.

Scott watched as his Master undressed completely, muttering under his breath something incoherent and disjointed. Scott was genuinely scared. He thought maybe this guy was having some sort of slavery flashback, some sort of psychotic homicidal break and would go too far. Just that thought alone aroused Scott's sick libido. This was it. His fantasy come true. For all of his posturing, for all his arrogance and bravado, Scott knew he was about to feel the true wrath of the mighty Black man. This was an entirely different situation than pissing off Black women. Black women would get angry, they would threaten blackmail and revenge, they would curse him out and try to make him pay with their strapons but they were ultimately just victims of Scott's manipulative ploys, not capable of pulverizing Scott to within inches of his life. This man could crush Scott's skull without breaking a sweat. Clearly, he'd pushed too far; clearly, he'd underestimated his ability to piss this man off. He cowered in terror, unable to run, held fast to the bedroom floor as he furiously jerked his cock and waited for the savage beating of his perverted dreams.

Before Scott could say, "Treat me like the filthy, white slut I am," he was being tossed face down on the massive California King sized bed. As his hips were pulled up, he grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it. The butt plug was pulled unceremoniously from his ass and he was instructed to suck it. Lubricant and ass slime coated the foul toy and Scott turned his head in defiance.

"Oh, you want to play fucking games, bitch? You better suck that fucking butt plug or . . ." There was no reason to finish the ultimatum because within a fraction of a second, Scott was grabbed so hard by the back of his neck he saw stars. The plug was forced in his mouth and he sucked it like a perverse black pacifier. Scott couldn't decide which tasted worse; the smegma, the ashes, or the funky ass mixture but he was sure that being forced to perform such lewd acts was liberating, freedom from enslavement to his false sense of manhood.

While Scott was wildly aroused, Todd was not. He didn't find Scott attractive or the situation stimulating. He looked at Scott with utter contempt and disgust. This whole thing had gone past role-playing to something sick and twisted. He grabbed his dick and stroked it, willing it to hardness. He grabbed the remote and flicked on a vid that was in his DVD player. With his flat screen filled with images of hot, sweaty black men, he was able to get hard enough for the task at hand.