White Sucks Black (At Sea 1)

White Sucks Black, Black Fucks White (At Sea) Part 1

White officers fucked and enslaved by Black sailors.

If stories about dominant Black men turning straight white men and their families into cocksucking sex slaves offend you, then try reading some other story. If you are looking for loving relationships between men, try the gay romance section; this story isn't it. If you don't like bisexuality, father-son incest, lots of facial cum or the occasional golden shower, this is not the story for you. If degrading sex and over-the-top racial stereotypes offend you, stop reading now. All characters are over 18. This is all pure fantasy, none of this is real; do not attempt this at home. And of course, in real life, always practice safe sex (or better yet, maybe just jerk off to these stories and nobody gets hurt.)

White Sucks Black, Black Fucks White (Navy) Part 1

(This story is a continuation of White Sucks Black (Male Stripper.) I've tried to make this as authentic sounding as possible but it is pure fantasy.

A month and then two went by since my "indiscretion" at the gay strip club. I was paranoid that at any moment it would come back to haunt me, wrecking my marriage and my career as a navy pilot. I also couldn't stop thinking about the Black bouncer's threat that he intended to fuck my wife, since he knew my address and most everything about me. Since I was in my homeport during the week while my wife had a great government job in the capital, I didn't know for sure what might be happening to her while I was not there. And in the days before internet and cheap phone calls, it was a lot harder to stay in touch.

The next weekend, I had driven back to the capital to spend time with my wife as usual. Nothing seemed unusual. Although we were married three years, we still spent most of the weekend naked and screwing like rabbits. She was on birth control since we didn't want to have kids until after I came back from my first sea tour, but she was still extremely hot to have sex. She was incredibly intelligent, with a master's degree, and had landed a great job doing foreign policy work. On a lieutenant's pay, it was still a stretch to pay for our apartment in one of the nicer areas of the city.

Besides brains, my wife also had a really hot body, and she was also a great dancer. She generally was conservative in public, although I did cajole her into going topless on a beach in southern France on my ship's last deployment. I considered myself extremely lucky that she enjoyed doing stripper routines and dancing naked for me. We even had an album of classic burlesque music. I wasn't about to tell her that I had a thing for naked dancing girls, and had seen a fair number by then, or to tell her she was about the best. I had once half-jokingly suggested that she should enter an amateur strip contest, but she looked at me like, "are you out of your mind?" I also wasn't about to admit that I regularly jerked off to the topless photos she let me take in France.

Usually after my wife danced naked, she would get down on her knees and give me an incredible blow job. Usually she would do a little thing where she would use her hands like she was taking cum on her face and she would say "whoosh!" and then would frame her face with her fingers, smile and say "click!" with a finger pressing a camera shutter, followed by a big smile. It was like she was acting out having me cum on her face, and then taking a picture of it. Then she'd rub her hands over her face as if she were rubbing the cum around, and then lick her fingers.

I often thought about shooting my cum on my wife's face and taking a picture of it, and wondered if she wanted me to, but in the days before digital photos I was reluctant to do so, not trusting the dude in Fotomat, and the Polaroid had jammed some time ago. Not surprisingly, this little routine of hers never failed to get me rock hard.

Usually after sucking me, my wife would mount my erect cock and ride me until she came when I did, or I would roll her over and fuck her until we both came. I always wanted to make her come, so I didn't want to waste mine by coming somewhere other than in her pussy. Once in a while I would get carried away by her blow job and come in her mouth. I always warned her, but she always took my cum in her mouth and swallowed without complaint, and actually seemed to like when I did.

That weekend, however, as my wife danced naked for me, with her sizable tits bouncing up and down, I couldn't get out of my mind what I had done the week before when I had gone to a gay strip bar and things had gotten so unbelievably out of hand. I was ashamed of what had happened, and was mentally kicking myself about how I could have done such things when I had such a beautiful, loving, sexy -- and faithful -- wife at home.

I also knew a lot of photographs were taken, any of which would wreck my marriage and my career. They had also threatened to show them to my wife, and the Black guys had all talked about how they planned to fuck my wife. Had they already done so? Did my wife know what I had done and what they made me do? She gave no indication of either, but she did sense that I wasn't quite all there, and even asked. I blamed it on our upcoming deployment, which although shorter than usual, only three months, and it would be my last on my first tour, would still be a long time away from my wife.

My wife said, "let's not think about it," and proceeded to give me an awesome blow job, followed by a fantastic fuck. Even that didn't completely take my mind off what I had happened at the gay strip club, but it sure felt good.

A couple months went by and everything between my wife and I seemed perfectly normal. I hadn't heard anything from the men at the bar despite their threat to do so. The ship finally got underway for my last deployment, of this tour, a short one to northern Europe. I settled back into the usual routine with my three compartment mates, fly, sleep, eat, do officer paperwork, watch porn on the "VCR," and whenever alone, jerk off to pictures of my wife. I still worried about what might be happening to my wife while I was at sea, but I had finally started thinking that there would be no repercussions for my night at the gay bar.

And then it happened. A knock on the door that would change everything. My three roommates were in the air. The next launch was underway and they would be on the recovery right after that. The roar of the jets on the catapults drowned out everything and I almost didn't hear the knock. I pulled up my shorts and tried to get my dick to go down (I'd been stroking to racy photos of my wife.)

When I opened the door, there was a short, skinny, and very young Black enlisted sailor with a manila envelope and a clipboard standing there. He wasn't our usual compartment cleaner, so I was puzzled as to what he wanted. He politely asked if I was Lieutenant D., and I answered yes. Then he handed me the manila envelope, which I noted had my name and, strangely, my home address on it. "I was told to give this to you, and to make sure you opened it and saw what was inside."

"I'm sorry, what?" It was hard to hear over the jet noise. He repeated what he said. Suddenly my heart started pounding over what this might be. I opened it, saw one of the photographs, and immediately shoved it back in the envelope, hoping no one in the passageway might have seen.

"I was told to have you show what's inside to me, or else other copies will be given to your skipper."

"Told by who?"

"None of your business, white boy. Just do it." The shock of having an enlisted sailor, younger than me call me "white boy," took me back. But, a sense of panic began to overwhelm me.

"Not out in the passageway."

"Then step back inside."

I did as he ordered, and stepped back into my stateroom, and without asking, the Black sailor followed. I pulled the photos out of the envelope and took a look at the top one before handing it to the sailor. The photo showed me completely naked, on my knees on top of a bar, while one Black man had his cock in my mouth and another had his cock in my ass, and there were obviously several loads of cum already on my face. I had a stupid fleeting notion that perhaps because of all the cum on my face, the photo wouldn't be useful as blackmail because you couldn't really tell it was me.

The sailor quickly dispelled that notion when he pulled out the second photo and showed it to me, with "Nice cumshot, cocksucker." The photo was one of the first taken when I only had one load on my face, from the manager, and the Black bouncer's cock in my mouth. There was no doubt it was me sucking a Black man's cock with cum on my face.

"Be quiet," I said. The bulkheads of the staterooms were only a very thin sheet of metal, and when there wasn't jet noise, you could easily hear anything through several staterooms.

"Look, you may be an officer, but you're white and I'm Black, so I give the orders. Why do you think I came here during the launch. No one can hear anything. Cocksucker."

He was right, but I also knew there weren't many more jets to launch. I also couldn't believe the insolence and arrogance of this young Black sailor. Yet because of the incriminating photos, I believed there wasn't anything to do but what he said. I was also overcome with shame and humiliation. Here I was, a white officer in the Navy, top of my class at the academy, standing there helplessly while some young Black sailor who was probably only 18, looked through the stack of photos, all of which showed me sucking and being fucked by black cocks.

The kid handed the photos back to me. "Keep them. You can use them to jerk off. We have more." Then I watched in disbelief as the sailor unzipped the fly of his dungarees and hauled out a massive semi-hard black cock, and pointed it at me.

"Naked. Now. Lieutenant," he said, emphasizing my rank in a sarcastic way.

I tried to lie my way out of it. "My roommates could be back any moment."

The sailor answered, by looking at the clipboard, which had the airplan (flight schedule.) "They're all on this next recovery, by the time they trap and debrief, you can do what I know you really want to do, white boy."

I really didn't want to do it, but it seemed I had no choice. The ship suddenly went quiet, except for the ubiquitous noise of the ship's engines, as the last jet of that "go" went off the catapult, and I knew the recovery would start moments afterwards, so there wasn't that much time.

I quickly took off my t-shirt, and as I slid down my shorts, my cock betrayed me and sprang to attention. I could only imagine what it looked like; a white officer standing there naked and hard as the Black sailor looked me over like a piece of meat, knowing that he expected me to get down on my knees and suck his cock, right here aboard ship in my own stateroom.

As the sailor studied my erection, he said, now very quietly, "You white boys are all alike. You all want to suck this," pointing at his own now erect cock. I wondered how a boy that young would know that. How many white men had sucked his cock already?

"Officers make the best cocksuckers," he whispered in my ear, just before a jet slammed onto the flight deck and caught the wire. My roommates would be landing on this recovery so I better make it quick.

I got down on my knees, took his cock in my mouth and sucked for all I was worth. As I sucked, the kid's words struck me. Had other officers sucked his cock? Apparently not satisfied, the sailor grabbed my head with both hands and began fucking my face. I tried hard not to gag, worried that someone might hear, as I heard the door open and close in the next stateroom.

It wasn't long before the kid forced his cock down my throat, which having done it before wasn't so traumatic for me. The sailor was in complete control, completely dressed while a white officer knelt naked at his feet, a Black enlisted cock buried deep in a white officer's throat. I became increasingly worried, as the sailor was showing no sign that he was going to come soon. As each jet recovered on the flight deck, I knew my roommates would come down from the flight deck. Usually they would go straight to maintenance and intel to debrief, but there was no guarantee one of them wouldn't stop by our stateroom first.

As my sense of panic began to increase, the sailor finally started to show signs he was about to come. I hoped he would cum in my mouth so there wouldn't be a mess to clean up. I'd swallowed cum before at the gay strip club, so I was getting used to it. The sailor had other ideas, apparently he considered it more degrading to cum on an officer's face, so that is what he did.

I felt a massive load of his hot cum blast all over my face, coating it completely in jizz. I could feel the cum oozing down my face so I leaned back so that whatever dripped from my face would land on my chest and not on the floor. My eyes were glued shut with cum. The kid shoved a piece of paper in my hand and then went out the door without a word.

I carefully got up, awkwardly trying to not drip any cum, and moved over to the sink (officer staterooms had a sink, but you still had to go down the passageway to use a communal head, albeit one designated for officers.) Just as I reached the sink, I heard two of my roommate's voices in the hall. Shit! I was standing at the sink, completely naked, still erect, and my face covered in cum, when I heard someone fumbling for their keys, and then heard them drop the keys on the deck. That gave me just enough time to climb into my rack and pull the curtain shut.

The good news was that I pulled the curtain in time. The bad news was that I was still naked and covered in cum, with nothing to wipe it off except my sheet or blanket. My heart skipped when I realized my t-shirt and shorts were still in a pile on the deck. I just hoped like hell there were no drops of cum on the deck.

"Still in the rack, huh?" said one of them. Should I pretend to be asleep? That wasn't believable at this hour, so I answered.

We then started discussing how their hop went. It was weird talking to my roommates through the curtain with a load of cum still on my face. I would have to get up soon in order to get ready for my hop. How would I explain being naked even if I wiped all the cum off on my sheets. Fortunately they didn't stay long, announcing they were off to the dirtyshirt (pilots) wardroom for chow. As they left, I head their voices on the passageway, "That was kind of weird, him hiding behind the curtain."

"Must have been jerking off," the other said and they both laughed.

"Been there, done that," said the other increasingly faint voice.

This still left a third roommate unaccounted for, but I figured I had to take the chance. I climbed down from the rack. My shorts and t-shirt were gone. Had the sailor taken them? I quickly grabbed a pair of skivvies from my drawer and went to the sink. My face was in the sink, washing the cum off my face, when my other roommate walked in. Christ that was close! I buried my face in the water, hoping there was no cum visible in my hair or other place.

As I finished and chatted with my roommate, I notice I had dropped the piece of paper on the floor and the photos were visible on my desk, fortunately with the photo-side down. My roommate reached for the paper on the floor and picked it up before I did. I indicated it was mine and he handed it to me without looking at it.

I took a glance at the paper that my roommate had almost seen, and it said, "Hey Cumface! 2300 tonight. Compartment 5-45-7-S. Be naked and wait." By the compartment number I knew it was a storeroom deep in the bowls of the ship, fairly far forward. As an aviator I rarely ventured below the O-3 level (just below the flight deck) so I would have to go to a part of the ship I had never been before. Presumably to suck some more black cock.

The rest of the day I was outwardly cool (I was a pilot after all) but inwardly my mind was a mess, and my trap that afternoon was one of my worst. I assumed that the Black bouncer from the gay strip club knew someone on board me ship, after all he'd seen my ID card, so he knew my name and what ship I was on. I also knew he knew my home address, and now I was worried about my wife. He'd made good on his promise to hunt me down, I could only presume he would make good on his threat to fuck my wife.

It was bad enough for me to now be sucking cock, but I would have a hard time for getting my wife into this due to my own indiscretion and stupidity. However, for some reason the thought of my beautiful wife being fucked by Black men gave me an erection. I also had the strange thought that if Black men did find her and fuck her that she would do it willingly. The idea of my wife being raped would make it very difficult for me to live with myself, knowing that ultimately it was my fault.

After evening prayers, I started working my way down to the compartment number I'd been given. Given what the Black sailor knew about me, and his threat to send the incriminating pictures to my wife and skipper, I didn't really see that I had any choice but to do what I was told to do, although why my dick kept getting hard at the idea of sucking more black cock was beyond me.

I wore some workout clothes, because I didn't want anyone to obviously recognize me as an officer, although that was probably a forlorn hope. I was also going to a part of the ship that I had no familiarity with, and when you got that deep down into the ship, the maze of passageways only got worse, with lots of dead ends. I also knew that somewhere around where I was going was considered the black (then Negro) area of the ship. The forward part of the ship moved up and down more when the sea got rough, and was therefore more uncomfortable, and therefore less desirable, which is why most of the Black sailors wound up there. Some things still hadn't changed much since the Civil Rights advances of the 1960's.

At that time, racial tensions on U.S. Navy ships were still pretty high, and it had only been several years since the race riots on the Kitty Hawk and Constellation. As a general rule, the whites did not want to live in the same spaces as the Blacks, and the feeling of the Blacks was mutual. By then it wasn't an actual policy of segregation, it was just the way the sailors liked it. A few Black sailors lived in white berthing areas, generally without problem, but no white sailors wanted to be a minority in predominately Black berthing areas. As a result there were some areas on the ships where whites did not go, especially white officers.

In the 70's, there were also serious drug problems aboard ships, so there were also areas on the ship where drug use occurred (mostly marijuana smoking) and officers would not go there, except on rare occasions and only when protected by a significant number of armed Masters at Arms.

As I approached the compartment address, it was mostly various storerooms, and so deserted. In fact it was so deserted it was downright creepy, and my heart was pounding in the same way that someone was worried about getting mugged in a dark alley. The storerooms also all appeared to be locked. I finally found the one that matched the compartment number and I saw that it too was locked. Nevertheless, when I tugged on the lock it opened, apparently someone had already dialed the combination, so it only looked like it was locked.

The storeroom was dark, and I wasn't sure if I should hit the light switch or not, but after barking my shin on a box I decided to turn on the light. The storeroom was mostly empty and no one was there. I was slightly early, but since it was approaching the appointed time, I did what the instructions said and stripped naked, carefully folding my clothes and putting them in a place that afforded some cover in case I needed to duck and hide, since I had no idea if and when a security watch might come by.