....or Master Ahmad: the Origin
One of the fastest growing phenomena in social media today is that of black cash masters and mistresses draining the finances of white submissives over the internet. Increasingly, such fantasy role playing is spilling into the real lives of both the dominant blacks and the obedient whites who serve them. To better understand this development, this reporter sat down with a self-identified cash master, one who boasts that his personal net worth is in the hundreds of thousands thanks to his dedicated kennel of white slaves.
Reporter: Good afternoon, ah, what do you prefer to be called?
Master Ahmad: Master Ahmad will do. For you.
Reporter: Master Ahmad it is, then. Let me start by asking how you first found yourself in the role of cash master.
Master Ahmad: Well, for that, you got to go back to when I was in high school.
Reporter: Really? You started that young?
Master Ahmad: In a way. You see, as far back as I can remember, I was always a bully. I got off on beating weaker kids, taking their shit, making ‘em do stuff for me. At first, it was anybody: black kids, white kids, Asian kids. I was what you might call an equal opportunity bully. In high school, though, I started reading books by activists like Marcus Garvey and Angela Davis. I didn’t buy everything they said, but I did learn that I shouldn’t steal from my own people and that white folks owed me.
Reporter: So…your bullying became more directed at that point.
Master Ahmad: That’s right. By the time I was a senior, I had a fixed kennel of white boys that would tribute me regularly, run errands, do homework. In exchange, they were under my protection. None of the other niggas would bother ‘em so long as they were mine. Along with that, I kept a revolving stable of white pussy. I only dated black sistahs, but I had myself a bit of white cooch almost every night. I left more than a few of those snow bunnies with a lifelong reminder of what I fucked into them.
Reporter: Really? Ah…how many…progeny do you have, if you don’t mind my asking?
Master Ahmad: By the time I finished high school, about eight, ten, I dunno. A couple of ‘em fucked into my teachers, too. No idea how many I might have sired by now.
Reporter: But the child support must be…
Master Ahmad: Child support? What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout that shit, white boy? I don’t pay no fuckin’ child support. It’s white bitches privilege to carry my seed. It’s part of reparations that the government pays to raise my mixed babies. Shit, don’t give me that child support bullshit. That’s just shit to keep a black brotha down. White bitches know what they gettin’ when they put out for a nigga.
Reporter: Of course, Master Ahmad. I apologize. I should have known as much.
Master Ahmad: Anyways, there was this one time, I had my civics teacher, Ms. Sullivan, bent over the coffee service in the teacher’s lounge, her skirt hiked up around her waist, ruttin’ her sweet ‘nilla ass from behind. Bitch be moanin’ and groanin’ for me to drill that booty harder and harder, when in walks the calculus teacher, Mr. Schaeffer or some shit like that. He all flustered and sputterin’ at the sight of my black teen dick reamin’ that sweet pussy. Without missin’ a beat, I tell him all cocky like to get on his knees and kiss my black ass while I pump Ms. Sullivan full. The ol’ white faggit don’t hesitate but a minute. Next thing I know, I feel his thin lips pressed tight to my brown asscheeks, him rubbing at whatever little nob he got in the crotch o’ his cheap ass slacks. That’s black power for you, white boy. Not even eighteen years old, and here I got two white teachers right where I want ‘em! That’s when I know the truth.
Reporter: The truth? What truth is that?
Ahmad: Shit, the truth that white folk had it right all along. Ain’t nothing wrong with racism, ain’t nothing wrong with slavery. Y’all just got it fuckin’ ass backwards which race was superior to which, and which race should be serving the other. I been working to straighten that shit out…one white bitch and one faggit at a time.
Reporter: So, after high school…?
Ahmad: Well, after high school, I got a football scholarship. Nothin’ fancy, but I was good enough that it paid my way. I discovered in college that whites were even more eager to prove how woke and down with the cause they were. A lot of ‘em would debase themselves pretty much any way a nigga could think of to shed their white privilege.
Reporter: Can you give us some examples?
Ahmad: Sure. Y’see, the school, wanting to show how progressive and shit they were, offered black-only dorms for niggas that didn’t wanna be around you white folk. Not me. I made sure I was in a mixed dorm. I didn’t wanna be too far from my, let’s say, revenue stream, you follow me? Freshman year, I had a white roommate, Brian (how white is that?), who made sure to tell me how down he was with Jay-Z the first ten minutes we met. I had Brian jumping through hoops that whole first year. He was always paying for my lunch and running errands to keep me happy. He had a girlfriend, Catherine or Caitlyn or some shit, I don’t remember, a bit of a heifer, but not too bad lookin’. One night, while they were sitting on his bed, making plans to see a movie, I sent him out for some snacks, and made my move. “Yo, white girl,” I say to her once he’s out o’ the room, “you telling me that Brian’s little tallywacker keepin’ you satisfied?” She blushed real fine, but her mouth dropped open when I pull down my basketball shorts and let her see what I’m packin’. By the time Brian got back wit my snacks, I was layin’ on his bed wit his girl ridin’ my prong.
Reporter: Really? And how did he react?
Ahmad: Like most white boys when they see a nigga in action, he couldn’t turn away. He mumbled somethin’ and started to back out of the room. No, no, no, I says to him. Get on yo’ knees, white boy, and kiss my black feet. Like my calculus teacher back in high school, he hesitated for no more than a second before he dropped to his knees. Boy knew his rightful place before a black man. He pressed his lips to the sole of my stinky black foot, and bestowed a kiss upon it, just like I ordered. “I like my balls licked while I’m fuckin’, boy,” I tell him. It took a second, but Brian nuzzled his head under his girl’s big ass and started lappin’ away at my nuts. His heifer got a kick out of that, looking behind her and giggling up a storm at the sight of her boyfriend licking my big, fat nards.
Reporter: So…did he turn out to be gay?
Ahmad: Nah, nothing like that. Brian was one o’ them incel faggots. Turns out he’d never had no pussy, ever. Even Caitlyn or whatever the fuck her white girl name was had never put out for him. I swear, without black men, lot of you white boys wouldn’t even know what the fuck sex was. Anyway, after that, I had Brian boy under my black thumb, doing pretty much anything I told him. He’d even sign over his student loan checks from the bursar’s office for a chance to lick my feet or kiss my ass. By the end of that first semester, he was a fuckin’ ruin. He never came back from holiday break.
Reporter: You never found out what happened to him?
Ahmad: Why should I give a fuck? Maybe he ended up turning tricks for tina, or maybe he hung himself in his parent’s garage. Who cares? For me it was a further lesson in how easy it was to break white boys.
Reporter: And the girlfriend? What happened with her?
Ahmad: Saw her once on campus wit a bloated belly. I assume she dropped out of school to raise my young’un. Mos’ likely keepin’ her legs spread for brothas, hooked on black dick. Serve the cow right, you know what I’m sayin’? Anyway…in my sophomore year, I pledged a black frat, one that a lot o’ the other brothas on the football team were in. Turns out, a lot of niggas thought the same way I did, that white people owed us, and they were busy collecting their share of white cooch and white tribute.
Reporter: Tribute? Would you explain that concept for our readers?
Ahmad: Sure. You see, this fucked up country been draggin’ its ass on reparations for my people for over a hundred and fifty years now. But we know we been owed. So, a lot of niggas just been taking reparations on our own in the form of tribute. Every time you see a bunch a niggas lootin’ a Nike store? That’s tribute. When you see a pimp workin’ a stable of white honeys? That’s tribute. But one of the things I learned in college was how easy it was to exploit white guilt, make you white pigs hand their money to a brotha directly. A lot o’ you get off on it, need it. Like absolution or some shit. Turns out, a lotta my frat brothers had side hustles as doms to white piggies, what some people call cash masters. Really, it wasn’t all that different than the bullying I use to do in high school, just on a bigger scale, you know?
Reporter: So, how did you obtain these…what? Slaves?
Ahmad: Slaves. Submissives. Faggots. Property. Livestock. They prefer to be called different things, but the two things they have in common: they’re white, and they’re black-owned. Really, the way things were meant to be, you know what I’m sayin’? It turned out that most of the brothas in the frat had a white boy or two the way that I had Brian that first year: running errands, doing homework, draining of funds. Some of them even servin’ as frat house punks, y’know, for head and easy ass. I stayed away from the real faggy shit, but a lot o’ my brothers indulged. There was no shortage of white boys needin’ to be exploited.
Reporter: Why…why do you think these white…white boys…made themselves available to be used?
Ahmad: You tell me…white boy. I can see it in your eyes. If I told you to get down on your knees right now and kiss my feet, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?
Reporter: Well, I…I mean, I don’t…
Ahmad: It’s okay. In fact, it’s good. I can tell from how polite and deferential you are. You know black men are superior to you, don’t you? You know white men are weak and ready to be replaced, right?
Reporter: Well, I mean, yeah, I…I guess.
Ahmad: Here, you know what’ll make you feel better, what’ll make this whole interview go smoother?
Reporter: Wh-what’s that?
Ahmad: Hand me your wallet. Go ahead, hand it over. That’s a good boy. Now, let’s see…Tim…that’s your name, huh? That’s a nice white boy name. They call you Timmy, I bet? Think I’m going to call you…piggy. As in pay pig. What’ve got here, piggy? About…one-hundred and twenty bucks? Okay, that’ll do for now. Here. Who’s this? Is this your girl, piggy? She pretty, prettier than a wimp like you deserves, know what I’m sayin’, son? Think I’ll keep this photo along with my cash. What’s her name, piggy?
Reporter: Sam…uh…Samantha.
Ahmad: Maybe I take her from you someday, too, huh, piggy? Here, you can have your empty wallet back….Ain’t you forgetting something, cracker?
Reporter: Uh…sir?
Ahmad: You haven’t thanked me for drainin’ you, have you?
Reporter: Oh. Um…thank you.
Ahmad: Thank you…?
Reporter: Thank you…sir…for taking my cash.
Ahmad: That’s better, piggy. Now, you see, that’s the way this shit works. See how easy it is? A brother likes me comes across a weak, white faggit like you, just needin’ to be drained, to exploit white guilt you didn’t even know you had. From that moment on, you’re mine.
Reporter: So, uh, about the fraternity…
Ahmad: Yeah, so my initiation involved bringin’ in a new white piggy to serve the frat. There were always plenty of chicks of all colors hanging around, easy cooch for any brotha. But we usually kept white faggits around in shifts, y’know, to do laundry, pay for pizza and beer, sometimes for a quick fuck, that kinda thing. If a brotha had had a bad day, the faggit might serve as a punching bag. Mostly it was frosh white boys that were kept around to serve the brothers. I set my sights a bit, well, higher. I had this sociology prof, Mr. Zimmer, the most woke fuck in the whole school. Dude had written a couple o’ books about being black in America. Hilarious, right? Like this white fag knew anything about being black in America.
Reporter: Solomon Zimmer? Yeah, I’ve read some of his work. Very enlightening!
Ahmad: That’s him. Faggit thought he knew something about my people. One day, in class, I brought up the subject of the university exploiting black athletes like myself, making millions off our sweat, without compensating us. Zimmer loved that, went off on a big speech about systemic racism in the university. After class, I suggested he might stop by the frat house that night. White boy was so eager, could barely contain his excitement, thought he was going to get to hang with a bunch of brothas and learn us dumb monkeys all about how oppressed we be. Ha! When he knocked on the door that night, me and my frat brothers were spread out in the front room playing Grand Theft Auto on the PS5 Brian left behind when he disappeared from school. Terrell answered the door, saying, “Y’gotta pay the white tax to enter, son.” Professor Zimmer hesitated just a sec, uncertain like, but pulled his wallet out, and handed Terrell a twenty. Terrell snatched the wallet and emptied all the cash, stuffing it into his pockets, before tossing the empty wallet back to my teacher. “Yo, Mr. Zimmer,” I called from the sofa, “over here.” He walked over and greeted us. “Hey,” my frat brother Tequan said, “we could really use a foot stool while we play.” I looked hard at Professor Zimmer. “You heard the man, Prof, get on yo’ fuckin’ hands and knees.” The geek just stared at me, smiling awkwardly. I jumped up and swiped him on the side o’ his head with my hand. “Ain’t jokin’, white boy. Hands and knees. Fuckin’ now!”
Reporter: Did he…did he…obey?
Ahmad: Fuck right he did! He knew better than to say no to a roomful o’ brothas. Dropped to his hands and knees. Tequan and Terrell and me, sittin’ on the sofa, all put our feet up on the loser. My bare feet were on his ass, Tequan’s on his back, and Terrell’s Jordan’s on his neck. With our feet up, we just sat back and continued playing like Zimmer wasn’t even there. Some of our other brotha’s set their beer bottles on his back, warned him that he better stay still so they didn’t spill. Ha! Shit was so fuckin' funny, white boy on 'is knees, tryin' not to tremble.
Reporter: That must have been quite…humiliating for him…
Ahmad: Fucker was where he belonged. After awhile, we ordered him to scurry to the kitchen to get us more beers. We made him strip naked, kneel in the middle o’ the room, open his mouth wide, while we all took turns hawkin’ loogies at him. Two points for hittin’ his face, three if we dunked one right in his mouth. His pale face was all shiny with nigga spit by the time I was declared the winner. Then we made the fucker repeat after us: white people are pigs! Black men are kings! White men are jealous, baby-dicked piglets! Black men are gods! White girls are cumdumps! He repeated whatever we told him to, our slime drippin’ down his face the whole time. When we finally let him go, we kicked him out of the frat house without his clothes. He served us like that every Wednesday night for the rest of the year, and we made him pay us for the privilege.
Reporter: Jeez. The famous Solomon Zimmer, slave to a frat of black jocks. That’s incredible.
Ahmad: I even made the stupid faggit blow me one night when I was high. I nutted down his throat, but I felt so dirty afterward that I just had to beat the shit out of the ugly homo. Broke the fucker’s nose but good. Even that didn’t quench the fag’s appetite for nigga dick, though.
Reporter: Really?
Ahmad: Yeah, from what I hear, his wife dumped him, and he started trolling video booths in search of more black dick to suck. Happy fucking ending for that prick. After that semester, things went south. I tore my hamstring, and wasn’t able to play anymore. Eventually, I lost my football scholarship. By that point, I didn’t mind so much, since it was becoming clear that I might be able to make a lucrative living exploiting white piggies. As far as I’m concerned, anyway, most white wealth belongs to me and my people, you hear what I’m sayin’? This whole country was built on our backs and our sweat, hear what I’m sayin’?
Reporter: But did you really think that you’d be able to support yourself, uh, exploiting…white, er, white guilt?
Ahmad: Oh, I knew it. First thing I did once I got bounced out of school was to get myself a swank crib right downtown. There’s no money if you live like an ass out scrub. You gots to live the part. Once I livin’ large, I go on-line and start huntin’ for some pay piggies. Turns out there was a whole industry devoted to rippin’ off submissive faggits, and a lot of ‘em were eager to surrender their cash to a cocky, young nigga like myself. I found a website that was set up for dominant guys like me to rip off weak faggit losers. I was one o’ the first on the site preachin’ black supremacy and fag taxes as a form of reparations. That went over fuckin’ big. Convince some closeted, middle-aged, white, suburban *** that his wife would prefer black dick and his woke kids hate everything about him, and he’ll start throwin’ money at a brotha for a selfie o’ some well-stroked nigga dick. He needs to be told that everything he’s worked for is the result o’ white privilege and white supremacy, and that he’s really just a weak, impotent, queer waste of flesh. Before he can help himself, he be tributin’ a brother a few benjamins a week, mores sometimes, just to hear the truth. Most white boys know the truth deep down inside; they jus’ need a brotha wit the guts to reveal it to them.
‘Bout the same time that I’m drivin’ a bunch o’ crackas into debt, I become woke to the truth of Allah.
Reporter: Oh? So, you weren’t Muslim up to this point?
Ahmad: Nah, man, I was brought up in some bullshit Baptist church, with that cracka on a cross as my God. Once I discovered the Quran, I dropped the white slave name that my momma gave me and became Ahmad, a name that means ‘praiseworthy.’ You think I’m worthy of praise, don’t you, piggy?
Reporter: I—I certainly do, sir!
Ahmad: Of course you do, piggy. The Nation of Islam taught me what twenty years of learning in the white man’s schools didn’t: that the black man in America remains more African than he’ll ever be American. And that’s a good thing. Africa is the origin of all things. Africa is beauty and strength and power. That is why the white man has always feared it and sought to destroy it. And that is why so many white people today have a need to surrender themselves to black power. They recognize the truth, the truth that black is superior. Our superiority and your inferiority, it’s all written into our DNA.
I had thought that most of the white boys that needed to submit to a brotha, that needed to be owned by a brotha, were simply faggots. But it went deeper than that. They weren’t all queer; they just recognized their place in the natural order. And so did their women. Turned out a lot o’ you white boys fantasized about yo’ women getting’ blacked by a nigga, didn’t matter if it was yo’ girlfriends or yo’ wives or even yo’ ********* an’ yo’ mothers. Yo’ crackas must be really fucked in the head, but that cuckold shit really turns most white boys on. What ‘bout you, Timmy? You like the idea o’ that girl o’ yours puttin’ out for a nigga?
Reporter: Well, I—I mean, I haven’t really…I guess…
Ahmad: Course you do, piggy, don’t be ashamed. The way I figure it, you all just instinctively know that there ain’t no way yo’ women be satisfied with those little boy dinks you got between yo’ legs. You know they need a real man to fuck ‘em like bitches was made to be fucked, know what I’m sayin’, brah? So, in addition to all my pay pigs, I started providin’ bull services for cuckold couples. In no time at all, I had myself a gold Rolex and a sweet Escalade. I was bein’ flown to the Bahamas and Hawaii and Cabo to vacation with some of my cuck couples. Sometimes I let the white boys watch, other times I make them leave, and just sext them a few candids. Some of the really fucked in the head faggits pay me extra to try and knock their wives up with a black baby. They be whimpering like puppies when I nut in their bitches’ unprotected, race traitor wombs. That shit’s so funny! A few o’ the real fucked up cucks have an uncontrollable need to slurp my nut out of their women, getting the taste of a real man.
Reporter: Really? That’s quite a level of, um, commitment.
Ahmad: Well, to me it just goes to show that the white race is on the way out. When y’all would rather watch yo’ women get knocked up by a nigga and eat cream pie out o’ a freshly fucked snatch, and even pay a nigga for the privilege…well, that’s the road to extinction, don’t you think?
Reporter: I think you may be right there, Master Ahmad. I…I must confess: I identify with a lot of what you’re telling me. My sex drive, it’s pretty low. A lot of the time I’d just as soon goon to some interracial porn than have sex with my own girlfriend. And…and I have thought about watching her with…with another man.
Ahmad: With a brotha?
Reporter: Yes…yes, sir.
Ahmad: Well, then, piggy: seems to me like we should do something about that, don’t you think?
Reporter: I, I think I’d like that, sir. So, can you tell us, what does the future hold for Master Ahmad?
Ahmad: Well, piggy, I think the immediate future might find me working a fuck into that girl of yours for an hour or two. Longer term, well, I’ve got this new piggy on the hook. He’s a bit green, but promising. Gots a good job, a sexy as fuck wife, a couple of piglets. I been reeling him in, milking tribute out of him. But strikes me he’s it for the long haul. He might just be the fuckin’ mother lode, y’know what I’m talking about?
Reporter: Well, I certainly wish you luck in all your endeavors, Master Ahmad, and I want to thank you for your time today.
Ahmad: No problem, piggy. Anything to help further the cause. Now, let’s see what we can do about getting this bitch o’ yours blacked, teachin' her how a real man fucks....
