Over the last several weeks, my life had changed in ways that it would have been impossible for me to imagine.
Marisa and I had married just out of college after she became pregnant with our first son, Tommy. I was working in insurance as an actuary, she was a paralegal. When Tommy came along, we bought a house in the suburbs and Marisa left her profession to be a full-time mother. We took the occasional vacation, had a second son, Wayne, built a life, and were responsible in every way expected of us. Our lives were orderly, busy, sedate. What we didn't realize at the time, however, was that our lives were built on an expectation of a white privilege and a white morality that we took completely for granted. In our suburban enclave, we were sheltered from the challenges and turmoil and racism that confronted by so many of our fellow Americans. Black Americans.
As ignorant as I was to this truth, a subtle unrest in my life led me to an increasingly obsessive interest in interracial pornography. Maybe it was the monotony of my job or the demands of ****** life or the increasingly tedious nature of my sex life, but I found myself fascinated by the powerful, masculine, assertive brown men of these videos, of the responses they provoked in the smooth, pale white women they fucked. They seemed like a completely different species than me: proud, dominant, certain, aggressive. The size of their prodigious cocks--often hanging like an extra appendage between dark, muscular legs--were the physical manifestation of their amazing confidence. They were men in a way that was completely contrary to the way that I regarded myself as a man.
Then, one day, Master Ahmed intruded on my Twitter feed as I perused sites dedicated to my obsession with interracial sex. Young and cocky and domineering, he introduced me to a new world of financial domination of submissive white men, or white piggies as he preferred to call us, by black doms. Men like Master Ahmed accepted monetary tribute, reparations, from what they considered white inferiors. This world of financial domination was sometimes paired with interracial cuckoldry, in which white men surrendered their girlfriends or wives to the sexual prowess of black men. For some, as I was to learn, all this was merely a precursor to a deeper, more profound and far-reaching movement: Black Supremacy. That was the world to which Master Ahmed would ultimately lead me.
Just as the country was erupting in protests and violence and riots over yet another killing of a black man by police, I discovered that Master Ahmed had not only been taking control of my life, but had been in contact with my wife, Marisa, telling her about my financial submission to him, my obsession with black men and interracial sex. Unknown to me, Marisa had a similar level of dissatisfaction with our staid suburban lives, our vanilla sex habits. She responded to Master Ahmed's assertiveness and sexuality as readily as I had. Even as Master Ahmed had me lock myself in chastity with a cock cage, he and Marisa became lovers. She departed with him to participate in protests and demonstrations in Washington D.C., leaving me alone with our sons.
While all this was going on, the company that I worked for reacted to the racial unrest by hiring a number of black executives, including my new superior, Benjamin Jones. With Marisa's connivance, Master Ahmed had reached out to Mr. Jones and invited him to exploit my willing submission to black men. I became Mr. Jones's company cocksucker and occasional human pissoir. It was shameful, but it felt proper to serve the black race in whatever manner they desired.
Around this same time, I befriended Ron, the father of one of my youngest son Wayne's friends. I thought it was mere coincidence that Ron, like me, had a wife who was cuckolding him with black men, but the truth is really that it was just an indication of how widespread Black Supremacy was becoming, spreading even through our seemingly quiet, sedate, mostly white suburb. Ron's friendship had become invaluable to me during this time of upheaval and confusion, and we began going out weekly to an adult store in a black neighborhood where we would orally service black men through a glory hole. This had become our life now: while our wives were making love to real men, Ron and I were on our knees sucking anonymous black cock.
Everything Master Ahmed had taught me about white men was proving true: we were weak, pathetic, sexually inadequate, and eager to participate in our own ruination, our own extinction, by giving up our women to the superior black race.
Recently, Ron had expressed an interest in joining me in chastity, locking his own small cock up in a chastity device similar to my own. I advised him to seek permission from his wife, Jill, and her current teenage lover, Luke, a black football player from the high school where she taught. "White cucks like us shouldn't make such a big decision on our own," I advised him. "That is the prerogative of our wives and their bulls." He agreed. So,one night, while I took our sons out for pizza, Ron returned home to seek approval from Jill and Luke to cage his small, insignificant, white cock, useless for anything more than dribbling weak, watery, genetically inferior semen.
This is Ron's story.
Ron entered his house to discover Luke sitting shirtless on the living room sofa, Luke's brown erection jutting proudly from the fly of his jeans. One hand held a blunt to his lips, another was wrapped around Jill's blonde mane as he pushed her deeper down on his lengthy cudgel of a cock. "Huh, check it out," Luke sneered, "your white faggot husband jus' walked in the fuckin' door."
Jill raised her mouth reluctantly from Luke's rod, her lips coated with the sheen of his pre-ejaculate. "Goddamn it, Ron," she chastised her husband. "You're supposed to stay at that loser David's house tonight! What the hell are you doing here?"
Ron stepped forward. He was nervous, yet enthralled at the sight of his wife with her teenage lover. In all the long months she had been cuckolding him, he had never been present while she had sex with one of her students. Initially, she would simply fuck them in the classroom after school hours. When Ron discovered her infidelities, he would pay for Jill and her young bulls to stay at local motels. But ever since my wife had run off with Master Ahmed and Jill had been caring for Tommy and Wayne while I was at work, they had developed a new arrangement. Ron and Danny would have sleepovers at my house on nights when Jill wished to entertain. Which turned out to be several nights per week.
Luke jumped up from the sofa, his pendulous cock swinging back and forth as he approached Ron. The eighteen-year old athlete grabbed the older, white man by his shirt collar. "Your wife asked you a question, faggot! What the fuck are you doin' here? Thought we had an understanding!" He backhanded Ron across the face. "Ohh," squealed Jill excited by the sudden violence, "hit him again, stud!" Luke laughed at Jill's enthusiasm, "You white chicks are so fucked up," but did as she requested, harder this time, knocking Ron to the carpet.
"Please, please," Ron beseeched, reaching into his pocket. "I just wanted to...to ask your permission to be...to be locked in chastity." He held out the stainless steel cock cage that I had helped him select, similar to the one Master Ahmed had me purchase for myself. "My cock...my dink is useless and disgusting," he explained. "It would be better for everyone if it were locked up."
Luke snorted. "It'd be better for everyone if that shit was just cut off, cracker!" Jill giggled at Luke's vulgarity much as she had at his violence.
Luke plopped back down on the sofa next to Ron's wife, wrapping a thickly muscled arm around Jill's shoulder, pulling her close. "Go on and stand up, white boy," he instructed. "Drop your pants and show us your junk." Ron complied, letting his slacks drop around his ankles, then lowering his briefs. His four inch worm of a dick stuck straight out. Luke and Jill burst out laughing at the sorry sight.
"Damn, girl! I can't believe you ever let that nasty little tallywacker near that sweet pink pussy of yours."
"I didn't know any better," Jill told Luke. "I had no idea what a real man was like." With that she reached over to stroke Luke's beastly cock, thickly veined and uncut, over ten inches in length, more than twice that of Ron's little boy dink. "I have to confess, I like the idea of the little thing being locked away. But I should warn you, Ronny: if we lock it up, I'm thinking we should just lose the key. What do you think of that?"
Ron hung his head in shame. "Whatever you think is best," he replied.
"Go on and stroke it for us, faggot," Luke directed. "Ain't never seen a white faggot play with his little wiener before. 'Sides, even a loser like you should have one last nut before we shut that shit down for good."
Jill agreed. "Oh, do, Ronny, jerk your little dink for us! Show Luke how a white loser looks when he's diddling himself."
While Ron took his penis between his thumb and index finger--it required no firmer grip than that--Jill returned to feasting on Luke's impressive manhood, sucking it to its full length. Luke's balls were bloated, full of cum from humiliating the white man in front of him. Ron watched his wife's cheeks fill with the bloated head of Luke's dark brown cock, her tongue lavishing desire over the throbbing shaft.
"Best you could do with that little white slug," Luke teased, "is maybe floss your teeth." Ron whimpered, thrilled at the open derision.
Still slobbering over Luke's meat, Jill raised her head and commented, "I wouldn't even do that. In nine years of marriage, I never once put that horrid little thing in my mouth. My throat is reserved for real men, not pathetic little white boys."
Luke plucked his hard-on from Jill's mouth, and held it out to her kneeling, jacking white husband. "You want a taste of my nigga meat, cracker?" Luke teased. "You want to show your hot wife what a true faggot you are?"
Ron nodded, leaning in to take Luke's proffered erection in his mouth. Instead, Luke rewarded him with a solid punch right to the face with his large, powerful, black fist, knocking Ron back on his ass with a sudden cry of surprise and denied desire.
"Sorry, white boy! Faggots don't get my meat," Luke laughed. "This dick is reserved for hot bitches only! Bitches like yo' wife!"
Jill laughed as she noticed blood drip from her husband's nose and his eye begin to swell. "Oh! You've given the loser a black eye for sure! Serves him right. Did you see how eager the queer was to taste your beautiful black cock? What a faggot!"
Luke shoved Jill's mouth back on his dick. "Keep sucking, whore," he instructed. "While you're down there, white boy, show my Jordan's some respect." Luke slid a sneakered foot toward the abject cuckold. Ron lowered his mouth to the young athlete's foot and pressed his lips to the toes of the black and red footwear. It felt proper to debase himself before his wife's young lover, more than a decade his junior. Luke raised his foot, pressing the bottom against Ron's face. Ron ran his tongue along the filthy bottom of Luke's sneakers, all the while continuing to stroke his little prick. "You white boys sure are sick fucks," Luke commented. "No wonder all your women prefer brothers."
Luke leaned in and gave Ron another hard slap across his face. "Take my Jordans off, cracker," he instructed, "and my socks, too! I think you should show proper respect to my bare black feet." Ron did as ordered, unlacing and removing Luke's sneakers, and rolling down his socks. He was confronted by Luke's dusky brown size thirteen feet, smelling strongly of locker room musk and sweat. He lavished them with adoration, kissing and licking the toes and soles and heels. Leaning back on the sofa, his dick buried deeply in the mouth of Ron's wife, Luke hocked up a thick wad of phlegm and spat it in Ron's face. Instinctively, Ron knew better than to wipe the spit away. He felt it roll down his face, and into his mouth.
"Eww," Jill sneered. "He's so pathetic. I can't believe I ever let him touch me!"
Luke chuckled, "Hell, he won't be touching anyone ever again once we lock up that sad little wiener of his."
Ron whimpered, realizing that the load he was about to shoot might well be his last. He feared his wife wan't joking about losing the key to his cage. Just as second thoughts flooded his mind, Ron spewed his thin, watery load, barely enough to fill a thimble. Luke looked at the dribble in astonishment. "That's it? Your last nut, and that's all your good for? Jesus, white boy, we'll be doing the human race a favor locking your shit up.Watch this, nigga, this is a man's load!" With that he pulled Jill's mouth off his dick by her hair, and with a couple of swift strokes, shot a voluminous amount of virile semen high in the air, coating Jill's face with generous strings of viscous cream. Jill opened her mouth wide, greedily catching at her lover's thick cum.
Having had his nut, Luke stood and gave Ron a kick in the side. He towered over the cowering white wimp. "Kiss my black ass," he ordered. Ron obeyed, planting a obedient kiss on each rounded cheek.
"I like this Black Supremacy shit I've been reading about," he told the white couple. "Give me your wallet," he said, holding his hand out expectantly to Ron. Digging through his slacks, Ron did as told. Luke rifled through it, emptying it of $85. "I expect this shit to be full every time I come over," he told Ron. "Every fuckin' time. You owe the black race, faggot. And you've only just begun to pay." Jill clapped her hands excitedly, thrilled at the sight of her husband so soundly humbled.
Once Luke had taken the older white man's money as reparation, he made Ron stand before them and affix the cock cage to his flaccid, spent penis.
"A shame to even call it a cock cage," Luke mused. "More like a worm cage is all that's needed to lock away that little maggot of a dick. No more pussy for you, loser. From now on," he cupped a hand over Jill's smoothly shaved mound, "this is for brothers only. Hands off, unless it's to clean out a real man's nut." With that, the couple kicked Ron out of the house, to resume their date night.
Ron revealed all this to me later that same night, over beers in my study. He lowered his fly and pulled out his caged dick. It was a similar device to the one I wore, but even smaller. He seemed at turns both excited and terrified by the fact that he had been virtually castrated. "It's very sobering, David," he explained. "This feels like the correct thing to do as, you know, a white man, the...inevitable thing. Is that what it's like for you?"
"Very much," I agreed. "It only seems natural that we should be denied pussy. Breeding our women, that's the proper domain of the black man. It's the quickest way to white extinction. Black men get to enjoy what we don't deserve. Master Ahmed still has the key to my cage, and I sometimes wonder if I'm ever going to even see him or my wife again. But maybe Jill will reward you by unlocking your dink when you've provided particularly good service to her or her lovers."
Ron looked doubtful. "Maybe. Although she seemed to take a lot of satisfaction at the idea of keeping me caged forever."
"Have you told her about, you know...about you and I going out...to the video store?"
"That we've been sucking anonymous black men at an adult store gloryhole?" he asked. "No. Not yet, anyway. I kind of like that to be something only you and I share. At least for now. I know I'll probably be punished for it when she and Luke find out, but until then, I like it being our time."
"Like a boys' night out," I teased. "Too bad Luke wouldn't let you have a taste of his dick. Just like Master Ahmed denied me. Some masters just like having a white faggot slave, I guess, but aren't interested in anything but white pussy."
Ron looked forlorn. "It was so beautiful. He might be only eighteen, but his dick was bigger and thicker than any black cocks I've seen before. No wonder Jill loves fucking him so much. I hope...I hope he knocks her up!"
We both grinned at the idea of the both of us raising black babies together, rectifying the mistake we made of bringing white boys into the world.
Once Ron had turned in for the night, I peaked in on our little "mistakes." Ron's son, Danny, and my youngest, Wayne, were already asleep in the boys' bunk bed. My oldest, Tommy, was still awake, in his sleeping bag, using a flashlight to read the Young People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn that I had bought for him, wanting to give him an early introduction to the history of ******** and oppression committed by the white race against people of color. He looked up at me and whispered, "***, white people suck!"
I ruffled his hair. "It's true, son. That's why I hope for better from you and your brother. We owe it to all the people of color we've wronged. I'm proud of you, Tommy. You've grown up a lot this summer."
"Thanks, ***. I wish all the white people could just...gee, I don't know, just disappear!"
"So do I, Tommy. But don't worry: in a way, we will. Until then, we should do whatever we can to make life better for black people." He nodded his agreement. I was impressed by his enthusiasm. I told him he could read for fifteen more minutes, then it was lights out.
In just a couple of months, my sons had gone from whiny, petulant, privileged white brats to recognizing the corruption and venality of the white race, with a burgeoning awareness of Black Supremacy. Bringing Master Ahmed into our lives had changed our ****** dynamic irrevocably, but in a way that mirrored the changes our country was going through. I wondered how many other white husbands there were in suburbs across the country that, like Ron and I, were dismantling their white privilege through chastity and financial slavery and cuckoldry. I had a feeling and hope that our numbers were greater than anyone suspected.
As I climbed under the covers, my phone chimed, indicating that I had a text message. It was from Master Ahmed, but there were no words, just a laughing emoji accompanied by an attachment. I opened it, and the attached photo brought tears to my eyes, though I would be damned if I could tell if they were tears of joy or of sorrow. The photo showed a small plastic pregnancy test that read "one line: not pregnant, two lines: pregnant." There were two clear lines.
My wife Marisa was pregnant with Master Ahmed's child.
Marisa and I had married just out of college after she became pregnant with our first son, Tommy. I was working in insurance as an actuary, she was a paralegal. When Tommy came along, we bought a house in the suburbs and Marisa left her profession to be a full-time mother. We took the occasional vacation, had a second son, Wayne, built a life, and were responsible in every way expected of us. Our lives were orderly, busy, sedate. What we didn't realize at the time, however, was that our lives were built on an expectation of a white privilege and a white morality that we took completely for granted. In our suburban enclave, we were sheltered from the challenges and turmoil and racism that confronted by so many of our fellow Americans. Black Americans.
As ignorant as I was to this truth, a subtle unrest in my life led me to an increasingly obsessive interest in interracial pornography. Maybe it was the monotony of my job or the demands of ****** life or the increasingly tedious nature of my sex life, but I found myself fascinated by the powerful, masculine, assertive brown men of these videos, of the responses they provoked in the smooth, pale white women they fucked. They seemed like a completely different species than me: proud, dominant, certain, aggressive. The size of their prodigious cocks--often hanging like an extra appendage between dark, muscular legs--were the physical manifestation of their amazing confidence. They were men in a way that was completely contrary to the way that I regarded myself as a man.
Then, one day, Master Ahmed intruded on my Twitter feed as I perused sites dedicated to my obsession with interracial sex. Young and cocky and domineering, he introduced me to a new world of financial domination of submissive white men, or white piggies as he preferred to call us, by black doms. Men like Master Ahmed accepted monetary tribute, reparations, from what they considered white inferiors. This world of financial domination was sometimes paired with interracial cuckoldry, in which white men surrendered their girlfriends or wives to the sexual prowess of black men. For some, as I was to learn, all this was merely a precursor to a deeper, more profound and far-reaching movement: Black Supremacy. That was the world to which Master Ahmed would ultimately lead me.
Just as the country was erupting in protests and violence and riots over yet another killing of a black man by police, I discovered that Master Ahmed had not only been taking control of my life, but had been in contact with my wife, Marisa, telling her about my financial submission to him, my obsession with black men and interracial sex. Unknown to me, Marisa had a similar level of dissatisfaction with our staid suburban lives, our vanilla sex habits. She responded to Master Ahmed's assertiveness and sexuality as readily as I had. Even as Master Ahmed had me lock myself in chastity with a cock cage, he and Marisa became lovers. She departed with him to participate in protests and demonstrations in Washington D.C., leaving me alone with our sons.
While all this was going on, the company that I worked for reacted to the racial unrest by hiring a number of black executives, including my new superior, Benjamin Jones. With Marisa's connivance, Master Ahmed had reached out to Mr. Jones and invited him to exploit my willing submission to black men. I became Mr. Jones's company cocksucker and occasional human pissoir. It was shameful, but it felt proper to serve the black race in whatever manner they desired.
Around this same time, I befriended Ron, the father of one of my youngest son Wayne's friends. I thought it was mere coincidence that Ron, like me, had a wife who was cuckolding him with black men, but the truth is really that it was just an indication of how widespread Black Supremacy was becoming, spreading even through our seemingly quiet, sedate, mostly white suburb. Ron's friendship had become invaluable to me during this time of upheaval and confusion, and we began going out weekly to an adult store in a black neighborhood where we would orally service black men through a glory hole. This had become our life now: while our wives were making love to real men, Ron and I were on our knees sucking anonymous black cock.
Everything Master Ahmed had taught me about white men was proving true: we were weak, pathetic, sexually inadequate, and eager to participate in our own ruination, our own extinction, by giving up our women to the superior black race.
Recently, Ron had expressed an interest in joining me in chastity, locking his own small cock up in a chastity device similar to my own. I advised him to seek permission from his wife, Jill, and her current teenage lover, Luke, a black football player from the high school where she taught. "White cucks like us shouldn't make such a big decision on our own," I advised him. "That is the prerogative of our wives and their bulls." He agreed. So,one night, while I took our sons out for pizza, Ron returned home to seek approval from Jill and Luke to cage his small, insignificant, white cock, useless for anything more than dribbling weak, watery, genetically inferior semen.
This is Ron's story.
Ron entered his house to discover Luke sitting shirtless on the living room sofa, Luke's brown erection jutting proudly from the fly of his jeans. One hand held a blunt to his lips, another was wrapped around Jill's blonde mane as he pushed her deeper down on his lengthy cudgel of a cock. "Huh, check it out," Luke sneered, "your white faggot husband jus' walked in the fuckin' door."
Jill raised her mouth reluctantly from Luke's rod, her lips coated with the sheen of his pre-ejaculate. "Goddamn it, Ron," she chastised her husband. "You're supposed to stay at that loser David's house tonight! What the hell are you doing here?"
Ron stepped forward. He was nervous, yet enthralled at the sight of his wife with her teenage lover. In all the long months she had been cuckolding him, he had never been present while she had sex with one of her students. Initially, she would simply fuck them in the classroom after school hours. When Ron discovered her infidelities, he would pay for Jill and her young bulls to stay at local motels. But ever since my wife had run off with Master Ahmed and Jill had been caring for Tommy and Wayne while I was at work, they had developed a new arrangement. Ron and Danny would have sleepovers at my house on nights when Jill wished to entertain. Which turned out to be several nights per week.
Luke jumped up from the sofa, his pendulous cock swinging back and forth as he approached Ron. The eighteen-year old athlete grabbed the older, white man by his shirt collar. "Your wife asked you a question, faggot! What the fuck are you doin' here? Thought we had an understanding!" He backhanded Ron across the face. "Ohh," squealed Jill excited by the sudden violence, "hit him again, stud!" Luke laughed at Jill's enthusiasm, "You white chicks are so fucked up," but did as she requested, harder this time, knocking Ron to the carpet.
"Please, please," Ron beseeched, reaching into his pocket. "I just wanted to...to ask your permission to be...to be locked in chastity." He held out the stainless steel cock cage that I had helped him select, similar to the one Master Ahmed had me purchase for myself. "My cock...my dink is useless and disgusting," he explained. "It would be better for everyone if it were locked up."
Luke snorted. "It'd be better for everyone if that shit was just cut off, cracker!" Jill giggled at Luke's vulgarity much as she had at his violence.
Luke plopped back down on the sofa next to Ron's wife, wrapping a thickly muscled arm around Jill's shoulder, pulling her close. "Go on and stand up, white boy," he instructed. "Drop your pants and show us your junk." Ron complied, letting his slacks drop around his ankles, then lowering his briefs. His four inch worm of a dick stuck straight out. Luke and Jill burst out laughing at the sorry sight.
"Damn, girl! I can't believe you ever let that nasty little tallywacker near that sweet pink pussy of yours."
"I didn't know any better," Jill told Luke. "I had no idea what a real man was like." With that she reached over to stroke Luke's beastly cock, thickly veined and uncut, over ten inches in length, more than twice that of Ron's little boy dink. "I have to confess, I like the idea of the little thing being locked away. But I should warn you, Ronny: if we lock it up, I'm thinking we should just lose the key. What do you think of that?"
Ron hung his head in shame. "Whatever you think is best," he replied.
"Go on and stroke it for us, faggot," Luke directed. "Ain't never seen a white faggot play with his little wiener before. 'Sides, even a loser like you should have one last nut before we shut that shit down for good."
Jill agreed. "Oh, do, Ronny, jerk your little dink for us! Show Luke how a white loser looks when he's diddling himself."
While Ron took his penis between his thumb and index finger--it required no firmer grip than that--Jill returned to feasting on Luke's impressive manhood, sucking it to its full length. Luke's balls were bloated, full of cum from humiliating the white man in front of him. Ron watched his wife's cheeks fill with the bloated head of Luke's dark brown cock, her tongue lavishing desire over the throbbing shaft.
"Best you could do with that little white slug," Luke teased, "is maybe floss your teeth." Ron whimpered, thrilled at the open derision.
Still slobbering over Luke's meat, Jill raised her head and commented, "I wouldn't even do that. In nine years of marriage, I never once put that horrid little thing in my mouth. My throat is reserved for real men, not pathetic little white boys."
Luke plucked his hard-on from Jill's mouth, and held it out to her kneeling, jacking white husband. "You want a taste of my nigga meat, cracker?" Luke teased. "You want to show your hot wife what a true faggot you are?"
Ron nodded, leaning in to take Luke's proffered erection in his mouth. Instead, Luke rewarded him with a solid punch right to the face with his large, powerful, black fist, knocking Ron back on his ass with a sudden cry of surprise and denied desire.
"Sorry, white boy! Faggots don't get my meat," Luke laughed. "This dick is reserved for hot bitches only! Bitches like yo' wife!"
Jill laughed as she noticed blood drip from her husband's nose and his eye begin to swell. "Oh! You've given the loser a black eye for sure! Serves him right. Did you see how eager the queer was to taste your beautiful black cock? What a faggot!"
Luke shoved Jill's mouth back on his dick. "Keep sucking, whore," he instructed. "While you're down there, white boy, show my Jordan's some respect." Luke slid a sneakered foot toward the abject cuckold. Ron lowered his mouth to the young athlete's foot and pressed his lips to the toes of the black and red footwear. It felt proper to debase himself before his wife's young lover, more than a decade his junior. Luke raised his foot, pressing the bottom against Ron's face. Ron ran his tongue along the filthy bottom of Luke's sneakers, all the while continuing to stroke his little prick. "You white boys sure are sick fucks," Luke commented. "No wonder all your women prefer brothers."
Luke leaned in and gave Ron another hard slap across his face. "Take my Jordans off, cracker," he instructed, "and my socks, too! I think you should show proper respect to my bare black feet." Ron did as ordered, unlacing and removing Luke's sneakers, and rolling down his socks. He was confronted by Luke's dusky brown size thirteen feet, smelling strongly of locker room musk and sweat. He lavished them with adoration, kissing and licking the toes and soles and heels. Leaning back on the sofa, his dick buried deeply in the mouth of Ron's wife, Luke hocked up a thick wad of phlegm and spat it in Ron's face. Instinctively, Ron knew better than to wipe the spit away. He felt it roll down his face, and into his mouth.
"Eww," Jill sneered. "He's so pathetic. I can't believe I ever let him touch me!"
Luke chuckled, "Hell, he won't be touching anyone ever again once we lock up that sad little wiener of his."
Ron whimpered, realizing that the load he was about to shoot might well be his last. He feared his wife wan't joking about losing the key to his cage. Just as second thoughts flooded his mind, Ron spewed his thin, watery load, barely enough to fill a thimble. Luke looked at the dribble in astonishment. "That's it? Your last nut, and that's all your good for? Jesus, white boy, we'll be doing the human race a favor locking your shit up.Watch this, nigga, this is a man's load!" With that he pulled Jill's mouth off his dick by her hair, and with a couple of swift strokes, shot a voluminous amount of virile semen high in the air, coating Jill's face with generous strings of viscous cream. Jill opened her mouth wide, greedily catching at her lover's thick cum.
Having had his nut, Luke stood and gave Ron a kick in the side. He towered over the cowering white wimp. "Kiss my black ass," he ordered. Ron obeyed, planting a obedient kiss on each rounded cheek.
"I like this Black Supremacy shit I've been reading about," he told the white couple. "Give me your wallet," he said, holding his hand out expectantly to Ron. Digging through his slacks, Ron did as told. Luke rifled through it, emptying it of $85. "I expect this shit to be full every time I come over," he told Ron. "Every fuckin' time. You owe the black race, faggot. And you've only just begun to pay." Jill clapped her hands excitedly, thrilled at the sight of her husband so soundly humbled.
Once Luke had taken the older white man's money as reparation, he made Ron stand before them and affix the cock cage to his flaccid, spent penis.
"A shame to even call it a cock cage," Luke mused. "More like a worm cage is all that's needed to lock away that little maggot of a dick. No more pussy for you, loser. From now on," he cupped a hand over Jill's smoothly shaved mound, "this is for brothers only. Hands off, unless it's to clean out a real man's nut." With that, the couple kicked Ron out of the house, to resume their date night.
Ron revealed all this to me later that same night, over beers in my study. He lowered his fly and pulled out his caged dick. It was a similar device to the one I wore, but even smaller. He seemed at turns both excited and terrified by the fact that he had been virtually castrated. "It's very sobering, David," he explained. "This feels like the correct thing to do as, you know, a white man, the...inevitable thing. Is that what it's like for you?"
"Very much," I agreed. "It only seems natural that we should be denied pussy. Breeding our women, that's the proper domain of the black man. It's the quickest way to white extinction. Black men get to enjoy what we don't deserve. Master Ahmed still has the key to my cage, and I sometimes wonder if I'm ever going to even see him or my wife again. But maybe Jill will reward you by unlocking your dink when you've provided particularly good service to her or her lovers."
Ron looked doubtful. "Maybe. Although she seemed to take a lot of satisfaction at the idea of keeping me caged forever."
"Have you told her about, you know...about you and I going out...to the video store?"
"That we've been sucking anonymous black men at an adult store gloryhole?" he asked. "No. Not yet, anyway. I kind of like that to be something only you and I share. At least for now. I know I'll probably be punished for it when she and Luke find out, but until then, I like it being our time."
"Like a boys' night out," I teased. "Too bad Luke wouldn't let you have a taste of his dick. Just like Master Ahmed denied me. Some masters just like having a white faggot slave, I guess, but aren't interested in anything but white pussy."
Ron looked forlorn. "It was so beautiful. He might be only eighteen, but his dick was bigger and thicker than any black cocks I've seen before. No wonder Jill loves fucking him so much. I hope...I hope he knocks her up!"
We both grinned at the idea of the both of us raising black babies together, rectifying the mistake we made of bringing white boys into the world.
Once Ron had turned in for the night, I peaked in on our little "mistakes." Ron's son, Danny, and my youngest, Wayne, were already asleep in the boys' bunk bed. My oldest, Tommy, was still awake, in his sleeping bag, using a flashlight to read the Young People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn that I had bought for him, wanting to give him an early introduction to the history of ******** and oppression committed by the white race against people of color. He looked up at me and whispered, "***, white people suck!"
I ruffled his hair. "It's true, son. That's why I hope for better from you and your brother. We owe it to all the people of color we've wronged. I'm proud of you, Tommy. You've grown up a lot this summer."
"Thanks, ***. I wish all the white people could just...gee, I don't know, just disappear!"
"So do I, Tommy. But don't worry: in a way, we will. Until then, we should do whatever we can to make life better for black people." He nodded his agreement. I was impressed by his enthusiasm. I told him he could read for fifteen more minutes, then it was lights out.
In just a couple of months, my sons had gone from whiny, petulant, privileged white brats to recognizing the corruption and venality of the white race, with a burgeoning awareness of Black Supremacy. Bringing Master Ahmed into our lives had changed our ****** dynamic irrevocably, but in a way that mirrored the changes our country was going through. I wondered how many other white husbands there were in suburbs across the country that, like Ron and I, were dismantling their white privilege through chastity and financial slavery and cuckoldry. I had a feeling and hope that our numbers were greater than anyone suspected.
As I climbed under the covers, my phone chimed, indicating that I had a text message. It was from Master Ahmed, but there were no words, just a laughing emoji accompanied by an attachment. I opened it, and the attached photo brought tears to my eyes, though I would be damned if I could tell if they were tears of joy or of sorrow. The photo showed a small plastic pregnancy test that read "one line: not pregnant, two lines: pregnant." There were two clear lines.
My wife Marisa was pregnant with Master Ahmed's child.
