I suddenly found myself a single parent to two boy, ages 8 and 10, now that my wife, Marisa, had run off with Master Ahmed to join in demonstrations for racial justice in Washington D.C. My Master had told me that he would return her after a week, but I suspected I couldn't count on her coming home that soon. With school out for the summer, I was uncertain what I would do with the boys while I was at work. That's when my fellow neighborhood cuckold, Ron, suggested that the boys could spend afternoons at his house, with Wayne's friend, Danny. He assured me that his wife, Jill, would be happy to have the boys over as they would keep Danny occupied.
I tried to place Jill in my memory, certain we had met at children's birthday parties or school events, but came up empty. All I knew of her was what Ron had told me: his wife was a high school English teacher who had been sexing up black teenage athletes for the past year. She sounded like an ideal caregiver for my little piglets. I needed them to learn that white families like ours owed respect and reparations to black Americans. I was doing my part by ceding significant amounts of money to Master Ahmed, including draining the piglets college fund. Marisa was doing her part by offering her body to Master Ahmed and the superior black race. Our piglets were going to have to learn that the world they were going to inherit as they grew up would be very different from that of their parents. It would be a world without white privilege, one in which white girls would laugh at and reject them, and black boys would take what they wanted by fiat. Their melanin-deprived bodies would appear weak and pale and flaccid in comparison to those of their black superiors. It was the world that I wanted for them.
While the boys ate their hot dogs, Ron and I continued our talk. He told me about his wife's trysts and about eating teenage cum from her recently-fucked pussy; I told him about Master Ahmed's financial domination of me, about the stainless steel that I wore around my cock in enforced chastity, about the anonymous black cocks I had sucked at a glory hole at Master Ahmed's instruction. It felt good to unburden myself, as well as to learn I wasn't alone in my submissive perversions. I even told him how I had submitted myself before my new black boss, kneeling in his office and kissing his shoes. I suggested that Ron might be interested in some of the Black New World Order websites that Master Ahmed had brought to my attention. He was very excited to learn of the extent of the movement, and how the current situation, the nationwide protests, furthered its ends. He was eager to talk to his wife Jill about all this. "It's a brand new world, Ron," I told him, "and whites like us, we don't have much of a place in it." He nodded his agreement, but I could tell that we both felt this change was a long time coming and well-deserved.
Once Ron and Danny had left, I let Tommy and Wayne know that while their mother would be away fighting for racial justice with Master Ahmed they would be spending time at Danny's house when I was at work. Wayne was excited. "That' so cool, ***," he said. "I'm glad that Mom is helping black people! We learned how bad slavery was in school. Black people should be really mad at us!"
I nodded agreement. "A lot of them are, Wayne. That's why they're protesting."
Tommy, who'd been through a lot in the last week--running away from home, getting brutally beaten by his friend's racist father, watching as Master Ahmed defended him--waited until Wayne had gone inside. "Is Mom in love with Ahmed, now?" he asked me once we were alone.
I didn't quite know how to answer his question, mostly because I had barely had a chance to talk with Marisa about any of this before she ran off with Master Ahmed. "How would that make you feel if she were, Tommy?"
He kind of shrugged, non-committedly. "It'd be okay, I guess," he answer. "He is really tough and pretty cool. I hope he doesn't...," he paused.
"Doesn't, what, Tommy?"
He was almost in tears. "I hope he doesn't hate me because I said such bad things about black people!" he sobbed. "I'm really, really sorry!"
I gave my son a reassuring hug, the closest I had felt to him in a very long time. "I'm sure that you'll have lots of chances to prove how much you like Ahmed, son. I'm sure we all will. Now, why don't you go play with your brother while I clean up here."
That night after the boys had gone to bed, I locked myself in my study. There had been no messages from Master Ahmed since that morning, when he'd told me he and Marisa were going to Washington together. I logged onto my Twitter account and checked Master Ahmed's feed. It turned out that all day long he'd been tweeting photos and videos, some of my wife sitting next to him in my Cherokee, grinning happily as she flashed her bare breasts like a teenager on spring break, others of her slurping contentedly on his almost foot-long dong. I'd never seen Marisa so wild and uninhibited. Although Master Ahmed's Twitter account was private, anyone who he gave access to could see these photos of Marisa. I checked his account: he had over 10,000 followers. Several people had commented on Marisa's photos: "hot PAWG, brah," "another white girl hooked on a brother's black snake," "looks ready for breeding to me, man." My caged cock filled with blood, causing it to ache in pain, unable to become fully turgid. The key to my cock, like my wife, was in Master Ahmed's possession.
Since I couldn't drain my cock, I logged onto Master Ahmed's Visa account so I could drain my wallet. Since I last paid off his card, he'd run up several hundred dollars worth in charges, much of it just today with my wife. I paid the charges in full, no longer worrying about hiding the large withdrawals from Marisa, as I had been doing. I then logged onto my PayPal account and tributed him $100. He had gotten angry with me in the past for tributing more than instructed, warning me how useless it was for a white piggie to try to impress him, but this wasn't to impress him: this was to honor him, to show my devotion. I slept alone that night, for almost the first time since my wedding night eleven years previously; but I slept contentedly knowing that the woman I loved was in the company of the man who had taken possession of me.
On Monday morning, I dropped Tommy and Wayne off at Ron's house. Jill came out to greet us, giving me a knowing smirk. Ron's wife had blonde curls and a outgoing smile. She was curvier than Marisa, with full hips and a large bosom. I could see why the black athletes at her high school enjoyed her so much. "We'll take good care of the boys, Davey," she assured me, using the diminutive of my name as if I were a little boy myself. "You can pick them up anytime after dinner." I thanked her and drove to the station to catch the commuter train into the city. In recent weeks, since Master Ahmed had began dominating my life, I had begun deferring to black men and women in public, offering them my seat, paying for their coffee, holding doors open for them. Most expressed appreciation at my gestures. Since the protests and demonstrations and riots had erupted, however, their attitudes had begun to change. Now, when I made way for a black person, they took it as their due, many sneering at me openly, some of them bumping or jostling me purposefully.
When I arrived at the office, I found a message that my manager, Benjamin Jones, wanted to see me. I knocked at his door. "Enter," I heard him say. I found him standing in front of his desk in an expensive three piece charcoal sharkskin suit with a dark blue Bvlgari tie. He was as startlingly handsome as he was domineering. Without even waiting for instruction, I knelt on the floor before him and bent my head to the tips of his black Bruno Maglis, pressing my lips to shoes that were worth more than I made in a week. "Good piggy," he said.
When I stood before him, he explained, "David, I have some paperwork for you to fill out." He handed me a piece of paper that I recognized as a direct deposit form. I was momentarily baffled until I looked it over and recognized Master Ahmed's name. I looked up at Mr. Jones with what must have been bewilderment in my eyes. "Signing this will allow us to deposit half your salary directly into Mr. Ahmed Shabaz's personal account." Mr. Jones looked at me sternly. "That is what you want, isn't it...piggy?"
I lowered my gaze meekly. That was Master Ahmed's word for me! "Yes, please, Sir," I replied. "It is what I want." Was it, though? Although I made a good salary, giving half my salary directly to Master Ahmed every week was unexpected. Making ends meet would be challenging. I had already found it necessary to watch my spending based on my tributes to Master Ahmed and the donations I made to various black causes at my Master's instruction.
Mr. Jones smiled paternally. "Good, piggy," he said. "Mr. Shabaz suspected you might...bristle a little, but he was confident that you'd do the right thing."
"Sir," I ventured, "may I ask when did you speak to Mr. Sh...to M-Master Ahmed?"
"He called me last night, piggy. Explained your, let's say, situation, how he had taken proprietorship of you. I must say, he sounds like a very enterprising young man. You should be honored to be owned by a brother who has so much on the ball at such at young age."
I nodded my agreement. "I am, Sir, I really am."
"He also sent me some...interesting video, piggy," Mr. Jones said, holding his phone out to me. I looked to see video of myself sucking a fat, uncut, black cock at a glory hole in a filthy adult store. "That is you, isn't it, piggy?"
I nodded, flushed.
Mr. Jones put his phone down on the desk, and lowered the fly of his trousers. "Well, you seem like quite an accomplished cocksucker, piggy," he said. "Why don't you get to work on my prong, demonstrate your skills." It wasn't a request. He worked what looked like a coil of thick cable out of his slacks, letting it hang there. Master Ahmed had warned me that he never let fags suckle his big Muslim cock. Mr. Jones, it appeared, had no such compunctions. I opened my mouth and engulfed the foreskin-covered head of my boss's cock, sucking it deep into my throat. I felt it grow hard in my mouth as I nursed on it. As I had explained to Ron: until I discovered interracial porn, I had never thought much about another man's penis, let alone desired to suck one. But watching black performers like Jason Luv and Louis Smalls and Pressure ravage countless white girls had led to a near obsession with black cock, an obsession that left me ripe for Master Ahmed's exploitation. I might not be gay, but kneeling on the floor before my black boss, sucking on his formidable black cock, felt right.
As I sucked on his cock, I stole a glance up at Mr. Jones. His eyes were on me, watching my mouth filled with his massive truncheon of a prick, taking pleasure in the sight of a subordinate white man submitting to his authority, to his manhood. There was nothing homosexual for either one of us in this exchange; this was purely about power and submission. He held the former, I performed the latter. He grunted as he came, ejaculating deep in my throat, his flavor strong, intoxicating. It would please me to perform this function for him every morning if he desired. "Good job, piggy," he rewarded me.
"Thank you, Sir," I told him, adding, "I'm pleased to be of service."
Mr. Jones grinned at me. "I'm sure you are, piggy. All whites should be. By the way," he said, "your owner told me that he'd given you a mantra to repeat. What was it again?"
I replied, "Whiteness is a disease, Sir! Black cock is the cure, Sir!"
"Mm-mm, that's it, piggy. Yes, I like that. I'll have to remember that one." Handing me the direct deposit paperwork, he said, "Fill these out and drop them off with Human Resources, David. That will be all." I thank him for his time and backed out of the office, his taste still strong in my mouth.
The rest of the day was filled with drudge work, completing reports, sitting in on meetings, and conducting one mind-numbing presentation. All the while, I kept Mr. Jones' taste in my throat, appreciative of the reminder of my place in this changing world. Before leaving for the day, I signed the paperwork that authorized half of my salary be deposited directly into Master Ahmed's account. Making ends meet would be a struggle: I would have to cash in some bonds early, perhaps sell some stock. But it was good to do so: my financial slavery to Master Ahmed was proving to be so much more than just a sexual kink. It was my life.
I picked Tommy and Wayne up after work. While Jill got the boys ready, I confided to Ron about my new financial situation. "Shit," he said. "He completely blindsided you? You had no idea?"
I shook my head. "It came out of nowhere, but Ron, let me tell you," I leaned in close, "it felt...right to sign it over to him. If he'd wanted, I would have signed it all over to him. Fuck, I'd sign my house over to him."
Ron shook his head. "Damn, he really owns you, man. That's so...hot." We laughed conspiratorially, two white losers who knew that their time was almost up, complicit in their own demise. "I wonder how many white men like us there really are," Ron pondered.
"Based on what I've been reading," I assured him, "a whole hell of a lot."
On the drive home, Tommy piped up, telling me that Jill had a special black friend just like Mommy did. Luke had come over once Ron left for work, and he'd spent most of the day with Jill, while Tommy and Wayne enjoyed video games and junk food with Danny. My sons' futures seemed clear to me: as they became teenagers and grew into adulthood, they would remain pussy-free, their lives filled with playing video games, working entry-level jobs, and, if they were fortunate, serving black superiors. Those college funds that I was draining for Master Ahmed's benefit were of no use to them in this new world.
Once the piglets were in bed, I rushed to my study to check Master Ahmed's latest Twitter postings. There was only one new tweet, a minute long video. It showed Marisa on her knees sucking a long black cock, as she licks the bulbous head and thick shaft, another black cock enters the frame, vying for attention. Marisa moves her mouth from one cock to the other, opening wide to accommodate this second fat-headed prick. It is with shock that I register that neither cock belongs to Master Ahmed. He must be taking the video. Though large, neither of these cocks are quite as long as Master Ahmed's, one if much fatter, the other darker, almost charcoal. My wife is on her knees sucking the pricks of strange black men, much as I had just a few days ago. We were both behaving as wanton whores for our Master' s pleasure.
After viewing the short video multiple times, I noticed a message from Master Ahmed in my DMs. "Did you sign the paperwork, piggy?" it read simply.
"I did, Master," I replied. "Half my pay will be deposited directly to your account, Sir."
A moment passed, then came a reply. Master Ahmed was online! "As it should be, piggy," he answered. "FYI: I still expect you to make my Visa payments, piggy."
"Understood, Sir. Of course."
"Did you enjoy the video of your sow, piggy?"
"Yes, Sir, very much. You are training her well, Sir."
"She's a natural, piggy. She takes to black prong like she was born to it. She's sleeping right beside me, now, in a hotel you're paying for."
"Happy to, Sir," I assured him.
"Good, piggy. We'll be in D.C. tomorrow. I'll be introducing her around to some of my brothers in the movement before the demonstrations this weekend. Gotta tell you, piggy: I doubt that little tallywacker of yours will ever do much for her now that she's had a taste of a real man."
"I don't expect it will, Sir."
"Get some rest, piggy. Remember: you work for me now. I can't have you slacking. You gotta earn, boy. Might even need you to take a part-time job."
"Of course, Master. Good night, Sir. Please give my love to Marisa." He didn't answer. He was off-line, lying in bed next to my sleeping, well-fucked wife. I watched the video of her several more times before going to sleep in our bed. Alone.
The next day at work, as I was crunching numbers for a report, Mr. Jones sauntered into my office, looked around at the modest space, then said, "Your place, piggy: take it." I dropped to my knees before him, lowering my lips to his shoes, Ferragamo loafers today. "I need to drain the viper, piggy, and the executive washroom is being cleaned. What do you think I should do, piggy?"
I couldn't believe what he was suggesting. The part of me that remained a man, a part that was already vanishingly small, balked at he idea, but I knew better than to refuse. "I--I would be honored to take your--your morning piss, Sir," I replied. Mr. Jones worked the seemingly endless length of cock our of the fly of his dress slacks, and rested the head on my proffered tongue. As he let his bladder drain, I gulped his salty, acrid piss down my throat, into my gullet. Even by recent standards, this was a new low for me. I worked hard to not let any of the strong liquid splash onto my shirt and tie, but without luck. By the time he was done, my clothes were dotted with spilled urine. I looked up as I swallowed, realizing that my boss was taking video of me drinking his piss. "Hmm, your Master is going to enjoy seeing this shit. To say nothing of your slut wife."
As he zipped his fly clothes, Mr. Jones remarked, "For Christ's sake, Davey, clean yourself up. This is a fucking place of business." He walked out without a backward glance. After he left, I remained kneeling in the center of my office, the taste of my boss's piss strong in my mouth. That Master Ahmed and Marisa would get to view my degradation should have troubled me, instead it gave me a thrill that they would take the time to watch the video, that they would bother to think of me at all, even if it were merely to take amusement at my humiliation.
Once I'd put the boys to bed that night, I checked Master Ahmed's Twitter feed once again. I was disappointed to discover no new posts of my wife or reaction to my drinking Mr. Jones' morning piss. As I scrolled through Twitter for anything regarding Master Ahmed, I heard the front doorbell. I rushed to answer it before it could wake Tommy and Wayne. Standing on my front stoop, looking disheveled and forlorn, I discovered Ron in green golf shorts and a white t-shirt.
"I'm sorry to bother you, David," he explained, "but I have Danny in the car, he's asleep. Jill, she wanted us out of the house for the night. She--she's expecting company. She thought since she looks after your boys in the day, you wouldn't mind...."
"Of course not," I assured him. "Grab Danny, come inside." He bundled Danny up from the backseat, wrapped up in a sleeping bag and we found space for him in my sons' room. Back downstairs, I offered Ron a beer. "Thanks, bud. This is, this is a lot to take in. You see, ever since we found out about you and your...situation, Jill has been getting bolder with her lovers."
"The boys told me that a guy named Luke spends his days at your house," I said.
Ron nodded. "And not just Luke. She's really been rubbing my face in it. I know that it's what I want, what I deserve, but...but it's still a lot to take in." He told me that Jill had taken to referring to Danny as her little mistake behind his back, telling Ron that it would have been better for everyone if she'd aborted him, if all white boys were aborted. "It's so shameful," he told me, "but hearing her say that, those horrible words...they gave me...they gave me a hard-on." He sobbed.
I thought about Ron's situation for a moment. "Hey, come on, I know what will make you feel better." As we got into my car, Ron expressed concern for the boys. "They'll be fine," I assured him. "They're all fast asleep." As I tried to console him, telling him that this was the natural progression of things now, I drove to the adult store Master Ahmed had sent me to several days ago. The older black clerk seemed to recognize me, giving me the same sneer of contempt as he had on my previous visit. I led Ron to the same booth in which I had debased myself that night, sucking the cocks of eight anonymous black men.
"What...what we doing here?" he asked nervously.
"What do you think, buddy?" I responded. "I think it can only help you to submit to a black man, the same way I have, the same way our wives are doing." I put a hand on his shoulder, pressing him to his knees beside me.
He shook his head. "I don't think I can, David, I just don't know. I'm scared."
"I understand. Surrendering control is scary. Just watch, then. Follow my lead. You don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
We only had to wait a few minutes before the dark brown, plum-sized head of a hard cock eased through the hole in the wall beside us. I wondered, briefly, if it might be the cock of the black clerk who had looked at us with such derision. It didn't matter; all that did matter was that it was black. I took Ron's hand in mine and placed it on the long, thick shaft of the black member that loomed before us. He gasped at its warmth and throbbing power. He stroked it gently, nervously. Placing a hand on the back of his head, I guided his mouth to what must have been almost ten inches of black cock. He froze and pulled away. "I can't, I can't," he said.
I tried to reassure him. "Just watch me," I said. I opened my mouth wide enough to accommodate the uncut cock, making a groove with my tongue for it to slide along as it sounded the back of my throat. In a very short while, I had grown accustomed to the feel of a hard cock in my mouth. Although denied Master Ahmed's sex, I had knelt in this very booth just days earlier and sucked my very first cock. I had since fellated my black boss and drank his urine directly from the source. Although not gay, I was growing increasingly comfortable thinking of myself both as a white slave and a faggot. I wanted the same for my new friend Ron, I wanted to share this with him.
After several minutes of sucking, I felt the veins that lined the dark brown shaft tense as the stranger's balls emptied deep in my throat. I gulped greedily, having learned to savor the semen of the men I serviced. Ron watched the whole exchange with fascination. "I...I want to try, David. I'm just so scared," he told me.
"Just remember," I told him. "This has nothing to do with you, with us. This is all about what service and pleasure we can provide to those better than us. To black men." I felt very close to him as we knelt there patiently waiting for another black cock to appear, both of us knowing that our wives were in the company of virile young black men that they had chosen over us.
The next cock to ease through the glory hole was a bit smaller, about eight inches, with an upward curve and heavy, low-hanging balls. It struck me as a suitable starter cock for Ron. This time, he didn't hesitate. He ran his tongue along the shaft, flicking it playfully at the piss slit. I wondered if this was something he'd observed in porn. While he slid his mouth along its length, I cupped the fat testicles in my hand, admiring them. They were darker than the mocha brown cock, and lightly haired. They tightened in my hand as Ron begun sucking on the cock shaft. "That's it, buddy," I encouraged him. "Show this Black King that white boys are good for something!"
The man on the other side of the glory hole, didn't last long, making me think that he might be younger, less experienced than the previous man. His cock erupted in Ron's mouth, jizz coating my friend's lips and dripping down his chin. As the drained cock withdrew, I pressed my mouth to Ron's chin, slurping up the messy load before it could ooze to the floor. Unexpectedly, Ron and I locked lips like faggots, exchanging the seed in our mouths, passing it back and forth between us, our tongues meeting sloppily, coated in gelatinous goo. Here we were, two white suburban dads, cuckolded by our wives in favor of black cock, kneeling in a filthy booth, snowballing a black stranger's sperm between us. It was the most depraved and exciting thing I'd ever done.
With thick strings of glop dangling between our mouths, our slimy lips coated in a sheen of semen, Ron said to me, "What's going to become of us, David?"
I fished the webs of cum in my hand and fed them into Ron's open mouth. "We're going to learn to serve the black race, Ron. We're going to make sure our wives are available for the pleasure of black men. We're going to raise our sons to know their place in the New World Order. And we're going to watch as our corrupt history, culture, and DNA are erased the way they should be." I pulled him to me, and we embraced like brothers, kneeling on a floor tacky with the waste of countless, anonymous men before us. My caged cock oozed generous quantities of pre-ejaculate. This was our new world.
