Chapter IV: The Ceremony
I stood before Pastor Elijah at the altar as Julie appeared at the entrance on her step-father's brawny arm. She was radiant with her dark blonde hair in ornate loops, decorated with an elegant silver diadem rather than a veil. She wore a dress of white satin with a short train, and carried a bouquet of what she later told me were African irises. Her step-father, Ambrose Grant, well over six feet tall and built like a refrigerator even at 50, wore a black tuxedo with a dark burgundy-colored bowtie and cummerbund. All eyes in the chapel were on father and ******** as they made their way down the aisle to the nervously waiting groom, me.
My best man, my brother Braedon, leaned closer to me, and whispered, "You think Ambrose has knocked your bride up, yet? I bet he's planted one deep in her womb, bro. You're gonna be a Daddy soon." I flushed. Pastor Elijah and Julie's bridesmaid—Mr. Grant's niece, Nefatari—both close enough to overhear, snickered at my brother's taunt. I knew there was the possibility that he was right. In the wake of the gang bang that had been my bachelor party, Mr. Grant had Dr. Nwachukwu remove Julie's IUD, and studiously went about the chore of breeding her. As bizarrely obscene as that may sound, I had accepted that, and a whole a lot more, as my lot in life if I were to have a future with Julie.
Just an hour ago, in the groom's suite, while getting dressed with the help of my brother, Braedon, and Julie's brothers Lamech and Tamar, Ambrose Grant had strolled in, as commanding as ever. "Timmy, son," he said in his deep bass voice, "before you get into your tux, there are a couple of things for us to...take care of." He held out a small box wrapped in silver paper. "First, a gift. A little something that, let's say, symbolizes your place in our ******." I accepted the package warily, quietly dreading what the imposing black man could possibly mean.
"Go on, boy," he instructed. "Open it."
I did so, revealing a small apparatus of stainless steel and plastic. I had no idea what I was looking at, and raised my eyes to Mr. Grant questioningly.
"It's a cock cage, son," my soon-to-be father-in-law explained. "Before you wed my little girl, I will need you to lock your little white clit away. Voluntarily, of course. I can't have you kids giving in to temptation, now can I?"
I turned to head for the washroom, but Mr. Grant placed a hand on my shoulder. "No, son. Not in there. Right here. In front of us. Now."
With a barely suppressed whimper, I dropped my slacks and fished my flaccid penis from the fly of my boxer shorts. I felt the bemused eyes of my brother and the three black men on my small, white, circumcised dink. That word that I had used to describe my penis when I was just a child seemed appropriate to the occasion. After a moment, I figure out how to fit my penis through the restrictive metal sheathe, and clasp the plastic undercarriage closed about it. "Goddamn," I head Braedon mumble in astonishment. "The fag's really doing it."
"Now, for the important part," Mr. Grant intoned, and held out a small, brass padlock with a tiny key. "Lock that shit away, son. Do it for Julie. Do it for me."
My fingers trembling, I took the padlock and hooked it through the holes where the two sides of the cage met. With a snap, I locked it closed, and withdrew the key. A shudder ran down my spine. My virgin penis had never known the pleasure of a woman beyond some innocent frottage; and, now, there was a very good chance, it never would.
Mr. Grant held out his large, black palm. "The key, Timmy," he said simply. "Hand over the key." I dropped it into his broad palm. "Good boy." He pocketed the small key, giving me no indication if I would ever earn a reprieve from my confinement.
“Now, thank Daddy for locking your junk away, son,” he instructed.
“Thank you…Daddy,” I replied in a hoarse whisper, “for…locking my junk away…”
At the altar, Ambrose Grant held out his step-********'s hand to me, a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes, a condescending smirk on his lips. I took Julie's hand, and she joined me before the minister. Her step-father, meanwhile, sat down in the front pew, beside my mother, who had flown to town for the wedding. Not yet 40, my mother was an attractive woman, with short, dark hair, lively eyes, and a figure envied by many women ten years younger. She wore a sunflower yellow v-waist dress, cut just below the knee. Even as Pastor Elijah began the ceremony, I observed Mr. Grant lay a possessive hand upon my mother's thigh. She gave him a questioning smile, to which he returned a confident grin.
"We are gathered here in the presence of God, ******, and friends," Pastor Elijah recited, "to unite Timothy Moore and Julie Grant in holy matrimony." As the minister spoke, I unwillingly recalled kneeling behind him not very long ago, kissing his naked, black ass, while he slammed his engorged cock deep in my bride's swollen pussy. I could easily recollect the pungent flavor of his gelatinous seed, as I slurped it obediently from Julie's distended gash.
"We rejoice," Pastor Elijah continued, "that these two children of God have chosen to commit themselves to a life of loving faithfulness to one another." I grew uncomfortably aware of the cold sheath of the cage around my cock when the minister invoked the word 'faithfulness,' picturing Julie spread over the billiard table at my bachelor party, taking cock after cock, including even that of my own brother, Braedon and her own step-father, Ambrose Grant. Early on in our engagement, I had cajoled myself into believing that kind of wanton perversion would end with our wedding. Now, I knew better. It was to be our life.
"The union of husband and wife, in heart and mind, is intended by God for their mutual joy," I heard the minister say. "For the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity. And, when it is God's will, for the procreation of children." Was I mistaken in sensing a mocking note in Pastor Elijah's tone? I glanced involuntarily toward Julie's step-father, sitting in the front row, beaming widely. I noticed that his hand remained on my mother's thigh, but nearer to her sex, his fingers circling gently along the fabric of her dress. Mom's eyes were closed, her lips curled in pleasure, all but oblivious to the ceremony taking place before her, her eldest son’s wedding. This black man, who was virtually pleasuring my mother before my very eyes, may well have already fucked his child into the woman whose hand I clasped in front of the entire church, a child that I would be expected to raise as my own, a child that would look nothing like me.
Barely an hour ago, after I had locked my penis away in the cock cage that Mr. Grant had provided, I tucked my dink back into my briefs, and began to pull up my slacks. "Don't bother," Mr. Grant stopped me, laying a hand on my arm. I looked up at him uncertainly. "It's time, Timmy. Step out of your pants and drop your shorts." A chill ran through me at this instruction. I guessed what was to follow, but I obeyed anyway. It would be stupid and futile to resist, however mortifying I might find what was about to happen.
I stood before Mr. Grant, before his sons and my brother, with only a t-shirt covering my thin frame, my caged penis and my pale ass exposed for all to see. My bride's towering, well-built, middle-aged, black step-father bent me at the waist over the back of a chair. He used a foot to casually spread my legs apart. A plaintive sob escaped my throat at the sound of Mr. Grant's fly being lowered. The enormous black staff between his legs had been in my mouth in recent weeks, but now it would violate a different hole. And I lacked the ability, the strength, the confidence to resist.
From behind, I heard Mr. Grant slap the thick shaft of his mighty weapon into the palm of his hand in preparation. He spat into his hand, smearing his length with saliva, what would apparently be the only lubricant in my impending anal ****. “Hold ‘im down,” the older man instructed his sons in a guttural whisper. Lamech and Tamar stood on either side of me, each holding an arm behind my back. Since any resistance I could possibly offer their massively built father would be insignificant, the only reason to restrain me that I could conceive was to prevent me from possibly hurting myself.
“Holy fuck,” I heard my seventeen-year-old brother, Braedon, cuss under his breath, as he stood by and watched my ****.
I felt the flared heard of Mr. Grant’s cock probe at my virgin anus. Hawking up another wad of phlegm, he spat right on my resistant sphincter, and eased himself inside. He rested the broad glans of his fat prick at the opening of my anal canal, as if savoring the unspoiled tightness in the moments before he would tear it to shreds and claim my virginity for himself. I held my breath, tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. I conjured Julie’s beautiful face, her encouraging smile, urging me to accept this in order to secure our future together. Julie’s step-brothers held me firm as their father eased the thick shaft of his well-veined prick deeper into my asshole.
There was nothing remotely homosexual about Mr. Grant’s taking of my ass, I realized, as I felt his tremendous girth fill my insides. This was a necessary demonstration of his dominance and power, not anything to do with passion or pleasure. Any physical satisfaction he derived from the experience was beside the point. He was the alpha, the silverback, the king of the pride, making certain that I knew my place in the Grant ****** hierarchy: the very bottom. Understanding all this did not lessen the immense agony I experienced at Mr. Grant’s ruthless violation of my rectum.
As Julie and I stood at the altar, before God, I gripped her hand tighter as I recalled my despoiling at her step-father’s hands less than an hour earlier. I was dimly aware that Pastor Elijah continued the ceremony. “Into this union, Julie and Timothy now come to be joined. If any present can show just cause why they may not be lawfully wed, speak now, or else forever hold your peace.”
I glanced up at Julie’s beaming, supportive, green eyes, speckled so beautifully with hints of gold. Then I cast my gaze out at our guests. I saw Lamech and Tamar sitting with their dates; I saw Doctor Nwachukwu, who had so recently offered his services to castrate me; I saw Isaiah and Samuel and Matthew and many others whose cocks I had sucked, and who had fucked my bride’s sweet pussy, which was to be forever denied me. I saw Mr. Grant pawing my mother just feet away, her own delicate white hand—still adorned with my late father’s wedding ring—now resting on Ambrose Grant’s prodigious crotch. None of them said anything. Not one of them offered an objection to this matrimonial farce.
“Julie,” Pastor Elijah continued, turning to face the young woman he had fucked so often, “will you have this…man…to be your husband, to live with him in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health…as long as you both shall live?” The minister had quite noticeably skipped the phrase “forsaking all others.”
Giving my hand an intimate squeeze, Julie looked in my eyes, and answered with conviction, “I will. Oh, I will!”
“Timothy,” Pastor Elijah said, turning to me. He repeated the vow, but this time concluded with the phrase he had dispensed with for Julie: “forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as you both shall live?”
I glanced at my brother, who offered no more support than a knowing smirk. The minister cleared his throat, awaiting my reply. “I will,” I answered softly.
“What’s that, son,” Pastor Elijah said. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I will,” I repeated, looking toward Julie for strength.
“Wonderful,” the minister affirmed. “That’s wonderful! And will those of you witnessing these vows do all in your power to uphold these young people in their marriage?”
“We will,” replied the congregation, including all the men who had enjoyed my bride’s young body, who had filled my mouth with their musky pricks.
“Who gives this woman, this lovely, young, precious woman, to this man?” the minister asked.
Mr. Grant stood from the pew, his very presence in the chapel as commanding as that of God Himself. “I do,” he answered, smiling broadly. As my ****** resumed his seat, Pastor Elijah continued with the blessing of the rings.
Mr. Grant’s prong had sawed in and out of my violated hole, tearing me apart. Lamech, still holding me fast along with his brother, placed a hand over my mouth to stifle my cries. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Braedon fished his own prick out of his fly, and began stroking himself to the sight of my brutalization. My physical distress and emotional agony appeared to be nothing more to him than a bit of fun.
Mr. Grant leaned over my back as he fucked me, pressing his mouth to my ear. “What are you, son?” he demanded of me. “Go on. Say it.”
Lamech removed his hand. I gasp for air, and whimpered, “I’m…I’m your faggot…Daddy.”
Daddy grasped an ass cheek in each of his big, controlling hands, pulling them wide apart. He buried his entire member deep in my bowels. When I screamed out, Lamech went to cover my mouth again, but his father stopped him. “No, don’t. I want to hear the white boy cry. I want to enjoy his tears.”
After several minutes, Daddy deposited his potent seed deep inside me. Were I capable of bearing children, I feel certain he would have bred me. Just when I believed my agony was over, Lamech mounted me, rutting into my raw innards with the full length of his own oversized ebony prick. Tamar followed, both of Julie’s step-brothers marking me as the ****** faggot with their copious semen. As Tamar withdrew his scimitar-like cock, he turned to Braedon and asked, “You want some of this, bro?”
My brother seemed to consider my raw, swollen hole for a moment, before answering, “Nah, dude. He may be a faggot, but he’s still my brother. That’d be kind of fucked up.” Instead, my athletic, teenaged brother moved in front of the chair that I remained bent over, and, with a few quick strokes, emptied his balls all over my face, spraying me with his fetid seed. My right eye burned where he shot it with a jet of cum. “There,” he laughed, “let him stink of my spunk while he’s exchanging vows.”
The three black men joined in his laughter.
My eye continued to sting as Julie and I prepared to exchange rings. I wondered fleetingly if my bride could smell the remains of the semen that had so recently coated my face. As Braedon held out the wedding rings for the blessing and exchange, he wore a contemptuous smirk. I took Julie’s ring after the minister had recited the blessing and repeated, “Julie, I give you this ring as a symbol of my…of my love. And with all that I am, and all that I have, I…thee wed.” I slid the gold band on my bride’s finger, and looked up. She was beaming. She honestly loves me, I thought to myself. At that moment, nothing else mattered.
“And, Timmy, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. And with all that I am, and absolutely all that I have: I thee wed!” Julie placed the blessed ring on my finger. Our hands clasped, we turned to Pastor Elijah, who said, “Now that Julie and Timothy have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the exchanging of rings, I am pleased to pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together, let no one tear asunder.” I felt Mr. Grant’s possessing, controlling eyes on us, even as I gazed into my wife’s own eyes.
“Timothy,” the pastor prodded me, “you may kiss your bride.”
I leaned in and pressed my lips to Julie’s. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, along with a thick wad of gelatinous semen that she must have been secreting there throughout the ceremony, even as we exchanged vows. Mixing with our saliva, it filled my mouth. I briefly wondered if her step-father had time to deposit a load in Julie’s mouth so soon after flooding my bowels with his cum. The grin on Pastor Elijah’s face, however, suggested that this treat was his own special blessing. I swallowed, as I knew was expected of me. The approving look on Julie’s face let me know that I had done the proper thing. This was our future.
Pastor Elijah looked from my bride and me to our guests. “Julie, Timothy: having witnessed your exchange of vows and rings, as well as the marital kiss that binds you, it is my joy to present you to all gathered here as husband and wife.” Julie and I turned to face our friends and ******. They broke out in applause, as we walked hand in hand down the aisle. They followed us outside, tossing flower petals, as we climbed into the waiting white limousine.
Julie wrapped her arms around me, and kissed my cheek. “Oh, Timmy,” she giggled. “We did it! We’re married! We’re really married!” I kissed her forehead, thankful to be alone at last. Mr. Grant was hosting the wedding reception at his country club, so we had a half hour drive to unwind before we arrived. Julie leaned her head on my shoulder. “Timmy, I know this has all been new for you,” she started to say, “new and, well, sometimes difficult, but I want you to know how much…”
I shushed her. “Shh, don’t talk about it,” I said. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. You’re my wife, Julie. That’s the only thing that matters to me. Nothing else is important. I…I could put up with anything…so long as we’re together.” The scent of sperm lingered between us, thick on our breath, but it didn’t bother me anymore. My stomach rumbled a bit, whether from nerves or from the load of cum recently fucked into it I couldn’t say. That also didn’t bother me. Like a raw cadet after basic training, I had survived everything they had subjected me to and won my prize: Julie.
As we sat in the back of the limo, cuddled in one another’s arms, I felt my cell phone vibrate. I fished it out of my pocket, and saw that I had a text from Mr. Grant. “See you soon,” it read. “Daddy.” An attached image opened up beneath the text, displaying my new father-in-law’s rock hard, black prick jutting boldly out of his fly. I shuddered at the thought that that thing had invaded my ass.
A second attachment opened, this one showing a delicate, white hand wrapped tightly around the girth of the blood-engorged cock, so thick the fingers could not even close fully around it. Was it Julie’s hand, taken before the ceremony? Was he reminding me that even now she was mine in name only? Yet another attachment followed, this one of a woman’s mouth wrapped around the ebony head of Mr. Grant’s enormous dick, the red lips spread wide to accommodate his girth. My blood ran cold as I recognized my own mother, her mouth wrapped around the black prick that had brutally violated my ass only an hour earlier. I dropped the phone.
“Timmy, honey, are you okay?” Julie inquired.
“Oh…I’m…I’m fine, sweetheart,” I assured her, retrieving my phone, and slipping it in my pocket. “I’m just happy to be with you. Happy to be able to call you my wife.”
Julie gave my cheek another affectionate, chaste kiss, the scent of Pastor Elijah’s baby batter still on her breath. “Oh, me, too, baby! Me, too!”
Having subjugated me and corrupted my brother, Ambrose Grant was apparently now turning his attention to our mother. I had little doubt she would succumb to his charisma, to the power of his domineering personality as fully as Braedon and I had.
When we arrived at the country club, a porter escorted us to a private suite that Mr. Grant had arranged for us to change in to more comfortable clothes for the reception. Although the white porters continued to regard me with the same kind of disdain as they had during my previous visit to the club, the (exclusively white male) staff seemed to know Julie, and treated her with great deference. As Ambrose Grant’s step-********, she appeared to hold status among the club’s employees.
Clothes had been laid out for us: a navy blue Brooks Brothers suit for me—likely worth more than my whole month’s salary—and a chartreuse Chanel gown for Julie. My bride modestly changed behind a shoji screen, as if I had not recently seen her sprawled bare-assed across a billiard table in this very building, gang banged by a dozen or so black men, as if I had not then slurped their potent seed from out of her well-used cunt! My penis strained in its new cage at the memory of my debauched bachelor party.
“Timmy, sweetie,” Julie said, appearing from behind the screen, ravishing in her new gown. “Would you zip the back for me, baby?” I did so, letting my hand run down the curve of her back to the rounded globes of her spectacular bottom. Giggling, she slapped my hand away. “Don’t get fresh now, Timmy,” she warned me. “You know that Daddy wouldn’t approve.”
I placed my hands on her full hips. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him,” I said with an encouraging grin.
Julie frowned. “Didn’t Daddy give you your wedding present?”
I nodded, hanging my head. “Oh, goody! Let me see it, baby. Show it to me.” Reluctantly, I undid my belt buckle and dropped my slacks around my ankles. I stood before my bride in just my boxer shorts. “Don’t be shy,” Julie snickered. “Let me see.”
Reaching into the fly of my underwear, I withdrew my small, caged penis to display it to my wife. This was the first time she had seen my dick, and it was encased in a stainless steel restraint. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “It’s so cute locked away like that. Don’t be shy, Timmy. You know this is for our own good, to keep us from being tempted to betray Daddy’s trust. It doesn’t hurt, does it, baby?”
I shook my head. “N-n-no,” I replied. “It just kind of…aches. Seeing you looking so beautiful makes it hard, but it…it can’t really get…hard,” I explained with a sob. Julie wrapped her hand around the cage, caressing it gently, causing a pearl of pre-ejaculate to drip from the head of my cock.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said, placing her lips close to my ear. “It means so much that you would make a sacrifice like this for me. For my ******. There aren’t many…men…who would do such a thing. But we have to be good so that Daddy lets you keep your cute little testicles. You don’t want to be a eunuch, do you?” I shook my head vigorously. “Of course you don’t. So, we’ll just put this little thing away,” she said, tucking it back in my briefs, “and finish getting dressed. Our guests will be downstairs soon.”
After the depraved bacchanalia that was my bachelor party, I did not know what our wedding reception might involve. A porter escorted us to a banquet hall on the first floor, overlooking the expansive grounds. Julie’s step-father stood commandingly in the center of the room. A former pro-football player, he remained powerfully built, his brawny frame apparent even in his three-piece suit. His hair was closely shaved, and his beard peppered with grey. My mother, in her late thirties, stood beside him, a honey-colored gown framing her fit physique and generous hips. The image of her full lips wrapped around Mr. Grant’s enormous sex filled my mind, and wondered if the sheen on her lips was simply lipstick or a generous coating of my father-in-law’s sperm.
My mother has certainly had men in her life since my father’s untimely death several years ago, but never one as domineering as Ambrose Grant, and certainly not one whose cock had recently invaded her oldest son’s throat and virgin ass. For whatever reason, the tyrannical black man seemed intent on taking my entire ****** under his unbending control.
“Ah, here are the bride and groom, now,” Mr. Grant spoke to the guests. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Timothy and Julie Moore!” A round of applause greeted us. Julie’s step-father shook my hand, while my mother embraced Julie and kissed her cheek. Despite so many of the perversities I had recently endured, the reception seemed to proceed quite traditionally. Although we were spared a receiving line, which Julie dismissed as stuffy and old-fashioned, a number of guests came to congratulate us, most shaking my hand and kissing Julie on the cheek. I couldn’t help but notice that Doctor Nwachukwu slipped his tongue into Julie’s mouth and grasped an appreciative hold of her generous buttocks. Oh, well, I thought to myself, at least he isn’t fucking her across the top of a billiards table this time.
Waiters—again, all of them white—made their way around the room serving hors d’oeuvres and champagne to the guests. While Julie was busy chatting with some friends from college, my mother took me by the hand and gave me a kiss on the cheek. The scent of Mr. Grant remained strong about her. “I’m so happy for you,” Mother told me. “Julie seems like such a lovely girl. And her ******, well, they are just delightful.” Mother lifted a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. “Ambrose explained the…unique nature of your relationship with Julie,” my mother continued.
“Mother,” I began, fumbling for an explanation.
“Shh,” she responded. “There’s no need, Timmy. I’ve always known that you weren’t much of a…man. You resemble your father in that. He was something of a, well, a loser, too.” I flushed a deep crimson. Mother rarely spoke of my father, but I had never heard her ridicule him. “I suppose that’s why he decided to end himself…especially after I found myself knocked up by his brother.”
I stifled a gasp. “Y-y-you mean that Braedon, that he…!”
“Oh, that’s right, dear. Braedon is actually your Uncle Victor’s son. Now, he was a real man. Really knew how to fuck a girl.” I had never heard my mother speak like this. “Just like…your new father-in-law. I must say, that Ambrose is quite the talented cocksman. Accomplished athlete, successful businessman, dedicated father. This world belongs to men like him, dear, don’t you agree?’
I hung my head, and nodded demurely.
“You’re very lucky that a man like that has found a place for you,” she continued. “It is not as if you were going to make much of yourself otherwise. And it is so wonderful that he has offered to help Braedon get a start in life once he finishes school. Unlike you, your brother has some promise.” She spoke glowingly of my brother, who, as it turned out, was also my cousin. I really should not have been surprised: my Uncle Victor had always been a cocky prick, as arrogant as he was handsome. My ******, it turned out, was as darkly incestuous as Julie’s. No wonder we were drawn one another.
“Ambrose demonstrated quite a bit of foresight by insisting that you lock your little…thing…away,” she commented with distaste. She even knew about my cock cage, apparently. “It is really for the best that you don’t pass on your father’s weak, effeminate genes, don’t you think? I’m sure you’ll find great satisfaction in helping to raise the children Julie has with real men.” Unable to bear anymore derision, I excused myself and went to find Julie. As I shambled away in humiliation, Braedon approached me with a contemptuous smirk. “Sorry, bro,” he informed me. “Looking for Jules? Your new wife took off with her ***. Hmm, I wonder what those two up to…don’t you?”
I turned to get away from Braedon, and ran smack into Pastor Elijah. “Timothy, my boy,” he greeted me. “You simply reek of sodomy, son. I could smell it on you throughout the ceremony. Has Ambrose finally broken in his new white pussy?” I stared at the black clergyman, unable to formulate an answer to his perverse inquiry. “What’s wrong, Timmy? Cat got your tongue.” He laughed merrily as I scurried off. Did everyone know what had been done to me, what I had become?
Across the room, I saw Julie reenter the hall on the arm of her imposing father, both of them smiling broadly. Julie’s hair was disheveled and her make-up mussed. Lipstick matching her shade stained the collar of Mr. Grant’s tuxedo. As I approached them, Julie’s brother Lamech took her by the arm and eagerly led her back out of the hall. She returned fifteen minutes later even more unkempt, at which point her other brother, Tamar, guided her out of the room. And so the reception went, with one man after another spending a private moment with my new bride: Dr. Nwachukwu, Pastor Elijah, Grant cousins I had not even met, numerous men from the office, my own brother Braedon. Each time, Julie returned in a more rumpled state, her new dress sporting obvious stains. The waiters clucked as they passed me, sneering in open derision at my humiliation.
My mother and Mr. Grant chatted at the bar, his large, black hand resting possessively on her hip, oblivious to my distress. The next time Julie returned to the hall, I hurried up to her before another man could lead her away. “Julie,” I stammered, “don’t you, uh, don’t you think it’s time the food was served. I mean, um, you must be hungry. It’s already been a long day.”
Julie kissed me on the cheek. “That’s what I love about you, Timmy. You’re so thoughtful, always looking out for me. You’re right! I’m famished. I’ve really worked up an appetite. Let’s tell Daddy that we’re ready to eat.” The meal was served as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place, and it was simply a completely typical wedding reception. Julie and I sat at the head table, joined by Mr. Grant, his sons and their dates, his niece Nefatari, and my mother and Braedon. Mr. Grant had spared no expense on the caterer, and the meal was excellent. My brother flirted openly with Nefatari throughout the meal, under Mr. Grant’s seemingly approving eye.
Towards the end of the meal, Mr. Grant stood and tapped his fork against his wine glass. “Excuse me, all,” he said to the room, “I would like to ask you all to raise your glasses and join me in a toast to the happy, young couple.” Everyone did so. Julie smiled at me as she took my hand. “Ahem. As you all know, we lost Julie’s mother when Julie was quite young. Since that day, I have tried my very hardest to do right by her, to provide for her, to do exactly what I thought was best. That hasn’t always been easy, a black man raising a young white girl alone, as much as I have always cared for her and loved her, as my very own.” I could see tears in the corners of Julie’s beautiful gold-speckled eyes. “But in young Timothy, I believe she has found an ideal match, someone who will be her friend and companion, confidante and caretaker.” He made me sound like a loyal dog more than a husband. Everyone drank to the toast approvingly.
The reception continued. We cut the cake. Julie and I shared our first dance to Queen’s ‘You’re My Best Friend.” Then she and her step-father danced to George Michael’s ‘Father Figure.’ The playlist, needless to say, had been selected by Mr. Grant. I danced with my mother, Braedon with Nefatari, other couples joined us on the dancefloor. “I know there’s no way a wimp like you could ever really satisfy such a vibrant young woman as Julie,” my mother scolded me. “But you might at least serve as a reliable helpmeet, don’t you think?” My mother had never been particularly supportive of me, but under Mr. Grant’s tutelage, she was becoming downright cruel. I simply nodded at her derision, knowing on some level that she was correct.
As the evening wore on, my mother shared several dances with my new father-in-law. He openly groped her ass on the dancefloor, much to my mother’s apparent amusement, even pleasure. “Isn’t it wonderful how much our parents are getting along,” Julie beamed at me, as we watched them virtually grinding to a Drake song. “It’s true, bro,” Braedon whispered behind me. “Mom’s turning out to be a real slut for black dick. You got that in common! Ain’t that hilarious?” I flushed at my brother’s barbs, taking comfort that Julie and I would be jetting away on our honeymoon very shortly, away from both our families, at least for a brief while.
Finally, we prepared to depart for the airport, our luggage already in the waiting limousine. Our families gathered around to say their farewells.
“Hey, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Braedon teased. “Oh, wait! You can’t do any of the things I’ve already done!” Our mother laughed at Braedon’s ridicule of my situation. Julie hugged her brothers, both of them swapping long, wet kisses with their newly wed sister. Finally, Mr. Grant wrapped his thick, sinewy arms around my wife.
“Before I forget,” he asked Julie, “have you given your white boy his wedding present?”
Julie shook her head. “Daddy! I was going to wait until we were alone to surprise Timmy.”
“Now, come on, little girl,” her step-father intoned. “We all want to see him get the good news. A blessing like that is meant to be shared.”
Julie sighed resignedly, and turned to me. “Well, sweetie,” she said, “I hope this makes you as happy as it does me, but, well….” Reaching between her cleavage, Julie withdrew a cylinder that I mistook momentarily for a pen as she handed it to me. It was only when I examined it more closely that I recognized it as a pregnancy test. The small transparent window showed two red bars. I didn’t have to study it much closer to realize what it meant: my new wife was pregnant. Pregnant with another man’s baby. I looked up. Julie, Lamech, Tamar, Braedon, Nefatari, my mother, and Mr. Grant were all beaming happily. Ambrose Grant gently patted Julie’s taut tummy protectively with one big, black paw.
“That’s right, Timmy,” Julie assured me. “We’re pregnant!” The cock cage that secured my penis seemed to grow suddenly tighter. Taking my hand, Julie led me past the guests, who showered us with flower petals, and out to the waiting limousine. I continued to clasp the pregnancy test in my closed hand, stunned, imagining the child that was growing in Julie’s womb, knowing only one thing for certain, that it wasn’t mine.
I still grasped the test an hour later as we jetted toward Jamica for our honeymoon.
Next chapter: The Honeymoon
I stood before Pastor Elijah at the altar as Julie appeared at the entrance on her step-father's brawny arm. She was radiant with her dark blonde hair in ornate loops, decorated with an elegant silver diadem rather than a veil. She wore a dress of white satin with a short train, and carried a bouquet of what she later told me were African irises. Her step-father, Ambrose Grant, well over six feet tall and built like a refrigerator even at 50, wore a black tuxedo with a dark burgundy-colored bowtie and cummerbund. All eyes in the chapel were on father and ******** as they made their way down the aisle to the nervously waiting groom, me.
My best man, my brother Braedon, leaned closer to me, and whispered, "You think Ambrose has knocked your bride up, yet? I bet he's planted one deep in her womb, bro. You're gonna be a Daddy soon." I flushed. Pastor Elijah and Julie's bridesmaid—Mr. Grant's niece, Nefatari—both close enough to overhear, snickered at my brother's taunt. I knew there was the possibility that he was right. In the wake of the gang bang that had been my bachelor party, Mr. Grant had Dr. Nwachukwu remove Julie's IUD, and studiously went about the chore of breeding her. As bizarrely obscene as that may sound, I had accepted that, and a whole a lot more, as my lot in life if I were to have a future with Julie.
Just an hour ago, in the groom's suite, while getting dressed with the help of my brother, Braedon, and Julie's brothers Lamech and Tamar, Ambrose Grant had strolled in, as commanding as ever. "Timmy, son," he said in his deep bass voice, "before you get into your tux, there are a couple of things for us to...take care of." He held out a small box wrapped in silver paper. "First, a gift. A little something that, let's say, symbolizes your place in our ******." I accepted the package warily, quietly dreading what the imposing black man could possibly mean.
"Go on, boy," he instructed. "Open it."
I did so, revealing a small apparatus of stainless steel and plastic. I had no idea what I was looking at, and raised my eyes to Mr. Grant questioningly.
"It's a cock cage, son," my soon-to-be father-in-law explained. "Before you wed my little girl, I will need you to lock your little white clit away. Voluntarily, of course. I can't have you kids giving in to temptation, now can I?"
I turned to head for the washroom, but Mr. Grant placed a hand on my shoulder. "No, son. Not in there. Right here. In front of us. Now."
With a barely suppressed whimper, I dropped my slacks and fished my flaccid penis from the fly of my boxer shorts. I felt the bemused eyes of my brother and the three black men on my small, white, circumcised dink. That word that I had used to describe my penis when I was just a child seemed appropriate to the occasion. After a moment, I figure out how to fit my penis through the restrictive metal sheathe, and clasp the plastic undercarriage closed about it. "Goddamn," I head Braedon mumble in astonishment. "The fag's really doing it."
"Now, for the important part," Mr. Grant intoned, and held out a small, brass padlock with a tiny key. "Lock that shit away, son. Do it for Julie. Do it for me."
My fingers trembling, I took the padlock and hooked it through the holes where the two sides of the cage met. With a snap, I locked it closed, and withdrew the key. A shudder ran down my spine. My virgin penis had never known the pleasure of a woman beyond some innocent frottage; and, now, there was a very good chance, it never would.
Mr. Grant held out his large, black palm. "The key, Timmy," he said simply. "Hand over the key." I dropped it into his broad palm. "Good boy." He pocketed the small key, giving me no indication if I would ever earn a reprieve from my confinement.
“Now, thank Daddy for locking your junk away, son,” he instructed.
“Thank you…Daddy,” I replied in a hoarse whisper, “for…locking my junk away…”
At the altar, Ambrose Grant held out his step-********'s hand to me, a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes, a condescending smirk on his lips. I took Julie's hand, and she joined me before the minister. Her step-father, meanwhile, sat down in the front pew, beside my mother, who had flown to town for the wedding. Not yet 40, my mother was an attractive woman, with short, dark hair, lively eyes, and a figure envied by many women ten years younger. She wore a sunflower yellow v-waist dress, cut just below the knee. Even as Pastor Elijah began the ceremony, I observed Mr. Grant lay a possessive hand upon my mother's thigh. She gave him a questioning smile, to which he returned a confident grin.
"We are gathered here in the presence of God, ******, and friends," Pastor Elijah recited, "to unite Timothy Moore and Julie Grant in holy matrimony." As the minister spoke, I unwillingly recalled kneeling behind him not very long ago, kissing his naked, black ass, while he slammed his engorged cock deep in my bride's swollen pussy. I could easily recollect the pungent flavor of his gelatinous seed, as I slurped it obediently from Julie's distended gash.
"We rejoice," Pastor Elijah continued, "that these two children of God have chosen to commit themselves to a life of loving faithfulness to one another." I grew uncomfortably aware of the cold sheath of the cage around my cock when the minister invoked the word 'faithfulness,' picturing Julie spread over the billiard table at my bachelor party, taking cock after cock, including even that of my own brother, Braedon and her own step-father, Ambrose Grant. Early on in our engagement, I had cajoled myself into believing that kind of wanton perversion would end with our wedding. Now, I knew better. It was to be our life.
"The union of husband and wife, in heart and mind, is intended by God for their mutual joy," I heard the minister say. "For the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity. And, when it is God's will, for the procreation of children." Was I mistaken in sensing a mocking note in Pastor Elijah's tone? I glanced involuntarily toward Julie's step-father, sitting in the front row, beaming widely. I noticed that his hand remained on my mother's thigh, but nearer to her sex, his fingers circling gently along the fabric of her dress. Mom's eyes were closed, her lips curled in pleasure, all but oblivious to the ceremony taking place before her, her eldest son’s wedding. This black man, who was virtually pleasuring my mother before my very eyes, may well have already fucked his child into the woman whose hand I clasped in front of the entire church, a child that I would be expected to raise as my own, a child that would look nothing like me.
Barely an hour ago, after I had locked my penis away in the cock cage that Mr. Grant had provided, I tucked my dink back into my briefs, and began to pull up my slacks. "Don't bother," Mr. Grant stopped me, laying a hand on my arm. I looked up at him uncertainly. "It's time, Timmy. Step out of your pants and drop your shorts." A chill ran through me at this instruction. I guessed what was to follow, but I obeyed anyway. It would be stupid and futile to resist, however mortifying I might find what was about to happen.
I stood before Mr. Grant, before his sons and my brother, with only a t-shirt covering my thin frame, my caged penis and my pale ass exposed for all to see. My bride's towering, well-built, middle-aged, black step-father bent me at the waist over the back of a chair. He used a foot to casually spread my legs apart. A plaintive sob escaped my throat at the sound of Mr. Grant's fly being lowered. The enormous black staff between his legs had been in my mouth in recent weeks, but now it would violate a different hole. And I lacked the ability, the strength, the confidence to resist.
From behind, I heard Mr. Grant slap the thick shaft of his mighty weapon into the palm of his hand in preparation. He spat into his hand, smearing his length with saliva, what would apparently be the only lubricant in my impending anal ****. “Hold ‘im down,” the older man instructed his sons in a guttural whisper. Lamech and Tamar stood on either side of me, each holding an arm behind my back. Since any resistance I could possibly offer their massively built father would be insignificant, the only reason to restrain me that I could conceive was to prevent me from possibly hurting myself.
“Holy fuck,” I heard my seventeen-year-old brother, Braedon, cuss under his breath, as he stood by and watched my ****.
I felt the flared heard of Mr. Grant’s cock probe at my virgin anus. Hawking up another wad of phlegm, he spat right on my resistant sphincter, and eased himself inside. He rested the broad glans of his fat prick at the opening of my anal canal, as if savoring the unspoiled tightness in the moments before he would tear it to shreds and claim my virginity for himself. I held my breath, tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. I conjured Julie’s beautiful face, her encouraging smile, urging me to accept this in order to secure our future together. Julie’s step-brothers held me firm as their father eased the thick shaft of his well-veined prick deeper into my asshole.
There was nothing remotely homosexual about Mr. Grant’s taking of my ass, I realized, as I felt his tremendous girth fill my insides. This was a necessary demonstration of his dominance and power, not anything to do with passion or pleasure. Any physical satisfaction he derived from the experience was beside the point. He was the alpha, the silverback, the king of the pride, making certain that I knew my place in the Grant ****** hierarchy: the very bottom. Understanding all this did not lessen the immense agony I experienced at Mr. Grant’s ruthless violation of my rectum.
As Julie and I stood at the altar, before God, I gripped her hand tighter as I recalled my despoiling at her step-father’s hands less than an hour earlier. I was dimly aware that Pastor Elijah continued the ceremony. “Into this union, Julie and Timothy now come to be joined. If any present can show just cause why they may not be lawfully wed, speak now, or else forever hold your peace.”
I glanced up at Julie’s beaming, supportive, green eyes, speckled so beautifully with hints of gold. Then I cast my gaze out at our guests. I saw Lamech and Tamar sitting with their dates; I saw Doctor Nwachukwu, who had so recently offered his services to castrate me; I saw Isaiah and Samuel and Matthew and many others whose cocks I had sucked, and who had fucked my bride’s sweet pussy, which was to be forever denied me. I saw Mr. Grant pawing my mother just feet away, her own delicate white hand—still adorned with my late father’s wedding ring—now resting on Ambrose Grant’s prodigious crotch. None of them said anything. Not one of them offered an objection to this matrimonial farce.
“Julie,” Pastor Elijah continued, turning to face the young woman he had fucked so often, “will you have this…man…to be your husband, to live with him in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health…as long as you both shall live?” The minister had quite noticeably skipped the phrase “forsaking all others.”
Giving my hand an intimate squeeze, Julie looked in my eyes, and answered with conviction, “I will. Oh, I will!”
“Timothy,” Pastor Elijah said, turning to me. He repeated the vow, but this time concluded with the phrase he had dispensed with for Julie: “forsaking all others, be faithful unto her as long as you both shall live?”
I glanced at my brother, who offered no more support than a knowing smirk. The minister cleared his throat, awaiting my reply. “I will,” I answered softly.
“What’s that, son,” Pastor Elijah said. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I will,” I repeated, looking toward Julie for strength.
“Wonderful,” the minister affirmed. “That’s wonderful! And will those of you witnessing these vows do all in your power to uphold these young people in their marriage?”
“We will,” replied the congregation, including all the men who had enjoyed my bride’s young body, who had filled my mouth with their musky pricks.
“Who gives this woman, this lovely, young, precious woman, to this man?” the minister asked.
Mr. Grant stood from the pew, his very presence in the chapel as commanding as that of God Himself. “I do,” he answered, smiling broadly. As my ****** resumed his seat, Pastor Elijah continued with the blessing of the rings.
Mr. Grant’s prong had sawed in and out of my violated hole, tearing me apart. Lamech, still holding me fast along with his brother, placed a hand over my mouth to stifle my cries. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Braedon fished his own prick out of his fly, and began stroking himself to the sight of my brutalization. My physical distress and emotional agony appeared to be nothing more to him than a bit of fun.
Mr. Grant leaned over my back as he fucked me, pressing his mouth to my ear. “What are you, son?” he demanded of me. “Go on. Say it.”
Lamech removed his hand. I gasp for air, and whimpered, “I’m…I’m your faggot…Daddy.”
Daddy grasped an ass cheek in each of his big, controlling hands, pulling them wide apart. He buried his entire member deep in my bowels. When I screamed out, Lamech went to cover my mouth again, but his father stopped him. “No, don’t. I want to hear the white boy cry. I want to enjoy his tears.”
After several minutes, Daddy deposited his potent seed deep inside me. Were I capable of bearing children, I feel certain he would have bred me. Just when I believed my agony was over, Lamech mounted me, rutting into my raw innards with the full length of his own oversized ebony prick. Tamar followed, both of Julie’s step-brothers marking me as the ****** faggot with their copious semen. As Tamar withdrew his scimitar-like cock, he turned to Braedon and asked, “You want some of this, bro?”
My brother seemed to consider my raw, swollen hole for a moment, before answering, “Nah, dude. He may be a faggot, but he’s still my brother. That’d be kind of fucked up.” Instead, my athletic, teenaged brother moved in front of the chair that I remained bent over, and, with a few quick strokes, emptied his balls all over my face, spraying me with his fetid seed. My right eye burned where he shot it with a jet of cum. “There,” he laughed, “let him stink of my spunk while he’s exchanging vows.”
The three black men joined in his laughter.
My eye continued to sting as Julie and I prepared to exchange rings. I wondered fleetingly if my bride could smell the remains of the semen that had so recently coated my face. As Braedon held out the wedding rings for the blessing and exchange, he wore a contemptuous smirk. I took Julie’s ring after the minister had recited the blessing and repeated, “Julie, I give you this ring as a symbol of my…of my love. And with all that I am, and all that I have, I…thee wed.” I slid the gold band on my bride’s finger, and looked up. She was beaming. She honestly loves me, I thought to myself. At that moment, nothing else mattered.
“And, Timmy, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. And with all that I am, and absolutely all that I have: I thee wed!” Julie placed the blessed ring on my finger. Our hands clasped, we turned to Pastor Elijah, who said, “Now that Julie and Timothy have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the exchanging of rings, I am pleased to pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together, let no one tear asunder.” I felt Mr. Grant’s possessing, controlling eyes on us, even as I gazed into my wife’s own eyes.
“Timothy,” the pastor prodded me, “you may kiss your bride.”
I leaned in and pressed my lips to Julie’s. Her tongue slipped into my mouth, along with a thick wad of gelatinous semen that she must have been secreting there throughout the ceremony, even as we exchanged vows. Mixing with our saliva, it filled my mouth. I briefly wondered if her step-father had time to deposit a load in Julie’s mouth so soon after flooding my bowels with his cum. The grin on Pastor Elijah’s face, however, suggested that this treat was his own special blessing. I swallowed, as I knew was expected of me. The approving look on Julie’s face let me know that I had done the proper thing. This was our future.
Pastor Elijah looked from my bride and me to our guests. “Julie, Timothy: having witnessed your exchange of vows and rings, as well as the marital kiss that binds you, it is my joy to present you to all gathered here as husband and wife.” Julie and I turned to face our friends and ******. They broke out in applause, as we walked hand in hand down the aisle. They followed us outside, tossing flower petals, as we climbed into the waiting white limousine.
Julie wrapped her arms around me, and kissed my cheek. “Oh, Timmy,” she giggled. “We did it! We’re married! We’re really married!” I kissed her forehead, thankful to be alone at last. Mr. Grant was hosting the wedding reception at his country club, so we had a half hour drive to unwind before we arrived. Julie leaned her head on my shoulder. “Timmy, I know this has all been new for you,” she started to say, “new and, well, sometimes difficult, but I want you to know how much…”
I shushed her. “Shh, don’t talk about it,” I said. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. You’re my wife, Julie. That’s the only thing that matters to me. Nothing else is important. I…I could put up with anything…so long as we’re together.” The scent of sperm lingered between us, thick on our breath, but it didn’t bother me anymore. My stomach rumbled a bit, whether from nerves or from the load of cum recently fucked into it I couldn’t say. That also didn’t bother me. Like a raw cadet after basic training, I had survived everything they had subjected me to and won my prize: Julie.
As we sat in the back of the limo, cuddled in one another’s arms, I felt my cell phone vibrate. I fished it out of my pocket, and saw that I had a text from Mr. Grant. “See you soon,” it read. “Daddy.” An attached image opened up beneath the text, displaying my new father-in-law’s rock hard, black prick jutting boldly out of his fly. I shuddered at the thought that that thing had invaded my ass.
A second attachment opened, this one showing a delicate, white hand wrapped tightly around the girth of the blood-engorged cock, so thick the fingers could not even close fully around it. Was it Julie’s hand, taken before the ceremony? Was he reminding me that even now she was mine in name only? Yet another attachment followed, this one of a woman’s mouth wrapped around the ebony head of Mr. Grant’s enormous dick, the red lips spread wide to accommodate his girth. My blood ran cold as I recognized my own mother, her mouth wrapped around the black prick that had brutally violated my ass only an hour earlier. I dropped the phone.
“Timmy, honey, are you okay?” Julie inquired.
“Oh…I’m…I’m fine, sweetheart,” I assured her, retrieving my phone, and slipping it in my pocket. “I’m just happy to be with you. Happy to be able to call you my wife.”
Julie gave my cheek another affectionate, chaste kiss, the scent of Pastor Elijah’s baby batter still on her breath. “Oh, me, too, baby! Me, too!”
Having subjugated me and corrupted my brother, Ambrose Grant was apparently now turning his attention to our mother. I had little doubt she would succumb to his charisma, to the power of his domineering personality as fully as Braedon and I had.
When we arrived at the country club, a porter escorted us to a private suite that Mr. Grant had arranged for us to change in to more comfortable clothes for the reception. Although the white porters continued to regard me with the same kind of disdain as they had during my previous visit to the club, the (exclusively white male) staff seemed to know Julie, and treated her with great deference. As Ambrose Grant’s step-********, she appeared to hold status among the club’s employees.
Clothes had been laid out for us: a navy blue Brooks Brothers suit for me—likely worth more than my whole month’s salary—and a chartreuse Chanel gown for Julie. My bride modestly changed behind a shoji screen, as if I had not recently seen her sprawled bare-assed across a billiard table in this very building, gang banged by a dozen or so black men, as if I had not then slurped their potent seed from out of her well-used cunt! My penis strained in its new cage at the memory of my debauched bachelor party.
“Timmy, sweetie,” Julie said, appearing from behind the screen, ravishing in her new gown. “Would you zip the back for me, baby?” I did so, letting my hand run down the curve of her back to the rounded globes of her spectacular bottom. Giggling, she slapped my hand away. “Don’t get fresh now, Timmy,” she warned me. “You know that Daddy wouldn’t approve.”
I placed my hands on her full hips. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him,” I said with an encouraging grin.
Julie frowned. “Didn’t Daddy give you your wedding present?”
I nodded, hanging my head. “Oh, goody! Let me see it, baby. Show it to me.” Reluctantly, I undid my belt buckle and dropped my slacks around my ankles. I stood before my bride in just my boxer shorts. “Don’t be shy,” Julie snickered. “Let me see.”
Reaching into the fly of my underwear, I withdrew my small, caged penis to display it to my wife. This was the first time she had seen my dick, and it was encased in a stainless steel restraint. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “It’s so cute locked away like that. Don’t be shy, Timmy. You know this is for our own good, to keep us from being tempted to betray Daddy’s trust. It doesn’t hurt, does it, baby?”
I shook my head. “N-n-no,” I replied. “It just kind of…aches. Seeing you looking so beautiful makes it hard, but it…it can’t really get…hard,” I explained with a sob. Julie wrapped her hand around the cage, caressing it gently, causing a pearl of pre-ejaculate to drip from the head of my cock.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said, placing her lips close to my ear. “It means so much that you would make a sacrifice like this for me. For my ******. There aren’t many…men…who would do such a thing. But we have to be good so that Daddy lets you keep your cute little testicles. You don’t want to be a eunuch, do you?” I shook my head vigorously. “Of course you don’t. So, we’ll just put this little thing away,” she said, tucking it back in my briefs, “and finish getting dressed. Our guests will be downstairs soon.”
After the depraved bacchanalia that was my bachelor party, I did not know what our wedding reception might involve. A porter escorted us to a banquet hall on the first floor, overlooking the expansive grounds. Julie’s step-father stood commandingly in the center of the room. A former pro-football player, he remained powerfully built, his brawny frame apparent even in his three-piece suit. His hair was closely shaved, and his beard peppered with grey. My mother, in her late thirties, stood beside him, a honey-colored gown framing her fit physique and generous hips. The image of her full lips wrapped around Mr. Grant’s enormous sex filled my mind, and wondered if the sheen on her lips was simply lipstick or a generous coating of my father-in-law’s sperm.
My mother has certainly had men in her life since my father’s untimely death several years ago, but never one as domineering as Ambrose Grant, and certainly not one whose cock had recently invaded her oldest son’s throat and virgin ass. For whatever reason, the tyrannical black man seemed intent on taking my entire ****** under his unbending control.
“Ah, here are the bride and groom, now,” Mr. Grant spoke to the guests. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Timothy and Julie Moore!” A round of applause greeted us. Julie’s step-father shook my hand, while my mother embraced Julie and kissed her cheek. Despite so many of the perversities I had recently endured, the reception seemed to proceed quite traditionally. Although we were spared a receiving line, which Julie dismissed as stuffy and old-fashioned, a number of guests came to congratulate us, most shaking my hand and kissing Julie on the cheek. I couldn’t help but notice that Doctor Nwachukwu slipped his tongue into Julie’s mouth and grasped an appreciative hold of her generous buttocks. Oh, well, I thought to myself, at least he isn’t fucking her across the top of a billiards table this time.
Waiters—again, all of them white—made their way around the room serving hors d’oeuvres and champagne to the guests. While Julie was busy chatting with some friends from college, my mother took me by the hand and gave me a kiss on the cheek. The scent of Mr. Grant remained strong about her. “I’m so happy for you,” Mother told me. “Julie seems like such a lovely girl. And her ******, well, they are just delightful.” Mother lifted a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. “Ambrose explained the…unique nature of your relationship with Julie,” my mother continued.
“Mother,” I began, fumbling for an explanation.
“Shh,” she responded. “There’s no need, Timmy. I’ve always known that you weren’t much of a…man. You resemble your father in that. He was something of a, well, a loser, too.” I flushed a deep crimson. Mother rarely spoke of my father, but I had never heard her ridicule him. “I suppose that’s why he decided to end himself…especially after I found myself knocked up by his brother.”
I stifled a gasp. “Y-y-you mean that Braedon, that he…!”
“Oh, that’s right, dear. Braedon is actually your Uncle Victor’s son. Now, he was a real man. Really knew how to fuck a girl.” I had never heard my mother speak like this. “Just like…your new father-in-law. I must say, that Ambrose is quite the talented cocksman. Accomplished athlete, successful businessman, dedicated father. This world belongs to men like him, dear, don’t you agree?’
I hung my head, and nodded demurely.
“You’re very lucky that a man like that has found a place for you,” she continued. “It is not as if you were going to make much of yourself otherwise. And it is so wonderful that he has offered to help Braedon get a start in life once he finishes school. Unlike you, your brother has some promise.” She spoke glowingly of my brother, who, as it turned out, was also my cousin. I really should not have been surprised: my Uncle Victor had always been a cocky prick, as arrogant as he was handsome. My ******, it turned out, was as darkly incestuous as Julie’s. No wonder we were drawn one another.
“Ambrose demonstrated quite a bit of foresight by insisting that you lock your little…thing…away,” she commented with distaste. She even knew about my cock cage, apparently. “It is really for the best that you don’t pass on your father’s weak, effeminate genes, don’t you think? I’m sure you’ll find great satisfaction in helping to raise the children Julie has with real men.” Unable to bear anymore derision, I excused myself and went to find Julie. As I shambled away in humiliation, Braedon approached me with a contemptuous smirk. “Sorry, bro,” he informed me. “Looking for Jules? Your new wife took off with her ***. Hmm, I wonder what those two up to…don’t you?”
I turned to get away from Braedon, and ran smack into Pastor Elijah. “Timothy, my boy,” he greeted me. “You simply reek of sodomy, son. I could smell it on you throughout the ceremony. Has Ambrose finally broken in his new white pussy?” I stared at the black clergyman, unable to formulate an answer to his perverse inquiry. “What’s wrong, Timmy? Cat got your tongue.” He laughed merrily as I scurried off. Did everyone know what had been done to me, what I had become?
Across the room, I saw Julie reenter the hall on the arm of her imposing father, both of them smiling broadly. Julie’s hair was disheveled and her make-up mussed. Lipstick matching her shade stained the collar of Mr. Grant’s tuxedo. As I approached them, Julie’s brother Lamech took her by the arm and eagerly led her back out of the hall. She returned fifteen minutes later even more unkempt, at which point her other brother, Tamar, guided her out of the room. And so the reception went, with one man after another spending a private moment with my new bride: Dr. Nwachukwu, Pastor Elijah, Grant cousins I had not even met, numerous men from the office, my own brother Braedon. Each time, Julie returned in a more rumpled state, her new dress sporting obvious stains. The waiters clucked as they passed me, sneering in open derision at my humiliation.
My mother and Mr. Grant chatted at the bar, his large, black hand resting possessively on her hip, oblivious to my distress. The next time Julie returned to the hall, I hurried up to her before another man could lead her away. “Julie,” I stammered, “don’t you, uh, don’t you think it’s time the food was served. I mean, um, you must be hungry. It’s already been a long day.”
Julie kissed me on the cheek. “That’s what I love about you, Timmy. You’re so thoughtful, always looking out for me. You’re right! I’m famished. I’ve really worked up an appetite. Let’s tell Daddy that we’re ready to eat.” The meal was served as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place, and it was simply a completely typical wedding reception. Julie and I sat at the head table, joined by Mr. Grant, his sons and their dates, his niece Nefatari, and my mother and Braedon. Mr. Grant had spared no expense on the caterer, and the meal was excellent. My brother flirted openly with Nefatari throughout the meal, under Mr. Grant’s seemingly approving eye.
Towards the end of the meal, Mr. Grant stood and tapped his fork against his wine glass. “Excuse me, all,” he said to the room, “I would like to ask you all to raise your glasses and join me in a toast to the happy, young couple.” Everyone did so. Julie smiled at me as she took my hand. “Ahem. As you all know, we lost Julie’s mother when Julie was quite young. Since that day, I have tried my very hardest to do right by her, to provide for her, to do exactly what I thought was best. That hasn’t always been easy, a black man raising a young white girl alone, as much as I have always cared for her and loved her, as my very own.” I could see tears in the corners of Julie’s beautiful gold-speckled eyes. “But in young Timothy, I believe she has found an ideal match, someone who will be her friend and companion, confidante and caretaker.” He made me sound like a loyal dog more than a husband. Everyone drank to the toast approvingly.
The reception continued. We cut the cake. Julie and I shared our first dance to Queen’s ‘You’re My Best Friend.” Then she and her step-father danced to George Michael’s ‘Father Figure.’ The playlist, needless to say, had been selected by Mr. Grant. I danced with my mother, Braedon with Nefatari, other couples joined us on the dancefloor. “I know there’s no way a wimp like you could ever really satisfy such a vibrant young woman as Julie,” my mother scolded me. “But you might at least serve as a reliable helpmeet, don’t you think?” My mother had never been particularly supportive of me, but under Mr. Grant’s tutelage, she was becoming downright cruel. I simply nodded at her derision, knowing on some level that she was correct.
As the evening wore on, my mother shared several dances with my new father-in-law. He openly groped her ass on the dancefloor, much to my mother’s apparent amusement, even pleasure. “Isn’t it wonderful how much our parents are getting along,” Julie beamed at me, as we watched them virtually grinding to a Drake song. “It’s true, bro,” Braedon whispered behind me. “Mom’s turning out to be a real slut for black dick. You got that in common! Ain’t that hilarious?” I flushed at my brother’s barbs, taking comfort that Julie and I would be jetting away on our honeymoon very shortly, away from both our families, at least for a brief while.
Finally, we prepared to depart for the airport, our luggage already in the waiting limousine. Our families gathered around to say their farewells.
“Hey, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Braedon teased. “Oh, wait! You can’t do any of the things I’ve already done!” Our mother laughed at Braedon’s ridicule of my situation. Julie hugged her brothers, both of them swapping long, wet kisses with their newly wed sister. Finally, Mr. Grant wrapped his thick, sinewy arms around my wife.
“Before I forget,” he asked Julie, “have you given your white boy his wedding present?”
Julie shook her head. “Daddy! I was going to wait until we were alone to surprise Timmy.”
“Now, come on, little girl,” her step-father intoned. “We all want to see him get the good news. A blessing like that is meant to be shared.”
Julie sighed resignedly, and turned to me. “Well, sweetie,” she said, “I hope this makes you as happy as it does me, but, well….” Reaching between her cleavage, Julie withdrew a cylinder that I mistook momentarily for a pen as she handed it to me. It was only when I examined it more closely that I recognized it as a pregnancy test. The small transparent window showed two red bars. I didn’t have to study it much closer to realize what it meant: my new wife was pregnant. Pregnant with another man’s baby. I looked up. Julie, Lamech, Tamar, Braedon, Nefatari, my mother, and Mr. Grant were all beaming happily. Ambrose Grant gently patted Julie’s taut tummy protectively with one big, black paw.
“That’s right, Timmy,” Julie assured me. “We’re pregnant!” The cock cage that secured my penis seemed to grow suddenly tighter. Taking my hand, Julie led me past the guests, who showered us with flower petals, and out to the waiting limousine. I continued to clasp the pregnancy test in my closed hand, stunned, imagining the child that was growing in Julie’s womb, knowing only one thing for certain, that it wasn’t mine.
I still grasped the test an hour later as we jetted toward Jamica for our honeymoon.
Next chapter: The Honeymoon
