Content warning and preamble: Hi, this is the first story I've written and the first story of this kind. There's naturally going to be some racism, slurs, and the like. A primary focus in the story involves a portion of gaslighting and manipulation. It's also a story that contains LGBTQ+ content. I understand that people who read these kinds of stories are not going to be too bothered about some of these things, but I understand that some of the themes might hit close to home, so please proceed with caution.
Getting dumped by your girlfriend is something that stings. Getting dumped by your high school sweetheart for so many years is more like a bullet. James had to come to the uncomfortable realization that he was not good enough for Christy, a girl he had loved and shared so much with. He would ask why, but that only hurt him more. He was not "man" enough; he couldn't "measure up." Christy had left him for Dominic at the end of their senior year, and Dominic was four times the man that James was; he was fit and athletic, charming, and if the rumors about him were true, he was "well endowed." Dominic just had more of an advantage with women than James could hope for. Dominic had it in his blood—dark and handsome—and Christy was not his first, not by a long shot.
Yes, getting dumped is painful, but James had allowed despair to coat him for almost a year, never being able to form the same kind of connection since. His ****** was a little help. While James was not politically aligned with his father, he loved and respected him, but not enough to tell him who he got dumped for. No doubt his father would berate him for losing to a "nigger." He instead confided in his mother, though to play it safe, he did not mention who he got dumped for. James's mother, Mrs. Rhodes to most but Laura to her friends, was his confidant. She soothed her son, a son who was almost a mirror of herself. His father always complained about James looking too "girly," and he was right; whenever Laura's friends would see James, they would ask her if she had three ********* instead of two. Despite how James looked, with his growing blonde hair, his slight frame, and his wide hips, which set him apart from his peers, Laura loved her son deeply, letting him cry into her.
His sisters were another matter; they could not be allowed to know about any of this. They would tease him relentlessly. He got it the worst from Sophia, the eldest. She, much like him, got her looks from their mother but the fiery red hair and attitude from their father. She was on much closer terms with him than James was and wasn't afraid of throwing around slurs and crude remarks. Rachel, his other sister, was different, still older than James, and teased him in another way. While Rachel probably didn't mean to sound insulting, she had long suspected James of being gay and offered to set him up with men she knew. Rachel was nothing like her father, a kinder woman, but in James's eyes, she was a person who didn't know when to keep her distance. She was the last person James wanted advice from, after all, as it felt like she had a new fling every other week, not a person you could count on to advise on a stable relationship.
It all culminated in a revelation James got while looking online for help with his woes. Maybe it was his cookies or his post history, but he got an email from a place called the Brunswick Norman Welter Organization. He didn't quite know what it was, but it looked like this Brunswick person had set up several clinics across the state out of pocket, and James happened to fall into a category that would allow him to get free therapy for his relationship woes. They supposedly came highly rated at resolving traumas and providing what they pioneered as a new form of physical therapy. With nothing to lose, he put his name down and awaited a response.
It was only a week later that he found himself on what his father would call "the bad side of town." James had wondered if he had been tricked when he got to the address, but it let him into an alley with only a single steel door frame and a large buzzer to the side of it. Tentatively, he pressed on the buzzer, awaiting some kind of response. He was close to leaving until...
"May I ask who this is?" A woman's voice called out from the speaker.
"Oh, my name is James Rhodes; I responded to an email from..."
Before he could finish his sentence, the door buzzed and clicked. Nervously, as anyone would be in what felt like a shady situation, he pushed into the door and was almost blinded by the light coming from inside. He found himself in a stark white corridor; it matched what he imagined for a waiting room, but it felt almost opulent with how shiny the marble flooring was—so polished he could almost see his reflection. Getting his bearings, he could see a few people waiting in seats on his left side. A mix of men and women, he tried to tie a common element together to figure out if there was something about them he could match to himself to figure out if there was a deeper reason why he was chosen. They were a mix of men and women; they were all white, which was a common element. The women were all attractive, and they reminded him of Christy. The men, however, all seemed to lack very much masculinity, as they were occasionally fidgeting uncomfortably. White and womanly... It was a little uncomfortable, but he thought he had mapped out a commonality.
"Mr Rhodes?"
A receptionist called out. She was a smaller woman who might have been in her 30s. She was dressed a bit too provocatively for someone in the medical field. She might have been wearing a dark blazer that was straining to keep in her large breasts. James tried his best not to focus on it by looking at her face, but his eyes were drawn to her pillowy red lips.
"Ah yes, I'm James; I have an appointment," he responded.
"Yes, just take the third door to your right down the hall; you'll need to change out of those clothes, but we have facilities for that."
Change clothes? James had come here in a comfortable hoodie and jeans, but he would need to get out of them for this. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth; after all, this was free.
He went into that room and changed into the clothes required, a small white hospital gown; it almost looked like he was in a dress. It was comfortably breezy, but he could not help but feel a little naked. The gown left little to the imagination, hugging against his hips.
Once changed, he entered the room where he would get his much-needed therapy. The office looked much like he imagined. A desk, bookshelves, and one of those funny little Newton ball ornaments sitting on the desk. He was not alone, as he found a woman there. This must be his therapist. She was not exactly what he imagined. He was ashamed to admit it to himself, but she looked like a total porn star, with full lips, a mess of blonde hair, wide hips, and wider tits looking like they were going to explode out of her dress.
"Ah, you must be James; I'm Nicole; it's nice to meet you!"
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, a motion that startled James and made him jump back a little bit.
"Oh, you're adorable; please be at ease. Here at the clinic, we think it's best to establish a little bit of intimacy. This might feel strange at first, but you'll get used to it."
Strange as it was, he settled into that seat, one he often imagined should have been in this kind of office, almost like a couch designed to be laid on.
"Now, James. Normally, we would do some establishing as to why you're here and what we hope to achieve with this therapy. Forgive me for being forward, but you seem to have some unresolved trauma in regards to your relationship with... Christy."
She shuffled with some papers on her desk. This should have been shocking, but it's clear they had done their research on him. James nodded.
"Right, right. Now we here at the clinic have pieced together what we believe to be the crux of the problem, but I'd like to hear what you think, just so I can get your perspective.".
James settled in and began to recount his relationship; he talked about how it started, how much his relationship felt strong to him at the time, and how his girlfriend left him for Dominic. Nicole listened closer to that.
"She told me that I wasn't man enough for her and that I didn't measure up.".
Nicole sat and listened to all of this for all the time James went on about it. When he had finished, she sat in contemplation.
"James, forgive me, but it sounds like Christy's happiness was not a priority for you?" She asked bluntly.
The remark caught James off guard.
"What do you mean? I loved her; I loved her for all of the time we spent together," he responded.
"I'm sure you did, but did you ask her how she felt? I'm sure you told her how much you were in love with her, but how often did she profess her love for you?"
James thought about that for a moment.
"Well, early when we were together, she would tell me often, but as we grew older, she did not tell me those things as much."
This was getting uncomfortable, but this was therapy. It might start uncomfortable, but it could get better.
"This is when you were not man enough."
Nicole was paying rapt attention.
"She admitted this to me close to the end of our relationship.".
Nicole nodded along with this.
"She left you for Dominic; now I'm sure you know, but Dominic is strong, athletic, and dominant. These things are lacking in you."
Nicole was curt, but she was not wrong.
"You could say that."
James was getting more uncomfortable, but she wasn't lying; it was then that she said something that felt like it came from out of nowhere.
"She left you because he is black and you are white.".
James could only look with astonishment.
"It is an uncomfortable thought; that much I can understand, but have you taken a good look at yourself? You're white, weak, and have a womanly figure. Honestly, if I were Christy, I would have left you long ago.".
This was shocking. Was this woman a real therapist? He was about to raise his voice in protest before being cut off.
"We can help you; we can fix you. If you listen to me and follow my instructions, you won't feel pain anymore. Wouldn't you like to live a life free from suffering like this? I need your trust."
James was growing skeptical, but his desire to be free of his pain kept him in his seat.
"Forgive me, but Christy left you because you're a weak white faggot.".
She said it so casually, with no regard for her language.
"Excuse me, that."
She cut him off.
"Shut the fuck up, you white bitch; you need to hear the truth. It's going to be easier for both of us if you sit your ass down and listen."
This shocked James, but he was being put into his place; even if he did not know it, he wanted to protest; he wanted to leave, but something compelled him to stay seated. Her attitude had shifted drastically; this must be a part of the therapy.
"You whites have kept your betters down long enough, and we're going to fix you. If you want this therapy to be effective, you're going to lie down, face down, and ass up."
What brought about this sudden crassness? Anyone else would scream and shout, but James did nothing but comply. It was only moments later, with Nicole rummaging through her desk, that she came to James.
"Don't move; this is our physical therapy; you're about to become free.".
The alarms were going off, but his heart was yelling at him for the relief Nicole would provide; his woes would be washed away.
His underwear was pulled down, and cold liquid ran down his ass. He buried his head in a pillow to suppress a yelp. Something was pressing itself against his asshole.
"You need to take this, shut your mouth, and spread yourself."
Nicole forced a plug into James; it was big, black, and shaped like a spade. This was insane, but she shoved him down and forced him inside. It felt... It felt right. James's hole was being filled so perfectly with this plug that it made his toes curl.
"I knew you were a faggot..."
She forced his face down into his pillow.
"We're going to fix you, but you need to learn the mantra. The mantra that you'll repeat every day until you die."
James's mind was overwhelmed by how stretched out he was; he'd agree to anything. The pain was immense, but a strange pleasure washed over him.
"Repeat after me. Black is better, white is worse." Nicole whispered to him.
"B-Black... is better."
She smacked his ass hard. "Louder!"
"Black is better, white is worse!" He yelled out.
Just as he said that, the plug began to vibrate, and his prostate was being battered by the shaking of the toy inside of him, making his hips buckle.
Nicole took his arms, and in James's weak state, she tied them together with cuffs. She instructed him to repeat the mantra. Every time he did, the plug pulsed harder.
"Keep saying it, over and over."
She returned to her desk, just watching as James, in his powerless state, just kept blurting out the mantra; he wasn't in control of his body anymore.
"B-Black is better! White is worse!"
His little cock began to dribble onto the couch.
"Black lives matter; say it," Nicole demanded.
"Black lives matter! Black Lives Matter!"
The plug pulsed even harder, and he came a full load into that couch. He collapsed into a mess of people, if one could call it that. His mind was full of fog, and his hips were shaking. He looked up and saw Nicole and a woman, a woman who hated him.
"You're receptive; that's good. I'm going to start the second phase."
'Second phase? There was more to this?' he thought.
Nicole took out her phone and made a call—a call James could hardly hear as he was overwhelmed by the height of his orgasm.
"Tch. One hour, fine. The little cuck should be able to handle it."
She ended the call and ruffled through her desk again.
"I'm going to get ready; this should keep you busy."
She approached him and slipped something over his eyes; it was a VR headset. He could see nothing but darkness, but suddenly he was overwhelmed with pornography of innocent little white women getting dicked down by black men—his betters. He was receptive to this.
James was being taken over, but his "therapy" had only just begun.
Getting dumped by your girlfriend is something that stings. Getting dumped by your high school sweetheart for so many years is more like a bullet. James had to come to the uncomfortable realization that he was not good enough for Christy, a girl he had loved and shared so much with. He would ask why, but that only hurt him more. He was not "man" enough; he couldn't "measure up." Christy had left him for Dominic at the end of their senior year, and Dominic was four times the man that James was; he was fit and athletic, charming, and if the rumors about him were true, he was "well endowed." Dominic just had more of an advantage with women than James could hope for. Dominic had it in his blood—dark and handsome—and Christy was not his first, not by a long shot.
Yes, getting dumped is painful, but James had allowed despair to coat him for almost a year, never being able to form the same kind of connection since. His ****** was a little help. While James was not politically aligned with his father, he loved and respected him, but not enough to tell him who he got dumped for. No doubt his father would berate him for losing to a "nigger." He instead confided in his mother, though to play it safe, he did not mention who he got dumped for. James's mother, Mrs. Rhodes to most but Laura to her friends, was his confidant. She soothed her son, a son who was almost a mirror of herself. His father always complained about James looking too "girly," and he was right; whenever Laura's friends would see James, they would ask her if she had three ********* instead of two. Despite how James looked, with his growing blonde hair, his slight frame, and his wide hips, which set him apart from his peers, Laura loved her son deeply, letting him cry into her.
His sisters were another matter; they could not be allowed to know about any of this. They would tease him relentlessly. He got it the worst from Sophia, the eldest. She, much like him, got her looks from their mother but the fiery red hair and attitude from their father. She was on much closer terms with him than James was and wasn't afraid of throwing around slurs and crude remarks. Rachel, his other sister, was different, still older than James, and teased him in another way. While Rachel probably didn't mean to sound insulting, she had long suspected James of being gay and offered to set him up with men she knew. Rachel was nothing like her father, a kinder woman, but in James's eyes, she was a person who didn't know when to keep her distance. She was the last person James wanted advice from, after all, as it felt like she had a new fling every other week, not a person you could count on to advise on a stable relationship.
It all culminated in a revelation James got while looking online for help with his woes. Maybe it was his cookies or his post history, but he got an email from a place called the Brunswick Norman Welter Organization. He didn't quite know what it was, but it looked like this Brunswick person had set up several clinics across the state out of pocket, and James happened to fall into a category that would allow him to get free therapy for his relationship woes. They supposedly came highly rated at resolving traumas and providing what they pioneered as a new form of physical therapy. With nothing to lose, he put his name down and awaited a response.
It was only a week later that he found himself on what his father would call "the bad side of town." James had wondered if he had been tricked when he got to the address, but it let him into an alley with only a single steel door frame and a large buzzer to the side of it. Tentatively, he pressed on the buzzer, awaiting some kind of response. He was close to leaving until...
"May I ask who this is?" A woman's voice called out from the speaker.
"Oh, my name is James Rhodes; I responded to an email from..."
Before he could finish his sentence, the door buzzed and clicked. Nervously, as anyone would be in what felt like a shady situation, he pushed into the door and was almost blinded by the light coming from inside. He found himself in a stark white corridor; it matched what he imagined for a waiting room, but it felt almost opulent with how shiny the marble flooring was—so polished he could almost see his reflection. Getting his bearings, he could see a few people waiting in seats on his left side. A mix of men and women, he tried to tie a common element together to figure out if there was something about them he could match to himself to figure out if there was a deeper reason why he was chosen. They were a mix of men and women; they were all white, which was a common element. The women were all attractive, and they reminded him of Christy. The men, however, all seemed to lack very much masculinity, as they were occasionally fidgeting uncomfortably. White and womanly... It was a little uncomfortable, but he thought he had mapped out a commonality.
"Mr Rhodes?"
A receptionist called out. She was a smaller woman who might have been in her 30s. She was dressed a bit too provocatively for someone in the medical field. She might have been wearing a dark blazer that was straining to keep in her large breasts. James tried his best not to focus on it by looking at her face, but his eyes were drawn to her pillowy red lips.
"Ah yes, I'm James; I have an appointment," he responded.
"Yes, just take the third door to your right down the hall; you'll need to change out of those clothes, but we have facilities for that."
Change clothes? James had come here in a comfortable hoodie and jeans, but he would need to get out of them for this. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth; after all, this was free.
He went into that room and changed into the clothes required, a small white hospital gown; it almost looked like he was in a dress. It was comfortably breezy, but he could not help but feel a little naked. The gown left little to the imagination, hugging against his hips.
Once changed, he entered the room where he would get his much-needed therapy. The office looked much like he imagined. A desk, bookshelves, and one of those funny little Newton ball ornaments sitting on the desk. He was not alone, as he found a woman there. This must be his therapist. She was not exactly what he imagined. He was ashamed to admit it to himself, but she looked like a total porn star, with full lips, a mess of blonde hair, wide hips, and wider tits looking like they were going to explode out of her dress.
"Ah, you must be James; I'm Nicole; it's nice to meet you!"
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, a motion that startled James and made him jump back a little bit.
"Oh, you're adorable; please be at ease. Here at the clinic, we think it's best to establish a little bit of intimacy. This might feel strange at first, but you'll get used to it."
Strange as it was, he settled into that seat, one he often imagined should have been in this kind of office, almost like a couch designed to be laid on.
"Now, James. Normally, we would do some establishing as to why you're here and what we hope to achieve with this therapy. Forgive me for being forward, but you seem to have some unresolved trauma in regards to your relationship with... Christy."
She shuffled with some papers on her desk. This should have been shocking, but it's clear they had done their research on him. James nodded.
"Right, right. Now we here at the clinic have pieced together what we believe to be the crux of the problem, but I'd like to hear what you think, just so I can get your perspective.".
James settled in and began to recount his relationship; he talked about how it started, how much his relationship felt strong to him at the time, and how his girlfriend left him for Dominic. Nicole listened closer to that.
"She told me that I wasn't man enough for her and that I didn't measure up.".
Nicole sat and listened to all of this for all the time James went on about it. When he had finished, she sat in contemplation.
"James, forgive me, but it sounds like Christy's happiness was not a priority for you?" She asked bluntly.
The remark caught James off guard.
"What do you mean? I loved her; I loved her for all of the time we spent together," he responded.
"I'm sure you did, but did you ask her how she felt? I'm sure you told her how much you were in love with her, but how often did she profess her love for you?"
James thought about that for a moment.
"Well, early when we were together, she would tell me often, but as we grew older, she did not tell me those things as much."
This was getting uncomfortable, but this was therapy. It might start uncomfortable, but it could get better.
"This is when you were not man enough."
Nicole was paying rapt attention.
"She admitted this to me close to the end of our relationship.".
Nicole nodded along with this.
"She left you for Dominic; now I'm sure you know, but Dominic is strong, athletic, and dominant. These things are lacking in you."
Nicole was curt, but she was not wrong.
"You could say that."
James was getting more uncomfortable, but she wasn't lying; it was then that she said something that felt like it came from out of nowhere.
"She left you because he is black and you are white.".
James could only look with astonishment.
"It is an uncomfortable thought; that much I can understand, but have you taken a good look at yourself? You're white, weak, and have a womanly figure. Honestly, if I were Christy, I would have left you long ago.".
This was shocking. Was this woman a real therapist? He was about to raise his voice in protest before being cut off.
"We can help you; we can fix you. If you listen to me and follow my instructions, you won't feel pain anymore. Wouldn't you like to live a life free from suffering like this? I need your trust."
James was growing skeptical, but his desire to be free of his pain kept him in his seat.
"Forgive me, but Christy left you because you're a weak white faggot.".
She said it so casually, with no regard for her language.
"Excuse me, that."
She cut him off.
"Shut the fuck up, you white bitch; you need to hear the truth. It's going to be easier for both of us if you sit your ass down and listen."
This shocked James, but he was being put into his place; even if he did not know it, he wanted to protest; he wanted to leave, but something compelled him to stay seated. Her attitude had shifted drastically; this must be a part of the therapy.
"You whites have kept your betters down long enough, and we're going to fix you. If you want this therapy to be effective, you're going to lie down, face down, and ass up."
What brought about this sudden crassness? Anyone else would scream and shout, but James did nothing but comply. It was only moments later, with Nicole rummaging through her desk, that she came to James.
"Don't move; this is our physical therapy; you're about to become free.".
The alarms were going off, but his heart was yelling at him for the relief Nicole would provide; his woes would be washed away.
His underwear was pulled down, and cold liquid ran down his ass. He buried his head in a pillow to suppress a yelp. Something was pressing itself against his asshole.
"You need to take this, shut your mouth, and spread yourself."
Nicole forced a plug into James; it was big, black, and shaped like a spade. This was insane, but she shoved him down and forced him inside. It felt... It felt right. James's hole was being filled so perfectly with this plug that it made his toes curl.
"I knew you were a faggot..."
She forced his face down into his pillow.
"We're going to fix you, but you need to learn the mantra. The mantra that you'll repeat every day until you die."
James's mind was overwhelmed by how stretched out he was; he'd agree to anything. The pain was immense, but a strange pleasure washed over him.
"Repeat after me. Black is better, white is worse." Nicole whispered to him.
"B-Black... is better."
She smacked his ass hard. "Louder!"
"Black is better, white is worse!" He yelled out.
Just as he said that, the plug began to vibrate, and his prostate was being battered by the shaking of the toy inside of him, making his hips buckle.
Nicole took his arms, and in James's weak state, she tied them together with cuffs. She instructed him to repeat the mantra. Every time he did, the plug pulsed harder.
"Keep saying it, over and over."
She returned to her desk, just watching as James, in his powerless state, just kept blurting out the mantra; he wasn't in control of his body anymore.
"B-Black is better! White is worse!"
His little cock began to dribble onto the couch.
"Black lives matter; say it," Nicole demanded.
"Black lives matter! Black Lives Matter!"
The plug pulsed even harder, and he came a full load into that couch. He collapsed into a mess of people, if one could call it that. His mind was full of fog, and his hips were shaking. He looked up and saw Nicole and a woman, a woman who hated him.
"You're receptive; that's good. I'm going to start the second phase."
'Second phase? There was more to this?' he thought.
Nicole took out her phone and made a call—a call James could hardly hear as he was overwhelmed by the height of his orgasm.
"Tch. One hour, fine. The little cuck should be able to handle it."
She ended the call and ruffled through her desk again.
"I'm going to get ready; this should keep you busy."
She approached him and slipped something over his eyes; it was a VR headset. He could see nothing but darkness, but suddenly he was overwhelmed with pornography of innocent little white women getting dicked down by black men—his betters. He was receptive to this.
James was being taken over, but his "therapy" had only just begun.
- Next: Ch. 02 The Wash
