Jake
As the high-speed catamaran shuttled us from Nassau to the exclusive fertility clinic located on a small private island off the Bahamas, my wife, Allison commented that the clinic looked more like a high-end resort, with bungalows set amidst palm trees and white sandy beaches. Once we docked, we, and the other three couples aboard, were greeted by a number of young black stewards, all in white linen shorts and short-sleeved, pastel t-shirts. The women, in particular, appeared quite charmed by their mellifluous Bahamian accents, broad, welcoming smiles, and charming manners. As they led us down the dock, we found ourselves intercepted by a very attractive blonde woman who introduced herself as Meagan.
"Gentlemen, welcome," she greeted us, subtly pulling me and the other three men to one side. "While the stewards escort your wives to their assigned bungalows, please follow me to the registration center so we can get you all...squared away." I looked around for Allison to say I would catch up with her, only to see her raptly listening to one of the stewards, who was pointing out sights along the beach. "Please, right this way," Meagan said with a wide grin, motioning us in the opposite direction of our wives.
We followed Meagan to a single-story stucco building, painted a pastel pink. As we gathered in the lobby, we were joined by a black man of about fifty, wearing a yellow, tropical-print shirt and white slacks. Meagan introduced him as Doctor Rolle, the founder of the clinic. "Welcome, welcome," he said. "Although the circumstances that brought each of you to our little retreat are unfortunate--your inability to properly impregnate your wives," he looked at each of us in turn, as if accentuating his point, "now that you are here, I guarantee, each of your lovely wives will be returning home with blossoming wombs."
One of my companions, a corporate lawyer, who had introduced himself as Ronald on the boat ride over to the island, piped up. "My wife's cousin recommended your clinic, Doctor," he said, "but I am still unclear about what you can do that the doctors in the states cannot."
"Ah, you're skeptical," Doctor Rolle observed with his wide grin. "Good for you. You've read the testimonials, of course, but you have doubts. As it should be, as it should be. But, for now, please bear with me, as we get everyone settled in. All your questions will be answered in due time." He motioned us through a set of double doors into what appeared to be a locker room. "Please, gentlemen, disrobe. You will find showers through that door. Please, soap yourselves quite thoroughly. You may leave your clothes and any personal belongings in the lockers; they will be quite safe." We were all rather perplexed, and Ronald, especially, rather put out, but Doctor Rolle excused himself, leaving us to follow his instructions.
The shower was very warm, but refreshing in the tropical humidity. The soap provided was strong and medicinal. I gathered this must all be part of the fertility treatments that had brought us here, but it certainly disabused me of the notion that this would be a mere tropical island vacation.
Half-sheets of opaque plexiglass separated me from the other men, but I could still see something of their pale, flabby bodies as they showered. I would like to have thought of myself as fitter, more virile than these other soft, middle-aged white men, but the truth is that we were all here for the same reason: none of us had proven fertile enough to impregnate our wives. I toweled myself dry, only to discover that the locker had been emptied of all my belongings save for my eyeglasses, which sat perched on a folded blue jumpsuit. Based on their reactions, my companions had all discovered a similar situation. "Gentlemen," bellowed an unseen voice over an intercom system, "your possessions are perfectly safe. Please don the clothes provided." Each of us stepped into the one-piece jumpsuits, more like prison garb than anything else. Ankle-high socks were also provided, but no shoes.
"This is outrageous!" Ronald bellowed, heading for the double doors that led to the lobby, only to discover that they were locked. "Please, gentlemen," the voice continued. "This is all part of the...evaluation process. If you'll kindly step through the door behind you, and follow the corridor, you will discover rooms prepared for you during this necessary step. Please find the room that matches the number on your outfit, and make yourselves comfortable. Your cooperation is appreciated." The chest pocket of my jumpsuit had a number 9 sewn onto it. I looked at the other men, perplexed. Ronald grumbled. Steve, a reserved, polite Asian gentleman, shrugged his shoulders and proceeded down the corridor to his assigned room. I followed his lead.
I opened door number 9 only to discover what appeared to be a cinderblock cell, with a cot chained to the wall, an uncovered toilet in the corner. "There must be some mistake," I said, turning, only to find the door closed behind me. This side of the door lacked a knob of any kind, and appeared to be locked as I pushed against it. "Hey!" I shouted. "What...what's going on?" There were no windows, and a single florescent bulb lit the room, which could not have been more than 6 x 8 feet. I banged at the door. I could faintly hear other bangs, from other cells. My companions were apparently in similar straits. "Allison," I thought, "what the hell have we gotten ourselves into?"
Allison
I really could not get over how extravagant the bungalows were! Modest beach huts on the outside, they were beautifully furnished and comfortably air-controlled on the inside, with a claw-foot tub on a raised platform in one corner, overlooking the turquoise lagoon. Samuel was the steward assigned to my bungalow, and he showed me around with pride: the linens, the elaborate fruit basket, a fully stocked liquor cabinet. "Anytime you are hungry or would like a massage," he said, indicating a telephone on the bedside table, "simply call. We are at your disposal." Samuel was young, probably barely in his twenties, his smooth, dark skin a ruddy brown, his body solid and toned. I imagine he spent a great deal of time in the beautiful surrounding waters, swimming, diving, perhaps surfing.
"Thanks so much, Samuel," I told him, fishing through my bag for some cash. When I tried to tip him, he demurred. "Oh, no, thank you. The clinic is all-inclusive. There will be plenty of time to show your appreciation when you are with child." I was surprised at his directness, but attributed it to the simple fact that all the women who visit the island come for the same reason: a baby.
"I can't imagine what's taking Jake so long," I sighed.
"Oh, Doctor Rolle insists that couples spend...some time apart when they first come to the clinic," Samuel explained. "Your white boy...ah, I mean, husband...your husband is being well provided for." As he headed for the door, the handsome, young black man paused, and informed me, "Oh, by the way, the doctor will be conducting an orientation this evening. Really just an informal meet and greet. It is scheduled for 7:00pm. I will return at 6:45 to escort you to the doctor's house. Casual dress is preferred."
With a broad smile, Samuel excused himself.
Time apart, I thought to myself, curious how that could possibly facilitate the treatment. Still...the truth is that Jake had been rather tense during the entire trip, as if feeling the burden of his, well, his inadequacy, if I'm to be blunt about it. Examining the contents of the liquor cabinet, I poured myself a white wine. If this trip was as successful as I hoped, as my OB-GYN promised when she recommended the clinic, wine was something I would have to give up for the duration of my pregnancy.
Before I'd had a chance to even take a sip, however, there was a knock at the door. I answered it to find a red-haired woman in a bright yellow one-piece bathing suit with a full pitcher of a frothy, fruity beverage, and two frosted hurricane glasses. "Greetings, honey!" she said. "I'm Kathryn from the bungalow next door. They told me new blood was arriving this afternoon. I come bearing piña coladas!"
"Oh, how nice," I answered. "I'm Allison. Please come in." I followed her over to the counter, where she proceeded to pour the glasses full. "Nothing says the tropics like a freshly mixed piña colada," Kathryn said. "Who's your steward, honey? Who did you get?"
"My steward? Oh, his name is Samuel. He seems very sweet."
"Samuel? Oh, that's the young one with the pearly white teeth and the big smile, isn't it? Good for you!" she replied with a sly smile. “He’s simply adorable!”
"Well," I laughed, "all the stewards seem to have pearly white teeth and big smiles, don't they?"
Kathryn laughed loudly. "Oh my God, you are so right! They do, don't they? And smiles are not the only big thing they have in common," she said confidentially, taking a generous sip of her cocktail. I wasn't sure what she meant, but smiled politely, feeling like I should be in on the joke. "My steward is Daniel. He's the one with the neatly trimmed beard. Such a hoot! Always keeps me laughing."
"How long have you been here at the clinic?" I asked.
"A full week, now," she said. "And it has been bliss, I'm telling you, absolute bliss."
"May I ask, has it been...successful? I don't mean to pry, but...?"
"Well, I'm still tossing these back," Kathryn explained, indicating her cocktail, "so, no bun in the oven, yet. But it's not for lack of trying. I'll be at my most fertile period starting this weekend, so I’m scheduled for round the clock sessions until the deed is done!"
Sessions, I thought. What an odd way to phrase it. "I didn't realize that Jake and I--that's my husband, Jake--would be separated when we first arrived at the clinic. How long were you and your husband apart?"
Kathryn looked perplexed by my question. "My husband? Roger? I haven't seen Roger since we got off the boat." She smiled slyly. "And haven't thought much about him, either, if you know what I mean."
"A full week and you haven't even seen him?" I wondered. "But then, well, how on earth are you supposed to...? I don't understand."
Kathryn took me by the hand and pulled me beside her on the sofa. "Oh, honey," she said, quite serious now, "you don't think...you don't seriously think that we're here at the clinic to have...our husband's babies, do you? Oh, the last thing I want is Roger's baby! I mean, a white baby? Shudder!"
I felt a little light-headed at this news. Did this woman simply have a bizarre sense of humor?
"If not your husband's baby, if not our husbands' babies....then who on earth is supposed to...?"
"Our stewards, sweetie. Well, really, any of the black men on the island. They've all been specifically chosen for their virility. For their simply astronomical sperm counts. You seriously did not know this?"
I shook my head in disbelief. "My OB-GYN, she recommended the clinic. We've been having such trouble trying to conceive. She must not have known, she couldn't have known...!"
Kathryn gave me a sympathetic smile. "Honey, is your OB-GYN...black, by any chance?"
"She, well, yes, she's African-American. But I don't...what does that…?"
"She knew," Kathryn replied. "I guarantee: she knew."
"B-b-but why?" I stammered. "Why on earth would I want a strange man's baby?"
"Oh, sweetie. Not a strange man. A black man. That makes all the difference. Haven't you heard? The number of white boys who are sterile or impotent or just celibate, voluntarily or not, is going through the roof. That's just one of the reasons that so many white women want black offspring. I know that I want my children to have a future. White men? Sweetie, they have no future."
Jake
All my banging and yelling had no result.
After a while, I just sat on the cot, my mind racing, trying to understand what had transpired. I noticed that there was a large monitor built into the wall across from the cot. There was no remote or keyboard, no buttons of any kind. As I pondered it, it glowed to life with the words "white = weakness" appearing on the screen, like a PowerPoint presentation. This was followed by the equation "Black = strength." A series of pairings followed: white was equated with deception, cruelty, ugliness, hate, and black with truth, kindness, beauty, love. I was confused, and it did not occur to me that the terms referred to race until the words were replaced by images of very explicit pornographic interracial sex, white women coupling with multiple black men in various positions and groupings.
I was no stranger to pornography, and had even viewed some interracial videos on occasion, always in private, without Allison's knowledge. The scenes on the monitor, however, appeared very DIY, as if taken with a cell phone camera or even security footage. I then recognized the beach and the bungalows. The sexual encounters I was watching had been filmed right here on the island. I began to think that I even recognized some of the black men in the scenes from among the stewards and even the crew of the catamaran. I couldn't puzzle out what was going on, but experienced a cold chill through my whole body, a sense of foreboding. Where the hell was my wife? What was happening to her while I languished in this bleak cell?
Then I recognized one of the participants with a certainty: Doctor Rolle himself. Wearing only an unbuttoned white linen shirt that revealed his lean, sinewy, brown body, he mounted a young, naked woman, with a blonde bob, from behind, her mouth agape at the feel of his lengthy erection sliding deep into the canal of her pussy. He clearly wore no protection. As he began rutting into her, Doctor Rolle wrapped his large hands around the mounds of her pale breasts, pulling her into him. No sound accompanied the video, but I felt I could almost hear her moan as he fucked her deeply.
Suddenly, the video stopped, replaced on the screen with the simple phrase, "The future is black." The single light above me clicked off, but those words remained on the monitor.
Allison
Samuel arrived promptly at 6:45.
I was ready for him, wearing a simple white summer dress with shoulder straps, and open-toe, flat beach sandals, my hair pulled back in a ponytail. As I tried to fasten my opal teardrop pendant necklace, Samuel stepped behind me to help with the tricky clasp. "Allow me," he said, his voice rich and deep. As his hands moved across the nape of my neck, I thought of Kathryn's revelation about the clinic. Was Samuel's purpose really to act as a sexual surrogate, to impregnate me so that I could carry his black child? It seemed preposterous, like a nutty practical joke, but she was so earnest.
"There," he said, turning me to face him, his hands on my bare shoulders. "That looks very nice." Our eyes locked. He was very handsome, indeed, and probably about ten years my junior. He ran a finger through a lose stand of my hair, sweeping it out of my eyes. I felt an electricity between us, and was shocked to realize how far Jake was from my thoughts as I pondered an adulterous tryst with this charming, young man. Shocked, perhaps, but, to my surprise, not really ashamed. If Jake had been man enough to actually impregnate me himself, I thought with some bitterness, we wouldn't even be here. "We really should be going," Samuel said softly. "Mustn't keep the doctor waiting."
Samuel seemed like such a kind, thoughtful young man, I did not want to broach the questions raised by Kathryn's wild claims. I would save them for the so-called orientation with Doctor Rolle. This was his clinic; surely, he could clarify what I could only assume was a great misunderstanding. It was still light out as we walked along the beach, the ocean calm, the sun moving toward the horizon. I noticed that the other women who had been with me on the boat ride to the island were also being escorted along the shore, past the bungalows and the stucco administration building, toward the doctor's cottage, which Samuel pointed out on the far side of the small island, sitting upon a sandy bluff.
I realized as we strolled along the shore that Samuel had taken my hand in his, as he chatted unselfconsciously about the island's flora and fauna. I should feel guilty, I should miss my husband, miss Jake, but I found Samuel's presence and manner so pleasant, so engaging that I gripped his hand unashamedly. I observed that the other women were similarly intimate with their stewards. One of the handsome black men, in fact, had his arm around the waist of Rebecca, the Asian woman I had met, her head resting on his shoulder. Did my companions all know the truth about this clinic? Was I the only one that had no hint of its actual purpose?
As we neared the cottage, with the sound of gentle waves lapping the shore, I found myself thinking about what it would be like to carry this man's baby. He was so different from Jake: masculine, confident, assured. There was none of the anxiety and social awkwardness that my husband so often exhibited, and which I had learned to live with in our ten years of marriage. Kathryn had said that the very last thing she wanted was her husband's baby, that she looked forward to carrying the child of a black stranger instead. My initial shock at the thought of that had begun to wane. Although it would be going too far to say that I was on board with the idea, I confess: I was warming to it.
A veranda decorated the front of Doctor Rolle's cottage, crowded with tropical plants, wicker chairs, a hammock. The doctor himself greeted us at the screen door, a striking man, perhaps in his early fifties, with a closely shaved head and a black beard spotted with gray. He had a warm smile and light tan eyes, his skin caramel-colored. His dress was casual: a peach, linen button-down shirt, white trousers, and beige boat shoes. Despite his mild manner, he had a commanding presence and energy. He identified each of us by name--Rebecca, Jennifer, Janet, and myself--and with a familiar kiss on the cheek. He invited us in to the front parlor, indicating cushioned rattan chairs arranged in a semi-circle around a table of hors d'oeuvres. "Please, make yourselves comfortable, and we'll get to know one another a little better," he said.
Jake
I lay on the cot fitfully, the soft glow from the monitor my only light. "The future is black" was seared in my mind. Even when I closed my eyes or turned away, I found myself looking back at that phrase, practically the only thing visible in this damned cell. Once in a while, I could hear the faint shout of one of my fellow prisoners. In time, I felt myself drifting off to sleep, my intermittent dreams full of half-man beasts lurking amid the shadows of a thick jungle. I tried to evade them, to run, but they surrounded me. I was helpless.
"You're nervous," I heard a man's voice say. "Understandable, quite understandable."
I opened my eyes. The monitor displayed Doctor Rolle, sitting in a circle with four women, the wives of the men locked in these cells with me, as well as my own wife, Allison. The older black man was smiling at the women, patiently, kindly. Sound accompanied the video this time around.
"Some of the women," Rolle explained, "who come to the clinic, they understand what to expect. They have heard...rumors, gossip. They know that they come to the island to experience the superior virility, the greater vitality, of the black race. They willingly offer their wombs to help ensure a, well, let’s simply call it: a blacker future. In return, they enjoy a sexual satisfaction that they have been denied, straddled as they are, as you all have been, with white boy husbands. Or, in your case, Rebecca, and almost as bad, an Asian husband." Rebecca, who I remembered Allison speaking with on the boat trip, giggled at the slight.
"Your...men...although I hesitate to call them that," Rolle said with distaste, "have failed you; they have proved unable to provide what very nearly all women deeply want, a child. We are here to rectify that."
I balked. Was this madman saying what he seemed to be saying. Did he really intend on impregnating Allison, these other women, with black children. My wife would never consent to such insanity.
"Doctor, I don't mean to be rude, but you do know how, well, how preposterous all this seems, don't you?" It was Allison, my own wife, sounding the voice of reason. Good girl!
"My dear, Allison, of course I do. At initial blush, it would strike any sane person as lunacy. But...and science will bear this out, the white race as we know it is in serious decline. Studies show that the sperm counts of white men throughout the world are in sharp decline. The children that they do sire are very often diseased, wispy, sexually aberrant little things that would have been better off not born at all."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The women in the room, however, looked at one another, some of them nodding with understanding. "And I ask you, all of you to be honest," Doctor Rolle continued. "Do your white boys satisfy you...sexually...at all? Do you find yourselves wondering if there were something more? Something missing?" He looked around the room with a smug, knowing grin. "It is all part and parcel of the same problem: the white race is in the initial stages of extinction. By coming here, by opening your wombs to a black future, to an African future, you are signaling that you are not ready for extinction, that you want to contribute to the future, and the concomitant erotic pleasures that are your due as women."
Just then, another woman entered the room, a curvaceous red-head in a one-piece, yellow swimsuit. She gave Allison a small wave as she approached Doctor Rolle. She knelt on the floor before him. "Ladies, I would like you to meet Kathryn," the doctor said. I did not recognize her from the boat we had taken to the island; I wondered how she knew Allison. "Kathryn," Rolle continued, "if you please." He nodded at his lap.
The red-head crawled forward, burying her face in Rolle's lap, mouthing his crotch with her moist lips. Based on the angle of the footage, it occurred to me that there must be a security camera mounted on or near the ceiling since the viewing angle had changed. I watched as Kathryn grasped the growing bulge in the doctor's slacks, massaging it lustily as she looked up to his face. She looked as much like an animal in heat as an adult woman. She lowered the zipper of his fly, and reached in, grasping his erection with enthusiasm. When she worked his cock out of his fly, it stood straight and hard, jutting up from his lap, several shades darker than the doctor's otherwise creamy mocha shade. She stroked it in her delicate white hand, her nails painted deep red, as she stuck her tongue out to lap at his globular scrotum. Despite myself, I was transfixed by the debauchery playing out on the video.
Allison
I couldn't believe my eyes. The woman I had shared drinks with just a few hours ago, was now on her knees in a roomful of people licking a black man's balls and his enormous erection. I had heard rumors and jokes, of course, about the superior size of black men's penises, but was unprepared for the monolith that Kathryn grasped in her hand. It must have been about three times the size of Jake's boy-like appendage. I had never particularly cared much for male genitalia; they always seemed a means to an end more than anything else: intercourse, orgasm, pregnancy, baby. But the column of flesh that jutted up from Doctor Rolle's lap was simply astounding. Mesmerizing.
Kathryn lowered her mouth over the plum-sized head, impaling her throat on the monstrous erection. She was orally skilled, certainly much more than I have ever been, usually gagging even on Jake's little cock. In practically no time at all, she had sucked almost the entire shaft to the back of her throat with barely any real difficulty. The other women marveled as much as I did at her performance. I noticed Samuel and some of the other stewards, standing quietly on the far side of the room, massaging their crotches as they watched Kathryn's performance. I wondered: how many of them had felt her mouth on them in the last week? How many had deposited their seed in her womb in an effort to impregnate her?
"That's right, white girl," Doctor Rolle intoned in an almost singsong chant. "Demonstrate your fidelity to the black man, show your love for the superior race, the race that is destined to inherit the earth with your betrayal of your own weak, white bloodline." My assumptions aside, Kathryn and Doctor Rolle had been in earnest, completely sincere in their belief in black racial superiority. The purpose of the clinic was to inseminate white wombs with black children, to further the goal of white extinction. I knew that I should be appalled...but as I watched the tableau before me, Kathryn submitting to the undeniable power of black manhood, I found myself becoming increasingly aroused, all thoughts and consideration of Jake slipping from my mind. It was, after all, his failing, his lack of virility that had brought us to this island, to this new hope for the future. Doctor Rolle's chant continued: "Suck it, white whore. Prepare my phallus for your married, white pussy. The end of your race awaits you in my big, fat, black balls!"
The young Asian woman I had befriended on the boat ride to the island, Rebecca, stood from her chair and walked boldly up to her steward, a tall, broad-shouldered, dark brown man named Isaac. Without any inhibition, Rebecca wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his. He returned the kiss, his large hands running down her sides, slipping inside the waist of her light, cotton skirt, taking firm hold of her ass. Jennifer, Janet, and I looked at one another in bemused shock, returning our attention to Doctor Rolle and Kathryn, even as each of our own stewards moved closer to where we were seated. I felt Samuel run his fingers through my hair. When I looked up at him questioningly, he bent down and pressed his full brown lips against my mouth. To my own surprise, I didn't pull away.
Jake
I sat dumbfounded on the hard cot, my eyes glued to the screen as a black stranger kissed my wife. I wanted to shout, to smash the monitor, but instead I became aware that I was growing erect, my penis hardening in the coveralls that had been provided for me. These people, these monsters, had separated Allison and me from one another, and now were taking advantage of her vulnerability, manipulating her. That was the only explanation.
Just then the screen went black again. I sat alone in a silent, darkened room. After several moments, the screen lit up with the words, "The future is Black." I stared at it, alternating between anger and fear and frustration. The words began to blur, and changed before my eyes. "YOUR future is Black," it now read. My cock had become fully erect at the thought of Allison with that black bastard. I released it, and, weeping, began to jerk myself, knowing that my sperm was feeble and useless.
Allison
Samuel stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders, as we watched Doctor Rolle lift Kathryn to her feet, and instruct her to slip out of her swimsuit. She did so, revealing a curvaceous figure, with a generous bosom and rounded buttocks. He told her to get on all fours, with her back to him. She complied, facing us, an eager, expectant grin on her face. Doctor Rolle stood behind her, stepping out of his slacks, and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a trim, well-defined physique, his chest lightly-haired, his skin the color of mocha. He was quite striking.
"Do you want my black cock, white girl?" Doctor Rolle inquired of Kathryn, as she knelt in anticipation.
"Yes, sir!" Kathryn cried. "I need your black cock, Doctor!"
"Do you want my black baby, white girl?"
"Oh, yes, please," she answered. "I do! I want your black baby growing inside me!"
Seemingly satisfied, Doctor Rolle mounted Kathryn from behind, easing his bayonet of a cock deep into her pussy. As he began to rut into her, he looked so majestic, kingly. A week of taking large, black cocks had apparently accustomed Kathryn's pussy to the superior length and girth of black men, as she evinced no pain or discomfort, a look of supreme pleasure playing across her face.
Jennifer and Janet were as enthralled as I was at the sight before us. I had never even seen another couple have sex outside of the occasional soft-core pornography, let alone witnessed an interracial couple rutting before my very eyes. Rebecca and Isaac also watched from across the room, each of them stripped naked, caressing one another's bodies. We all watched Doctor Rolle fuck deep into Kathryn. Rebecca shot me a lewd grin, as she took hold of Isaac's erect staff, and stroked the shaft in her small, pale hand. I was very conscious of Samuel's fingers on my shoulders, on the nape of my neck, enjoying the strength and confidence of his hands. The thought of Samuel mounting me from behind the way Doctor Rolle had Kathryn played through my mind, and I felt my own pussy become warm and wet. Jake had never once taken me like that, never exhibited that degree of passion and control. I realized how much I had been missing straddled with an inadequate white man all these years. It was little wonder he was infertile.
Jake
I awoke when the lights came on in my cell. I had no idea how much time had passed, but the words "YOUR future is Black" remained on the monitor. I noticed a tray on the floor, with a bowl of food and a bottle of water. It occurred to me how hungry I was. Without any consideration that the food might be drugged, I began devouring what turned out to be rather thin, watery oatmeal or gruel. I guzzled the water. After eating, I examined the door, and discovered the seam of an opening through which the tray must have been pushed. I tried to force it, but it was locked from the other side. Once again, I banged futilely on the door a few times, knowing from my previous efforts that I would be ignored.
The monitor hummed to life again. There was no sound, but I recognized the image on the screen as the beach right outside this building, the very sun and fresh air and freedom that was being denied me. I saw two figures walking along the shore, hand in hand. I clenched inside as I realized that it was my wife, my Allison, and the black steward who had kissed her in front of Doctor Rolle. They were talking and laughing as if they had known one another for years. Allison wore a two-piece swimsuit, her chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail. The black man wore swim trunks, his fit physique on display. Allison had never once hinted that she might be attracted to black men, but here she was apparently enamored of this black stranger, not sparing a moment's noticeable concern for my well-being. I was simultaneously relieved that she appeared safe and bereft that my disappearance did not seem to trouble her.
I realized that at least a full day must have passed since I was locked in this cell. Had Allison spent the night in the company of that black bastard? Had Doctor Rolle himself pawed at her with his black hands, taken advantage of her as he had of that busty redhead? What had begun as an effort to create a ****** was quickly becoming a nightmare. I could do nothing but watch as my wife and this black stranger dove into the waves, playing happily in the warm water. Phrases such as "Black is better" and "Black is beautiful" were superimposed over the video of my wife splashing in the waves with the black man. I knew instinctively that I was being subjected to black supremacist propaganda even as Allison was undergoing some kind of indoctrination. They were attempting to brainwash me, and if the hard-on I had was any indication, they were succeeding.
Allison
After the evening at Doctor Rolle's cottage, Samuel escorted me back to my bungalow. I knew that he would stay the night if I asked him. As tempted as I was, I couldn't bring myself to betray my husband, even though the things I had seen and heard were surprisingly persuasive. Samuel didn't press for an invitation. Instead, he placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me gently toward him. Our lips met in an intimate kiss, his tongue playfully moving around inside my mouth. "I'll see you in the morning," he said. I found myself looking forward to it as I climbed into my bed, my thoughts lingering on Samuel's touch, his kiss. He was so attentive and kind, but undeniably masculine at the same time. Some of the black men were more openly aggressive, even lewd, like Rebecca's steward, Isaac. I wondered if Doctor Rolle paired us with the steward that best fit our personal demeanor.
I had brunch that morning with the other new arrivals: Jennifer, Janet, and Rebecca. We ate at a gazebo that sat on a wide lawn and faced the beach. We were served by young, playful Bahamian boys. They brought us eggs and fruit and various breads, as well as mimosas and coffee. I soon found out that Rebecca had indeed spent the night with Isaac. She explained that she had known beforehand about the clinic's methods of dealing with white male infertility, and had been looking forward to being, what she called, blacked. Her husband, who was also Korean-American, likewise knew that Rebecca would be impregnated with a black baby during their stay. He knew that their failure to conceive was his fault, and accepted cuckoldry as his just punishment. I wondered if Jake could possibly be convinced of the same thing.
"Do you know," I ventured, "what they've done with our husbands?"
Rebecca shook her head. "I don't know, and I honestly don't really care. Last night, Isaac fucked me better than I have ever been fucked. He filled me in ways I hadn't thought possible. If Steve were as much of a man as Isaac, we wouldn't be here." Jennifer and Janet nodded their agreement. Like me, neither of them had spent the night with their stewards, but their regret was apparent as Rebecca described her night of raw passion.
"I'm going to do it," Janet resolved. "Screw Ronald! I'm not getting any younger. If I'm ever going to have a baby, then I want it to be black." She bit deeply from a halved mango. "Doctor Rolle is right: black men are just so much more masculine and confident. They have much higher sperm counts than white guys from what I've read. Nature intended them to dominate whites. I want to help create a better future by having a black child." We all indicated our assent; black men simply seemed superior in every way that mattered. Doctor Rolle's work was intended to open the eyes of repressed white women like ourselves, and it was succeeding.
"You know what I think," Jennifer offered. "I think the only reason we haven't considered this before is--and I'm ashamed to say this--lingering racism. We were all raised to look down on black people because society feared the truths that we are learning here. Now, the truth is coming out! It's going to change the world, and I for one cannot wait." I considered Jennifer's point. I had never thought of myself as racist in any way, but it was true that I had never really looked at black men with any romantic interest. Until we came to this island that is. Now, everything was changing.
After brunch, our stewards came to collect us and take us for a dip in the water. It was delightfully warm, and such a joy to swim in the clear, light blue lagoon. The ocean water seemed to transform Samuel into a mischievous young boy. He splashed me playfully. He dove for minutes at a time, swimming around me like a dolphin. He emerged from the waves a few feet from me, grinning from ear to ear, holding out a pink-tinged conch that he had discovered underwater. He held it out to me, and I moved closer, waist-deep in the gently lapping waters. I placed my hands over his around the conch, standing close enough that our bodies almost touched. I looked up, and our eyes locked. He leaned closer, and our lips touched.
Some part of me knew that he was just doing his duty, that he had probably bedded dozens of white women before me in an effort to impregnate them for the clinic, maybe more. Nevertheless, I felt a magnetism between us, a pull I couldn't resist. Still, grasping the conch in one hand, I wrapped my arms around his strong, powerful neck, and returned the kiss. His lips felt wonderful against mine. That I was betraying my marriage vows to Jake felt completely irrelevant. When I thought about it, I realized that, like Rebecca, I didn't actually give a damn where my husband was or what had become of him. All I wanted was to feel Samuel, to feel him inside of me.
Jake
I watched as Allison and the black man went to their knees on the beach, wrapped in one another's arms, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. The resolution of the hidden cameras was disturbingly clear, leaving little to the imagination. I watch as he slipped the straps of her swim top off her shoulders, letting it drop to reveal her pale, modestly-rounded breasts and pink areolas, the darker nipples hard with excitement. His large brown hands cupped her bosom as her own hands ran over his chiseled brown chest and taut stomach. I felt myself grow queasy as I watch her left hand—the very one bearing the wedding ring I had placed on it years earlier—slip inside the waistband of his swimsuit, reaching for his growing erection.
I let out an involuntary cry. I collapsed on the cot, pulling the thin pillow over my face, unable to bear the sight of my wife's infidelity. I screamed into the pillow several times in frustration and rage and despair. I was helpless in this cell while my wife was being indoctrinated into this strange cult of black supremacy. It was obscene. As much as I resisted, however, I ultimately removed the pillow from my face, and gazed at the screen across from me. They were lying on the beach now, Allison on her back, the black man on top of her, both stripped naked. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts, as the waves washed over their legs. Allison's hands roamed freely, unashamedly over his dark brown body, He said something to her, but there was no sound. She nodded assent, almost as if under his spell. He reached between them, grasping an obscenely large erection, and penetrated my wife's faithless pussy. Allison's back arched as her mouth opened in a silent mix of pain and pleasure. Despite my agony, my disgust, I felt my own cock grow rigid. It was perverse, but involuntary.
As the black man began fucking my beautiful wife with her full consent, the camera angle began to widen. Further up the beach, I saw Ronald's wife—Janet, I think her name was—her back to a palm tree, her arms and legs wrapped around a tall, lean-bodied black man with long dreadlocks, who rutted into her from a standing position. Nearby, Mike's wife, Jennifer, orally serviced a young black man with a shaved head and short goatee, who was lying back on a lounge chair. Steve's wife, Rebecca, knelt on all fours on the beach, fucked from behind by a particularly well-muscled, almost charcoal-black man, who held her long, luxuriant black hair in his fist as he pounded into her. If I was seeing all this, then my fellow inmates were likely witnessing Allison's betrayal. The thought, sick as it was, made me grown even harder.
Unable to resist any longer, I grasped my rather puny white dick inside the coveralls, and began jerking it. As the camera angle switched from one unfaithful wife to another, finally returning to Allison, her back arched to meet the black man's primal thrusts. "Uh, uh, fuck, fuck," I found myself chanting, "fuck her, fuck her! Fuck my wife! Fuck her!" I beat my prick vigorously. The sight of my sexy wife in the throes of such unrestrained passion with a stranger drove me wild. The phrase from the monitor ran through my debauched mind: Black is better, Black is better. Black is better. It had taken only one night, it seemed, to persuade my once-faithful wife of that reality. As I spilled my useless seed yet again, it occurred to me that Allison was not the only one who was being brainwashed.
Allison
I didn't even think of stopping Samuel from cumming inside me as we made love on the beach. I was here after all to get pregnant. I no longer balked at the thought of it being by a man other than my husband Jake, of being mother to a biracial child. In fact, increasingly, I warmed to the idea of my belly growing big with a black baby. Doctor Rolle, Kathryn, the other women, they were all right. There was something special, powerful, simply put, better about black men. My bigot of a step-father would have called me a race traitor, but I knew better. I knew that I awakening to the truth of black supremacy.
As Samuel and I moved from the beach to the bungalow, we passed the other women, all in various positions with their own stewards. I was not shocked or scandalized by the sight as I might have been just a week ago. Instead, it seemed quite natural and beautiful. In the bungalow, Samuel and I resumed our love-making in bed. He moved down my body, burying his face between my legs, his mouth and tongue skillfully working my clitoris in a way I had never experienced, all the while manipulating my pussy with his fingers. Jake had never once aroused me so completely in all our years of marriage.
Samuel was so virile that he appeared to have no trouble growing fully aroused even so shortly after cumming inside me. With his mouth pressed to mine, he eased himself back into me, all the while his dexterous fingers manipulated my engorged clit. "I love the idea of my seed growing inside you, Allison," he told me. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than knowing that my baby was feeding at this sweet, white bosom, that you had dedicated yourself to nurturing my black child." His words were seductive, painting a beautiful post-racial picture of white mothers raising mixed-race children, free of the problematic burden of white babies. He fucked me masterfully for another thirty minutes, bringing me to orgasm after orgasm, all the while whispering softy of the black future we were creating together, before inundating me with yet another torrent of his dominant DNA.
Samuel left me to rest. I had the most wonderful sleep that afternoon, dreaming that I was indeed carrying Samuel's child, that a black life was quickening within me. I was becoming convinced that Doctor Rolle was correct: dedicating my womb and my life to black children was the right thing to do, not only for myself, but the future of the world. The white race was a blight, he had told us last night, and the world would be better off when our genes were fully diluted by superior DNA. For the first time I could recall, I came in my sleep.
It surprised me that I did not see Samuel that night. Instead, however, I had dinner with the other women. We were served fresh salmon, grilled tomatoes, a salad with lentils, walnuts, and aged cheese: all foods, we were told, intended to promote fertility. We talked in turn of our lovers, their skill, and their commitment to black supremacy. It was apparent that each of us had been persuaded by the idea to one degree or another. Rebecca, especially, spoke disdainfully of white and Asian men, their weakness and their presumptiveness. She spoke about her husband, Steve, being similarly committed to the idea of raising black children, and confessed that he was not even actually infertile like the rest of our husbands. He was merely voluntarily celibate, and completely supportive of Rebecca's sexual desire for black men. Rebecca explained that she had never once suffered the indignation of having her husband's insignificant Korean penis inside her black-only vagina. I found I envied her.
Jennifer asked Rebecca what all were thinking. "If you have black lovers, why bother coming all the here to get pregnant."
"To meet Doctor Rolle, of course," Rebecca explained. "I've read all his books. What he is doing here is so important. It will help change the world. We both really wanted our first child to be one conceived at his clinic, perhaps even conceived by Doctor Rolle himself, if we get so lucky."
I expected that I would see Samuel the next morning, but instead I was surprised when Isaac knocked at my bungalow door, the steward who had been spending time with Rebecca. He was the darkest-skinned of all the stewards, and the most muscular, with thick biceps and shredded, washboard abs. He explained that, if I had no objections, he would be my host for the afternoon. His accent was different than that of the other men, but I couldn’t place it. After a light breakfast of tropical fruit, he took me out on his boat, and we went snorkeling at one of the nearby reefs. He taught me how to breath using the snorkel, and showed me leatherback sea turtles, spotted eagle rays, and colorful tropical fish of endless variety.
Back on the boat, I lay in the sun, while Isaac applied sunscreen to my shoulders and arms. When he asked if he could remove my swimsuit to apply lotion to my breasts and thighs, I discovered any sense of bourgeois morality had faded away, and I let him strip me bare, enjoying the feel of his onyx black hands on my pale body. As he dipped his fingers into my cunt, he spoke philosophically about the benefits of melanin, of the brotherhood of the African diaspora, of the great achievements of African people so long subverted by slavers and colonizers. He was originally from Sudan, and assured me that while Africa would soon take its rightful place as the greatest of continents, it would do so with the help of black people around the world, as well as white race traitors such as myself. It excited him that so many white women sought to make up for the crimes of our race by offering our wombs to the black hegemony. He thought it was just and poetic.
We made love right on the boat, in the sun and cool ocean breeze.
The next morning, I was taken for a hike on a trail through the small island's interior by another steward, Desmond, who was from Jamica. He had the most wonderful accent. In a clearing on a high hill, from which we could see the ocean in every direction, Desmond taught me a number of yoga poses that he assured me were helpful with conception. Later, back at my bungalow, he gave me the most exquisite, restorative massage, before making love to me with a skill that made me briefly forget even Samuel and Isaac.
I realized that each of the stewards was adept at a particular discipline. Samuel's expertise had been romance and seduction; Isaac's was intellectual, philosophical; Desmond's was physiological, carnal. Over the next several days, I would learn that each of the stewards asserted their particular skill in order to win us over to Doctor Rolle's racial worldview. By the weekend, I had enjoyed sexual intercourse with seven different men, a different one each morning, all of them black and all of them unprotected. Janet, Jennifer, and Rebecca had enjoyed the same pleasure. We shared our experiences each night over dinner, sinking deeper and ever deeper down the rabbit hole of black supremacy.
One night, Kathryn stopped by to say farewell. Her most recent pregnancy test had come back positive. She was carrying a black child. “I might not be glowing on the outside, yet,” she confided in me. “But I am absolutely ebullient on the inside!” We exchanged contact information, and promised to stay in touch through her (and hopefully my own) pregnancy. She hugged me. “I just know that you are going to have a beautiful bun in your oven in no time. Who knows: our babies may even be siblings!”
On Saturday, Jennifer, Janet, Rebecca, and I were summoned, one at a time, to Doctor Rolle's cottage. I met with him at noon, after a quiet morning relaxing on the beach. He greeted me on his veranda wearing nothing but a white cotton robe and an inviting smile. "Allison," he said, taking my hands, "so good to see you again. Shall we enjoy the fresh air?" He motioned for me to join him at a table for two set up on the porch. A pitcher of sangria was set out, and he poured two glasses. "High in antioxidants," he explained. "Another boost to your fertility." I took the chilled glass from him. "So, tell me, by dear, have you enjoyed your stay with us thus far?"
I felt myself redden just a bit, knowing full well that Doctor Rolle must have been aware of my time with each of the stewards. "Let me ask you, Doctor," I said, "do any of your...patients...ever complain?"
He laughed at that. "Oh, well, we occasionally have the unsatisfied customer, one who fails to be persuaded to our way of thinking. Rare, but it happens. Most, though, I'm happy to say, leave my little island convinced of the truths I espouse, and with a new black life growing within them, of course. Would it make you happy, Allison, if you left here with a black child in your womb?"
I lowered my eyes, and whispered simply, "Yes."
"What's that, my dear," he challenged me. "I don't think I quite heard you."
"Yes," I repeated, looking directly at him. "I want to leave here carrying a black baby. I hope...I hope that I'm already pregnant?"
Doctor Rolle smiled. "And what about your white boy, what's his name?"
It took a moment, but I said, "Jake. What...what about him?"
"Do you think that he could be persuaded to raise another man's child? A black child? That he will devote himself to the extinction of his own race?"
"Honestly? I don't know, Doctor. I have hardly given Jake a moment’s thought since I got here." I realized that what I said was true, that it was something that would have troubled me a few days ago, but now seemed completely natural. Jake was…unimportant. Insignificant. Obsolete. Especially if he proved close-minded toward black supremacy and helping to raising my child.
"Good girl," Doctor Rolle replied to that. "Come here, Allison," he said, indicating his lap. I moved, and sat on his lap, his arm resting on my back. He ran a finger through my hair, and kissed my forehead. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a small bottle of pills, holding it before me. "What if I were to tell you, Allison, that these pills could restore your white boy's virility, make him fertile, able to bear children? What would you do?"
I looked at the pills, tried to imagine Jake climbing on top of me, his small white penis inside me, straining himself, sweating, grunting. It was revolting, nauseating. "I'd flush them," I replied. "I'd flush them down the toilet without a second thought."
Doctor Rolle kissed me on the mouth, his tongue darting inside lewdly. "But…what if I were to tell you that these pills would leave your husband not only infertile, but dysfunctional, unable to either breed or even fuck ever again?"
"I'd put one in every fucking meal he eats," I stated with conviction, meaning every single word. "I'd rather turn Jake into a eunuch than let him father a child of mine."
Doctor Rolle kissed me again, covering my mouth with his as his hands unworked the buttons of my light blouse. I returned his kisses eagerly, reaching into his robe, letting my petite white hands roam over his lean, lightly-furred torso, reaching for the thick erection that I had watched rut into Kathryn not very long ago. The idea of giving myself to this black man, almost thirty years my senior, perhaps being impregnated by him if I wasn't already with child, excited me terribly. His robe opened, his long cock curved up from his lap, larger than Samuel’s or Isaac’s or any of the other men who had sexed me this week. His testicles were large and ebony, filled with life-giving sperm that I longed to feel wash over my ovaries. I raised myself onto his spike of a cock and skewered myself happily on its length. A week ago, the effort would have been excruciating, tearing deeper into me than any man had ever been. After being blacked by several well-hung, sexually-gifted young men, I took Doctor Rolle's entire length with delight and only the slightest exertion.
He let me ride him like that for a while, sitting back calmly, enjoying the sight of me working myself to orgasm after orgasm on his magnificent prong. Knowing the fact that the entire clinic was the brainstorm of this man, that the conversion of white women like myself was his entire raison d’etre, only drove me to a greater sexual frenzy. Eventually, he lifted me up from the chair, fucking into me from a standing position, my legs wrapped around him, my face buried his neck. Then he tossed me over the table like a ragdoll, and fucked me from behind, his large black hands holding my ass cheeks apart as he drilled deep into my faithless pussy. I wondered how many white women he had used in this way, how many he had knocked up, finding myself only more excited by the thought that it might be hundreds, perhaps thousands.
"I want your ass, too, white girl," he told me. "Do you surrender it?"
I had never been anally penetrated before, not even by Jacob's little dink, barely a third the size of Doctor Rolle's proud organ. I nodded. "Yes, fuck my ass, just...," I hesitated. "Just, please, save your cum for my pussy! Please!"
"Don't worry, Allison," he assured me, withdrawing his cock from my ravaged cunt. "This nut is going nowhere but deep in your beautiful pussy. I just want to demonstrate that breeding is not the only way you can serve the black race." Kneeling behind me, the doctor licked at my puckered asshole, plying it with his tongue and his fingers. With nothing but his spit and precum as lubricant, he plopped the head of his massive prick past the opening of my sphincter. “Your body is ours, white girl,” he explained, “to use for our pleasure, to do with as we will.” I stifled a cry, feeling my anal muscles tear as he worked his way into my ass inch by beautiful black inch. It took him several minutes before he got balls deep, but once he did, he began sawing in and out of my rectum very nearly as easily as he had my pussy. Flattened against the tabletop, I bit my wrist, and tried to constrict my sphincter muscles to give Doctor Rolle as much pleasure as possible. His would not be the last black dick I would welcome up my ass.
True to his word, Doctor Rolle eventually flipped me onto my back, and, courteously wiping his long prick clean with a nearby napkin, plunged himself back into my baby canal. As he fucked into me, he playfully smacked at my breasts, saying, "Soon, you're going to have a hungry black child nursing on these, Allison. Promise me that you'll never use them to nurture a white parasite!"
"I promise, Doctor," I cried, enjoying how roughly he handled the tender flesh of my breasts. "These tits will be for black babies only! My pussy is for black dick only! I promise! I promise!"
Smiling down at me, enjoying my avowals of dedication to his race, the black supremacist doctor emptied his bloated balls into my eager womb. I struggled for breath as I orgasmed yet again, my eyes rolling high up in my head, as I wrapped my legs around his ass, pulling his shooting cock as deep into me as it would go. This handsome, sexy man, old enough to be my father, filled me with his life-giving seed. I prayed it would take. Like Kathryn, like Rebecca, I wanted Doctor Rolle's child even more than that of the stewards who had spent the week seducing me to their beautifully racist ideology.
Afterward, Doctor Rolle and I relaxed in the hammock strung in the front yard of his cottage, my head resting on his chest as he ran his fingers slowly through my hair. The setting was idyllic. "Doctor," I asked, preferring to use his title even after our afternoon's intimacy, "if you don't mind my asking, how did you come to make the clinic, converting and impregnating white women, your life's work?"
"Mmm. Not very many white girls ever ask me that question," he said, looking at me with interest. "Well, Allison, you see, my mother met my father right here in the Bahamas," he began, "while on spring break during her freshman year at university. She was white, and from the American South. When she returned home carrying a child, she understandably hid the identity of the father from her intolerant ******. At least until I was born. When it became clear, however, that the father was black, her racist parents disowned her, kicking her out on the streets with her newborn. This was the 1960s, you see, and her opportunities as an unwed mother, especially with a black infant, were very few. She...left me, abandoned me, at the door of a black Baptist church, with a note explaining my nativity, and information about my father. The pastor of the church and his wife raised me, educated me, and eventually helped me contact my father's ******. My father, I'm sorry to say, was long dead, but it was from his parents that I, their sole grandchild, inherited this small island." He seemed to grow wistful. "You see, I swore revenge on the vile white race, Allison, but not through violence. I resolved to fuck them into extinction, one white womb at a time. A beautiful and fit punishment, wouldn't you agree?"
I nodded, mesmerized by his sad story, at the bitterness he must feel toward the racism that had cost him a relationship with his mother, from ever knowing his father. "You...you must hate us," I said.
"I do," he nodded. "I hate your foul race. You cannot begin to fathom the contempt I hold for whites. I am content, however, to use your bodies, and your own limitless capacity for self-hatred to spread my doctrine, to grow the superior black race, and to make your corrupt, weak-minded, impotent white boys pay to raise the very generation of black kings and queens that will replace you all."
As he spoke, I stroked his bare cock back to erection, mounting him again. We stumbled out of the hammock without him once slipping from my pussy, and he fucked me against a tree. I wanted so badly to offer him succor. "Use me," I encouraged him. "Punish my white body, my white pussy, my entire race with your perfect, beautiful black cock. Make me pay!" And he did. He did. Again and again.
Jake
The door opened. Without fanfare or warning, the door to my cell simply…opened.
I stepped out into the hallway, momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lights after so many days habituated to the dimness of my cell. Blinking, I saw Ronald, Steve, and Mike step out of their own cells, noticing that other doors remained closed, presumably with other men still held behind them. At the entrance to the corridor, stood a very large black man, in sunglasses, black slacks, and a t-shirt, tight on his muscular frame. He held a baton in one hand, and held open the door to the locker room where we had changed into the jumpsuits we still wore with the other. Hesitantly, without making eye contact with one another, we each made our way for the door.
The week had consisted of an endless barrage of DIY interracial pornography, much of it featuring my own wife in the company of several different black men. She sucked numerous obscenely large black penises, growing adept at opening the back of her throat to their incredible sizes. She spread her legs for all of them, welcoming their unprotected erections deep into the warmth of a pussy that until this week had been the exclusive domain of my much smaller prick. But even worse than the sex, was the pleasure my wife took in the company of these strange men, all while I suffered days of solitude and deprivation. Now, my ordeal appeared to be over, and I was at a loss what to make of it all.
Meagan, the blonde who greeted us upon our arrival, awaited us in the locker room, accompanied by two more black-clad, hard-bodied security officers. My companions, like me, kept their eyes down, shuffling into the room slowly, unused to the freedom of movement. “Gentleman,” Meagan said cheerily, “you’ll find your clothes and other belongings in the lockers. Please, shower, change, and come out to the lobby when you’re ready. Trevor and the other guards,” she indicated the stern-looking security personnel, “can assist you as needed. See that you are quick about it, and, please, for your own sakes, do not make a fuss.”
We stripped out of our jumpsuits, depositing them in a large basket at Trevor’s direction, and headed for the showers. Mike barely acknowledged the rest of us. He moved only with great hesitation, and occasionally seemed to be hit by a wave of tremors. Ronald stared straight ahead, seeming to take some measure of comfort in instruction and routine. Steve seemed almost unperturbed, even relaxed, as if our ordeal of the past week had no effect on him.
As we showered, I noted that we all appeared to have lost a good deal of weight, even the already very thin Steve, the result of a week of very few, very sparse meals. I noticed also that Ronald had a number of severe, purplish bruises over various parts of his body. I wondered if he had hurt himself trying to escape or if his indoctrination required a more hands-on approach. Once we finished showering, we dressed, and were escorted into the lobby by the security personnel. There, we were greeted by Doctor Rolle himself, the very man who had imprisoned us and corrupted our wives, smiling nonchalantly in a gold caftan. It struck me how like the leader of a cult he appeared.
"Gentlemen," he held his arms wide. "Welcome to your new lives. It gives me great pleasure to inform you that your wives, every one of them, is now...with child." I felt a tightening in my abdomen that was matched by a stir in my groin. They did it: they successfully bred my wife. "Well, now," Doctor Rolle tutted, "aren't you going to show your appreciation?"
Steve stepped forward. He dropped to his knees, lowering his face to Doctor Rolle's feet. He pressed his lips to the doctor's open-toed espadrilles. "Thank you, Doctor," he said with sincere enthusiasm, "thank you for growing my ******." Mike knelt beside Steve, also kissing the doctor's feet. With only some reluctance, Ronald and I did the same, thanking Doctor Rolle for finding a solution to our own inadequacies. We were all so compliant that I wondered if we had been subjected to some kind of subliminal influence during our captivity or, perhaps, drugged into submissiveness. I would learn only later that indoctrination was not always so successful. White husbands who failed to demonstrate the necessary compliance after their release occasionally ended as shark chum on the trip back to Nassau. Doctor Rolle would allow nothing to interfere with his mission.
Outside, we were reunited with our wives, who stood in the company of the various stewards who had worked all week to impregnate them. Allison greeted me with a warm smile, but refrained from any physical intimacy, even after our week of forced separation. "Oh, isn't it wonderful, Jake," she said. "We're going to have a baby! It's such a blessing!" She introduced one of the stewards as Samuel, taking his hand in hers, and describing what a support he had been to her during the whole process. Samuel smiled at me cryptically as Allison talked. I was uncertain if his smile was meant to be friendly or condescending.
Nearby, I noticed Steve enthusiastically shake the hand of a steward named Isaac, thanking him for taking such good care of Rebecca. Stealing my cue from Steve, who appeared to have fully accepted a situation for which I had no frame of reference, I reached out and grasped Samuel's hand. "Thank you so much, Samuel," I said, "for helping Allison the way you did." He seemed to accept my handshake with some reluctance, even distaste. I decided to be even more direct. "I look forward to her belly swelling with a black child." Samuel grinned at that (or was it a smirk), and Allison's eyes lit up.
"That's a wise choice to make, man," Samuel advised me. "Good for you." My overt acceptance seemed to relieve some of the tension, although I noted that my wife continued to hold Samuel’s hand as if the two of them were the actual couple, inseparable, and I was just a third wheel. An afterthought.
Allison
Hearing Jake say that he looked forward to having a black baby was a great relief. It made everything so much simpler, having him fall in line like that. Obviously, there would have to be other changes to our marriage, but his acceptance was a good first step. He would also have to accept that I had no intention of giving up my newfound taste for black dick, but we would deal with that when the time was right.
Doctor Rolle stepped forward, arms outstretched. “I am so proud of all of you,” he said. “You’ve come such a long way in a short time. Your trials, though, have just begun. As you return to your lives, you will face judgment, recrimination, derision for your choices. You will, in short, understand a small bit what it has been to be black in a white man’s world.” He placed a hand on Janet’s shoulder, pressing his lips to her forehead as if in benediction. “But I have faith that you will prevail against those who would scorn you for your dedication to the new world that threatens their privilege and sanctimony.” He kissed Jennifer on the forehead, as he moved down the line. “During these travails, my children, I and my people will be with you, offering support and guidance. I have support staff placed in various cities throughout the United States. They will be there for you, for your…needs.” He took Rebecca’s hands in his, pressed his mouth to hers. “No longer will your lives be confined by the limitations of white morality. You have dedicated yourselves to the cause of black supremacy. That places you above other whites.” He glanced at Rebecca and Steve. “And other…mongrel races.”
Doctor Rolle stopped in front of me and Jake. He placed an arm around my shoulder, drawing me close to him. Our husbands all looked on, doe-eyed, compliant, offering no resistance to the Doctor’s physical domination of their wives. Janet, Jennifer, and Rebecca crowded close around us, all offering hugs of appreciation to Doctor Rolle and of support to one another. The stewards escorted our husbands to the dock and the waiting catamaran. The other women and I soon followed. With tearful goodbyes, we waved farewell to Doctor Rolle, Samuel, and all the others from the deck as the catamaran pulled away, all of us vowing that we would return when it was time for our second child.
Kathryn
Hi Girlfriend! I hope you are doing well! Your due date must be nearing if I’m not mistaken. Oh, I’m so excited for you! My Elijah was a couple weeks early, as you know. I’ve attached a ton of new photos of the beautiful little guy. I can’t be certain, but I think he looks a lot like Doctor Rolle, don’t you? Those eyes! So magnetic.
Roger has been accepting of his new role. He knows that my body is off-limits to him (and all white men. Yuck!). We’ve been talking about caging his his little white worm in semi-permanent chastity. I think it’s probably for the best. It will help him focus on what’s important, namely providing for me and Elijah. You really should think about it for whatshisname. Sexual desire is really such a nuisance for impotent, infertile white men, anyway.
I have already booked myself into the clinic for next spring. I’ll email you the dates. I hope you’ll consider scheduling yourself for the same week. It would be such a hoot to conceive our next children at the same time. Who knows, maybe even by the same father! LOL! Of course, I often avail myself of some of the clinic’s stateside support staff for my, let’s say, extra-marital needs. I hope you do the same once you’ve delivered. The doctor really only hires the best, most talented men.
It’s wonderful to know that we’re making a difference, isn’t it? The decision to resist populating the world with more white people and dedicate ourselves to raising only black children, well, it simply feels right and important, doesn’t it? As Doctor Rolle says, The future is black. And we’re doing our part to ensure that it is a bright future. Our husband’s genetic legacy will be consigned to the trash bin, where it belongs. And our own heritage will be white-free. I will be the last green-eyed, red-head in my ******, that’s for sure. Isn’t it wonderful?
Best,
Kathryn
As the high-speed catamaran shuttled us from Nassau to the exclusive fertility clinic located on a small private island off the Bahamas, my wife, Allison commented that the clinic looked more like a high-end resort, with bungalows set amidst palm trees and white sandy beaches. Once we docked, we, and the other three couples aboard, were greeted by a number of young black stewards, all in white linen shorts and short-sleeved, pastel t-shirts. The women, in particular, appeared quite charmed by their mellifluous Bahamian accents, broad, welcoming smiles, and charming manners. As they led us down the dock, we found ourselves intercepted by a very attractive blonde woman who introduced herself as Meagan.
"Gentlemen, welcome," she greeted us, subtly pulling me and the other three men to one side. "While the stewards escort your wives to their assigned bungalows, please follow me to the registration center so we can get you all...squared away." I looked around for Allison to say I would catch up with her, only to see her raptly listening to one of the stewards, who was pointing out sights along the beach. "Please, right this way," Meagan said with a wide grin, motioning us in the opposite direction of our wives.
We followed Meagan to a single-story stucco building, painted a pastel pink. As we gathered in the lobby, we were joined by a black man of about fifty, wearing a yellow, tropical-print shirt and white slacks. Meagan introduced him as Doctor Rolle, the founder of the clinic. "Welcome, welcome," he said. "Although the circumstances that brought each of you to our little retreat are unfortunate--your inability to properly impregnate your wives," he looked at each of us in turn, as if accentuating his point, "now that you are here, I guarantee, each of your lovely wives will be returning home with blossoming wombs."
One of my companions, a corporate lawyer, who had introduced himself as Ronald on the boat ride over to the island, piped up. "My wife's cousin recommended your clinic, Doctor," he said, "but I am still unclear about what you can do that the doctors in the states cannot."
"Ah, you're skeptical," Doctor Rolle observed with his wide grin. "Good for you. You've read the testimonials, of course, but you have doubts. As it should be, as it should be. But, for now, please bear with me, as we get everyone settled in. All your questions will be answered in due time." He motioned us through a set of double doors into what appeared to be a locker room. "Please, gentlemen, disrobe. You will find showers through that door. Please, soap yourselves quite thoroughly. You may leave your clothes and any personal belongings in the lockers; they will be quite safe." We were all rather perplexed, and Ronald, especially, rather put out, but Doctor Rolle excused himself, leaving us to follow his instructions.
The shower was very warm, but refreshing in the tropical humidity. The soap provided was strong and medicinal. I gathered this must all be part of the fertility treatments that had brought us here, but it certainly disabused me of the notion that this would be a mere tropical island vacation.
Half-sheets of opaque plexiglass separated me from the other men, but I could still see something of their pale, flabby bodies as they showered. I would like to have thought of myself as fitter, more virile than these other soft, middle-aged white men, but the truth is that we were all here for the same reason: none of us had proven fertile enough to impregnate our wives. I toweled myself dry, only to discover that the locker had been emptied of all my belongings save for my eyeglasses, which sat perched on a folded blue jumpsuit. Based on their reactions, my companions had all discovered a similar situation. "Gentlemen," bellowed an unseen voice over an intercom system, "your possessions are perfectly safe. Please don the clothes provided." Each of us stepped into the one-piece jumpsuits, more like prison garb than anything else. Ankle-high socks were also provided, but no shoes.
"This is outrageous!" Ronald bellowed, heading for the double doors that led to the lobby, only to discover that they were locked. "Please, gentlemen," the voice continued. "This is all part of the...evaluation process. If you'll kindly step through the door behind you, and follow the corridor, you will discover rooms prepared for you during this necessary step. Please find the room that matches the number on your outfit, and make yourselves comfortable. Your cooperation is appreciated." The chest pocket of my jumpsuit had a number 9 sewn onto it. I looked at the other men, perplexed. Ronald grumbled. Steve, a reserved, polite Asian gentleman, shrugged his shoulders and proceeded down the corridor to his assigned room. I followed his lead.
I opened door number 9 only to discover what appeared to be a cinderblock cell, with a cot chained to the wall, an uncovered toilet in the corner. "There must be some mistake," I said, turning, only to find the door closed behind me. This side of the door lacked a knob of any kind, and appeared to be locked as I pushed against it. "Hey!" I shouted. "What...what's going on?" There were no windows, and a single florescent bulb lit the room, which could not have been more than 6 x 8 feet. I banged at the door. I could faintly hear other bangs, from other cells. My companions were apparently in similar straits. "Allison," I thought, "what the hell have we gotten ourselves into?"
Allison
I really could not get over how extravagant the bungalows were! Modest beach huts on the outside, they were beautifully furnished and comfortably air-controlled on the inside, with a claw-foot tub on a raised platform in one corner, overlooking the turquoise lagoon. Samuel was the steward assigned to my bungalow, and he showed me around with pride: the linens, the elaborate fruit basket, a fully stocked liquor cabinet. "Anytime you are hungry or would like a massage," he said, indicating a telephone on the bedside table, "simply call. We are at your disposal." Samuel was young, probably barely in his twenties, his smooth, dark skin a ruddy brown, his body solid and toned. I imagine he spent a great deal of time in the beautiful surrounding waters, swimming, diving, perhaps surfing.
"Thanks so much, Samuel," I told him, fishing through my bag for some cash. When I tried to tip him, he demurred. "Oh, no, thank you. The clinic is all-inclusive. There will be plenty of time to show your appreciation when you are with child." I was surprised at his directness, but attributed it to the simple fact that all the women who visit the island come for the same reason: a baby.
"I can't imagine what's taking Jake so long," I sighed.
"Oh, Doctor Rolle insists that couples spend...some time apart when they first come to the clinic," Samuel explained. "Your white boy...ah, I mean, husband...your husband is being well provided for." As he headed for the door, the handsome, young black man paused, and informed me, "Oh, by the way, the doctor will be conducting an orientation this evening. Really just an informal meet and greet. It is scheduled for 7:00pm. I will return at 6:45 to escort you to the doctor's house. Casual dress is preferred."
With a broad smile, Samuel excused himself.
Time apart, I thought to myself, curious how that could possibly facilitate the treatment. Still...the truth is that Jake had been rather tense during the entire trip, as if feeling the burden of his, well, his inadequacy, if I'm to be blunt about it. Examining the contents of the liquor cabinet, I poured myself a white wine. If this trip was as successful as I hoped, as my OB-GYN promised when she recommended the clinic, wine was something I would have to give up for the duration of my pregnancy.
Before I'd had a chance to even take a sip, however, there was a knock at the door. I answered it to find a red-haired woman in a bright yellow one-piece bathing suit with a full pitcher of a frothy, fruity beverage, and two frosted hurricane glasses. "Greetings, honey!" she said. "I'm Kathryn from the bungalow next door. They told me new blood was arriving this afternoon. I come bearing piña coladas!"
"Oh, how nice," I answered. "I'm Allison. Please come in." I followed her over to the counter, where she proceeded to pour the glasses full. "Nothing says the tropics like a freshly mixed piña colada," Kathryn said. "Who's your steward, honey? Who did you get?"
"My steward? Oh, his name is Samuel. He seems very sweet."
"Samuel? Oh, that's the young one with the pearly white teeth and the big smile, isn't it? Good for you!" she replied with a sly smile. “He’s simply adorable!”
"Well," I laughed, "all the stewards seem to have pearly white teeth and big smiles, don't they?"
Kathryn laughed loudly. "Oh my God, you are so right! They do, don't they? And smiles are not the only big thing they have in common," she said confidentially, taking a generous sip of her cocktail. I wasn't sure what she meant, but smiled politely, feeling like I should be in on the joke. "My steward is Daniel. He's the one with the neatly trimmed beard. Such a hoot! Always keeps me laughing."
"How long have you been here at the clinic?" I asked.
"A full week, now," she said. "And it has been bliss, I'm telling you, absolute bliss."
"May I ask, has it been...successful? I don't mean to pry, but...?"
"Well, I'm still tossing these back," Kathryn explained, indicating her cocktail, "so, no bun in the oven, yet. But it's not for lack of trying. I'll be at my most fertile period starting this weekend, so I’m scheduled for round the clock sessions until the deed is done!"
Sessions, I thought. What an odd way to phrase it. "I didn't realize that Jake and I--that's my husband, Jake--would be separated when we first arrived at the clinic. How long were you and your husband apart?"
Kathryn looked perplexed by my question. "My husband? Roger? I haven't seen Roger since we got off the boat." She smiled slyly. "And haven't thought much about him, either, if you know what I mean."
"A full week and you haven't even seen him?" I wondered. "But then, well, how on earth are you supposed to...? I don't understand."
Kathryn took me by the hand and pulled me beside her on the sofa. "Oh, honey," she said, quite serious now, "you don't think...you don't seriously think that we're here at the clinic to have...our husband's babies, do you? Oh, the last thing I want is Roger's baby! I mean, a white baby? Shudder!"
I felt a little light-headed at this news. Did this woman simply have a bizarre sense of humor?
"If not your husband's baby, if not our husbands' babies....then who on earth is supposed to...?"
"Our stewards, sweetie. Well, really, any of the black men on the island. They've all been specifically chosen for their virility. For their simply astronomical sperm counts. You seriously did not know this?"
I shook my head in disbelief. "My OB-GYN, she recommended the clinic. We've been having such trouble trying to conceive. She must not have known, she couldn't have known...!"
Kathryn gave me a sympathetic smile. "Honey, is your OB-GYN...black, by any chance?"
"She, well, yes, she's African-American. But I don't...what does that…?"
"She knew," Kathryn replied. "I guarantee: she knew."
"B-b-but why?" I stammered. "Why on earth would I want a strange man's baby?"
"Oh, sweetie. Not a strange man. A black man. That makes all the difference. Haven't you heard? The number of white boys who are sterile or impotent or just celibate, voluntarily or not, is going through the roof. That's just one of the reasons that so many white women want black offspring. I know that I want my children to have a future. White men? Sweetie, they have no future."
Jake
All my banging and yelling had no result.
After a while, I just sat on the cot, my mind racing, trying to understand what had transpired. I noticed that there was a large monitor built into the wall across from the cot. There was no remote or keyboard, no buttons of any kind. As I pondered it, it glowed to life with the words "white = weakness" appearing on the screen, like a PowerPoint presentation. This was followed by the equation "Black = strength." A series of pairings followed: white was equated with deception, cruelty, ugliness, hate, and black with truth, kindness, beauty, love. I was confused, and it did not occur to me that the terms referred to race until the words were replaced by images of very explicit pornographic interracial sex, white women coupling with multiple black men in various positions and groupings.
I was no stranger to pornography, and had even viewed some interracial videos on occasion, always in private, without Allison's knowledge. The scenes on the monitor, however, appeared very DIY, as if taken with a cell phone camera or even security footage. I then recognized the beach and the bungalows. The sexual encounters I was watching had been filmed right here on the island. I began to think that I even recognized some of the black men in the scenes from among the stewards and even the crew of the catamaran. I couldn't puzzle out what was going on, but experienced a cold chill through my whole body, a sense of foreboding. Where the hell was my wife? What was happening to her while I languished in this bleak cell?
Then I recognized one of the participants with a certainty: Doctor Rolle himself. Wearing only an unbuttoned white linen shirt that revealed his lean, sinewy, brown body, he mounted a young, naked woman, with a blonde bob, from behind, her mouth agape at the feel of his lengthy erection sliding deep into the canal of her pussy. He clearly wore no protection. As he began rutting into her, Doctor Rolle wrapped his large hands around the mounds of her pale breasts, pulling her into him. No sound accompanied the video, but I felt I could almost hear her moan as he fucked her deeply.
Suddenly, the video stopped, replaced on the screen with the simple phrase, "The future is black." The single light above me clicked off, but those words remained on the monitor.
Allison
Samuel arrived promptly at 6:45.
I was ready for him, wearing a simple white summer dress with shoulder straps, and open-toe, flat beach sandals, my hair pulled back in a ponytail. As I tried to fasten my opal teardrop pendant necklace, Samuel stepped behind me to help with the tricky clasp. "Allow me," he said, his voice rich and deep. As his hands moved across the nape of my neck, I thought of Kathryn's revelation about the clinic. Was Samuel's purpose really to act as a sexual surrogate, to impregnate me so that I could carry his black child? It seemed preposterous, like a nutty practical joke, but she was so earnest.
"There," he said, turning me to face him, his hands on my bare shoulders. "That looks very nice." Our eyes locked. He was very handsome, indeed, and probably about ten years my junior. He ran a finger through a lose stand of my hair, sweeping it out of my eyes. I felt an electricity between us, and was shocked to realize how far Jake was from my thoughts as I pondered an adulterous tryst with this charming, young man. Shocked, perhaps, but, to my surprise, not really ashamed. If Jake had been man enough to actually impregnate me himself, I thought with some bitterness, we wouldn't even be here. "We really should be going," Samuel said softly. "Mustn't keep the doctor waiting."
Samuel seemed like such a kind, thoughtful young man, I did not want to broach the questions raised by Kathryn's wild claims. I would save them for the so-called orientation with Doctor Rolle. This was his clinic; surely, he could clarify what I could only assume was a great misunderstanding. It was still light out as we walked along the beach, the ocean calm, the sun moving toward the horizon. I noticed that the other women who had been with me on the boat ride to the island were also being escorted along the shore, past the bungalows and the stucco administration building, toward the doctor's cottage, which Samuel pointed out on the far side of the small island, sitting upon a sandy bluff.
I realized as we strolled along the shore that Samuel had taken my hand in his, as he chatted unselfconsciously about the island's flora and fauna. I should feel guilty, I should miss my husband, miss Jake, but I found Samuel's presence and manner so pleasant, so engaging that I gripped his hand unashamedly. I observed that the other women were similarly intimate with their stewards. One of the handsome black men, in fact, had his arm around the waist of Rebecca, the Asian woman I had met, her head resting on his shoulder. Did my companions all know the truth about this clinic? Was I the only one that had no hint of its actual purpose?
As we neared the cottage, with the sound of gentle waves lapping the shore, I found myself thinking about what it would be like to carry this man's baby. He was so different from Jake: masculine, confident, assured. There was none of the anxiety and social awkwardness that my husband so often exhibited, and which I had learned to live with in our ten years of marriage. Kathryn had said that the very last thing she wanted was her husband's baby, that she looked forward to carrying the child of a black stranger instead. My initial shock at the thought of that had begun to wane. Although it would be going too far to say that I was on board with the idea, I confess: I was warming to it.
A veranda decorated the front of Doctor Rolle's cottage, crowded with tropical plants, wicker chairs, a hammock. The doctor himself greeted us at the screen door, a striking man, perhaps in his early fifties, with a closely shaved head and a black beard spotted with gray. He had a warm smile and light tan eyes, his skin caramel-colored. His dress was casual: a peach, linen button-down shirt, white trousers, and beige boat shoes. Despite his mild manner, he had a commanding presence and energy. He identified each of us by name--Rebecca, Jennifer, Janet, and myself--and with a familiar kiss on the cheek. He invited us in to the front parlor, indicating cushioned rattan chairs arranged in a semi-circle around a table of hors d'oeuvres. "Please, make yourselves comfortable, and we'll get to know one another a little better," he said.
Jake
I lay on the cot fitfully, the soft glow from the monitor my only light. "The future is black" was seared in my mind. Even when I closed my eyes or turned away, I found myself looking back at that phrase, practically the only thing visible in this damned cell. Once in a while, I could hear the faint shout of one of my fellow prisoners. In time, I felt myself drifting off to sleep, my intermittent dreams full of half-man beasts lurking amid the shadows of a thick jungle. I tried to evade them, to run, but they surrounded me. I was helpless.
"You're nervous," I heard a man's voice say. "Understandable, quite understandable."
I opened my eyes. The monitor displayed Doctor Rolle, sitting in a circle with four women, the wives of the men locked in these cells with me, as well as my own wife, Allison. The older black man was smiling at the women, patiently, kindly. Sound accompanied the video this time around.
"Some of the women," Rolle explained, "who come to the clinic, they understand what to expect. They have heard...rumors, gossip. They know that they come to the island to experience the superior virility, the greater vitality, of the black race. They willingly offer their wombs to help ensure a, well, let’s simply call it: a blacker future. In return, they enjoy a sexual satisfaction that they have been denied, straddled as they are, as you all have been, with white boy husbands. Or, in your case, Rebecca, and almost as bad, an Asian husband." Rebecca, who I remembered Allison speaking with on the boat trip, giggled at the slight.
"Your...men...although I hesitate to call them that," Rolle said with distaste, "have failed you; they have proved unable to provide what very nearly all women deeply want, a child. We are here to rectify that."
I balked. Was this madman saying what he seemed to be saying. Did he really intend on impregnating Allison, these other women, with black children. My wife would never consent to such insanity.
"Doctor, I don't mean to be rude, but you do know how, well, how preposterous all this seems, don't you?" It was Allison, my own wife, sounding the voice of reason. Good girl!
"My dear, Allison, of course I do. At initial blush, it would strike any sane person as lunacy. But...and science will bear this out, the white race as we know it is in serious decline. Studies show that the sperm counts of white men throughout the world are in sharp decline. The children that they do sire are very often diseased, wispy, sexually aberrant little things that would have been better off not born at all."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The women in the room, however, looked at one another, some of them nodding with understanding. "And I ask you, all of you to be honest," Doctor Rolle continued. "Do your white boys satisfy you...sexually...at all? Do you find yourselves wondering if there were something more? Something missing?" He looked around the room with a smug, knowing grin. "It is all part and parcel of the same problem: the white race is in the initial stages of extinction. By coming here, by opening your wombs to a black future, to an African future, you are signaling that you are not ready for extinction, that you want to contribute to the future, and the concomitant erotic pleasures that are your due as women."
Just then, another woman entered the room, a curvaceous red-head in a one-piece, yellow swimsuit. She gave Allison a small wave as she approached Doctor Rolle. She knelt on the floor before him. "Ladies, I would like you to meet Kathryn," the doctor said. I did not recognize her from the boat we had taken to the island; I wondered how she knew Allison. "Kathryn," Rolle continued, "if you please." He nodded at his lap.
The red-head crawled forward, burying her face in Rolle's lap, mouthing his crotch with her moist lips. Based on the angle of the footage, it occurred to me that there must be a security camera mounted on or near the ceiling since the viewing angle had changed. I watched as Kathryn grasped the growing bulge in the doctor's slacks, massaging it lustily as she looked up to his face. She looked as much like an animal in heat as an adult woman. She lowered the zipper of his fly, and reached in, grasping his erection with enthusiasm. When she worked his cock out of his fly, it stood straight and hard, jutting up from his lap, several shades darker than the doctor's otherwise creamy mocha shade. She stroked it in her delicate white hand, her nails painted deep red, as she stuck her tongue out to lap at his globular scrotum. Despite myself, I was transfixed by the debauchery playing out on the video.
Allison
I couldn't believe my eyes. The woman I had shared drinks with just a few hours ago, was now on her knees in a roomful of people licking a black man's balls and his enormous erection. I had heard rumors and jokes, of course, about the superior size of black men's penises, but was unprepared for the monolith that Kathryn grasped in her hand. It must have been about three times the size of Jake's boy-like appendage. I had never particularly cared much for male genitalia; they always seemed a means to an end more than anything else: intercourse, orgasm, pregnancy, baby. But the column of flesh that jutted up from Doctor Rolle's lap was simply astounding. Mesmerizing.
Kathryn lowered her mouth over the plum-sized head, impaling her throat on the monstrous erection. She was orally skilled, certainly much more than I have ever been, usually gagging even on Jake's little cock. In practically no time at all, she had sucked almost the entire shaft to the back of her throat with barely any real difficulty. The other women marveled as much as I did at her performance. I noticed Samuel and some of the other stewards, standing quietly on the far side of the room, massaging their crotches as they watched Kathryn's performance. I wondered: how many of them had felt her mouth on them in the last week? How many had deposited their seed in her womb in an effort to impregnate her?
"That's right, white girl," Doctor Rolle intoned in an almost singsong chant. "Demonstrate your fidelity to the black man, show your love for the superior race, the race that is destined to inherit the earth with your betrayal of your own weak, white bloodline." My assumptions aside, Kathryn and Doctor Rolle had been in earnest, completely sincere in their belief in black racial superiority. The purpose of the clinic was to inseminate white wombs with black children, to further the goal of white extinction. I knew that I should be appalled...but as I watched the tableau before me, Kathryn submitting to the undeniable power of black manhood, I found myself becoming increasingly aroused, all thoughts and consideration of Jake slipping from my mind. It was, after all, his failing, his lack of virility that had brought us to this island, to this new hope for the future. Doctor Rolle's chant continued: "Suck it, white whore. Prepare my phallus for your married, white pussy. The end of your race awaits you in my big, fat, black balls!"
The young Asian woman I had befriended on the boat ride to the island, Rebecca, stood from her chair and walked boldly up to her steward, a tall, broad-shouldered, dark brown man named Isaac. Without any inhibition, Rebecca wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his. He returned the kiss, his large hands running down her sides, slipping inside the waist of her light, cotton skirt, taking firm hold of her ass. Jennifer, Janet, and I looked at one another in bemused shock, returning our attention to Doctor Rolle and Kathryn, even as each of our own stewards moved closer to where we were seated. I felt Samuel run his fingers through my hair. When I looked up at him questioningly, he bent down and pressed his full brown lips against my mouth. To my own surprise, I didn't pull away.
Jake
I sat dumbfounded on the hard cot, my eyes glued to the screen as a black stranger kissed my wife. I wanted to shout, to smash the monitor, but instead I became aware that I was growing erect, my penis hardening in the coveralls that had been provided for me. These people, these monsters, had separated Allison and me from one another, and now were taking advantage of her vulnerability, manipulating her. That was the only explanation.
Just then the screen went black again. I sat alone in a silent, darkened room. After several moments, the screen lit up with the words, "The future is Black." I stared at it, alternating between anger and fear and frustration. The words began to blur, and changed before my eyes. "YOUR future is Black," it now read. My cock had become fully erect at the thought of Allison with that black bastard. I released it, and, weeping, began to jerk myself, knowing that my sperm was feeble and useless.
Allison
Samuel stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders, as we watched Doctor Rolle lift Kathryn to her feet, and instruct her to slip out of her swimsuit. She did so, revealing a curvaceous figure, with a generous bosom and rounded buttocks. He told her to get on all fours, with her back to him. She complied, facing us, an eager, expectant grin on her face. Doctor Rolle stood behind her, stepping out of his slacks, and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a trim, well-defined physique, his chest lightly-haired, his skin the color of mocha. He was quite striking.
"Do you want my black cock, white girl?" Doctor Rolle inquired of Kathryn, as she knelt in anticipation.
"Yes, sir!" Kathryn cried. "I need your black cock, Doctor!"
"Do you want my black baby, white girl?"
"Oh, yes, please," she answered. "I do! I want your black baby growing inside me!"
Seemingly satisfied, Doctor Rolle mounted Kathryn from behind, easing his bayonet of a cock deep into her pussy. As he began to rut into her, he looked so majestic, kingly. A week of taking large, black cocks had apparently accustomed Kathryn's pussy to the superior length and girth of black men, as she evinced no pain or discomfort, a look of supreme pleasure playing across her face.
Jennifer and Janet were as enthralled as I was at the sight before us. I had never even seen another couple have sex outside of the occasional soft-core pornography, let alone witnessed an interracial couple rutting before my very eyes. Rebecca and Isaac also watched from across the room, each of them stripped naked, caressing one another's bodies. We all watched Doctor Rolle fuck deep into Kathryn. Rebecca shot me a lewd grin, as she took hold of Isaac's erect staff, and stroked the shaft in her small, pale hand. I was very conscious of Samuel's fingers on my shoulders, on the nape of my neck, enjoying the strength and confidence of his hands. The thought of Samuel mounting me from behind the way Doctor Rolle had Kathryn played through my mind, and I felt my own pussy become warm and wet. Jake had never once taken me like that, never exhibited that degree of passion and control. I realized how much I had been missing straddled with an inadequate white man all these years. It was little wonder he was infertile.
Jake
I awoke when the lights came on in my cell. I had no idea how much time had passed, but the words "YOUR future is Black" remained on the monitor. I noticed a tray on the floor, with a bowl of food and a bottle of water. It occurred to me how hungry I was. Without any consideration that the food might be drugged, I began devouring what turned out to be rather thin, watery oatmeal or gruel. I guzzled the water. After eating, I examined the door, and discovered the seam of an opening through which the tray must have been pushed. I tried to force it, but it was locked from the other side. Once again, I banged futilely on the door a few times, knowing from my previous efforts that I would be ignored.
The monitor hummed to life again. There was no sound, but I recognized the image on the screen as the beach right outside this building, the very sun and fresh air and freedom that was being denied me. I saw two figures walking along the shore, hand in hand. I clenched inside as I realized that it was my wife, my Allison, and the black steward who had kissed her in front of Doctor Rolle. They were talking and laughing as if they had known one another for years. Allison wore a two-piece swimsuit, her chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail. The black man wore swim trunks, his fit physique on display. Allison had never once hinted that she might be attracted to black men, but here she was apparently enamored of this black stranger, not sparing a moment's noticeable concern for my well-being. I was simultaneously relieved that she appeared safe and bereft that my disappearance did not seem to trouble her.
I realized that at least a full day must have passed since I was locked in this cell. Had Allison spent the night in the company of that black bastard? Had Doctor Rolle himself pawed at her with his black hands, taken advantage of her as he had of that busty redhead? What had begun as an effort to create a ****** was quickly becoming a nightmare. I could do nothing but watch as my wife and this black stranger dove into the waves, playing happily in the warm water. Phrases such as "Black is better" and "Black is beautiful" were superimposed over the video of my wife splashing in the waves with the black man. I knew instinctively that I was being subjected to black supremacist propaganda even as Allison was undergoing some kind of indoctrination. They were attempting to brainwash me, and if the hard-on I had was any indication, they were succeeding.
Allison
After the evening at Doctor Rolle's cottage, Samuel escorted me back to my bungalow. I knew that he would stay the night if I asked him. As tempted as I was, I couldn't bring myself to betray my husband, even though the things I had seen and heard were surprisingly persuasive. Samuel didn't press for an invitation. Instead, he placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me gently toward him. Our lips met in an intimate kiss, his tongue playfully moving around inside my mouth. "I'll see you in the morning," he said. I found myself looking forward to it as I climbed into my bed, my thoughts lingering on Samuel's touch, his kiss. He was so attentive and kind, but undeniably masculine at the same time. Some of the black men were more openly aggressive, even lewd, like Rebecca's steward, Isaac. I wondered if Doctor Rolle paired us with the steward that best fit our personal demeanor.
I had brunch that morning with the other new arrivals: Jennifer, Janet, and Rebecca. We ate at a gazebo that sat on a wide lawn and faced the beach. We were served by young, playful Bahamian boys. They brought us eggs and fruit and various breads, as well as mimosas and coffee. I soon found out that Rebecca had indeed spent the night with Isaac. She explained that she had known beforehand about the clinic's methods of dealing with white male infertility, and had been looking forward to being, what she called, blacked. Her husband, who was also Korean-American, likewise knew that Rebecca would be impregnated with a black baby during their stay. He knew that their failure to conceive was his fault, and accepted cuckoldry as his just punishment. I wondered if Jake could possibly be convinced of the same thing.
"Do you know," I ventured, "what they've done with our husbands?"
Rebecca shook her head. "I don't know, and I honestly don't really care. Last night, Isaac fucked me better than I have ever been fucked. He filled me in ways I hadn't thought possible. If Steve were as much of a man as Isaac, we wouldn't be here." Jennifer and Janet nodded their agreement. Like me, neither of them had spent the night with their stewards, but their regret was apparent as Rebecca described her night of raw passion.
"I'm going to do it," Janet resolved. "Screw Ronald! I'm not getting any younger. If I'm ever going to have a baby, then I want it to be black." She bit deeply from a halved mango. "Doctor Rolle is right: black men are just so much more masculine and confident. They have much higher sperm counts than white guys from what I've read. Nature intended them to dominate whites. I want to help create a better future by having a black child." We all indicated our assent; black men simply seemed superior in every way that mattered. Doctor Rolle's work was intended to open the eyes of repressed white women like ourselves, and it was succeeding.
"You know what I think," Jennifer offered. "I think the only reason we haven't considered this before is--and I'm ashamed to say this--lingering racism. We were all raised to look down on black people because society feared the truths that we are learning here. Now, the truth is coming out! It's going to change the world, and I for one cannot wait." I considered Jennifer's point. I had never thought of myself as racist in any way, but it was true that I had never really looked at black men with any romantic interest. Until we came to this island that is. Now, everything was changing.
After brunch, our stewards came to collect us and take us for a dip in the water. It was delightfully warm, and such a joy to swim in the clear, light blue lagoon. The ocean water seemed to transform Samuel into a mischievous young boy. He splashed me playfully. He dove for minutes at a time, swimming around me like a dolphin. He emerged from the waves a few feet from me, grinning from ear to ear, holding out a pink-tinged conch that he had discovered underwater. He held it out to me, and I moved closer, waist-deep in the gently lapping waters. I placed my hands over his around the conch, standing close enough that our bodies almost touched. I looked up, and our eyes locked. He leaned closer, and our lips touched.
Some part of me knew that he was just doing his duty, that he had probably bedded dozens of white women before me in an effort to impregnate them for the clinic, maybe more. Nevertheless, I felt a magnetism between us, a pull I couldn't resist. Still, grasping the conch in one hand, I wrapped my arms around his strong, powerful neck, and returned the kiss. His lips felt wonderful against mine. That I was betraying my marriage vows to Jake felt completely irrelevant. When I thought about it, I realized that, like Rebecca, I didn't actually give a damn where my husband was or what had become of him. All I wanted was to feel Samuel, to feel him inside of me.
Jake
I watched as Allison and the black man went to their knees on the beach, wrapped in one another's arms, their lips locked in a passionate kiss. The resolution of the hidden cameras was disturbingly clear, leaving little to the imagination. I watch as he slipped the straps of her swim top off her shoulders, letting it drop to reveal her pale, modestly-rounded breasts and pink areolas, the darker nipples hard with excitement. His large brown hands cupped her bosom as her own hands ran over his chiseled brown chest and taut stomach. I felt myself grow queasy as I watch her left hand—the very one bearing the wedding ring I had placed on it years earlier—slip inside the waistband of his swimsuit, reaching for his growing erection.
I let out an involuntary cry. I collapsed on the cot, pulling the thin pillow over my face, unable to bear the sight of my wife's infidelity. I screamed into the pillow several times in frustration and rage and despair. I was helpless in this cell while my wife was being indoctrinated into this strange cult of black supremacy. It was obscene. As much as I resisted, however, I ultimately removed the pillow from my face, and gazed at the screen across from me. They were lying on the beach now, Allison on her back, the black man on top of her, both stripped naked. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts, as the waves washed over their legs. Allison's hands roamed freely, unashamedly over his dark brown body, He said something to her, but there was no sound. She nodded assent, almost as if under his spell. He reached between them, grasping an obscenely large erection, and penetrated my wife's faithless pussy. Allison's back arched as her mouth opened in a silent mix of pain and pleasure. Despite my agony, my disgust, I felt my own cock grow rigid. It was perverse, but involuntary.
As the black man began fucking my beautiful wife with her full consent, the camera angle began to widen. Further up the beach, I saw Ronald's wife—Janet, I think her name was—her back to a palm tree, her arms and legs wrapped around a tall, lean-bodied black man with long dreadlocks, who rutted into her from a standing position. Nearby, Mike's wife, Jennifer, orally serviced a young black man with a shaved head and short goatee, who was lying back on a lounge chair. Steve's wife, Rebecca, knelt on all fours on the beach, fucked from behind by a particularly well-muscled, almost charcoal-black man, who held her long, luxuriant black hair in his fist as he pounded into her. If I was seeing all this, then my fellow inmates were likely witnessing Allison's betrayal. The thought, sick as it was, made me grown even harder.
Unable to resist any longer, I grasped my rather puny white dick inside the coveralls, and began jerking it. As the camera angle switched from one unfaithful wife to another, finally returning to Allison, her back arched to meet the black man's primal thrusts. "Uh, uh, fuck, fuck," I found myself chanting, "fuck her, fuck her! Fuck my wife! Fuck her!" I beat my prick vigorously. The sight of my sexy wife in the throes of such unrestrained passion with a stranger drove me wild. The phrase from the monitor ran through my debauched mind: Black is better, Black is better. Black is better. It had taken only one night, it seemed, to persuade my once-faithful wife of that reality. As I spilled my useless seed yet again, it occurred to me that Allison was not the only one who was being brainwashed.
Allison
I didn't even think of stopping Samuel from cumming inside me as we made love on the beach. I was here after all to get pregnant. I no longer balked at the thought of it being by a man other than my husband Jake, of being mother to a biracial child. In fact, increasingly, I warmed to the idea of my belly growing big with a black baby. Doctor Rolle, Kathryn, the other women, they were all right. There was something special, powerful, simply put, better about black men. My bigot of a step-father would have called me a race traitor, but I knew better. I knew that I awakening to the truth of black supremacy.
As Samuel and I moved from the beach to the bungalow, we passed the other women, all in various positions with their own stewards. I was not shocked or scandalized by the sight as I might have been just a week ago. Instead, it seemed quite natural and beautiful. In the bungalow, Samuel and I resumed our love-making in bed. He moved down my body, burying his face between my legs, his mouth and tongue skillfully working my clitoris in a way I had never experienced, all the while manipulating my pussy with his fingers. Jake had never once aroused me so completely in all our years of marriage.
Samuel was so virile that he appeared to have no trouble growing fully aroused even so shortly after cumming inside me. With his mouth pressed to mine, he eased himself back into me, all the while his dexterous fingers manipulated my engorged clit. "I love the idea of my seed growing inside you, Allison," he told me. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than knowing that my baby was feeding at this sweet, white bosom, that you had dedicated yourself to nurturing my black child." His words were seductive, painting a beautiful post-racial picture of white mothers raising mixed-race children, free of the problematic burden of white babies. He fucked me masterfully for another thirty minutes, bringing me to orgasm after orgasm, all the while whispering softy of the black future we were creating together, before inundating me with yet another torrent of his dominant DNA.
Samuel left me to rest. I had the most wonderful sleep that afternoon, dreaming that I was indeed carrying Samuel's child, that a black life was quickening within me. I was becoming convinced that Doctor Rolle was correct: dedicating my womb and my life to black children was the right thing to do, not only for myself, but the future of the world. The white race was a blight, he had told us last night, and the world would be better off when our genes were fully diluted by superior DNA. For the first time I could recall, I came in my sleep.
It surprised me that I did not see Samuel that night. Instead, however, I had dinner with the other women. We were served fresh salmon, grilled tomatoes, a salad with lentils, walnuts, and aged cheese: all foods, we were told, intended to promote fertility. We talked in turn of our lovers, their skill, and their commitment to black supremacy. It was apparent that each of us had been persuaded by the idea to one degree or another. Rebecca, especially, spoke disdainfully of white and Asian men, their weakness and their presumptiveness. She spoke about her husband, Steve, being similarly committed to the idea of raising black children, and confessed that he was not even actually infertile like the rest of our husbands. He was merely voluntarily celibate, and completely supportive of Rebecca's sexual desire for black men. Rebecca explained that she had never once suffered the indignation of having her husband's insignificant Korean penis inside her black-only vagina. I found I envied her.
Jennifer asked Rebecca what all were thinking. "If you have black lovers, why bother coming all the here to get pregnant."
"To meet Doctor Rolle, of course," Rebecca explained. "I've read all his books. What he is doing here is so important. It will help change the world. We both really wanted our first child to be one conceived at his clinic, perhaps even conceived by Doctor Rolle himself, if we get so lucky."
I expected that I would see Samuel the next morning, but instead I was surprised when Isaac knocked at my bungalow door, the steward who had been spending time with Rebecca. He was the darkest-skinned of all the stewards, and the most muscular, with thick biceps and shredded, washboard abs. He explained that, if I had no objections, he would be my host for the afternoon. His accent was different than that of the other men, but I couldn’t place it. After a light breakfast of tropical fruit, he took me out on his boat, and we went snorkeling at one of the nearby reefs. He taught me how to breath using the snorkel, and showed me leatherback sea turtles, spotted eagle rays, and colorful tropical fish of endless variety.
Back on the boat, I lay in the sun, while Isaac applied sunscreen to my shoulders and arms. When he asked if he could remove my swimsuit to apply lotion to my breasts and thighs, I discovered any sense of bourgeois morality had faded away, and I let him strip me bare, enjoying the feel of his onyx black hands on my pale body. As he dipped his fingers into my cunt, he spoke philosophically about the benefits of melanin, of the brotherhood of the African diaspora, of the great achievements of African people so long subverted by slavers and colonizers. He was originally from Sudan, and assured me that while Africa would soon take its rightful place as the greatest of continents, it would do so with the help of black people around the world, as well as white race traitors such as myself. It excited him that so many white women sought to make up for the crimes of our race by offering our wombs to the black hegemony. He thought it was just and poetic.
We made love right on the boat, in the sun and cool ocean breeze.
The next morning, I was taken for a hike on a trail through the small island's interior by another steward, Desmond, who was from Jamica. He had the most wonderful accent. In a clearing on a high hill, from which we could see the ocean in every direction, Desmond taught me a number of yoga poses that he assured me were helpful with conception. Later, back at my bungalow, he gave me the most exquisite, restorative massage, before making love to me with a skill that made me briefly forget even Samuel and Isaac.
I realized that each of the stewards was adept at a particular discipline. Samuel's expertise had been romance and seduction; Isaac's was intellectual, philosophical; Desmond's was physiological, carnal. Over the next several days, I would learn that each of the stewards asserted their particular skill in order to win us over to Doctor Rolle's racial worldview. By the weekend, I had enjoyed sexual intercourse with seven different men, a different one each morning, all of them black and all of them unprotected. Janet, Jennifer, and Rebecca had enjoyed the same pleasure. We shared our experiences each night over dinner, sinking deeper and ever deeper down the rabbit hole of black supremacy.
One night, Kathryn stopped by to say farewell. Her most recent pregnancy test had come back positive. She was carrying a black child. “I might not be glowing on the outside, yet,” she confided in me. “But I am absolutely ebullient on the inside!” We exchanged contact information, and promised to stay in touch through her (and hopefully my own) pregnancy. She hugged me. “I just know that you are going to have a beautiful bun in your oven in no time. Who knows: our babies may even be siblings!”
On Saturday, Jennifer, Janet, Rebecca, and I were summoned, one at a time, to Doctor Rolle's cottage. I met with him at noon, after a quiet morning relaxing on the beach. He greeted me on his veranda wearing nothing but a white cotton robe and an inviting smile. "Allison," he said, taking my hands, "so good to see you again. Shall we enjoy the fresh air?" He motioned for me to join him at a table for two set up on the porch. A pitcher of sangria was set out, and he poured two glasses. "High in antioxidants," he explained. "Another boost to your fertility." I took the chilled glass from him. "So, tell me, by dear, have you enjoyed your stay with us thus far?"
I felt myself redden just a bit, knowing full well that Doctor Rolle must have been aware of my time with each of the stewards. "Let me ask you, Doctor," I said, "do any of your...patients...ever complain?"
He laughed at that. "Oh, well, we occasionally have the unsatisfied customer, one who fails to be persuaded to our way of thinking. Rare, but it happens. Most, though, I'm happy to say, leave my little island convinced of the truths I espouse, and with a new black life growing within them, of course. Would it make you happy, Allison, if you left here with a black child in your womb?"
I lowered my eyes, and whispered simply, "Yes."
"What's that, my dear," he challenged me. "I don't think I quite heard you."
"Yes," I repeated, looking directly at him. "I want to leave here carrying a black baby. I hope...I hope that I'm already pregnant?"
Doctor Rolle smiled. "And what about your white boy, what's his name?"
It took a moment, but I said, "Jake. What...what about him?"
"Do you think that he could be persuaded to raise another man's child? A black child? That he will devote himself to the extinction of his own race?"
"Honestly? I don't know, Doctor. I have hardly given Jake a moment’s thought since I got here." I realized that what I said was true, that it was something that would have troubled me a few days ago, but now seemed completely natural. Jake was…unimportant. Insignificant. Obsolete. Especially if he proved close-minded toward black supremacy and helping to raising my child.
"Good girl," Doctor Rolle replied to that. "Come here, Allison," he said, indicating his lap. I moved, and sat on his lap, his arm resting on my back. He ran a finger through my hair, and kissed my forehead. Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a small bottle of pills, holding it before me. "What if I were to tell you, Allison, that these pills could restore your white boy's virility, make him fertile, able to bear children? What would you do?"
I looked at the pills, tried to imagine Jake climbing on top of me, his small white penis inside me, straining himself, sweating, grunting. It was revolting, nauseating. "I'd flush them," I replied. "I'd flush them down the toilet without a second thought."
Doctor Rolle kissed me on the mouth, his tongue darting inside lewdly. "But…what if I were to tell you that these pills would leave your husband not only infertile, but dysfunctional, unable to either breed or even fuck ever again?"
"I'd put one in every fucking meal he eats," I stated with conviction, meaning every single word. "I'd rather turn Jake into a eunuch than let him father a child of mine."
Doctor Rolle kissed me again, covering my mouth with his as his hands unworked the buttons of my light blouse. I returned his kisses eagerly, reaching into his robe, letting my petite white hands roam over his lean, lightly-furred torso, reaching for the thick erection that I had watched rut into Kathryn not very long ago. The idea of giving myself to this black man, almost thirty years my senior, perhaps being impregnated by him if I wasn't already with child, excited me terribly. His robe opened, his long cock curved up from his lap, larger than Samuel’s or Isaac’s or any of the other men who had sexed me this week. His testicles were large and ebony, filled with life-giving sperm that I longed to feel wash over my ovaries. I raised myself onto his spike of a cock and skewered myself happily on its length. A week ago, the effort would have been excruciating, tearing deeper into me than any man had ever been. After being blacked by several well-hung, sexually-gifted young men, I took Doctor Rolle's entire length with delight and only the slightest exertion.
He let me ride him like that for a while, sitting back calmly, enjoying the sight of me working myself to orgasm after orgasm on his magnificent prong. Knowing the fact that the entire clinic was the brainstorm of this man, that the conversion of white women like myself was his entire raison d’etre, only drove me to a greater sexual frenzy. Eventually, he lifted me up from the chair, fucking into me from a standing position, my legs wrapped around him, my face buried his neck. Then he tossed me over the table like a ragdoll, and fucked me from behind, his large black hands holding my ass cheeks apart as he drilled deep into my faithless pussy. I wondered how many white women he had used in this way, how many he had knocked up, finding myself only more excited by the thought that it might be hundreds, perhaps thousands.
"I want your ass, too, white girl," he told me. "Do you surrender it?"
I had never been anally penetrated before, not even by Jacob's little dink, barely a third the size of Doctor Rolle's proud organ. I nodded. "Yes, fuck my ass, just...," I hesitated. "Just, please, save your cum for my pussy! Please!"
"Don't worry, Allison," he assured me, withdrawing his cock from my ravaged cunt. "This nut is going nowhere but deep in your beautiful pussy. I just want to demonstrate that breeding is not the only way you can serve the black race." Kneeling behind me, the doctor licked at my puckered asshole, plying it with his tongue and his fingers. With nothing but his spit and precum as lubricant, he plopped the head of his massive prick past the opening of my sphincter. “Your body is ours, white girl,” he explained, “to use for our pleasure, to do with as we will.” I stifled a cry, feeling my anal muscles tear as he worked his way into my ass inch by beautiful black inch. It took him several minutes before he got balls deep, but once he did, he began sawing in and out of my rectum very nearly as easily as he had my pussy. Flattened against the tabletop, I bit my wrist, and tried to constrict my sphincter muscles to give Doctor Rolle as much pleasure as possible. His would not be the last black dick I would welcome up my ass.
True to his word, Doctor Rolle eventually flipped me onto my back, and, courteously wiping his long prick clean with a nearby napkin, plunged himself back into my baby canal. As he fucked into me, he playfully smacked at my breasts, saying, "Soon, you're going to have a hungry black child nursing on these, Allison. Promise me that you'll never use them to nurture a white parasite!"
"I promise, Doctor," I cried, enjoying how roughly he handled the tender flesh of my breasts. "These tits will be for black babies only! My pussy is for black dick only! I promise! I promise!"
Smiling down at me, enjoying my avowals of dedication to his race, the black supremacist doctor emptied his bloated balls into my eager womb. I struggled for breath as I orgasmed yet again, my eyes rolling high up in my head, as I wrapped my legs around his ass, pulling his shooting cock as deep into me as it would go. This handsome, sexy man, old enough to be my father, filled me with his life-giving seed. I prayed it would take. Like Kathryn, like Rebecca, I wanted Doctor Rolle's child even more than that of the stewards who had spent the week seducing me to their beautifully racist ideology.
Afterward, Doctor Rolle and I relaxed in the hammock strung in the front yard of his cottage, my head resting on his chest as he ran his fingers slowly through my hair. The setting was idyllic. "Doctor," I asked, preferring to use his title even after our afternoon's intimacy, "if you don't mind my asking, how did you come to make the clinic, converting and impregnating white women, your life's work?"
"Mmm. Not very many white girls ever ask me that question," he said, looking at me with interest. "Well, Allison, you see, my mother met my father right here in the Bahamas," he began, "while on spring break during her freshman year at university. She was white, and from the American South. When she returned home carrying a child, she understandably hid the identity of the father from her intolerant ******. At least until I was born. When it became clear, however, that the father was black, her racist parents disowned her, kicking her out on the streets with her newborn. This was the 1960s, you see, and her opportunities as an unwed mother, especially with a black infant, were very few. She...left me, abandoned me, at the door of a black Baptist church, with a note explaining my nativity, and information about my father. The pastor of the church and his wife raised me, educated me, and eventually helped me contact my father's ******. My father, I'm sorry to say, was long dead, but it was from his parents that I, their sole grandchild, inherited this small island." He seemed to grow wistful. "You see, I swore revenge on the vile white race, Allison, but not through violence. I resolved to fuck them into extinction, one white womb at a time. A beautiful and fit punishment, wouldn't you agree?"
I nodded, mesmerized by his sad story, at the bitterness he must feel toward the racism that had cost him a relationship with his mother, from ever knowing his father. "You...you must hate us," I said.
"I do," he nodded. "I hate your foul race. You cannot begin to fathom the contempt I hold for whites. I am content, however, to use your bodies, and your own limitless capacity for self-hatred to spread my doctrine, to grow the superior black race, and to make your corrupt, weak-minded, impotent white boys pay to raise the very generation of black kings and queens that will replace you all."
As he spoke, I stroked his bare cock back to erection, mounting him again. We stumbled out of the hammock without him once slipping from my pussy, and he fucked me against a tree. I wanted so badly to offer him succor. "Use me," I encouraged him. "Punish my white body, my white pussy, my entire race with your perfect, beautiful black cock. Make me pay!" And he did. He did. Again and again.
Jake
The door opened. Without fanfare or warning, the door to my cell simply…opened.
I stepped out into the hallway, momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lights after so many days habituated to the dimness of my cell. Blinking, I saw Ronald, Steve, and Mike step out of their own cells, noticing that other doors remained closed, presumably with other men still held behind them. At the entrance to the corridor, stood a very large black man, in sunglasses, black slacks, and a t-shirt, tight on his muscular frame. He held a baton in one hand, and held open the door to the locker room where we had changed into the jumpsuits we still wore with the other. Hesitantly, without making eye contact with one another, we each made our way for the door.
The week had consisted of an endless barrage of DIY interracial pornography, much of it featuring my own wife in the company of several different black men. She sucked numerous obscenely large black penises, growing adept at opening the back of her throat to their incredible sizes. She spread her legs for all of them, welcoming their unprotected erections deep into the warmth of a pussy that until this week had been the exclusive domain of my much smaller prick. But even worse than the sex, was the pleasure my wife took in the company of these strange men, all while I suffered days of solitude and deprivation. Now, my ordeal appeared to be over, and I was at a loss what to make of it all.
Meagan, the blonde who greeted us upon our arrival, awaited us in the locker room, accompanied by two more black-clad, hard-bodied security officers. My companions, like me, kept their eyes down, shuffling into the room slowly, unused to the freedom of movement. “Gentleman,” Meagan said cheerily, “you’ll find your clothes and other belongings in the lockers. Please, shower, change, and come out to the lobby when you’re ready. Trevor and the other guards,” she indicated the stern-looking security personnel, “can assist you as needed. See that you are quick about it, and, please, for your own sakes, do not make a fuss.”
We stripped out of our jumpsuits, depositing them in a large basket at Trevor’s direction, and headed for the showers. Mike barely acknowledged the rest of us. He moved only with great hesitation, and occasionally seemed to be hit by a wave of tremors. Ronald stared straight ahead, seeming to take some measure of comfort in instruction and routine. Steve seemed almost unperturbed, even relaxed, as if our ordeal of the past week had no effect on him.
As we showered, I noted that we all appeared to have lost a good deal of weight, even the already very thin Steve, the result of a week of very few, very sparse meals. I noticed also that Ronald had a number of severe, purplish bruises over various parts of his body. I wondered if he had hurt himself trying to escape or if his indoctrination required a more hands-on approach. Once we finished showering, we dressed, and were escorted into the lobby by the security personnel. There, we were greeted by Doctor Rolle himself, the very man who had imprisoned us and corrupted our wives, smiling nonchalantly in a gold caftan. It struck me how like the leader of a cult he appeared.
"Gentlemen," he held his arms wide. "Welcome to your new lives. It gives me great pleasure to inform you that your wives, every one of them, is now...with child." I felt a tightening in my abdomen that was matched by a stir in my groin. They did it: they successfully bred my wife. "Well, now," Doctor Rolle tutted, "aren't you going to show your appreciation?"
Steve stepped forward. He dropped to his knees, lowering his face to Doctor Rolle's feet. He pressed his lips to the doctor's open-toed espadrilles. "Thank you, Doctor," he said with sincere enthusiasm, "thank you for growing my ******." Mike knelt beside Steve, also kissing the doctor's feet. With only some reluctance, Ronald and I did the same, thanking Doctor Rolle for finding a solution to our own inadequacies. We were all so compliant that I wondered if we had been subjected to some kind of subliminal influence during our captivity or, perhaps, drugged into submissiveness. I would learn only later that indoctrination was not always so successful. White husbands who failed to demonstrate the necessary compliance after their release occasionally ended as shark chum on the trip back to Nassau. Doctor Rolle would allow nothing to interfere with his mission.
Outside, we were reunited with our wives, who stood in the company of the various stewards who had worked all week to impregnate them. Allison greeted me with a warm smile, but refrained from any physical intimacy, even after our week of forced separation. "Oh, isn't it wonderful, Jake," she said. "We're going to have a baby! It's such a blessing!" She introduced one of the stewards as Samuel, taking his hand in hers, and describing what a support he had been to her during the whole process. Samuel smiled at me cryptically as Allison talked. I was uncertain if his smile was meant to be friendly or condescending.
Nearby, I noticed Steve enthusiastically shake the hand of a steward named Isaac, thanking him for taking such good care of Rebecca. Stealing my cue from Steve, who appeared to have fully accepted a situation for which I had no frame of reference, I reached out and grasped Samuel's hand. "Thank you so much, Samuel," I said, "for helping Allison the way you did." He seemed to accept my handshake with some reluctance, even distaste. I decided to be even more direct. "I look forward to her belly swelling with a black child." Samuel grinned at that (or was it a smirk), and Allison's eyes lit up.
"That's a wise choice to make, man," Samuel advised me. "Good for you." My overt acceptance seemed to relieve some of the tension, although I noted that my wife continued to hold Samuel’s hand as if the two of them were the actual couple, inseparable, and I was just a third wheel. An afterthought.
Allison
Hearing Jake say that he looked forward to having a black baby was a great relief. It made everything so much simpler, having him fall in line like that. Obviously, there would have to be other changes to our marriage, but his acceptance was a good first step. He would also have to accept that I had no intention of giving up my newfound taste for black dick, but we would deal with that when the time was right.
Doctor Rolle stepped forward, arms outstretched. “I am so proud of all of you,” he said. “You’ve come such a long way in a short time. Your trials, though, have just begun. As you return to your lives, you will face judgment, recrimination, derision for your choices. You will, in short, understand a small bit what it has been to be black in a white man’s world.” He placed a hand on Janet’s shoulder, pressing his lips to her forehead as if in benediction. “But I have faith that you will prevail against those who would scorn you for your dedication to the new world that threatens their privilege and sanctimony.” He kissed Jennifer on the forehead, as he moved down the line. “During these travails, my children, I and my people will be with you, offering support and guidance. I have support staff placed in various cities throughout the United States. They will be there for you, for your…needs.” He took Rebecca’s hands in his, pressed his mouth to hers. “No longer will your lives be confined by the limitations of white morality. You have dedicated yourselves to the cause of black supremacy. That places you above other whites.” He glanced at Rebecca and Steve. “And other…mongrel races.”
Doctor Rolle stopped in front of me and Jake. He placed an arm around my shoulder, drawing me close to him. Our husbands all looked on, doe-eyed, compliant, offering no resistance to the Doctor’s physical domination of their wives. Janet, Jennifer, and Rebecca crowded close around us, all offering hugs of appreciation to Doctor Rolle and of support to one another. The stewards escorted our husbands to the dock and the waiting catamaran. The other women and I soon followed. With tearful goodbyes, we waved farewell to Doctor Rolle, Samuel, and all the others from the deck as the catamaran pulled away, all of us vowing that we would return when it was time for our second child.
Kathryn
Hi Girlfriend! I hope you are doing well! Your due date must be nearing if I’m not mistaken. Oh, I’m so excited for you! My Elijah was a couple weeks early, as you know. I’ve attached a ton of new photos of the beautiful little guy. I can’t be certain, but I think he looks a lot like Doctor Rolle, don’t you? Those eyes! So magnetic.
Roger has been accepting of his new role. He knows that my body is off-limits to him (and all white men. Yuck!). We’ve been talking about caging his his little white worm in semi-permanent chastity. I think it’s probably for the best. It will help him focus on what’s important, namely providing for me and Elijah. You really should think about it for whatshisname. Sexual desire is really such a nuisance for impotent, infertile white men, anyway.
I have already booked myself into the clinic for next spring. I’ll email you the dates. I hope you’ll consider scheduling yourself for the same week. It would be such a hoot to conceive our next children at the same time. Who knows, maybe even by the same father! LOL! Of course, I often avail myself of some of the clinic’s stateside support staff for my, let’s say, extra-marital needs. I hope you do the same once you’ve delivered. The doctor really only hires the best, most talented men.
It’s wonderful to know that we’re making a difference, isn’t it? The decision to resist populating the world with more white people and dedicate ourselves to raising only black children, well, it simply feels right and important, doesn’t it? As Doctor Rolle says, The future is black. And we’re doing our part to ensure that it is a bright future. Our husband’s genetic legacy will be consigned to the trash bin, where it belongs. And our own heritage will be white-free. I will be the last green-eyed, red-head in my ******, that’s for sure. Isn’t it wonderful?
Best,
Kathryn
