The Many Victories of Professor Knight, Part II

"Good evening, and welcome to tonight's show," the popular conservative television host began, "Tonight, we welcome a controversial voice in the ongoing debate concerning race relations in this country, and, in fact, the world. He is the author of a national bestseller with the provocative title, White ********: Tomorrow's Answer for Today's Problems. He numbers among the most sought-after lecturers on racial issues and has spoken before the British Parliament, the European Council, and the United States Congress. He is scheduled to attend the signing of a San Francisco reparations law next month that reportedly will give qualifying African-American recipients as much as five million dollars in cash…each if you can believe that. Please welcome Professor Okoro Knight, via satellite from his home in Oakland, California. Professor Knight, welcome to the show."

The split screen featured the stuffy conservative host on the left, and a handsome, bearded, well-groomed black man in a dark Armani suit, on the right. Professor Knight replied, "It is my pleasure."

"Let's get right to it, shall we?" said the host. "A lot of people on the radical left dismiss what is sometimes called the Great Replacement as nothing more than white paranoia, as a right-wing conspiracy theory. What I have gleaned from your book and your speeches, however, suggests that there is more to it than that. Much more. Would you care to elaborate?"

"Make no mistake," Professor Knight responded with a tight smile. "In this single instance, the white supremacists are correct: replacement is not a mere fringe conspiracy theory. It is our goal. It is what we are striving for, the eradication of the white race through the careful application of the justice system and miscegenation, or sexual selection if you will. We aim to supplant you and your perfidious kind in the seats of power and influence with the inherently superior black race."

The host looked at him, mouth agape, as if stupefied. "Well, now," he said, "you certainly do not shrink from the subject or hold back, do you?"

"In my experience," Professor Knight explained, "it is best to be as direct as possible with whites. Your kind are not particularly skilled at discerning subtlety of thought."

The host smiled wryly, enjoying the insult, believing that it would expose Okoro Knight for the extremist that he was. "Now, Professor, when you refer to using the justice system, you mean...?"

"I mean using the existing justice system to correct the injustices of the past 500 years. Reparations laws like the one soon to pass in San Francisco are making their way through the legislatures and courts of several states and large cities. Your racist Jim Crow prison system is gradually being dismantled. The generational wealth that you whites have hoarded for yourselves, your children, and your grandchildren is being redistributed. These and other laws will finally tip the scales of power that have been perverted for far too long, and contrary to what nature intended.”

"What nature intended? So, you really believe...?"

"Just what I said," Professor Knight replied impatiently. "The African is the original human. Those who came afterward, white, red, or yellow, are a mutation, a perversion of the first people. By breeding your kind out of existence, we restore the natural balance."

"Breeding," noted the host. "This is where miscegenation comes in, I take it."

"That is correct," Professor Knight nodded, tersely. "As has been noted by scientists and reported in the media, white birth rates are declining precipitously. I would contend: auspiciously. The testosterone levels and sperm count of the white male, never high to begin with, have plummeted. You are a corrupt, effete, increasingly sterile race, one whose oppression of other people, and exploitation of the planet, is nearing its long-awaited conclusion. Your women, however, remain of some use, and serve some purpose, as incubators that will help the proliferation of an expanding black race. African DNA will continue to obscure your heritage with every new generation."

"Well," the host sighed, almost in amusement. "That's quite an agenda you've set yourself, Professor. One might point out that it is far cry from Dr. King's dream of the races living in harmony."

Professor Knight could barely suppress a smirk. "White devils have been picking and misrepresenting the words of Brother King to their own benefit for too long," he said with a dismissive wave. "Dr. King was a man of peace, as am I, a man of peace. But the Reverend also recognized and excoriated the duplicity and treachery of the white man. Where he and I part ways: he held out hope that you were still redeemable. I know with certainty that you are not."

The show's host, certain that he had provided the Professor more than enough rope to hang himself, interposed, "So, let me get this straight: you admit that you are a black supremacist. You concede that you believe in the redistribution of personal wealth. And you openly advocate for the ******** of the white race. Do I have this right? You support, what some call, white extermination?"

Professor Knight smiled broadly, leaning toward the camera. "Support it? I celebrate it. I shout it from the rooftops." He continued almost in a whisper, "So if you were to be honest with your viewers... do you."

The host appeared bemused, something of a signature look that seemed to endlessly amuse his rather simple-minded, easily entertained audience. "I most certainly do not. I abhor racism of all types. Black supremacy every bit as much as white supremacy. What you advocate, Professor, is monstrous, and all people of good conscience should, uh, ah--what on earth?”

The image of Professor Knight had suddenly been replaced by video of a pale, tubby, middle-aged man in a frilly pink teddy wearing pink playboy bunny ears atop his head. The man pranced about awkwardly, giggling and shaking his flabby rear to a power pop standard with a driving beat. The image shifted, displaying that same man, lying over the lap of a powerfully-built black man, shirtless, in a leather harness. The black man spanked the white man across his bare, upraised buttocks, as the latter intoned, "Thank you, sir! I've been a bad bunny! A very bad bunny!" Even without his usual blazer and tie, even bereft of his signature condescending smirk, the man in the pink teddy was immediately recognizable as the popular conservative television host on the other side of the split screen.

“What the hell is this?” he yelled in the studio. “How did this…this shit…get on the air? This is…this is all fake! It’s..it’s a deep fake! Get it off my screen! Get it off the air! Now!”

The image shifted again, this time showing the man in the teddy groveling on the floor, licking and kissing the same black man’s large, bare feet, while a lithe woman with straight blonde hair sat astride his lap, the point where their bodies met pixelated to obscure their genitals. “That’s where bad bunnies belong,” the woman teased. “What do you think, baby,” she said, wrapping her arms around the black man’s strong shoulders. “Do you think we should just call him Cucker from now on?” Her dark-skinned lover snorted.

The face of Professor Knight reappeared on the screen. “What were you saying…Cucker?” he chuckled. “Fake, you say?”

The host’s face was flushed bright red, his breathing heavy. “You…you black bastard,” he shouted, his usual composure gone.

“Careful, Cucker,” the Professor cautioned the host. “Your whiteness is showing. Oh, and there is a great deal more video like that available, uncensored, at my website, black-knight.com. Just click on the link ‘exposed’ to view all the explicit footage of our host’s debauchery and hypocrisy.” Just before signing off, Professor Knight said, “Oh, and be sure to purchase my book to learn how the scourge of the white race can finally be eradicated.”

The host’s breathing had become labored; he loosened his tie as he worked to compose himself. “This is all…an elaborate fraud,” he said into the camera. “A far left effort to discredit the important work that…that we do on this show, standing up to, to hate mongers like…Okoro Knight. I won’t…I will not dignify th-that disgusting video with a denial. Anyone who knows me will recognize it as a…perverse forgery.” Wiping his brow, he continued, “I think that brings tonight’s show to…to an end. Thank you. Good night.”

Standing up from his desk, the host began ranting at his crew. “How the fuck did that nigger bastard get that shit on the air!” he screamed. “Can’t you people do your fuckin’ goddamn jobs? You’re fired! You’re all fired, every damn one of you!” He continued yelling as he barreled through the studio toward his personal office. When one of the producers attempted to follow him, pointing out that the show still had twenty minutes to go, the host screeched, “Not now! Leave me the fuck alone! Fuck off!”

Slamming the door to his office, the host tried to collect himself, his mind racing. How the hell did Knight get that footage? he wondered. The black man in the video was Dante, one of the bodyguards he had hired for his ****** in the wake of left-wing demonstrations outside his home. After a few weeks, Dante and the host's wife had began a sexual relationship, with the host's consent. Eventually, the cuckoldry had evolved into dom play and even light crossdressing. all fantasies that he had long suppressed. Dante must have betrayed them, secretly videotaped their sessions, and given or sold them to Okoro Knight. That was the only explanation.

When the intercom buzzed, the host yelled, "I don't want to be fucking disturbed!" He typed the web address that his guest had given during the broadcast into his desktop computer. The site appeared to be the professor's own black propaganda blog, with posts celebrating news such as the reported decline in white birth rates and the great uptick in white male suicides. Under an image of the host's own face was a link that read 'exposed' in a bold red font. With some trepidation, he clicked on it. The link brought him to a selection of thumbnail videos, each one titled 'exposed.' Grimacing, he clicked on the first thumbnail.

The video displayed the same session that the Professor had shown on air: the host in a bright pink teddy, wearing rabbit ears. This clip, however, was longer. "I'm a pink-skinned bunny," he heard himself say, as he pranced around in his ludicrous outfit. "I'm such a very bad bunny."

"And what happens to bad bunnies?" asked a deep bass voice that he recognized as Dante's.

"B-b-bad bunnies get punished," he replied.

"They most certainly do," Dante intoned, moving into view. He wore black leather jeans, a studded leather harness framing his chest. He reached out and wrapped one leather-gloved fist around the host's fleshy throat. "And tell me, you bad bunny: how exactly do bad bunnies get punished?"

"Th-they have to watch their wives get, get fucked," the host grunted out, Dante's strong hand restricting his breathing.

As one might expect of a professional bodyguard, the black man had an impressive build, packed with muscle, and with the confidence to match. "Yes," he snarled. "And who should fuck the bad bunny's wife, hmm?"

The host's face a deep shade of crimson, he choked out, "A black man, sir."

Dante forced his victim to his knees. "And why a black man, you cracka faggot?"

"B-b-because," the sniveling white man sobbed, "b-black men are stronger...and b-bigger...and better, sir."

"Damn right we are," Dante chuckled wickedly.

The clip ended there. As irate and indignant as he was to have his personal life violated, the host felt his small penis grow erect reliving his humiliation at Dante's hands. He clicked on the next video. The host watched as Dante raised a booted foot and forced his face to the hardwood floor. Dante sat back on the sectional sofa, resting his arms akimbo on the sofa's back, looking down at the groveling white man, who nightly used his show to speak out against black causes and interests, to denigrate the black race. The bulge in the leather crotch of Dante's trousers was quite real. It clearly turned him on to humiliate the conservative cuckold. "Use your tongue to clean my boots, faggot," Dante instructed.

The host whimpered, but enthusiastically applied his lips and tongue to the leather of Dante's black boots, moving his mouth over the toe of each boot. When Dante raised his feet to offer him his boot bottoms, the host hardly hesitated. He ran his soft, pink tongue over the sole and heel of the dominant man's boots, moaning with perverse satisfaction at his own debasement.

"Now, take them off, cuck," Dante ordered. The middle-aged white man obeyed, unlacing the boots with his tongue, and slipping each one off, followed by the socks.

With the black man's bare feet before him, the cuckold inhaled deeply, savoring the pungent scent of Dante's sweat. Dante inserted his feet into the white man's mouth one at a time, wiggling the toes around, distending the host's jaw. "That's right, you pathetic worm," he sneered. "Show me your proper place." It simultaneously appalled and excited the host that his peers in the news industry, his fans, even his own children might be watching these humiliating videos at this very moment. His career could well be in shambles, and here he was massaging the erection in his slacks as he relived his abject submission to a dominant black man.

He moved on to the next thumbnail. This began with Dante instructing the host to remove his leather jeans for him. The white man undid the snap at Dante’s waist and unzipped the jeans. Keeping his head lowered, he slid the jeans down Dante's well-muscled legs, revealing a bulging scarlet pouch that contained his prodigious genitalia. This was not the host's first time kneeling before the black man's musk-scented crotch, but each time left him light-headed and humbled.

"Take it out, bunny boy," Dante told him. "We need to prepare it for your eager wife, don't we?" The host nodded. He unsnapped the pouch that concealed Dante's mighty cock, allowing the semi-erect member to plop free and snake along Dante's thick inner thigh. The host grasped the black man's formidable shaft in a soft, almost girlish white hand, feeling it fill with blood and throb with power. He stroked it the way he knew Dante enjoyed, making it stiff for his blonde wife.

While her husband prepped her lover's swelling cock, the attractive blonde woman entered the room, curling up on the sofa alongside Dante's muscled, brown body. Although her face could not be seen in the clip that Professor Knight played on the show, she was easily identifiable as the host's wife, Susan, in this fuller video. Her long, blonde hair cascaded along her shoulders and down her back. She wore only black lace panties, her petit alabaster breasts completely bare. As her husband continued to stroke the black man's erection to full staff, Susan pressed her lips to Dante's mouth, their tongues visibly entwining. On his knees before the couple as well as sitting in his office before the desktop monitor, the host watched the hungry kiss with equal parts fascination and jealousy.

"Have you punished him, yet?" Susan asked.

"Not yet, baby," Dante answered. "I was waiting for you. I know how you like to watch."

"Oh! Do it now, baby," she encouraged. "I want to see you punish the bad bunny!"

Grasping a fistful of the white man's full head of hair, Dante dragged the host up from the floor, pulling him over his knees, his face dangling mere inches above Susan's own lap. "You've been such a bad bunny, sweetie," Susan teased. "Saying so many bad things about black people like Dante on your dumb little show. That's why he has to punish you."

Dante lifted the host's pink teddy, revealing his bare upturned rear end, pale and flabby. "This shit's gonna hurt you a lot more than it's gonna hurt me, faggot," Dante chuckled. With that, he brought the flat of his palm down on the white man's buttocks with a resounding smack. He spanked him the way one might a recalcitrant child. The video clip ended on the twentieth such slap.

Taking a deep breath, and unable to resist rubbing the bulging nub in his slacks, the host moved on to the next clip. It opened with him once again prostate on the floor at Dante's feet, only this time, his exposed rear end radiated a bright red from the beating he had endured. Although he had worn the teddy at Susan's insistence, he recalled, the spanking he received at Dante's hands had been his own idea.

Now, he watched as he groveled on the floor, while his wife replaced him astride her lover's lap. Instead of offering her ass to be beaten, however, Susan mounted Dante's jutting erection, the lips of her shaved pussy gripping it tightly. The couple kissed noisily as the host's wife moved her bare cunt up and down the length of the obscenely swollen black pole.

"Oh, baby," she moaned. "No white man has ever filled me so much! Certainly not that loser," she added, turning to glare at her husband, upon whose back Dante had rested his large, bare feet as Susan began to ride his now fully turgid prick. Dante mauled Susan's breasts, his large black hands kneading the fleshy mounds. The black man gave the host a kick, knocking him over. "Get your mouth on my balls, faggot," he demanded. "Show your gratitude for my fucking your wife so good."

The cuckold buried his face between Dante's powerful thighs, licking and kissing the man's egg-sized testicles, feeling them pulse with life-giving sperm. The mounds of his wife's ample ass slammed upon him repeatedly as she moved up and down on Dante's cunt-busting prong. "That's right, Cucker," Dante laughed, "respect the nuts that are going to flood your wife's womb with my babies!" The hosts humiliated sobs could only just be heard over his wife's salacious moans.

In the office, entranced by the video he had not even known existed, the host reached into his waistband and feverishly stroked his little penis between his thumb and index finger. Even though these videos could well portend the end of his long career as a voice for the conservative right, it aroused him to witness his own humiliation, and the pleasure his wife took in her well-endowed lover. With a sob, the host ejaculated in his dress slacks just as the video ended.

There were more video thumbnails to peruse, but before he had the chance to move on to the next one, he received a notification that he had a telecall. It was his wife’s caller identification. Poor Susan must be humiliated that these videos were now circulating for all to see, even their own children. He logged into the call.

“Honey,” he began. But instead of his wife’s face on-screen, he found himself greeted by Dante’s grinning visage. Rather than the black leather he sported in the video, the black man wore a light blue dress shirt, maroon tie, and grey vest, all tight on the bodyguard’s muscle-swollen body. Dante appeared to be sitting in the host’s home office, at his large oak desk.

“Hey, Cucker,” the man smirked. “Please, don’t call me honey.”

“You…bastard,” the host hissed. “You have some gall showing your face there after betraying our trust. Where is my wife? What have you done with her?”

Dante reached into the cedar desktop humidor, retrieving one of the host’s Cuban Montecristo cigars. He lit it patiently, ignoring the man whose home he occupied until the cigar had a steady ember. In an exhalation of thick, rich smoke he said, “Shut up, cuckold. Remember your place.”

“I should call the police,” the host sputtered. “Have you arrested. Thrown in jail!”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” Dante answered. “Put yet another black man behind bars. Ain’t going to happen this time, Cucker.” With the cigar held between his thick fingers, he motioned toward someone off screen. “Come here, baby, let’s school this faggot.” The host bristled at the insult Dante had used freely during their sessions. This was no long play.

Susan entered the screen, completely nude, her body lean and toned, very fit for a woman with four adult children. She sat on Dante’s knee. “Hi, sweetie,” she greeted the host. “Great show tonight, don’t you think?”

The host’s mouth hung open in astonishment. “Susan. Wh-what the hell are you doing? That black bastard videotaped us. He gave it to that son of a bitch professor. What’s he done to you?”

Susan wrapped her arms around Dante’s strong neck, while the black man ran his fingers over her neatly trimmed snatch. “What’s he done? Why, sweetie, he’s given me the best sex of my life. Better than the thirty years I wasted with a white loser like you.” Dante pressed his mouth over Susan’s, kissing her lewdly as he maintained eye contact with her husband.

When they broke off the kiss, Susan continued. “Dante didn’t record us, honey. I did. I didn’t plan on providing them to Professor Knight, not at first. I was just going to use them to secure a good divorce settlement, so Dante and I could be together.” The black man smiled broadly at that, drawing contentedly on his cigar as he dipped two fingers into Susan’s pussy.

“D-divorce?” the host replied. “B-but…!”

“It was someone else who suggested that we share the tape with Professor Knight once he was booked as a guest on the show,” Susan explained. Just then another woman walked on-screen, taking her place on Dante’s other knee.

The host’s youngest ******** was the spitting image of her mother, lean-bodied, with smooth, almost ivory skin and long blonde hair. She wore red lace underwear that left little to the imagination. “Hi, Daddy,” she greeted her astonished father before turning to Dante, and exchanging a salacious kiss, their tongues meeting wetly. The black man set his cigar on an ashtray in order to slip his free hand beneath the seam of the younger woman’s panties. “It was my idea to give the sex tape to Professor Knight,” she confessed. “Dante and Mom thought it was just a great idea.”

The host often affected a dumbstruck attitude during his interviews, but as he watched the black bodyguard freely grope his wife on one knee and his ******** on the other, before his very eyes, as they all admitted to conspiring to ruin his career, his very life, he was truly at a loss for words. Why on earth, then, had his small cock once again grown turgid? His body was betraying him every bit as much as his ****** had.

“You see, ***,” the younger blonde continued, “Professor Knight spoke at my college a few months back. He was really persuasive. After reading his book, I just knew that I had to do everything I could to help betray our degenerate race. Starting with you. When Mom told me about her affair with Dante, I knew that we had to expose you as the fraud you are. Professor Knight was all too happy to be part of it.”

"Sweetheart," the host protested, "no, honey, no. You don't know what you're saying. You've been brainwashed. You...you...."

Before he could proceed, his beloved ******** ******** flipped him her middle finger, and joined her mother in kissing the powerful black bull, the new man of the house. Dante reached over and, with a smirk and a wink, cut the video feed.

The host sat in his office, tears streaming freely down his face. When the intercom buzzed, he shouted, “I said I don’t want to be fucking disturbed!”

“Uh, I’m sorry, sir,” his secretary responded. “The head of the network is on the phone. He needs to speak with you. Now.”

When he arrived home that evening, the host discovered that the locks and access codes of his house had been changed, and no one responded to his knocks. Most of his clothes had been left on the front porch, not in the good luggage, but in trash can liners. He felt as if he had lost everything.

The following evening, in his own home in the hills overlooking Oakland and the Bay Area, Professor Okoro Knight reclined on his chesterfield of dark burgundy leather in his back parlor. He wore an uncinched black silk robe, with nothing beneath, revealing a taut dark brown body. Between his legs knelt a young redhead, one of several local white college students that the Professor had converted to black supremacy and kept on call to service his sexual needs. The nineteen-year-old slurped contentedly on the Professor's long foreskinned cock, protruding from his lap like an obscene extra limb. He sometimes thought it would be convenient to maintain a small kennel of subservient whites on the property to administer to his various needs. Something to think about.

As he enjoyed the submissive redhead's oral ministrations, Professor Knight clicked his wall-mounted television on, switching to the politically conservative network on which he had appeared as a guest just the night before. As the introduction to the host's show began, the Professor instructed the redhead to turn around, remaining on the floor, and raise her ass toward him. When she assumed the instructed position, he leaned forward, pointing his prong downward, and penetrated the lips of her pussy with the plum-sized head of his cock. The girl, whose name he had not bothered to learn, moaned deeply. He sometimes imagined how satisfying it would be if all whites had their vocal chords removed.

Rather than the usual host, an attractive blonde woman appeared on-screen, another of the network's conservative personalities, so popular with the country's increasingly disaffected white population. As Professor Knight sloshed his prick around in the pussy of the teenaged girl, the blonde woman apologized for the broadcast of the previous evening.

“It should go without saying,” she explained, “that such filth has no place on this network. The previous host of this show was in clear violation of the morals clause of his contract. As such, he has been removed from his position. I think we all deeply regret that he was given an on-air platform in this time slot for as long as he was. We cannot stress more firmly how completely we disassociate ourselves from his behavior and his words.”

Professor Knight took great delight in such disgrace visited upon such an influential voice of the far right. As he plunged ever deeper into the redhead, grasping her hair in his hand, using it the way one might use the reins of a horse, he imagined the host’s despair, imagined visiting similar ruin on white men across the country, across the globe. The host’s career was destroyed, his ****** life lay shattered, his wife would take a sizable part of his fortune, including his home. With the humiliation and defeat of such an adversary, such a profound victory for black America, Professor Knight felt the Black New World Order inch closer to realization.

With a satisfied grunt, the victorious black man deposited his potent seed deep in the white girl’s pussy, where it would journey from her cervix to her fallopian tubes in search of its rightful prey.