Chapter III: The Bachelor Party
Despite having stood by and watched impotently as my fiancée, Julie, had sex--first with her step-father, Ambrose Grant, and, later, with her ****** minister, Pastor Elijah--I did not call off the wedding. Watching Julie suck her step-father's obscenely large, black cock and later part her shapely legs to welcome the minister's own ebony leviathan would have outraged most men. Twenty-year-old virgin that I was, however, I found myself curiously aroused at the sight of the woman I loved violated by the two, older, handsome, dominant black men. I found myself not only excited, but also compliant, submissively sucking the sperm off Mr. Grant's big prick and out of Julie's ravaged cunt.
I was so passive that I did not object to Julie's step-father taking over many of the details of our wedding plans. He even had Julie throw out the modest engagement ring I had bought her with my meager savings, and replace it with an exorbitant stone from Tiffany's. He insisted on hosting a bachelor party for me at the country club to which he belonged. With some reluctance, I acquiesced, and provided a list of the few friends and acquaintances I had made at college. He assured me he would take care of the details; all I had to do was be ready by 8pm, and he would come by my studio apartment to pick me up.
When Mr. Grant called, I looked out the window of my three-story walk-up apartment to see a long, black limousine parked on the street below, looking very conspicuous in the modest blue collar neighborhood in which I lived. I realized that I might well be under-dressed in just jeans and a plaid, button-down shirt for whatever Julie's step-father had in mind for the evening. As it was too late to change, however, I scurried down the stairs dressed in the clothes I already had on. I discovered the rear door of the spacious limo waiting open for me, and my future father-in-law seated inside patiently, wearing his signature three-piece Brooks Brother's suit, smoking a freshly lit Cohiba cigar. I greeted him demurely, and slid into the back seat beside him.
I suppressed a gasp when I saw, seated across from us, Julie's step-brothers, Lamech and Tamar (Lam and Tam, as she called them), their legs spread, a white girl kneeling before each of them, slurping greedily on the long, black pricks that jutted arrogantly from their open flies.
"Timmy, brah," thirty-year-old Lam greeted me, with a wide, white-toothed grin, as the limo pulled away from the curb. "Sorry, man, we couldn't wait,” he nodded downward, indicating the girl slobbering between his legs. “Had to get the party started, you know what I mean?" He petted the short-haired blonde at his feet, offering, "You want some of this, man? It's your bachelor party, after all."
Ambrose Grant waved his cigar at his son. "Now none of that, Lamech. You know full well that Timmy here has vowed to remain chaste. Pussy-free."
"Well, uh, just until…until, well, you know, th-the wedding night," I interposed demurely.
"Oh, shit, yeah," Lam said. "My bad. Guess I forgot."
Julie's father looked at me with an appraising smirk. "The wedding night. Right. Well...we’ll see," he replied.
The sound of the girls sucking on my soon-to-be brothers-in-law was loud in the plush limousine. Tamar sat back, with his eyes closed and his arms pillowed behind his head. "That's right you fuckin' white whore, suck my big nigga prick," he intoned almost like a chant. "Suck it good." Lam used a remote to turn up the music, hip-hop blaring loudly from state-of-the-art speakers as we made our way onto the freeway. Mr. Grant enjoyed his cigar and a glass of scotch silently as he observed his sons receive head from the white girls, who had not once raised their mouths from the brothers' laps since I had climbed into the limo. I shifted uncomfortably, nervous about what Mr. Grant had in store for this evening.
The country club was a vast estate situated high on a hill, with a gently rolling lawn behind wrought iron gates. An 18-hole golf course spread out behind the stone Edwardian mansion that served as the Club House, tennis courts on one side, a car park on the other. The gates opened before us, and the limousine pulled into the circular driveway in front of the ivy-covered mansion. A valet opened the limo door for us, frowning disapprovingly at my casual attire, but not daring to criticize a guest of Ambrose Grant. "You two go ahead," Lamech called to us. "Tam and me gonna finish these whores off. We ain't had our nut, yet. We'll meet you inside."
A porter opened the large, ornate front doors to admit us to the mansion. He, too, like the valet, gave me a withering but silent look of disapproval. The foyer was large and lavish, leading to a grand staircase. As the porter led the way down a long, carpeted hall, we passed several parlors that appeared to be full of men and a few women, chatting, reading, smoking cigars. To my astonishment, all the club members I observed appeared to be black. Mr. Grant noted my surprise. "I may have forgotten to mention, Timmy," he informed me, "that this is a black only club." I sputtered, surprised, not realizing there even were such things. "Oh, not to worry. You're with me, and I'm a founding member. That comes with certain…prerogatives, and white guests is one of them." As we made our way through the mansion, I realized that all the servants we passed--waiters, bartenders, valets, porters--were white men. Diffident, timorous white men.
"Right in here, Mr. Grant, sir," the porter said, opening the doors to a large room of dark mahogany wood walls, a long bar at one end and a few billiards tables at the other. "Your party is underway." There were several dozen men, almost all black, drinking and talking, many of them in the company of young, white women. I didn't recognize any of them.
"Uh, Mr. Grant," I asked, "is this right? I don't see any of my friends."
Mr. Grant waved his hand dismissively. "That list of losers and faggots you gave me, son? I tossed that in the trash where it belongs. Nobody wants to celebrate with dregs like that, especially on such an auspicious day. No, the men in this room are important men, clients and associates of the firm. Movers, shakers, men much more likely to appreciate the finer things the club can provide."
I scanned the room, noting that many of the men were lewdly groping the young women in their company, some even openly fornicating at the bar or in the plush leather-cushioned booths. One curvaceous redhead was even bent over the green top of a billiards table, being spit-roasted, a hooded man rutting into her rounded buttocks, another stuffing his tube-steak down her throat. I gasped when I realized that the man kneeling on the billiards table, shoving his dark brown meat in the redhead's mouth, was none other than Pastor Elijah, the very man who would be officiating at my wedding to Julie in just a few days. For a clergyman, his debauchery was astonishing. Only a few days ago, he had sexually violated my beloved in his office, while I watched impotently, and now here he was at my bachelor party, behaving more like a Greek satyr than a Christian minister.
Inadvertently, my gawking must have caught Pastor Elijah's eye, because he grinned at me, and waved me over. "Timothy! My boy," he beckoned. "Come! Join us!" I shuffled toward the fornicating trio half-heartedly, Mr. Grant's large, powerful hand on my shoulder, guiding me forward. It was not until we were within arm's length of the table, that I noticed that the hands of the man in the hoodie, fucking the red-head from behind, gripping her full, rounded posterior in a firm grasp, were white. To my astonishment, he tossed off the hood and grinned at me widely.
"Hey, bro! Good to see you!" It was my own, younger brother, Braedon, whom I did not expect to arrive in town until the morning of the wedding, with our mother.
As shocked as I was to see my brother here, in front of me, I was even more distraught at seeing him fuck a nameless young woman so casually and skillfully. At only seventeen, Braedon was clearly more of a cocksman than I, still a virgin just days before my own wedding, had ever been, could ever hope to be. "Great party, dude," my brother went on. "I really didn't think a bash like this was your kind of thing, but I can't say I'm disappointed." As he spoke, he nonchalantly continued to grind his loins into the red-head's behind. I even caught glimpses of his prick, long and torpedo-shaped, quite a bit more formidable than my own.
"I flew your brother Braedon out here early," Mr. Grant said from beside me. "We couldn't have him miss out on your bachelor party, now could we, Timmy?"
Even though he was my younger brother, I had always been mildly resentful of Braedon's easy way with people: he was handsome, athletic, bright, good-natured, popular, all the things I was not. To make matters worse, Braedon wasn't even a prick about how much better at everything he was than me. He simply took all his success and popularity for granted. A large part of the reason I had applied to college on the other side of the country from my ****** was to escape the very intimidating shadow he cast. "That's right, bro," Braedon said. "Ambrose flew me out first-class, even had a limo meet me at the airport. This is quite a ****** you're marrying into, dude." My brother fist bumped my fiancée's debauched step-father as if they were the best of friends.
"And Braedon's not the only surprise, son," Mr. Grant chuckled. “See!”
With a wide smirk, Pastor Elijah lifted what turned out to be wig off the ersatz redhead to reveal the dark blonde locks of my fiancée, Julie. With her mouth stuffed full of the minister's bloated prick, my bride-to-be turned her head to greet me with smiling eyes. "Hiff, hunnfy," she mumbled around the fat black dick filling her cocksucking mouth.
Braedon burst out laughing. "Oh, shit, bro," he guffawed, not losing a stroke as he continued to fuck my fiancée. "This is Julie? This is your girl that I've been screwing? Fuck, man, I thought it was just some random whore." Both Mr. Grant and Pastor Elijah chortled, neither man objecting to my brother's crudeness regarding Julie.
"Damn, dude," Braedon continued. "This is some good, first-class snatch!" He must have noted my embarrassed, forlorn expression because he said, "Oh, damn, bro. You mean, you're getting married, and you ain't even tapped this bitch, yet?" The realization that he had gotten to enjoy Julie's sex before me, her boyfriend and husband-to-be, seemed to drive him over the edge, and he started spurting deep in Julie's well-violated cunt. "Goddamn," he exclaimed. "I'm creaming this whore but good!" With several deep thrusts, he unloaded his full nuts, a satisfied shudder running through his body. He gave Mr. Grant a lopsided grin. “Ah, man, sorry,” he said to the powerfully built black man. “I mean, I guess she’s your ********, right? No offense.”
“None taken, young man,” Mr. Grant assured him. “You’re correct: Julie is quite the first-class whore.” Turning to me, he continued in his deep, sonorous voice, "You see, Timmy, we thought it would be...economical...to combine the bachelor and the bachelorette festivities." As he spoke, Julie's step-father fished his own obscenely thick penis out of his slacks, stroking its girth in his large fist. As my brother plucked his prick out of Julie's dripping snatch, Mr. Grant lined the ebony head of his dick along Julie's engorged pussy lips.
Braedon's mouth hung open at the sight of his benefactor preparing to fuck his own step-********. "Fuck, that's some hot shit," my brother muttered.
As Mr. Grant eased his mammoth prick into Julie's cunt, Pastor Elijah sighed with release, flooding my beloved's mouth with so much frothy seed that it seeped over her full pink lips and down her chin. "Get over here and give your sweetie a loving kiss," the perverted clergyman instructed me. Mr. Grant highlighted the order with a sharp slap to the back of my head. "Go on, white boy," he instructed. "She's your bride. Give her a nice, big, sloppy kiss!" Avoiding eye contact with my brother, I reluctantly bent over the billiard table, and placed my lips over Julie's, kissing her deeply, tasting the pastor's acrid semen.
"Holy fuckin' shit," Braedon exclaimed at the sight of me slurping a black man's cum from my fiancée's overflowing mouth. "Tim's eating your dick scum, Eli, just like a fuckin' faggot! I don't believe it!"
"Your brother knows his place, son," Mr. Grant chuckled. "And that place is whatever I and the men of the Grant ****** say it is."
"I always knew he was kind of a wimp," Braedon laughed, "but I never figured him for a faggot."
"You haven't seen anything, yet, young man," the powerfully built black entrepreneur assured my astounded brother as he stabbed his big, mahogany prick deep into Julie's cunt. "To celebrate the impending nuptials, every man in this room is going to get a chance at my little girl's sweet pussy, just like you did. Your faggot brother is going to provide both fluffer and clean-up support to any of the men who desire it."
"Jesus Christ! He's a cocksucker, too?" Braedon marveled.
"He is if I say he is," Mr. Grant chuckled deeply.
Unable to bear the humiliation any longer, I stood up and faced Mr. Grant. "No!" I shouted, my voice shriller, more girlish than I intended. "I won't! I won't do it! You, you can't m-m-make me!"
I never saw the large black fist coming.
I heard as much as felt the cartilage of my nose crunch under those knuckles, as my glasses went flying across the room and the world swam dizzyingly around me. I collapsed to my knees. I faintly heard Julie exclaim, "Oh, Timmy," more with disappointment in her voice than concern. "Here, Braedon," I heard Pastor Elijah instruct, "hold your brother's head steady for me, will you?"
"You bet!" my brother answered. "I've got to see this shit!"
The world was still a dim gray around me, but I felt my brother take me by the ears and angle my face upward as the fleshy knob of the minister's cock head plopped past my lips and into my mouth, already coated with his cum from my slimy kiss with Julie. As Braedon held my head in place, the man who had just nutted down my fiancée's throat cleaned his foul prick in my mouth, swirling his cock around as if it were a swizzle stick. He did not relent even as I gagged around his uncut sausage.
"You see, son," Mr. Grant said to Braedon. "Would any real man let himself be used that way?"
My brother sounded aghast. "Fuck, no! It's true: my big bro is a cocksucking pervert and cum-eater. Wait until the dudes back home hear about this shit. They always said he was a wimp, but I bet they never guessed he was an actual queer!" The fact that he and the two black men were forcing me to suck dick seemed lost on my teenaged brother. "Wait a minute," he said to Mr. Grant. "If he's such a big faggot, why are you letting him marry your hot as fuck ********?"
As he rotated his groin against Julie's pelvis, Mr. Grant explained, "Julie needs someone who'll look after her, dote on her, pamper her, but not interfere with the very, let's say, special relationship that she enjoys with me and her step-brothers."
Her step-brothers? Lam and Tam were fucking her, too? Were there any black men in town who haven't enjoyed Julie's body?
Pastor Elijah plucked his spit-clean cock from between my lips, slapping it across my face a couple of times with a sharp thawck. "Good job, faggot," the clergyman complimented my efforts. "You didn't miss a drop. You must really enjoy my seed, you degenerate sodomite."
I looked up at my brother, pleading for his help. "It's not true, Braedon," I promised him. "I'm not a faggot! I'm not a cocksucker! They make me do this! I love Julie. I do!"
"Really, bro?" he responded. "You say you love her, but you sat back and did nothing while I was fucking her. And you're doing nothing now while my man Ambrose fucks her. And apparently you like sucking dick a hell of a lot. Kinda makes you look like a faggot, bro."
I whimpered at my brother's cruelty and contempt, but before I could protest further, yet another hard, black cock slapped my cheek. I looked up, and saw Julie's handsome step-brother, Lamech, standing above me, smacking the ebony shaft of his hard cock against my face. "What's that you were saying about not being a cocksucker?" he laughed, as he eased the fat head of his prick past my lips. "I just got some good head out in the limo, future bro-in-law, and now my dick's all nasty with dried, crusty spunk. Do me a favor, would ya, clean that shit up."
As Lamech fucked my mouth, I raised my eyes and observed Julie's other brother, Tamar, climb up on the billiard table to feed his own long, chocolate-colored prick into my fiancée’s mouth, even as his father continued to fuck her pussy, already sloppy with Braedon's baby-making juice. The depraved ****** orgy had attracted a number of the other guests of my so-called bachelor party; they crowded around the table, many of them with their pricks jutting out of their flies, being stroked in anticipation. Black hands groped Julie's fleshy ivory breasts and rounded alabaster buttocks as her step-father and step-brother spit-roasted her between them. Julie mewled in feverish response, sounding like an alley cat in heat. To my horror, I finally realized that the woman I loved was not a victim of these men, but a depraved slut, desperate for black dick in her ravaged cunt and hungry throat. She was not being subjected to this sexual abuse; she was fully willing participant, giving herself to these men happily.
Lamech peeled the thick, rubbery foreskin back from the bloated, ebony head of his cock, giving me access to the thick, musky cheese that had gathered beneath. The texture and odor made me retch, but I swallowed it down out of fear of reprisal. Satisfied at my ministrations, Lamech popped his shiny black prick from my mouth. Before I could even take a breath, however, his was replaced by another brown cock, this one belonging to a stranger, an older, bearded black man in a dark suit, maybe sixty-years-old, three times my own age. "I hear you're the party fluffer, white boy," he chuckled. "C'mon, get my prong nice and hard for your girl's pussy. Once her old man's done with her, I aim to take a turn."
Mr. Grant chortled. "You better take your time with the faggot's mouth, then, Isaiah," the black sadist said with a wide grin. "I aim to make this a good, long, slow fuck!"
Isaiah shrugged. "Take yer time, Ambrose. This cracker's piehole is warm and wet. Feels mighty fine on my big, ole muff-fucker."
I could hear the sound of multiple other cocks being fisted all around me, some slapping at my face, being rubbed across my forehead, my cheeks, my chin, vying for their own turn between my lips. Even with my mouth full of Isaiah's engorged prick, I felt another cock head probe at my mouth. I cast my eyes upward to see a young black man I recognized from Mr. Grant's firm, Samuel, a real estate agent, who had always been friendly and cordial toward me. Now, he was sword fighting to fit his eager dick in my mouth in anticipation of fucking my finacée with it. Samuel and Isaiah shared a laugh as they managed to squeeze the heads of both their fat ebony tools in my distended mouth. Tears streamed down my eyes and snot drooled from my nose as I gurgled desperately for breath, my tormentors oblivious to my distress.
Eventually, Isaiah plucked the head of his dick from my cheek, turning his attention to fondling Julie’s white breasts, and giving Samuel the opportunity to let the length of his shaft snake down my throat. When I tried to pull away, the young black man placed a large hand on the top of my head, holding me steady. "Come on, white boy," he snorted with derision, "let me feel my big dick fuckin’ your gullet!" I sputtered as his fuck-spear thrust stubbornly against my pharynx. I pushed futilely against his thighs, his superior strength too much for me to overcome. After some time, Samuel withdrew, allowing yet another man, and then another and another and another, to make use of my mouth to get their pricks hard and wet and ready for Julie's snatch. It was a living nightmare.
Even as I was being subjected to this ongoing violation, I could hear Julie giggling excitedly. I could see that she was still bent over the billiard table, her step-father rutting into her womb with persistence; but now she had two more black cocks at her mouth, vying for her attention, men I did not recognize, but who, like Ambrose Grant, were in their 50s and well-appointed. She slurped greedily at both pricks in turn, sucking each to the back of her throat with an ease that testified to her experience. "Goddamn, Ambrose," observed one of the men, "but this little slut of yours is one damn fine cocksucker!" His friend chuckled, "Damn truth. I can't believe you're going to marry such a fine piece of ass off to that little white faggot over there!"
With his powerful loins grinding relentlessly against Julie's crotch, Mr. Grant explained, "Timmy will be a fine husband, gentlemen. Just what my little princess needs. He'll be loyal, supportive, devoted. The one thing he won't be is the one thing he isn't: a man. Whatever tiny, pale, little maggot of a dick he's got between his legs will never get anywhere near this fine piece of snatch. This pussy will remain forever off-limits to a loser like Timmy."
Amidst the sea of faceless dicks that surrounded me, I heard Tamar Grant say, "I keep telling you, Pop, you should have little Timmy neutered, just like you would a puppy. It would make him even more compliant than he already is."
A laugh erupted from the crowd. It was my brother, Braedon. "Oh, shit, dude! That would be fuckin' hilarious!"
"See," argued Tamar. "Even his own brother thinks nutting the fag is a good idea. You just know that Doc Nwachukwu would jump at the chance to fix a white boy like Timmy."
"If it comes to that," Mr. Grant agreed, "we'll do it. But I find it much more satisfying to get a loser like Timmy to submit willingly, to accept his proper place in the hierarchy. I don't expect he'll be too much trouble."
These men--my future in-laws--were casually discussing the possibility of castrating me, and my own brother seemed to think it was a grand idea. It struck me how little actual malice there was in their tone. None of them seemed to hate me; they simply took it as given that I was inferior to them, that they could control me, use me, even mutilate me at their whim. Julie, my beloved, seemed unconcerned about whatever fate her step-father and brothers intended for me, for her, for our marriage. The way they made it sound, I wouldn't be her husband so much as her companion, her valet. If I could somehow survive my own bachelor party, I quietly resolved that I would call off this sham of a wedding before it went any further.
I had lost count of how many black cocks had frigged my mouth by that point. Eight? Maybe ten? My lips had grown raw and my mouth dry. Hoping to ease my discomfort, I worked to open my throat up, to better accommodate the long, spear-headed cocks that jabbed at my esophagus. As my pharynx expanded, my throat became coated with a liberal helping of gooey pre-ejaculate, making it easier for me to take the lengthy of the mocha-colored shaft that currently pummeled my mouth. In an effort to further lessen my discomfort, I gave the cock a hesitant suck, slurping at its veiny girth with my lips and tongue, taking it even deeper down my throat.
The young, heavily tattooed, dreadlocked black man at the other end of the prodigious cock responded to my sudden improved efforts with a deep, guttural groan. I was suddenly doing more than just offering his dick a wet hole, he and I seemed to realize at the same time: I was actively giving him a blow job. The more I sucked, the more he liked it, the more he responded. I realized that I almost enjoyed anticipating his response, experimenting with my mouth to get a positive reaction. After a copious amount of his precum flooded my throat, he shoved me off his dick. "Fuck, faggot," he warned. "Calm the fuck down! I know you love my dick, but I'm saving my nut for this white bitch of yours."
Another big dick appeared before my face, this one only semi-flaccid and not as long as the previous one, but even thicker, the head encased in a fat, low-hanging foreskin. I looked up at a middle-aged man with a greying beard and glasses. He wore a bright-colored dashiki and a kufi cap. “I’m Doctor Nwachukwu, white boy,” he introduced himself in deep, mellifluous, accented English. “Think about me neutering your worthless little white balls while you get my dick nice and hard.”
I realized with horror that this was the very doctor that Tamar had suggested should castrate me for no other reason than to make me more compliant. Not only did this African doctor appear willing to actually perform the procedure, my own tiny cock grew hard in my slacks as I contemplated the act, exactly as he had instructed me to do. I sucked almost furiously at his prick, praying that he would dismiss the possibility if I pleased him. “A single word from Ambrose,” the doctor chuckled, “and we’ll pop those little raisins of yours right out of their sac.” Everyone laughed at his casual threat, my own brother included. I even heard Julie giggle from above.
As I worked hard to hone my meager cocksucking skills to satisfy this demented doctor, Mr. Grant ejaculated into his step-********'s womb with a satisfied grunt. He smacked the globes of her white ass with his palms, and observed, "Damn, but I love seeding this bitch!" He eased his bottle-thick cock from Julie's swollen pussy, stepping aside to allow the next black man access to my fiancée's well-used snatch. "She was made for taking a black man's nut, so go ahead and enjoy that fine cunt." Samuel, the young real estate agent from the firm that had fucked my mouth just minutes ago, stepped between Julie's wide-sprayed legs, slapping his lengthy rod against her buttocks. The copious flow of another man's semen oozing freely from her pussy did not appear to bother him in the least as he slid his prick into Julie's welcoming snatch with ease. “Hmm, sloppy seconds,” he said with a laugh.
“Sloppy thirds,” Mr. Grant corrected him. “But it’ll be a lot more before the night is through!”
"Goddamn, dude," I heard my brother Braedon say to Mr. Grant. "Not only do you have my faggot brother on his knees sucking dick, you whore out your own ********! You are the man!" Rather than take offense, Mr. Grant merely chortled, and offered Braedon a cigar. Braedon puffed at it while Mr. Grant lit it for him.
"That is a Jeroboam, son," he explained to my teenaged brother. "Hand-made in the Dominican Republic. A mild, mellow cigar, perfect after a good fuck." Braedon drew on it appreciatively, without the girlish hacking fit that I had when Mr. Grant had offered me my first cigar. "I don't hold truck with a lot of white boys, son," the black man confided. "But I have a good feeling about you, Braedon." He wrapped an arm around my brother's shoulder. "When you graduate, come see me. There may be a place for you at the firm. Not the grunt work that your faggot brother does. Something in management." Julie's step-father appeared to be bonding with my brother even as he was forcing me to suck the dicks of black strangers at my own bachelor party. It compounded my humiliation.
Samuel, meanwhile, nutted in Julie’s cunt, making way for Isaiah, who was old enough to be her grandfather. Once Isaiah finished, Dr. Nwachukwu plucked his fat prick from my mouth and took his place behind my fiancée, unceremoniously thrusting his cock, drenched in my saliva, deep in her pussy. More men made use of my mouth to make their dicks hard and wet for Julie’s ravaged pussy, including my future step-brothers, Lamech and Tamar. Based on the way the various men responded, I could tell my cocksucking abilities were improving. I swallowed their dicks easier, deeper, without gagging, letting their copious pre-ejaculate coat my throat, easing my efforts. Some of the men appreciated the reverence I would show their dicks, kissing the flared heads and sniffing the strong musk of their testicles before swallowing them down my throat. Others, especially the younger ones, preferred to grasp me by the ears and rut into my mouth.
All the while, I could hear Mr. Grant sharing his worldview with my younger brother, corrupting his impressionable mind. “It is all about male hierarchy, son,” he told Braedon, as they enjoyed their cigars. He explained that most black men were Alpha males, dominant, assertive, the top of the food chain, and had only been kept from their rightful place by craven white duplicity and treachery. Many white males were betas, not really submissive, but needing the strong, guiding hand of an Alpha. Gammas and omegas, he went on, were submissives, not necessarily faggots, but they were weak and whiney, and were easily used as such by their superiors. When Julie first told him about me, he explained, he immediately recognized that I was in this latter group and might make an ideal, easily manipulated sexless spouse for his little girl.
“Wait a second,” Braedon objected. “I’m white, but I ain’t no faggot!”
“Of course not, son,” Mr. Grant assured him. “I could tell that the moment I saw you. You are pure beta. You’re on the baseball team, aren’t you, but you’re not the captain. You get plenty of pussy, but not the first pick, am I right? That’s nothing to be ashamed of for a white boy, son. In fact, in this day in age with white testosterone levels plummeting, it’s pretty impressive.”
Braedon seemed to consider this. “Well…I suppose that’s all right.”
“Of course it is, son,” Mr. Grant said, “It’s ideal. It’s exactly why I want you on my team. Beta whites are loyal and dependable. Your brother, on the other hand, he’s a classic sub, and they make ideal cuckolds, and, with a bit of manipulation, they can sometimes even be molded into fuckboys.”
“Shit,” my brother laughed. “You’re going to turn his punk ass out?”
The older, dominant black man joined Braedon’s laughter, puffing on his cigar. “I just might at that, my boy. A submissive sissy white boy like Timmy is in demand among a certain crowd. Just look at the way the little twerp has taken to cocksucking!”
It was true. I was devouring each black cock presented to me, not just fluffing, but actively sucking. Just then something unexpected happened: one of the white real estate agents from the firm proffered his cock. I balked. I recognized him from the office, a tall, handsome, Nordic-looking man named Matthew. As I looked at his smooth, circumcised prick, I recalled that he had a wife and two sons. It was one thing to submit to all these powerful, dominant black men at Mr. Grant’s instruction. It was something else entirely to open my throat to Matthew’s white, married dick. In a way that servicing black cock didn’t, it felt…gay.
The matter was taken out of my hands, when Tamar took a handful of my hair in his grasp, and guided my mouth toward Matthew’s prick. “What?” Tam teased. “You think you too good to suck white meat, Timmy? You’ll suck any cock we tell you to, faggot!” Matthew’s cock was long, about seven inches, but not as thick as most of the black dick I had been sucking. After Pastor Elijah and Dr. Nwachukwu and Isaiah and all the rest, his white dick proved quite manageable. Everything I had heard about the endowment of black men appeared quite valid. “Look at that,” I heard Mr. Grant tut. “What’d I say? Your brother will suck anything put in front of him, just like the basest of fags.”
“Christ,” I heard Braedon cuss. “It makes me glad that *** didn’t live long enough to see this shit. He’d be so ashamed.”
“You can’t fight nature, son,” Mr. Grant told him. “It’s the destiny of most white boys to become dickless little cocksucking cucks and fags.”
“All part of the Lord’s plan,” I heard Pastor Elijah chime in.
All told, I must have sucked the cocks of about fifteen of the guests at my own bachelor party that night, most of them black, but a couple of white men, as well. Even more men fucked my lovely bride-to-be, including her own step-brothers. Braedon even took a second turn, taunting me as he buried his prick deep in Julie’s snatch. “Damn, bro, this is some good fuckin’ pussy! But I guess you’ll never know, huh, fuckboy?”
When the last man had emptied his balls in Julie’s womb, Mr. Grant took me by the ear and guided my face to her cunt. Julie rolled over, looking down at me and spreading her legs wide. I stared at the swampy mess that was her pussy in shock. “You know what to do, boy,” Mr. Grant sneered. “Get to work.” Although I had been made to lap Julie’s violated pussy clean in the past, the coagulating mess before me was a horror: her pink lips, fucked raw, were red and swollen, her cunt gaping open, flooded with what must have pints of thick, viscous semen. His strong, black hand atop my head, Mr. Grant shepherded my head between his step-********’s ivory thighs, brooking no hesitation. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue just as a thick glob of ejaculate spilled from the cavernous depths of Julie’s cunt. I gulped it down.
“Oh, Timmy, sweetie,” Julie sighed contentedly. “You’re so good at that! A lot of men couldn’t stomach all those loads, but look at you, slurping it all up like such a good boy!” She ran her fingers through my hair as if I were an obedient pet, while I buried my tongue deeper in the yawning chasm of her pussy. “They all fucked me so good, Timmy,” Julie sighed. “My pussy aches so much, honey, and you’re making it feel so much better. You’re the best boyfriend ever!” Endless clods of spunk with the consistency of yogurt slipped down my throat, causing my stomach to churn. When Mr. Grant finally allowed me to remove my mouth from between Julie’s thighs, my face was slathered with a thick sheen of other men’s jizz.
I looked around, observing that most of the other men had moved on, some drinking at the bar, some talking among themselves, others pawing at the other white girls in the room. Mr. Grant, Lamech, Tamar, and Braedon continued to stand over me. Julie hopped off the billiard table, wrapping her arms around her step-father’s brawny neck and pressing her pink lips to his dark brown mouth. “Oh, Daddy!” she cried. “Thank you so much! That was the best party a girl could hope for. Timmy is going to make the very best husband, don’t you think?”
Towering over me in his three-piece, custom-made suit, his cigar between his teeth, the brawny former football player agreed, “He sure is, honey. Timmy here is exactly what my little girl needs in a husband.” Braedon and Julie’s brothers snickered at that as I knelt at their feet.
Epilogue
Later that night, back at my place, Julie relaxed in a warm bath while I knelt beside the tub and ran a sponge over her sore body. Bruises of various shades of purple covered her thighs and breasts. The lips of her pussy remained raw and tender. As I softly sponged her swollen sex, I began to weep.
"Timmy," Julie gasped. "Are you crying? What's wrong, honey? You can tell me anything."
I blubbered, trying to fight back the tears. "J-J-Julie," I stuttered, "I love you so much, more than anything. B-b-but I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't think I can marry you."
"Baby! What do you mean? We're getting married in just a few days. Are you having cold feet, is that it?"
"No, no, it's not cold feet," I struggled to explain. How could she not see it, that this whole situation was so abnormal, so perverse, that her step-father was a monster?
"It's everything, Julie! It's your ******, it's how they...how they treat you, the things they make you do! The things they make me do! It's...it's shameful. It's unnatural. It's sick."
"Oh, Timmy, sweetie," she pouted. "Daddy doesn't make me do anything. I love cock, especially black cock. I guess I'm just a big whore like Daddy always says. But you've sucked black cock now, too, Timmy. Isn't it just the best thing in the whole world? Don't you just love it?"
I shook my head vigorously. "No! No! I hate it! I'm not gay, Julie! I’m not! I'm really not."
"Of course you're not silly. I never thought you were." She placed a consoling hand on the side of my face. "But...you're not exactly a man either, are you? Not like Daddy. Or Lam and Tam. Or even like Braedon." I bit back a sob because I knew she was right. "But that's okay, baby. You're special to me. You're the sweetest, most thoughtful boyfriend a girl could have. You eat my full, swollen pussy so well. Not a lot of boyfriends would do that. Daddy likes that about you. He knows that you'll look out for me and always put me first."
"You...you don't hate me for being so...so weak?" I asked, hanging my head in shame.
"Hate you? How could I ever hate you? You sucked all those cocks just for me, even though you're not gay! I'm the luckiest girl in the world!"
"I...I would do anything for you," I sniffled.
"I know, sweetie, really I do. My ****** is a lot more, well, complex than I let on, I know, but you've adjusted to everything so well. I just know you're going to be the best husband in the world! And the very best father, too!"
"You think so?" I asked, brightening. "You think I'll be a good father."
"I know it, Timmy, baby. Daddy does, too. He wouldn't let just anyone raise his babies."
HIS babies? She thinks that I'm going to raise Mr. Grant's babies!
"Y-y-you mean, he...he's going to...you and he...," I stammered unable to find the words for this new obscenity.
"Well, of course, silly," she giggled. "He’s eager to breed me. I'm afraid that Daddy would never let me have your babies. He wants my children to be strong and tough and confident. And black, of course. And, well, Timmy...you're really not any of those things, are you?"
I sobbed, and shook my head, knowing she was right.
"But you're so sweet and caring and nurturing." Julie ran a hand through my hair. "Please, tell me that you'll still marry me, Timmy. I love you so, so very much!"
I was terrified. Calling off the wedding meant losing Julie forever. But marrying her meant accepting that her body would be denied me just as certainly. Could I possibly accept my wife forever serving as a slut for her own step-father, a whore for any black cock? Could I stand aside like a eunuch and watch Mr. Grant’s children grow in her belly? Could I resign myself to a sex life that entailed little more than servicing black cock and licking my wife’s well-used pussy?
“All right, J-J-Julie,” I stammered. “I’ll…I’ll marry you.”
Julie beamed. “Oh, Timmy! You won’t regret it! I promise, baby, you won’t regret it!” With that, she leaned over and kissed me chastely on the forehead.
Next chapter: The Ceremony
Despite having stood by and watched impotently as my fiancée, Julie, had sex--first with her step-father, Ambrose Grant, and, later, with her ****** minister, Pastor Elijah--I did not call off the wedding. Watching Julie suck her step-father's obscenely large, black cock and later part her shapely legs to welcome the minister's own ebony leviathan would have outraged most men. Twenty-year-old virgin that I was, however, I found myself curiously aroused at the sight of the woman I loved violated by the two, older, handsome, dominant black men. I found myself not only excited, but also compliant, submissively sucking the sperm off Mr. Grant's big prick and out of Julie's ravaged cunt.
I was so passive that I did not object to Julie's step-father taking over many of the details of our wedding plans. He even had Julie throw out the modest engagement ring I had bought her with my meager savings, and replace it with an exorbitant stone from Tiffany's. He insisted on hosting a bachelor party for me at the country club to which he belonged. With some reluctance, I acquiesced, and provided a list of the few friends and acquaintances I had made at college. He assured me he would take care of the details; all I had to do was be ready by 8pm, and he would come by my studio apartment to pick me up.
When Mr. Grant called, I looked out the window of my three-story walk-up apartment to see a long, black limousine parked on the street below, looking very conspicuous in the modest blue collar neighborhood in which I lived. I realized that I might well be under-dressed in just jeans and a plaid, button-down shirt for whatever Julie's step-father had in mind for the evening. As it was too late to change, however, I scurried down the stairs dressed in the clothes I already had on. I discovered the rear door of the spacious limo waiting open for me, and my future father-in-law seated inside patiently, wearing his signature three-piece Brooks Brother's suit, smoking a freshly lit Cohiba cigar. I greeted him demurely, and slid into the back seat beside him.
I suppressed a gasp when I saw, seated across from us, Julie's step-brothers, Lamech and Tamar (Lam and Tam, as she called them), their legs spread, a white girl kneeling before each of them, slurping greedily on the long, black pricks that jutted arrogantly from their open flies.
"Timmy, brah," thirty-year-old Lam greeted me, with a wide, white-toothed grin, as the limo pulled away from the curb. "Sorry, man, we couldn't wait,” he nodded downward, indicating the girl slobbering between his legs. “Had to get the party started, you know what I mean?" He petted the short-haired blonde at his feet, offering, "You want some of this, man? It's your bachelor party, after all."
Ambrose Grant waved his cigar at his son. "Now none of that, Lamech. You know full well that Timmy here has vowed to remain chaste. Pussy-free."
"Well, uh, just until…until, well, you know, th-the wedding night," I interposed demurely.
"Oh, shit, yeah," Lam said. "My bad. Guess I forgot."
Julie's father looked at me with an appraising smirk. "The wedding night. Right. Well...we’ll see," he replied.
The sound of the girls sucking on my soon-to-be brothers-in-law was loud in the plush limousine. Tamar sat back, with his eyes closed and his arms pillowed behind his head. "That's right you fuckin' white whore, suck my big nigga prick," he intoned almost like a chant. "Suck it good." Lam used a remote to turn up the music, hip-hop blaring loudly from state-of-the-art speakers as we made our way onto the freeway. Mr. Grant enjoyed his cigar and a glass of scotch silently as he observed his sons receive head from the white girls, who had not once raised their mouths from the brothers' laps since I had climbed into the limo. I shifted uncomfortably, nervous about what Mr. Grant had in store for this evening.
The country club was a vast estate situated high on a hill, with a gently rolling lawn behind wrought iron gates. An 18-hole golf course spread out behind the stone Edwardian mansion that served as the Club House, tennis courts on one side, a car park on the other. The gates opened before us, and the limousine pulled into the circular driveway in front of the ivy-covered mansion. A valet opened the limo door for us, frowning disapprovingly at my casual attire, but not daring to criticize a guest of Ambrose Grant. "You two go ahead," Lamech called to us. "Tam and me gonna finish these whores off. We ain't had our nut, yet. We'll meet you inside."
A porter opened the large, ornate front doors to admit us to the mansion. He, too, like the valet, gave me a withering but silent look of disapproval. The foyer was large and lavish, leading to a grand staircase. As the porter led the way down a long, carpeted hall, we passed several parlors that appeared to be full of men and a few women, chatting, reading, smoking cigars. To my astonishment, all the club members I observed appeared to be black. Mr. Grant noted my surprise. "I may have forgotten to mention, Timmy," he informed me, "that this is a black only club." I sputtered, surprised, not realizing there even were such things. "Oh, not to worry. You're with me, and I'm a founding member. That comes with certain…prerogatives, and white guests is one of them." As we made our way through the mansion, I realized that all the servants we passed--waiters, bartenders, valets, porters--were white men. Diffident, timorous white men.
"Right in here, Mr. Grant, sir," the porter said, opening the doors to a large room of dark mahogany wood walls, a long bar at one end and a few billiards tables at the other. "Your party is underway." There were several dozen men, almost all black, drinking and talking, many of them in the company of young, white women. I didn't recognize any of them.
"Uh, Mr. Grant," I asked, "is this right? I don't see any of my friends."
Mr. Grant waved his hand dismissively. "That list of losers and faggots you gave me, son? I tossed that in the trash where it belongs. Nobody wants to celebrate with dregs like that, especially on such an auspicious day. No, the men in this room are important men, clients and associates of the firm. Movers, shakers, men much more likely to appreciate the finer things the club can provide."
I scanned the room, noting that many of the men were lewdly groping the young women in their company, some even openly fornicating at the bar or in the plush leather-cushioned booths. One curvaceous redhead was even bent over the green top of a billiards table, being spit-roasted, a hooded man rutting into her rounded buttocks, another stuffing his tube-steak down her throat. I gasped when I realized that the man kneeling on the billiards table, shoving his dark brown meat in the redhead's mouth, was none other than Pastor Elijah, the very man who would be officiating at my wedding to Julie in just a few days. For a clergyman, his debauchery was astonishing. Only a few days ago, he had sexually violated my beloved in his office, while I watched impotently, and now here he was at my bachelor party, behaving more like a Greek satyr than a Christian minister.
Inadvertently, my gawking must have caught Pastor Elijah's eye, because he grinned at me, and waved me over. "Timothy! My boy," he beckoned. "Come! Join us!" I shuffled toward the fornicating trio half-heartedly, Mr. Grant's large, powerful hand on my shoulder, guiding me forward. It was not until we were within arm's length of the table, that I noticed that the hands of the man in the hoodie, fucking the red-head from behind, gripping her full, rounded posterior in a firm grasp, were white. To my astonishment, he tossed off the hood and grinned at me widely.
"Hey, bro! Good to see you!" It was my own, younger brother, Braedon, whom I did not expect to arrive in town until the morning of the wedding, with our mother.
As shocked as I was to see my brother here, in front of me, I was even more distraught at seeing him fuck a nameless young woman so casually and skillfully. At only seventeen, Braedon was clearly more of a cocksman than I, still a virgin just days before my own wedding, had ever been, could ever hope to be. "Great party, dude," my brother went on. "I really didn't think a bash like this was your kind of thing, but I can't say I'm disappointed." As he spoke, he nonchalantly continued to grind his loins into the red-head's behind. I even caught glimpses of his prick, long and torpedo-shaped, quite a bit more formidable than my own.
"I flew your brother Braedon out here early," Mr. Grant said from beside me. "We couldn't have him miss out on your bachelor party, now could we, Timmy?"
Even though he was my younger brother, I had always been mildly resentful of Braedon's easy way with people: he was handsome, athletic, bright, good-natured, popular, all the things I was not. To make matters worse, Braedon wasn't even a prick about how much better at everything he was than me. He simply took all his success and popularity for granted. A large part of the reason I had applied to college on the other side of the country from my ****** was to escape the very intimidating shadow he cast. "That's right, bro," Braedon said. "Ambrose flew me out first-class, even had a limo meet me at the airport. This is quite a ****** you're marrying into, dude." My brother fist bumped my fiancée's debauched step-father as if they were the best of friends.
"And Braedon's not the only surprise, son," Mr. Grant chuckled. “See!”
With a wide smirk, Pastor Elijah lifted what turned out to be wig off the ersatz redhead to reveal the dark blonde locks of my fiancée, Julie. With her mouth stuffed full of the minister's bloated prick, my bride-to-be turned her head to greet me with smiling eyes. "Hiff, hunnfy," she mumbled around the fat black dick filling her cocksucking mouth.
Braedon burst out laughing. "Oh, shit, bro," he guffawed, not losing a stroke as he continued to fuck my fiancée. "This is Julie? This is your girl that I've been screwing? Fuck, man, I thought it was just some random whore." Both Mr. Grant and Pastor Elijah chortled, neither man objecting to my brother's crudeness regarding Julie.
"Damn, dude," Braedon continued. "This is some good, first-class snatch!" He must have noted my embarrassed, forlorn expression because he said, "Oh, damn, bro. You mean, you're getting married, and you ain't even tapped this bitch, yet?" The realization that he had gotten to enjoy Julie's sex before me, her boyfriend and husband-to-be, seemed to drive him over the edge, and he started spurting deep in Julie's well-violated cunt. "Goddamn," he exclaimed. "I'm creaming this whore but good!" With several deep thrusts, he unloaded his full nuts, a satisfied shudder running through his body. He gave Mr. Grant a lopsided grin. “Ah, man, sorry,” he said to the powerfully built black man. “I mean, I guess she’s your ********, right? No offense.”
“None taken, young man,” Mr. Grant assured him. “You’re correct: Julie is quite the first-class whore.” Turning to me, he continued in his deep, sonorous voice, "You see, Timmy, we thought it would be...economical...to combine the bachelor and the bachelorette festivities." As he spoke, Julie's step-father fished his own obscenely thick penis out of his slacks, stroking its girth in his large fist. As my brother plucked his prick out of Julie's dripping snatch, Mr. Grant lined the ebony head of his dick along Julie's engorged pussy lips.
Braedon's mouth hung open at the sight of his benefactor preparing to fuck his own step-********. "Fuck, that's some hot shit," my brother muttered.
As Mr. Grant eased his mammoth prick into Julie's cunt, Pastor Elijah sighed with release, flooding my beloved's mouth with so much frothy seed that it seeped over her full pink lips and down her chin. "Get over here and give your sweetie a loving kiss," the perverted clergyman instructed me. Mr. Grant highlighted the order with a sharp slap to the back of my head. "Go on, white boy," he instructed. "She's your bride. Give her a nice, big, sloppy kiss!" Avoiding eye contact with my brother, I reluctantly bent over the billiard table, and placed my lips over Julie's, kissing her deeply, tasting the pastor's acrid semen.
"Holy fuckin' shit," Braedon exclaimed at the sight of me slurping a black man's cum from my fiancée's overflowing mouth. "Tim's eating your dick scum, Eli, just like a fuckin' faggot! I don't believe it!"
"Your brother knows his place, son," Mr. Grant chuckled. "And that place is whatever I and the men of the Grant ****** say it is."
"I always knew he was kind of a wimp," Braedon laughed, "but I never figured him for a faggot."
"You haven't seen anything, yet, young man," the powerfully built black entrepreneur assured my astounded brother as he stabbed his big, mahogany prick deep into Julie's cunt. "To celebrate the impending nuptials, every man in this room is going to get a chance at my little girl's sweet pussy, just like you did. Your faggot brother is going to provide both fluffer and clean-up support to any of the men who desire it."
"Jesus Christ! He's a cocksucker, too?" Braedon marveled.
"He is if I say he is," Mr. Grant chuckled deeply.
Unable to bear the humiliation any longer, I stood up and faced Mr. Grant. "No!" I shouted, my voice shriller, more girlish than I intended. "I won't! I won't do it! You, you can't m-m-make me!"
I never saw the large black fist coming.
I heard as much as felt the cartilage of my nose crunch under those knuckles, as my glasses went flying across the room and the world swam dizzyingly around me. I collapsed to my knees. I faintly heard Julie exclaim, "Oh, Timmy," more with disappointment in her voice than concern. "Here, Braedon," I heard Pastor Elijah instruct, "hold your brother's head steady for me, will you?"
"You bet!" my brother answered. "I've got to see this shit!"
The world was still a dim gray around me, but I felt my brother take me by the ears and angle my face upward as the fleshy knob of the minister's cock head plopped past my lips and into my mouth, already coated with his cum from my slimy kiss with Julie. As Braedon held my head in place, the man who had just nutted down my fiancée's throat cleaned his foul prick in my mouth, swirling his cock around as if it were a swizzle stick. He did not relent even as I gagged around his uncut sausage.
"You see, son," Mr. Grant said to Braedon. "Would any real man let himself be used that way?"
My brother sounded aghast. "Fuck, no! It's true: my big bro is a cocksucking pervert and cum-eater. Wait until the dudes back home hear about this shit. They always said he was a wimp, but I bet they never guessed he was an actual queer!" The fact that he and the two black men were forcing me to suck dick seemed lost on my teenaged brother. "Wait a minute," he said to Mr. Grant. "If he's such a big faggot, why are you letting him marry your hot as fuck ********?"
As he rotated his groin against Julie's pelvis, Mr. Grant explained, "Julie needs someone who'll look after her, dote on her, pamper her, but not interfere with the very, let's say, special relationship that she enjoys with me and her step-brothers."
Her step-brothers? Lam and Tam were fucking her, too? Were there any black men in town who haven't enjoyed Julie's body?
Pastor Elijah plucked his spit-clean cock from between my lips, slapping it across my face a couple of times with a sharp thawck. "Good job, faggot," the clergyman complimented my efforts. "You didn't miss a drop. You must really enjoy my seed, you degenerate sodomite."
I looked up at my brother, pleading for his help. "It's not true, Braedon," I promised him. "I'm not a faggot! I'm not a cocksucker! They make me do this! I love Julie. I do!"
"Really, bro?" he responded. "You say you love her, but you sat back and did nothing while I was fucking her. And you're doing nothing now while my man Ambrose fucks her. And apparently you like sucking dick a hell of a lot. Kinda makes you look like a faggot, bro."
I whimpered at my brother's cruelty and contempt, but before I could protest further, yet another hard, black cock slapped my cheek. I looked up, and saw Julie's handsome step-brother, Lamech, standing above me, smacking the ebony shaft of his hard cock against my face. "What's that you were saying about not being a cocksucker?" he laughed, as he eased the fat head of his prick past my lips. "I just got some good head out in the limo, future bro-in-law, and now my dick's all nasty with dried, crusty spunk. Do me a favor, would ya, clean that shit up."
As Lamech fucked my mouth, I raised my eyes and observed Julie's other brother, Tamar, climb up on the billiard table to feed his own long, chocolate-colored prick into my fiancée’s mouth, even as his father continued to fuck her pussy, already sloppy with Braedon's baby-making juice. The depraved ****** orgy had attracted a number of the other guests of my so-called bachelor party; they crowded around the table, many of them with their pricks jutting out of their flies, being stroked in anticipation. Black hands groped Julie's fleshy ivory breasts and rounded alabaster buttocks as her step-father and step-brother spit-roasted her between them. Julie mewled in feverish response, sounding like an alley cat in heat. To my horror, I finally realized that the woman I loved was not a victim of these men, but a depraved slut, desperate for black dick in her ravaged cunt and hungry throat. She was not being subjected to this sexual abuse; she was fully willing participant, giving herself to these men happily.
Lamech peeled the thick, rubbery foreskin back from the bloated, ebony head of his cock, giving me access to the thick, musky cheese that had gathered beneath. The texture and odor made me retch, but I swallowed it down out of fear of reprisal. Satisfied at my ministrations, Lamech popped his shiny black prick from my mouth. Before I could even take a breath, however, his was replaced by another brown cock, this one belonging to a stranger, an older, bearded black man in a dark suit, maybe sixty-years-old, three times my own age. "I hear you're the party fluffer, white boy," he chuckled. "C'mon, get my prong nice and hard for your girl's pussy. Once her old man's done with her, I aim to take a turn."
Mr. Grant chortled. "You better take your time with the faggot's mouth, then, Isaiah," the black sadist said with a wide grin. "I aim to make this a good, long, slow fuck!"
Isaiah shrugged. "Take yer time, Ambrose. This cracker's piehole is warm and wet. Feels mighty fine on my big, ole muff-fucker."
I could hear the sound of multiple other cocks being fisted all around me, some slapping at my face, being rubbed across my forehead, my cheeks, my chin, vying for their own turn between my lips. Even with my mouth full of Isaiah's engorged prick, I felt another cock head probe at my mouth. I cast my eyes upward to see a young black man I recognized from Mr. Grant's firm, Samuel, a real estate agent, who had always been friendly and cordial toward me. Now, he was sword fighting to fit his eager dick in my mouth in anticipation of fucking my finacée with it. Samuel and Isaiah shared a laugh as they managed to squeeze the heads of both their fat ebony tools in my distended mouth. Tears streamed down my eyes and snot drooled from my nose as I gurgled desperately for breath, my tormentors oblivious to my distress.
Eventually, Isaiah plucked the head of his dick from my cheek, turning his attention to fondling Julie’s white breasts, and giving Samuel the opportunity to let the length of his shaft snake down my throat. When I tried to pull away, the young black man placed a large hand on the top of my head, holding me steady. "Come on, white boy," he snorted with derision, "let me feel my big dick fuckin’ your gullet!" I sputtered as his fuck-spear thrust stubbornly against my pharynx. I pushed futilely against his thighs, his superior strength too much for me to overcome. After some time, Samuel withdrew, allowing yet another man, and then another and another and another, to make use of my mouth to get their pricks hard and wet and ready for Julie's snatch. It was a living nightmare.
Even as I was being subjected to this ongoing violation, I could hear Julie giggling excitedly. I could see that she was still bent over the billiard table, her step-father rutting into her womb with persistence; but now she had two more black cocks at her mouth, vying for her attention, men I did not recognize, but who, like Ambrose Grant, were in their 50s and well-appointed. She slurped greedily at both pricks in turn, sucking each to the back of her throat with an ease that testified to her experience. "Goddamn, Ambrose," observed one of the men, "but this little slut of yours is one damn fine cocksucker!" His friend chuckled, "Damn truth. I can't believe you're going to marry such a fine piece of ass off to that little white faggot over there!"
With his powerful loins grinding relentlessly against Julie's crotch, Mr. Grant explained, "Timmy will be a fine husband, gentlemen. Just what my little princess needs. He'll be loyal, supportive, devoted. The one thing he won't be is the one thing he isn't: a man. Whatever tiny, pale, little maggot of a dick he's got between his legs will never get anywhere near this fine piece of snatch. This pussy will remain forever off-limits to a loser like Timmy."
Amidst the sea of faceless dicks that surrounded me, I heard Tamar Grant say, "I keep telling you, Pop, you should have little Timmy neutered, just like you would a puppy. It would make him even more compliant than he already is."
A laugh erupted from the crowd. It was my brother, Braedon. "Oh, shit, dude! That would be fuckin' hilarious!"
"See," argued Tamar. "Even his own brother thinks nutting the fag is a good idea. You just know that Doc Nwachukwu would jump at the chance to fix a white boy like Timmy."
"If it comes to that," Mr. Grant agreed, "we'll do it. But I find it much more satisfying to get a loser like Timmy to submit willingly, to accept his proper place in the hierarchy. I don't expect he'll be too much trouble."
These men--my future in-laws--were casually discussing the possibility of castrating me, and my own brother seemed to think it was a grand idea. It struck me how little actual malice there was in their tone. None of them seemed to hate me; they simply took it as given that I was inferior to them, that they could control me, use me, even mutilate me at their whim. Julie, my beloved, seemed unconcerned about whatever fate her step-father and brothers intended for me, for her, for our marriage. The way they made it sound, I wouldn't be her husband so much as her companion, her valet. If I could somehow survive my own bachelor party, I quietly resolved that I would call off this sham of a wedding before it went any further.
I had lost count of how many black cocks had frigged my mouth by that point. Eight? Maybe ten? My lips had grown raw and my mouth dry. Hoping to ease my discomfort, I worked to open my throat up, to better accommodate the long, spear-headed cocks that jabbed at my esophagus. As my pharynx expanded, my throat became coated with a liberal helping of gooey pre-ejaculate, making it easier for me to take the lengthy of the mocha-colored shaft that currently pummeled my mouth. In an effort to further lessen my discomfort, I gave the cock a hesitant suck, slurping at its veiny girth with my lips and tongue, taking it even deeper down my throat.
The young, heavily tattooed, dreadlocked black man at the other end of the prodigious cock responded to my sudden improved efforts with a deep, guttural groan. I was suddenly doing more than just offering his dick a wet hole, he and I seemed to realize at the same time: I was actively giving him a blow job. The more I sucked, the more he liked it, the more he responded. I realized that I almost enjoyed anticipating his response, experimenting with my mouth to get a positive reaction. After a copious amount of his precum flooded my throat, he shoved me off his dick. "Fuck, faggot," he warned. "Calm the fuck down! I know you love my dick, but I'm saving my nut for this white bitch of yours."
Another big dick appeared before my face, this one only semi-flaccid and not as long as the previous one, but even thicker, the head encased in a fat, low-hanging foreskin. I looked up at a middle-aged man with a greying beard and glasses. He wore a bright-colored dashiki and a kufi cap. “I’m Doctor Nwachukwu, white boy,” he introduced himself in deep, mellifluous, accented English. “Think about me neutering your worthless little white balls while you get my dick nice and hard.”
I realized with horror that this was the very doctor that Tamar had suggested should castrate me for no other reason than to make me more compliant. Not only did this African doctor appear willing to actually perform the procedure, my own tiny cock grew hard in my slacks as I contemplated the act, exactly as he had instructed me to do. I sucked almost furiously at his prick, praying that he would dismiss the possibility if I pleased him. “A single word from Ambrose,” the doctor chuckled, “and we’ll pop those little raisins of yours right out of their sac.” Everyone laughed at his casual threat, my own brother included. I even heard Julie giggle from above.
As I worked hard to hone my meager cocksucking skills to satisfy this demented doctor, Mr. Grant ejaculated into his step-********'s womb with a satisfied grunt. He smacked the globes of her white ass with his palms, and observed, "Damn, but I love seeding this bitch!" He eased his bottle-thick cock from Julie's swollen pussy, stepping aside to allow the next black man access to my fiancée's well-used snatch. "She was made for taking a black man's nut, so go ahead and enjoy that fine cunt." Samuel, the young real estate agent from the firm that had fucked my mouth just minutes ago, stepped between Julie's wide-sprayed legs, slapping his lengthy rod against her buttocks. The copious flow of another man's semen oozing freely from her pussy did not appear to bother him in the least as he slid his prick into Julie's welcoming snatch with ease. “Hmm, sloppy seconds,” he said with a laugh.
“Sloppy thirds,” Mr. Grant corrected him. “But it’ll be a lot more before the night is through!”
"Goddamn, dude," I heard my brother Braedon say to Mr. Grant. "Not only do you have my faggot brother on his knees sucking dick, you whore out your own ********! You are the man!" Rather than take offense, Mr. Grant merely chortled, and offered Braedon a cigar. Braedon puffed at it while Mr. Grant lit it for him.
"That is a Jeroboam, son," he explained to my teenaged brother. "Hand-made in the Dominican Republic. A mild, mellow cigar, perfect after a good fuck." Braedon drew on it appreciatively, without the girlish hacking fit that I had when Mr. Grant had offered me my first cigar. "I don't hold truck with a lot of white boys, son," the black man confided. "But I have a good feeling about you, Braedon." He wrapped an arm around my brother's shoulder. "When you graduate, come see me. There may be a place for you at the firm. Not the grunt work that your faggot brother does. Something in management." Julie's step-father appeared to be bonding with my brother even as he was forcing me to suck the dicks of black strangers at my own bachelor party. It compounded my humiliation.
Samuel, meanwhile, nutted in Julie’s cunt, making way for Isaiah, who was old enough to be her grandfather. Once Isaiah finished, Dr. Nwachukwu plucked his fat prick from my mouth and took his place behind my fiancée, unceremoniously thrusting his cock, drenched in my saliva, deep in her pussy. More men made use of my mouth to make their dicks hard and wet for Julie’s ravaged pussy, including my future step-brothers, Lamech and Tamar. Based on the way the various men responded, I could tell my cocksucking abilities were improving. I swallowed their dicks easier, deeper, without gagging, letting their copious pre-ejaculate coat my throat, easing my efforts. Some of the men appreciated the reverence I would show their dicks, kissing the flared heads and sniffing the strong musk of their testicles before swallowing them down my throat. Others, especially the younger ones, preferred to grasp me by the ears and rut into my mouth.
All the while, I could hear Mr. Grant sharing his worldview with my younger brother, corrupting his impressionable mind. “It is all about male hierarchy, son,” he told Braedon, as they enjoyed their cigars. He explained that most black men were Alpha males, dominant, assertive, the top of the food chain, and had only been kept from their rightful place by craven white duplicity and treachery. Many white males were betas, not really submissive, but needing the strong, guiding hand of an Alpha. Gammas and omegas, he went on, were submissives, not necessarily faggots, but they were weak and whiney, and were easily used as such by their superiors. When Julie first told him about me, he explained, he immediately recognized that I was in this latter group and might make an ideal, easily manipulated sexless spouse for his little girl.
“Wait a second,” Braedon objected. “I’m white, but I ain’t no faggot!”
“Of course not, son,” Mr. Grant assured him. “I could tell that the moment I saw you. You are pure beta. You’re on the baseball team, aren’t you, but you’re not the captain. You get plenty of pussy, but not the first pick, am I right? That’s nothing to be ashamed of for a white boy, son. In fact, in this day in age with white testosterone levels plummeting, it’s pretty impressive.”
Braedon seemed to consider this. “Well…I suppose that’s all right.”
“Of course it is, son,” Mr. Grant said, “It’s ideal. It’s exactly why I want you on my team. Beta whites are loyal and dependable. Your brother, on the other hand, he’s a classic sub, and they make ideal cuckolds, and, with a bit of manipulation, they can sometimes even be molded into fuckboys.”
“Shit,” my brother laughed. “You’re going to turn his punk ass out?”
The older, dominant black man joined Braedon’s laughter, puffing on his cigar. “I just might at that, my boy. A submissive sissy white boy like Timmy is in demand among a certain crowd. Just look at the way the little twerp has taken to cocksucking!”
It was true. I was devouring each black cock presented to me, not just fluffing, but actively sucking. Just then something unexpected happened: one of the white real estate agents from the firm proffered his cock. I balked. I recognized him from the office, a tall, handsome, Nordic-looking man named Matthew. As I looked at his smooth, circumcised prick, I recalled that he had a wife and two sons. It was one thing to submit to all these powerful, dominant black men at Mr. Grant’s instruction. It was something else entirely to open my throat to Matthew’s white, married dick. In a way that servicing black cock didn’t, it felt…gay.
The matter was taken out of my hands, when Tamar took a handful of my hair in his grasp, and guided my mouth toward Matthew’s prick. “What?” Tam teased. “You think you too good to suck white meat, Timmy? You’ll suck any cock we tell you to, faggot!” Matthew’s cock was long, about seven inches, but not as thick as most of the black dick I had been sucking. After Pastor Elijah and Dr. Nwachukwu and Isaiah and all the rest, his white dick proved quite manageable. Everything I had heard about the endowment of black men appeared quite valid. “Look at that,” I heard Mr. Grant tut. “What’d I say? Your brother will suck anything put in front of him, just like the basest of fags.”
“Christ,” I heard Braedon cuss. “It makes me glad that *** didn’t live long enough to see this shit. He’d be so ashamed.”
“You can’t fight nature, son,” Mr. Grant told him. “It’s the destiny of most white boys to become dickless little cocksucking cucks and fags.”
“All part of the Lord’s plan,” I heard Pastor Elijah chime in.
All told, I must have sucked the cocks of about fifteen of the guests at my own bachelor party that night, most of them black, but a couple of white men, as well. Even more men fucked my lovely bride-to-be, including her own step-brothers. Braedon even took a second turn, taunting me as he buried his prick deep in Julie’s snatch. “Damn, bro, this is some good fuckin’ pussy! But I guess you’ll never know, huh, fuckboy?”
When the last man had emptied his balls in Julie’s womb, Mr. Grant took me by the ear and guided my face to her cunt. Julie rolled over, looking down at me and spreading her legs wide. I stared at the swampy mess that was her pussy in shock. “You know what to do, boy,” Mr. Grant sneered. “Get to work.” Although I had been made to lap Julie’s violated pussy clean in the past, the coagulating mess before me was a horror: her pink lips, fucked raw, were red and swollen, her cunt gaping open, flooded with what must have pints of thick, viscous semen. His strong, black hand atop my head, Mr. Grant shepherded my head between his step-********’s ivory thighs, brooking no hesitation. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue just as a thick glob of ejaculate spilled from the cavernous depths of Julie’s cunt. I gulped it down.
“Oh, Timmy, sweetie,” Julie sighed contentedly. “You’re so good at that! A lot of men couldn’t stomach all those loads, but look at you, slurping it all up like such a good boy!” She ran her fingers through my hair as if I were an obedient pet, while I buried my tongue deeper in the yawning chasm of her pussy. “They all fucked me so good, Timmy,” Julie sighed. “My pussy aches so much, honey, and you’re making it feel so much better. You’re the best boyfriend ever!” Endless clods of spunk with the consistency of yogurt slipped down my throat, causing my stomach to churn. When Mr. Grant finally allowed me to remove my mouth from between Julie’s thighs, my face was slathered with a thick sheen of other men’s jizz.
I looked around, observing that most of the other men had moved on, some drinking at the bar, some talking among themselves, others pawing at the other white girls in the room. Mr. Grant, Lamech, Tamar, and Braedon continued to stand over me. Julie hopped off the billiard table, wrapping her arms around her step-father’s brawny neck and pressing her pink lips to his dark brown mouth. “Oh, Daddy!” she cried. “Thank you so much! That was the best party a girl could hope for. Timmy is going to make the very best husband, don’t you think?”
Towering over me in his three-piece, custom-made suit, his cigar between his teeth, the brawny former football player agreed, “He sure is, honey. Timmy here is exactly what my little girl needs in a husband.” Braedon and Julie’s brothers snickered at that as I knelt at their feet.
Epilogue
Later that night, back at my place, Julie relaxed in a warm bath while I knelt beside the tub and ran a sponge over her sore body. Bruises of various shades of purple covered her thighs and breasts. The lips of her pussy remained raw and tender. As I softly sponged her swollen sex, I began to weep.
"Timmy," Julie gasped. "Are you crying? What's wrong, honey? You can tell me anything."
I blubbered, trying to fight back the tears. "J-J-Julie," I stuttered, "I love you so much, more than anything. B-b-but I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't think I can marry you."
"Baby! What do you mean? We're getting married in just a few days. Are you having cold feet, is that it?"
"No, no, it's not cold feet," I struggled to explain. How could she not see it, that this whole situation was so abnormal, so perverse, that her step-father was a monster?
"It's everything, Julie! It's your ******, it's how they...how they treat you, the things they make you do! The things they make me do! It's...it's shameful. It's unnatural. It's sick."
"Oh, Timmy, sweetie," she pouted. "Daddy doesn't make me do anything. I love cock, especially black cock. I guess I'm just a big whore like Daddy always says. But you've sucked black cock now, too, Timmy. Isn't it just the best thing in the whole world? Don't you just love it?"
I shook my head vigorously. "No! No! I hate it! I'm not gay, Julie! I’m not! I'm really not."
"Of course you're not silly. I never thought you were." She placed a consoling hand on the side of my face. "But...you're not exactly a man either, are you? Not like Daddy. Or Lam and Tam. Or even like Braedon." I bit back a sob because I knew she was right. "But that's okay, baby. You're special to me. You're the sweetest, most thoughtful boyfriend a girl could have. You eat my full, swollen pussy so well. Not a lot of boyfriends would do that. Daddy likes that about you. He knows that you'll look out for me and always put me first."
"You...you don't hate me for being so...so weak?" I asked, hanging my head in shame.
"Hate you? How could I ever hate you? You sucked all those cocks just for me, even though you're not gay! I'm the luckiest girl in the world!"
"I...I would do anything for you," I sniffled.
"I know, sweetie, really I do. My ****** is a lot more, well, complex than I let on, I know, but you've adjusted to everything so well. I just know you're going to be the best husband in the world! And the very best father, too!"
"You think so?" I asked, brightening. "You think I'll be a good father."
"I know it, Timmy, baby. Daddy does, too. He wouldn't let just anyone raise his babies."
HIS babies? She thinks that I'm going to raise Mr. Grant's babies!
"Y-y-you mean, he...he's going to...you and he...," I stammered unable to find the words for this new obscenity.
"Well, of course, silly," she giggled. "He’s eager to breed me. I'm afraid that Daddy would never let me have your babies. He wants my children to be strong and tough and confident. And black, of course. And, well, Timmy...you're really not any of those things, are you?"
I sobbed, and shook my head, knowing she was right.
"But you're so sweet and caring and nurturing." Julie ran a hand through my hair. "Please, tell me that you'll still marry me, Timmy. I love you so, so very much!"
I was terrified. Calling off the wedding meant losing Julie forever. But marrying her meant accepting that her body would be denied me just as certainly. Could I possibly accept my wife forever serving as a slut for her own step-father, a whore for any black cock? Could I stand aside like a eunuch and watch Mr. Grant’s children grow in her belly? Could I resign myself to a sex life that entailed little more than servicing black cock and licking my wife’s well-used pussy?
“All right, J-J-Julie,” I stammered. “I’ll…I’ll marry you.”
Julie beamed. “Oh, Timmy! You won’t regret it! I promise, baby, you won’t regret it!” With that, she leaned over and kissed me chastely on the forehead.
Next chapter: The Ceremony
