I returned to our hotel suite with a bucket of ice. When I opened the door with my key card, the scene that greeted me was unsurprising. My newlywed wife, Julie, knelt in the middle of the floor, completely naked, surrounded by the three handsome Jamaican men with whom I had left her when I went to retrieve the ice for their drinks. We had met them on the resort beach just a short while ago, and invited them to our room. Now, their swimsuits lay scattered about the floor, and their prodigious, ebony pricks jutted eagerly toward my kneeling wife. Julie grasped two of the pricks in each of her petit, white hands, one of them the very hand upon which I had placed a wedding band just days before. The third prick filled her mouth, its owner grasping my wife’s blonde hair in a powerful brown fist the way he might the reins of a horse.
Not long ago, this sight would have caused me dismay and alarm. Over the months leading up to our wedding, I had witnessed Julie being used by numerous, mostly black men, her own step-father and step-brothers among them. Now that we were at last married, however, not only did I find myself untroubled by Julie’s sexual escapades, I enjoyed them, even encouraged them. Since our arrival in Jamaica, I found myself secretly thrilled whenever the black hotel porters or restaurant waiters would ogle my beautiful wife. She was an absolute whore for black dick, but she was my wife, and I had no doubt that she loved me as much as I adored her. The black men at the resort, employees and guests alike, took little notice of me, never allowing my inconsequential existence to deter them as they openly flirted and worked to seduce my wife. I signaled my acquiescence with downcast eyes and compliant nods.
Jevaun, the young man with his prick currently stuffed in Julie’s mouth, looked up at me from his blow job, a wide grin across his face. “Hey, mon! Your wifey, she a first-rate cocksucker,” he greeted me. “Dese American white girls always so hungry for de black man’s dick.” Well over six feet tall, Jevaun’s brown body was slick, lean, and well-defined. He wore long dreadlocks and whiskers on his chin. Several gold chains hung around his neck, dangling across his bare, muscular pectorals. His overt masculinity was intoxicating, a thing I had come to appreciate in the months that I had been submitting to Julie’s step-father, Ambrose Grant. No more than a couple of years older than me, Jevaun’s confidence was palpable, such a contrast to my timidity and insecurity. “Get busy wit fixin’ those drinks for us, buckra,” he instructed me.
I moved to the wet bar, and began mixing vodka and Ting for our guests as I watched Jevaun pass Julie to Glenmore and then to Barkley, each of the black men taking a turn at fucking her talented mouth. My lovely young wife slobbered contentedly over the big pricks of the three strangers. This is exactly the purpose for which her step-father had trained her. I felt my own small, pale penis press tightly against the constraining cage that Mr. Grant had insisted I wear to prevent me from attempting intercourse with my wife. In the last few days, I had grown so used to my cock straining against its confines that I had actually begun to enjoy the sensation. Although it kept me from becoming fully erect, the stainless steel chastity device did not stop me from dribbling copious quantities of pre-ejaculate whenever I grew aroused. Watching Julie give herself to strange black men never failed to excite me.
I served each of the young men their drinks. They took them without acknowledging me, focused as they were on the recesses of my wife’s throat. Julie cradled Barkley’s bloated nut sac in her tiny hand as she deep throated his fearsome ten inches of uncircumcised dick. Although I had been coerced into sucking black cock on a few occasions myself by this point, I could not imagine swallowing such a monstrosity with the ease Julie routinely demonstrated. It was inspiring. I found my mouth watering, and hoped that the men would allow me the pleasure of providing clean-up of their large members, at the very least.
I backed into a corner of the bedroom, fearful that if I drew attention to my presence, Julie’s lovers would make me leave. I crouched on the floor, and slipped a hand into my khaki shorts, teasing my fingers across my testicles as recompense for being unable to stroke my caged prick. I marveled at the sight of Julie moving from one leviathan of a dick to another, expertly engulfing each in turn between her talented lips, the pleasure she provided the young men evident by their deeply masculine groans.
Eventually, Jevaun pulled my wife to her feet by her hair. Wrapping his arms around her ass, he lifted her high in the air, and buried his face between her thighs, his long, pink tongue teasing her turgid clitoris. His two friends supported Julie’s upper body, taking turns pressing their mouths to hers, their own tongues invading her mouth as their hands groped her pale breasts, pulled on her erect, ruddy nipples. Julie’s legs rested on Jevaun’s shoulders as he lapped hungrily at her cunt, usurping the one pleasure I was permitted to take in my wife’s body. Thin, transparent, sterile goo dripped freely from the slit of my locked dick at the rapturous pleasure Julie clearly took in being so adeptly handled by the three black men. These strangers had a right to my wife’s body that I would be forever denied.
In the days since our arrival in Jamaica, Julie had already enjoyed trysts with numerous men. On the very evening of our arrival, the room service waiter had groped her openly right in from of me. Barely able to resist the advances of any black man, Julie dropped to her knees and worked his cock out of his slacks. Our snorkeling guide fucked her doggie style on the catamaran while I waited silently to resume our tour of the coral reefs. A brawny taxi driver, older than Julie’s father, parked in an alley to fuck my wife over the hood of his cab, her mewls drawing a small crowd of witnesses, who lewdly groped and fondled her breasts and rounded ass as she was publicly molested. The cabbie shoved his thick, brown fingers in Julie’s open mouth as he shot his bolt of Jamaican seed in her already-occupied womb. I was unsure if Jamaican men simply regarded all white women as their sexual playthings or if our demeanors signaled her sexual willingness and my meek compliance.
Having had his fill of feasting on her cunt, Jevaun lowered my wife onto his scimitar of a dick, penetrating her with a satisfied grunt. As the lean-bodied Jamaican bounced Julie up and down on his big prick like a ragdoll, his friend, Glenmore, casually strode over to where I knelt in the corner, fisting his thick, ebony spigot in my face. “Suck me yardie bone, batty boy,” he commanded, whacking me across the cheek with the thick, vascular shaft of his heavy dick. His words were unknown to me, but I took their meaning, reaching eagerly for his cock, pulling back the dark brown foreskin as I welcomed the swollen head between my lips. Gone was the reticence I felt whenever Ambrose Grant or his sons would force feed me their pricks. Having accepted my role as a faggot cocksucker for black dick, I was determined to be as fine a cocksucker as I could possibly be.
“Hey, mon,” Glenmore observed to his friends, “de husband is a right good chi chi bwoy. Knows de fuckin’ place for de buckra.”
Jevaun and Barkley laughed derisively. “Yah, brethren,” Jevaun agreed. “Someday, all de buckra faggots will kneel before de black man and offer their wives up to de brothas. It is the way.” His long dreadlocks flailing as he fucked Julie vigorously on his prong, Jevaun pressed his thick lips to my wife’s, tongue-fucking her mouth just as he rutted deeply into her cunt. I heard Julie squeal with enthusiasm. I could barely even breathe, meanwhile, as Glenmore stuffed the full length of his girthy prick down my throat without the least concern for my comfort. His single interest was the pleasure that I might provide his fuck tool before he took his own turn at my wife. For some reason beyond my comprehension, being regarded as nothing more than a warm, wet hole caused my pricklet to leak even more. Jevaun spoke the truth: this was my proper place.
Glenmore smacked me across the head, plucking his leaking prick from the recesses of my throat. “Enough o’ dat, buggaman!” he yelled at me, pushing me away. “Wah di bloodclat dew yuh? I saving me juice for yer wife’s skunt, faggot!”
I prostrated myself before him, pressing my lips to his bare feet. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “Please, please, please fuck my wife with your big cock, sir!”
“Don yah worry, boy,” he assure me. “Ah aim to!”
He left me squirming on the floor like a slug to take his turn at my wife. Jevaun had handed Julie off to Barkley, who dropped her on our honeymoon bed and flipped her over on her hands and knees so he could mount her from behind like a bitch. Watching the lean-bodied black man rut into my wife, I couldn’t help but recall our wedding day, when Julie’s step-father and brothers had first taken my ass, establishing my place as the Grant ****** faggot. To my own great surprise, an overwhelming need came over me to have my hole filled like that again.
After a few minutes, Barkley stepped aside to allow Glenmore a turn at my Julie’s well-fucked cunt. The men continued to trade off like that for next half hour, stroking their long, drooling dicks in-between turns. When they were all finally ready to nut, they forced Julie to her knees and jacked their members in her face for an impromptu bukkake, slathering my wife in their thick, gelatinous semen. Their balls drained, each of the young Jamaicans took turns inserting their pendulous dongs in my faggot mouth for clean-up. I relished each one, savoring the flavor of their brackish sperm, the powerful musky odor of their low-hanging nuts. Satisfied with my attentions, Jevaun instructed me to clean my wife’s spackled face.
I crawled across the floor to my exhausted wife. Taking her face between my hands, I began to slurp the viscid, gooey mess from her forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips. We kissed passionately, passing the thick, sloppy batter back and forth between us. Julie moaned in delight as I tweaked her swollen clitoris between my fingers, both of us gulping glop after glop of cum down our throats as I brought her to climax with my fingers. Just a few short months ago, the very idea of doing anything so depraved would have made me retch. Now, however, I relished the flavors of the strange men, adored sharing the experience with my newlywed wife.
When we had finally finished, we looked around only to realize that our audience had deserted us. All three young Jamaican men had left us alone, sitting on the floor, our faces slick with their goo. We both blushed at having been so caught up in our lust that we were oblivious to their departure. I helped Julie to her feet, and offered to run a warm bath for her. “Only if you join me,” she prompted.
We sat facing one another in the warm water of the spacious claw foot bathtub, our legs entwined. I lathered Julie’s alabaster breasts with soap, delighting in my wife’s curvaceous body, pleased at the seemingly endless number of men that found her desirable. I ran a soapy sponge over her still-flat abdomen, recalling the positive pregnancy test she had shown me shortly after we exchanged vows. Given the timing, Ambrose Grant or one of his sons, Lamech or Tamar, were the likeliest of fathers, although my name would appear on the birth certificate. I tried to imagine Julie’s belly swelling with a child.
“Does it bother you, Timmy,” Julie asked sweetly, “that I’m carrying another man’s baby?” Since arriving in Jamaica, we had not discussed Julie’s condition.
“No!” I assured her. “No, honey, not at all. I…I thought it would, but…well, your father is right. Any child of mine would be weak and worthless. Just like me. You deserve a strong, confident, powerful child. And I think it’s true: that means a black child. I only want what is best for you. I promise.”
“Oh, Timmy,” Julie comforted me. “You’re not worthless. You’re sweet and kind, the best husband a girl like me could have. You’re going to the best father my baby could have, I just know it.” We continued washing one another, speaking of the future, of the child in her womb, as well as other children she would carry from other men. Julie teased me about what a good cocksucker I was becoming. I felt myself flush, but I conceded that I was growing to enjoy sucking black dick. “It just feels right, you know, to…to serve them,” I tried to explain.
Julie nodded. “I understand, Timmy. I feel exactly the same way.”
I averted my gaze. “It’s not that I’m, y’know…gay…like my brother Braedon thinks. I don’t like them…that way. I just, well, admire their strength, I guess. Your father, he’s shown me that it is right to submit to men like that.”
Julie kissed me on the forehead. “That’s what I love about you, Timmy. You’re so unselfish and giving. You’ve changed your whole life for me.”
I raised my eyes to hers. “I would do anything for you, Julie,” I vowed. “You have to know that! Absolutely anything!”
“I do, silly,” she giggled. “I really do.”
The following day we took a private guided tour of some of the sights around Falmouth. The guide, a grey-haired man in his mid-40s named Joseph, coyly suggested that Julie sit up front with him to better enjoy the highlights of the town. Julie agreed that sounded like a fine idea. From my place in the backseat, I could see his hand pat Julie’s thigh whenever he wanted to draw her attention to a particular attraction. When Julie didn’t object, he left his hand on her leg, caressing her bare knee. After some time, he took Julie’s hand and placed it over his crotch as he drove. I grew oblivious to the passing sugar cane fields as my attention was focused on my wife’s petit hand massaging the growing bulge of a black stranger more than twice her age.
“Ey, mon,” the guide said, looking at me in the rearview mirror, “yo wife da friendly sort. Ya mind if she give me a bingy?”
Guessing at his meaning, I smiled and shook my head. “Not at all,” I assured him. Placing a hand on the back of Julie’s head, he drew her down into his lap. I heard his fly being unzipped, followed by Julie slurping on his prong. I craned my neck for a better view, and saw that his dark brown prick was even larger than that of Mr. Grant. It had to measure at least a foot in length. Julie was unable to even close her hand around its base. Joseph noticed me admiring his penis. “Don’t feel badly, fren’,” he told me. “Many American tourists like to watch dere wives enjoy ol’ Joseph’s monster. Yer not de first.” As Julie swallowed his astonishingly huge prick, Joseph pulled into a lightly wooded rest stop overlooking the ocean.
“Let’s get some privacy,” he suggested. Leading us down a narrow trail to a small clearing among the trees, Joseph pressed my wife up against a tree trunk as he stripped off her shorts and ripped open her shirt. Massaging the mound of her pussy with one large black hand, the older man buried his face in Julie’s chest, sucking on her erect nipples. I stood nearby, watching Julie’s eyes close as she moaned at the black man’s aggression. She pulled at his enormous prick with both hands, rubbing it against the lips of her cunt, eager, almost desperate to have the monstrous thing inside her. It was always intoxicating to witness my sweet, kind, young wife inevitably transform into a wanton whore in the presence of black cock.
As the swollen head of Joseph’s horse prick popped into her pussy, Julie let out an ecstatic wail. With her back scoured raw against the bark of the tree, she raised her legs off the ground, wrapping them around the black man’s waist and impaling herself deeper on his majestic shaft. She had descended into such throes of fuck lust that all awareness of me had disappeared from her mind, filled only with the need to be fucked. Joseph, however, had not forgotten my presence. He turned to me and sneered, “Yo wife, mon, she a real sketel, eh? A real, fuckin’ whore?” I just smiled back and nodded sheepishly.
They fucked for close to half an hour, the older man bouncing my wife up and down on his prong like a rag doll, her blonde tresses flung every which way. By the time they were finished, Julie was completely exhausted. She sat in the backseat with me as we continued our drive around the beaches and plantations of Falmouth. I buried my face in Julie’s pussy, fucked raw and loaded with Joseph’s spunk. I was disappointed to not get my lips around his massive prick, but I slurped at his tasty seed contentedly. He continued to watch through the rearview mirror as I feasted on his baby batter, a look of sneering contempt on his face. “Faggot,” I heard him chuckle with disdain. Julie just sighed happily, and stroked my hair as I dipped my tongue in her well-battered snatch.
The next several days passed similarly, with Julie making herself available to countless black strangers of all ages, in various situations and locations. One afternoon while shopping for bathing suits in the hotel boutique, Julie noticed a black teenager of around seventeen ogling her from the next aisle. Impulsively, she took him by the hand and pulled him into the women’s dressing room. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him and locked her lips to his. The boy’s hands were all over her, helping himself to handfuls of her ass, reaching into her shirt to play with her breasts, dipping past the waistband of her shorts to insert his fingers into her eager pussy. Julie unzipped his fly and fished out his brown prick as he stripped her bare. He fucked her from behind, her face and tits pressed against the dressing room mirror.
I only learned all of this later, in our room, when Julie confessed her indiscretion. She told me that she enjoyed watching the pleasure play across the boy’s face in the mirror as he rutted into her. As they fucked, the boy explained that his brothers and even his father teased him because they had all fucked American white girls before, while he hadn’t. Julie suggested that he take a few selfies to show-off his conquest. He proceeded to take a bunch of photos of his big, brown dick in the pretty blonde girl’s cunt. When he was ready to cum, Julie dropped to her knees and suggested he take video of his slathering her face with his nut. He did so happily, unloading all over my wife’s face. She scooped the creamy mess up, and swallowed it, then cleaned his dick off with her tongue. “Thanks for letting me take pictures, lady,” the boy said. “Nobody woulda believed dis shit otherwise.”
When she paid for her purchases, the middle-aged cashier simply clucked her disapproval at Julie’s public sluttiness. Something about being in a majority black country made my wife even more insatiable for black dick than usual. She simply couldn’t get enough. In my mind, I started envisioning future vacation in Kenya, Ghana, Nigeria.
The next night we went to a club to hear some reggae. A black American couple sitting nearby started chatting with us. Well, mostly with Julie. They introduced themselves as Devonte and Tiana. They appeared to be in their thirties. Devonte sported a shaved head and full goatee; his wife was sexy in a red dress that exhibited her prodigious cleavage and curvaceous hips unapologetically. After enjoying the music for awhile, they suggested that we join them in their nearby hotel room for a nightcap. As we stood to leave, Devonte said, “You’ll cover our tab for the evening, won’t you…white boy?”
The look in his eyes indicated what my answer better be.
“Of course, I’d be happy to…sir,” I answered.
A smirk crossed his face. “There’s a good boy,” he said, giving me a playful slap across the face.
Once I’d paid the bill, I followed them outside to discover they hadn’t waited for me. I discovered them about a block away and fell into step behind them. Devonte had his arm around Julie’s waist, and was whispering to her, both of them laughing. Tiana turned to me, noting, “I see you caught up, white boy. Mind your place. I think ten paces behind should do nicely.” I complied, following them quietly and discreetly.
They led us to the lobby of a nearby hotel. At the elevator, Devonte turned to me and said, “Our suite is on the fifth floor, white boy, room 512. The elevator is a bit…cramped. Take the stairs.” With that the doors of the spacious elevator car closed just as the handsome black man drew my wife into an embrace and closed his mouth over hers. I heard Tiana giggle.
I discovered the door to 512 ajar, and entered the suite to find Devonte and Julie making out on a sofa while Tiana was at the bar mixing drinks from a bottle of Patrón. Julie’s blouse was already unbuttoned, and Devonte’s hands groped freely at my wife’s tits. He wore a black Ralph Lauren button-down shirt and black leather jeans. Julie’s hands groped hungrily at the bulge at his crotch. Tiana sat down beside her husband with three drinks; I noted that she hadn’t prepared anything for me.
“Oh,” Julie said. “Thank you so much, but I shouldn’t. You see, I’m pregnant.”
“Damn, girl,” Tiana said, aghast. “Don’t tell me you carrying your wimpy white boy’s loser baby.”
“Oh, no,” Julie explained. “Of course not. My baby is black...of course. Timmy is…well, Timmy, honey, why don’t you show them.”
Devonte and Tiana looked at me for the first time since I had entered the room. Their unconcealed disdain for me was intoxicating. Without hesitation, I undid my belt and let my slacks drop around my ankles. Then I lowered my briefs, revealing the cock cage that Julie’s step-father had bought for me to wear. Devonte nodded his approval. “You see,” Julie smiled warmly, “my husband is involuntarily celibate.” That won a big grin from Devonte and a derisive chuckle from his wife. Devonte gave Julie another kiss, running his hand over her tummy, obviously pleased that she carried a black fetus in her womb. “I knew I liked you, white girl.”
Tiana took a sip from her drink. “Well, we should confess, too,” she said. “We’ve got some…kinks of our own. If you’re game, that is.”
“Oh, how exciting,” Julie squealed. “What kind of kinks do you mean?”
Devonte and Tiana exchanged sinister smiles. “We get off on…hurting white boys,” Devonte explained.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two hours later, back in our hotel room, Julie wrapped some ice cubes in a cloth to apply to my eye, swollen a deep purple. “Oh, Timmy,” she sighed, “you took that beating so well. I think they both really enjoyed themselves.”
I grinned weakly. “What about you, Julie,” I asked. “Did you like seeing them…beat me.”
Julie bit her lip and lowered her gaze, flushing a bit. She nodded in the affirmative. “Don’t be hurt, sweetie, but…I kinda did, actually. I hope you're not angry.”
I took her hand in mine. “I could never be angry with you, never. I would take a thousand beatings if it brought you pleasure.” Julie giggled happily, and threw her arms around me, causing me to wince from the places where I remained sore.
After instructing me to fully strip, Devonte had administered the first several punches himself, slugging me in the eye and the stomach while our wives made out on the sofa, watching as he worked me over. I heard my wife laugh, “Owie!” in the wake of a particularly sound punch to my jaw. Devonte had stripped off his shirt, and pulled his ebony prick out of the open fly of his leather jeans, allowing it to leak like a spigot so aroused did it make him to pummel me. When he was quite satisfied, he sat on the sofa, instructing Julie to mount his dick in reverse so they could both watch as Tiana continued my punishment.
What she lacked in her husband’s raw strength, she more than made up for in cruelty. The taut-bodied black woman began by kneeing me in the groin, followed by backhanding me across the face as I bent over to clutch my vulnerable caged dink. “God, I fuckin’ hate you small dicked white faggots,” she hissed. “Get on the fuckin’ floor, you white worm.” I obeyed. “Lick my goddamn boots, you cracker faggot!” She wore black, knee-high, leather heels. I bent my head to her feet, and pressed my lips to the toe of her right boot. She placed the heel of her left boot on the back of my neck. I squirmed beneath her boot rather like the worm she had called me, as I ran my tongue along the black leather. I heard Julie whimper in orgasm at the sight of me submitting to Tiana’s sadism.
After awhile, as her husband continued to rut into my wife, Tiana straddled my chest and ground her pussy against my face, enjoying multiple orgasms as she pinned my shoulders with her knees and slapped me about the head. Once both she and her husband had enjoyed their cum, they kicked us out of their hotel suite without so much as a good-bye. The depraved evening proved an unforgettable highlight of our time in Jamaica for both Julie and me.
When we arrived back home, Ambrose Grant met us in his limousine. He sat stoically in the backseat, a thick Jeroboam cigar in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other. He wore his $3,000 black Brunello Cucinelli suit, and his full beard had been recently trimmed. Julie threw herself into her step-father’s burly arms. “Oh, Daddy!” she declared excitedly. “I’ve missed you so, so much!” Mr. Grant pressed his lips to his *********, kissing her passionately, as he wrapped her in a protective embrace. "I missed you, too, you sexy little cumdump," he crudely agreed.
As Julie cuddled beside him in the back of the limo, Mr. Grant grinned across at me. “And what about you, son? Did you miss me, as well?”
I nodded. “I did, sir,” I replied.
“I have told you to fuck that sir shit, white boy. You know what to call me.”
“I…I did miss you…Daddy,” I replied. “Very much.”
The brawny former pro football player held out an arm to me, and I curled up on Daddy’s other side. As with Julie, he wrapped a powerful arm around me, and even leaned in to kiss me on the mouth. It was the first time Daddy had ever kissed me. It was my first time ever being kissed by a man. I felt lightheaded, dizzy, but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed that kiss a lot. “It’s good to have both my girls home,” Daddy intoned in his deep bass voice. “Now: tell me everything. I want to hear all about your time in Jamaica.”
Epilogue
Eight months later, I stood by Julie’s hospital bed as she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Daddy’s close friend, Doctor Nwachukwu, delivered baby Hakeem. While the nurses—bemused at the sight of the mocha-colored child—were cleaning my exhausted wife and our little boy, I went out to the courtyard to alert everyone that Julie was fine and had delivered a healthy 9.5 pound baby boy. Like his father, Ambrose Grant, Hakeem was a powerfully built mass of muscle.
Heedless of the no smoking signs posted in the courtyard, Daddy passed cigars all around. I declined, never having developed a taste for the pleasure. Tamar and Lamech shook my hand and slapped me on the back happily. My nineteen-year-old brother, who had moved to town and joined Daddy’s firm since graduating high school, ignored me as usual, but puffed on his cigar. I would have to call Mom back on the coast and let her know that everything had turned out perfectly.
“Well,” declared Daddy, stubbing out his cigar. “I guess we should head in and be introduced to my, ah, grandson.”
But before we went anywhere, two uniformed police officers were led into the courtyard by a nurse. “Sorry, to interrupt, gentlemen,” the black officer explained, “but a Miss Nefatari Johnson told us that we might find a,” he consulted a small notepad, “a Braedon Moore here.”
My brother looked up. “I’m Braedon. What’s this about? Why are you looking for me?”
“Mr. Moore,” the officer said, “we are placing you under arrest for embezzlement.”
Braedon dropped his cigar. “What? What the hell? Embezzlement? Where from?”
“Do you work for Grant Realty, sir?”
Daddy stepped forward. “That’s my firm, officers. Do you mean to say that this young man has been…stealing from me?”
“It appears that way, sir,” the officer explained. “An anonymous tip and supporting documents were forwarded to the DA, who issued a warrant for Mr. Moore’s arrest.”
“But, but, but that’s ridiculous. I’ve only been there for a few months. I haven’t…I would never…,” my usually arrogant, haughty brother stammered an attempted defense. Julie’s brothers just watched the tableau, occasionally sniggering at Braedon’s loss of composure.
“I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding, young man,” Daddy said, laying a hand on Braedon’s shoulder. “You should go with the officers, and I’ll have my attorneys look into the matter. Try not to worry.”
Braedon looked back helplessly at us, as the officers handcuffed him, read him his rights, and led him out of the hospital.
“Daddy,” I said. “If my brother, if Braedon, I’m sorry if he…if he did what they…”
A broad smile crossed Daddy’s face as Tamar and Lamech broke out in laughter. “Of course he didn’t do it, son,” Daddy explained. “I framed him. My niece, Nefatari, helped. If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s a white boy that doesn’t know his place.” Daddy’s sons nodded in agreement. “The only reason I brought your dipshit brother into the firm was to set him up. I figure he’ll end up with about five years in the joint. He’ll come out a lot more humble.”
“Fuck, yeah,” agreed Lamech. “Especially after some brotha turns his teenaged punk ass out. That’ll humble him for sure.”
There was no love lost between Braedon and myself, of course, still I protested, “But what about Mom? She’ll…!”
Daddy put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry your little white mind about it, girl,” he assured me. “I’ve got an acquaintance looking after your mother. Now that she’s got a taste for…the Culture…it’s just a matter of time before she’s growin’ a new young’un of her own. The right color this time. She won’t have a thought to spare for your asshole of a brother.”
Involuntarily, I found myself grinning. “You think of everything, Daddy,” I said.
He ruffled my hair. “I look out for my girls, baby. Speaking of which, c’mon, let’s check in on that dick ditch whore wife of yours and my latest progeny. I want to introduce Hakeem to his brothers.” Daddy placed his hands on the back of my shoulders, and guided me toward Julie’s hospital room.
Not long ago, this sight would have caused me dismay and alarm. Over the months leading up to our wedding, I had witnessed Julie being used by numerous, mostly black men, her own step-father and step-brothers among them. Now that we were at last married, however, not only did I find myself untroubled by Julie’s sexual escapades, I enjoyed them, even encouraged them. Since our arrival in Jamaica, I found myself secretly thrilled whenever the black hotel porters or restaurant waiters would ogle my beautiful wife. She was an absolute whore for black dick, but she was my wife, and I had no doubt that she loved me as much as I adored her. The black men at the resort, employees and guests alike, took little notice of me, never allowing my inconsequential existence to deter them as they openly flirted and worked to seduce my wife. I signaled my acquiescence with downcast eyes and compliant nods.
Jevaun, the young man with his prick currently stuffed in Julie’s mouth, looked up at me from his blow job, a wide grin across his face. “Hey, mon! Your wifey, she a first-rate cocksucker,” he greeted me. “Dese American white girls always so hungry for de black man’s dick.” Well over six feet tall, Jevaun’s brown body was slick, lean, and well-defined. He wore long dreadlocks and whiskers on his chin. Several gold chains hung around his neck, dangling across his bare, muscular pectorals. His overt masculinity was intoxicating, a thing I had come to appreciate in the months that I had been submitting to Julie’s step-father, Ambrose Grant. No more than a couple of years older than me, Jevaun’s confidence was palpable, such a contrast to my timidity and insecurity. “Get busy wit fixin’ those drinks for us, buckra,” he instructed me.
I moved to the wet bar, and began mixing vodka and Ting for our guests as I watched Jevaun pass Julie to Glenmore and then to Barkley, each of the black men taking a turn at fucking her talented mouth. My lovely young wife slobbered contentedly over the big pricks of the three strangers. This is exactly the purpose for which her step-father had trained her. I felt my own small, pale penis press tightly against the constraining cage that Mr. Grant had insisted I wear to prevent me from attempting intercourse with my wife. In the last few days, I had grown so used to my cock straining against its confines that I had actually begun to enjoy the sensation. Although it kept me from becoming fully erect, the stainless steel chastity device did not stop me from dribbling copious quantities of pre-ejaculate whenever I grew aroused. Watching Julie give herself to strange black men never failed to excite me.
I served each of the young men their drinks. They took them without acknowledging me, focused as they were on the recesses of my wife’s throat. Julie cradled Barkley’s bloated nut sac in her tiny hand as she deep throated his fearsome ten inches of uncircumcised dick. Although I had been coerced into sucking black cock on a few occasions myself by this point, I could not imagine swallowing such a monstrosity with the ease Julie routinely demonstrated. It was inspiring. I found my mouth watering, and hoped that the men would allow me the pleasure of providing clean-up of their large members, at the very least.
I backed into a corner of the bedroom, fearful that if I drew attention to my presence, Julie’s lovers would make me leave. I crouched on the floor, and slipped a hand into my khaki shorts, teasing my fingers across my testicles as recompense for being unable to stroke my caged prick. I marveled at the sight of Julie moving from one leviathan of a dick to another, expertly engulfing each in turn between her talented lips, the pleasure she provided the young men evident by their deeply masculine groans.
Eventually, Jevaun pulled my wife to her feet by her hair. Wrapping his arms around her ass, he lifted her high in the air, and buried his face between her thighs, his long, pink tongue teasing her turgid clitoris. His two friends supported Julie’s upper body, taking turns pressing their mouths to hers, their own tongues invading her mouth as their hands groped her pale breasts, pulled on her erect, ruddy nipples. Julie’s legs rested on Jevaun’s shoulders as he lapped hungrily at her cunt, usurping the one pleasure I was permitted to take in my wife’s body. Thin, transparent, sterile goo dripped freely from the slit of my locked dick at the rapturous pleasure Julie clearly took in being so adeptly handled by the three black men. These strangers had a right to my wife’s body that I would be forever denied.
In the days since our arrival in Jamaica, Julie had already enjoyed trysts with numerous men. On the very evening of our arrival, the room service waiter had groped her openly right in from of me. Barely able to resist the advances of any black man, Julie dropped to her knees and worked his cock out of his slacks. Our snorkeling guide fucked her doggie style on the catamaran while I waited silently to resume our tour of the coral reefs. A brawny taxi driver, older than Julie’s father, parked in an alley to fuck my wife over the hood of his cab, her mewls drawing a small crowd of witnesses, who lewdly groped and fondled her breasts and rounded ass as she was publicly molested. The cabbie shoved his thick, brown fingers in Julie’s open mouth as he shot his bolt of Jamaican seed in her already-occupied womb. I was unsure if Jamaican men simply regarded all white women as their sexual playthings or if our demeanors signaled her sexual willingness and my meek compliance.
Having had his fill of feasting on her cunt, Jevaun lowered my wife onto his scimitar of a dick, penetrating her with a satisfied grunt. As the lean-bodied Jamaican bounced Julie up and down on his big prick like a ragdoll, his friend, Glenmore, casually strode over to where I knelt in the corner, fisting his thick, ebony spigot in my face. “Suck me yardie bone, batty boy,” he commanded, whacking me across the cheek with the thick, vascular shaft of his heavy dick. His words were unknown to me, but I took their meaning, reaching eagerly for his cock, pulling back the dark brown foreskin as I welcomed the swollen head between my lips. Gone was the reticence I felt whenever Ambrose Grant or his sons would force feed me their pricks. Having accepted my role as a faggot cocksucker for black dick, I was determined to be as fine a cocksucker as I could possibly be.
“Hey, mon,” Glenmore observed to his friends, “de husband is a right good chi chi bwoy. Knows de fuckin’ place for de buckra.”
Jevaun and Barkley laughed derisively. “Yah, brethren,” Jevaun agreed. “Someday, all de buckra faggots will kneel before de black man and offer their wives up to de brothas. It is the way.” His long dreadlocks flailing as he fucked Julie vigorously on his prong, Jevaun pressed his thick lips to my wife’s, tongue-fucking her mouth just as he rutted deeply into her cunt. I heard Julie squeal with enthusiasm. I could barely even breathe, meanwhile, as Glenmore stuffed the full length of his girthy prick down my throat without the least concern for my comfort. His single interest was the pleasure that I might provide his fuck tool before he took his own turn at my wife. For some reason beyond my comprehension, being regarded as nothing more than a warm, wet hole caused my pricklet to leak even more. Jevaun spoke the truth: this was my proper place.
Glenmore smacked me across the head, plucking his leaking prick from the recesses of my throat. “Enough o’ dat, buggaman!” he yelled at me, pushing me away. “Wah di bloodclat dew yuh? I saving me juice for yer wife’s skunt, faggot!”
I prostrated myself before him, pressing my lips to his bare feet. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry,” I pleaded. “Please, please, please fuck my wife with your big cock, sir!”
“Don yah worry, boy,” he assure me. “Ah aim to!”
He left me squirming on the floor like a slug to take his turn at my wife. Jevaun had handed Julie off to Barkley, who dropped her on our honeymoon bed and flipped her over on her hands and knees so he could mount her from behind like a bitch. Watching the lean-bodied black man rut into my wife, I couldn’t help but recall our wedding day, when Julie’s step-father and brothers had first taken my ass, establishing my place as the Grant ****** faggot. To my own great surprise, an overwhelming need came over me to have my hole filled like that again.
After a few minutes, Barkley stepped aside to allow Glenmore a turn at my Julie’s well-fucked cunt. The men continued to trade off like that for next half hour, stroking their long, drooling dicks in-between turns. When they were all finally ready to nut, they forced Julie to her knees and jacked their members in her face for an impromptu bukkake, slathering my wife in their thick, gelatinous semen. Their balls drained, each of the young Jamaicans took turns inserting their pendulous dongs in my faggot mouth for clean-up. I relished each one, savoring the flavor of their brackish sperm, the powerful musky odor of their low-hanging nuts. Satisfied with my attentions, Jevaun instructed me to clean my wife’s spackled face.
I crawled across the floor to my exhausted wife. Taking her face between my hands, I began to slurp the viscid, gooey mess from her forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips. We kissed passionately, passing the thick, sloppy batter back and forth between us. Julie moaned in delight as I tweaked her swollen clitoris between my fingers, both of us gulping glop after glop of cum down our throats as I brought her to climax with my fingers. Just a few short months ago, the very idea of doing anything so depraved would have made me retch. Now, however, I relished the flavors of the strange men, adored sharing the experience with my newlywed wife.
When we had finally finished, we looked around only to realize that our audience had deserted us. All three young Jamaican men had left us alone, sitting on the floor, our faces slick with their goo. We both blushed at having been so caught up in our lust that we were oblivious to their departure. I helped Julie to her feet, and offered to run a warm bath for her. “Only if you join me,” she prompted.
We sat facing one another in the warm water of the spacious claw foot bathtub, our legs entwined. I lathered Julie’s alabaster breasts with soap, delighting in my wife’s curvaceous body, pleased at the seemingly endless number of men that found her desirable. I ran a soapy sponge over her still-flat abdomen, recalling the positive pregnancy test she had shown me shortly after we exchanged vows. Given the timing, Ambrose Grant or one of his sons, Lamech or Tamar, were the likeliest of fathers, although my name would appear on the birth certificate. I tried to imagine Julie’s belly swelling with a child.
“Does it bother you, Timmy,” Julie asked sweetly, “that I’m carrying another man’s baby?” Since arriving in Jamaica, we had not discussed Julie’s condition.
“No!” I assured her. “No, honey, not at all. I…I thought it would, but…well, your father is right. Any child of mine would be weak and worthless. Just like me. You deserve a strong, confident, powerful child. And I think it’s true: that means a black child. I only want what is best for you. I promise.”
“Oh, Timmy,” Julie comforted me. “You’re not worthless. You’re sweet and kind, the best husband a girl like me could have. You’re going to the best father my baby could have, I just know it.” We continued washing one another, speaking of the future, of the child in her womb, as well as other children she would carry from other men. Julie teased me about what a good cocksucker I was becoming. I felt myself flush, but I conceded that I was growing to enjoy sucking black dick. “It just feels right, you know, to…to serve them,” I tried to explain.
Julie nodded. “I understand, Timmy. I feel exactly the same way.”
I averted my gaze. “It’s not that I’m, y’know…gay…like my brother Braedon thinks. I don’t like them…that way. I just, well, admire their strength, I guess. Your father, he’s shown me that it is right to submit to men like that.”
Julie kissed me on the forehead. “That’s what I love about you, Timmy. You’re so unselfish and giving. You’ve changed your whole life for me.”
I raised my eyes to hers. “I would do anything for you, Julie,” I vowed. “You have to know that! Absolutely anything!”
“I do, silly,” she giggled. “I really do.”
The following day we took a private guided tour of some of the sights around Falmouth. The guide, a grey-haired man in his mid-40s named Joseph, coyly suggested that Julie sit up front with him to better enjoy the highlights of the town. Julie agreed that sounded like a fine idea. From my place in the backseat, I could see his hand pat Julie’s thigh whenever he wanted to draw her attention to a particular attraction. When Julie didn’t object, he left his hand on her leg, caressing her bare knee. After some time, he took Julie’s hand and placed it over his crotch as he drove. I grew oblivious to the passing sugar cane fields as my attention was focused on my wife’s petit hand massaging the growing bulge of a black stranger more than twice her age.
“Ey, mon,” the guide said, looking at me in the rearview mirror, “yo wife da friendly sort. Ya mind if she give me a bingy?”
Guessing at his meaning, I smiled and shook my head. “Not at all,” I assured him. Placing a hand on the back of Julie’s head, he drew her down into his lap. I heard his fly being unzipped, followed by Julie slurping on his prong. I craned my neck for a better view, and saw that his dark brown prick was even larger than that of Mr. Grant. It had to measure at least a foot in length. Julie was unable to even close her hand around its base. Joseph noticed me admiring his penis. “Don’t feel badly, fren’,” he told me. “Many American tourists like to watch dere wives enjoy ol’ Joseph’s monster. Yer not de first.” As Julie swallowed his astonishingly huge prick, Joseph pulled into a lightly wooded rest stop overlooking the ocean.
“Let’s get some privacy,” he suggested. Leading us down a narrow trail to a small clearing among the trees, Joseph pressed my wife up against a tree trunk as he stripped off her shorts and ripped open her shirt. Massaging the mound of her pussy with one large black hand, the older man buried his face in Julie’s chest, sucking on her erect nipples. I stood nearby, watching Julie’s eyes close as she moaned at the black man’s aggression. She pulled at his enormous prick with both hands, rubbing it against the lips of her cunt, eager, almost desperate to have the monstrous thing inside her. It was always intoxicating to witness my sweet, kind, young wife inevitably transform into a wanton whore in the presence of black cock.
As the swollen head of Joseph’s horse prick popped into her pussy, Julie let out an ecstatic wail. With her back scoured raw against the bark of the tree, she raised her legs off the ground, wrapping them around the black man’s waist and impaling herself deeper on his majestic shaft. She had descended into such throes of fuck lust that all awareness of me had disappeared from her mind, filled only with the need to be fucked. Joseph, however, had not forgotten my presence. He turned to me and sneered, “Yo wife, mon, she a real sketel, eh? A real, fuckin’ whore?” I just smiled back and nodded sheepishly.
They fucked for close to half an hour, the older man bouncing my wife up and down on his prong like a rag doll, her blonde tresses flung every which way. By the time they were finished, Julie was completely exhausted. She sat in the backseat with me as we continued our drive around the beaches and plantations of Falmouth. I buried my face in Julie’s pussy, fucked raw and loaded with Joseph’s spunk. I was disappointed to not get my lips around his massive prick, but I slurped at his tasty seed contentedly. He continued to watch through the rearview mirror as I feasted on his baby batter, a look of sneering contempt on his face. “Faggot,” I heard him chuckle with disdain. Julie just sighed happily, and stroked my hair as I dipped my tongue in her well-battered snatch.
The next several days passed similarly, with Julie making herself available to countless black strangers of all ages, in various situations and locations. One afternoon while shopping for bathing suits in the hotel boutique, Julie noticed a black teenager of around seventeen ogling her from the next aisle. Impulsively, she took him by the hand and pulled him into the women’s dressing room. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him and locked her lips to his. The boy’s hands were all over her, helping himself to handfuls of her ass, reaching into her shirt to play with her breasts, dipping past the waistband of her shorts to insert his fingers into her eager pussy. Julie unzipped his fly and fished out his brown prick as he stripped her bare. He fucked her from behind, her face and tits pressed against the dressing room mirror.
I only learned all of this later, in our room, when Julie confessed her indiscretion. She told me that she enjoyed watching the pleasure play across the boy’s face in the mirror as he rutted into her. As they fucked, the boy explained that his brothers and even his father teased him because they had all fucked American white girls before, while he hadn’t. Julie suggested that he take a few selfies to show-off his conquest. He proceeded to take a bunch of photos of his big, brown dick in the pretty blonde girl’s cunt. When he was ready to cum, Julie dropped to her knees and suggested he take video of his slathering her face with his nut. He did so happily, unloading all over my wife’s face. She scooped the creamy mess up, and swallowed it, then cleaned his dick off with her tongue. “Thanks for letting me take pictures, lady,” the boy said. “Nobody woulda believed dis shit otherwise.”
When she paid for her purchases, the middle-aged cashier simply clucked her disapproval at Julie’s public sluttiness. Something about being in a majority black country made my wife even more insatiable for black dick than usual. She simply couldn’t get enough. In my mind, I started envisioning future vacation in Kenya, Ghana, Nigeria.
The next night we went to a club to hear some reggae. A black American couple sitting nearby started chatting with us. Well, mostly with Julie. They introduced themselves as Devonte and Tiana. They appeared to be in their thirties. Devonte sported a shaved head and full goatee; his wife was sexy in a red dress that exhibited her prodigious cleavage and curvaceous hips unapologetically. After enjoying the music for awhile, they suggested that we join them in their nearby hotel room for a nightcap. As we stood to leave, Devonte said, “You’ll cover our tab for the evening, won’t you…white boy?”
The look in his eyes indicated what my answer better be.
“Of course, I’d be happy to…sir,” I answered.
A smirk crossed his face. “There’s a good boy,” he said, giving me a playful slap across the face.
Once I’d paid the bill, I followed them outside to discover they hadn’t waited for me. I discovered them about a block away and fell into step behind them. Devonte had his arm around Julie’s waist, and was whispering to her, both of them laughing. Tiana turned to me, noting, “I see you caught up, white boy. Mind your place. I think ten paces behind should do nicely.” I complied, following them quietly and discreetly.
They led us to the lobby of a nearby hotel. At the elevator, Devonte turned to me and said, “Our suite is on the fifth floor, white boy, room 512. The elevator is a bit…cramped. Take the stairs.” With that the doors of the spacious elevator car closed just as the handsome black man drew my wife into an embrace and closed his mouth over hers. I heard Tiana giggle.
I discovered the door to 512 ajar, and entered the suite to find Devonte and Julie making out on a sofa while Tiana was at the bar mixing drinks from a bottle of Patrón. Julie’s blouse was already unbuttoned, and Devonte’s hands groped freely at my wife’s tits. He wore a black Ralph Lauren button-down shirt and black leather jeans. Julie’s hands groped hungrily at the bulge at his crotch. Tiana sat down beside her husband with three drinks; I noted that she hadn’t prepared anything for me.
“Oh,” Julie said. “Thank you so much, but I shouldn’t. You see, I’m pregnant.”
“Damn, girl,” Tiana said, aghast. “Don’t tell me you carrying your wimpy white boy’s loser baby.”
“Oh, no,” Julie explained. “Of course not. My baby is black...of course. Timmy is…well, Timmy, honey, why don’t you show them.”
Devonte and Tiana looked at me for the first time since I had entered the room. Their unconcealed disdain for me was intoxicating. Without hesitation, I undid my belt and let my slacks drop around my ankles. Then I lowered my briefs, revealing the cock cage that Julie’s step-father had bought for me to wear. Devonte nodded his approval. “You see,” Julie smiled warmly, “my husband is involuntarily celibate.” That won a big grin from Devonte and a derisive chuckle from his wife. Devonte gave Julie another kiss, running his hand over her tummy, obviously pleased that she carried a black fetus in her womb. “I knew I liked you, white girl.”
Tiana took a sip from her drink. “Well, we should confess, too,” she said. “We’ve got some…kinks of our own. If you’re game, that is.”
“Oh, how exciting,” Julie squealed. “What kind of kinks do you mean?”
Devonte and Tiana exchanged sinister smiles. “We get off on…hurting white boys,” Devonte explained.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two hours later, back in our hotel room, Julie wrapped some ice cubes in a cloth to apply to my eye, swollen a deep purple. “Oh, Timmy,” she sighed, “you took that beating so well. I think they both really enjoyed themselves.”
I grinned weakly. “What about you, Julie,” I asked. “Did you like seeing them…beat me.”
Julie bit her lip and lowered her gaze, flushing a bit. She nodded in the affirmative. “Don’t be hurt, sweetie, but…I kinda did, actually. I hope you're not angry.”
I took her hand in mine. “I could never be angry with you, never. I would take a thousand beatings if it brought you pleasure.” Julie giggled happily, and threw her arms around me, causing me to wince from the places where I remained sore.
After instructing me to fully strip, Devonte had administered the first several punches himself, slugging me in the eye and the stomach while our wives made out on the sofa, watching as he worked me over. I heard my wife laugh, “Owie!” in the wake of a particularly sound punch to my jaw. Devonte had stripped off his shirt, and pulled his ebony prick out of the open fly of his leather jeans, allowing it to leak like a spigot so aroused did it make him to pummel me. When he was quite satisfied, he sat on the sofa, instructing Julie to mount his dick in reverse so they could both watch as Tiana continued my punishment.
What she lacked in her husband’s raw strength, she more than made up for in cruelty. The taut-bodied black woman began by kneeing me in the groin, followed by backhanding me across the face as I bent over to clutch my vulnerable caged dink. “God, I fuckin’ hate you small dicked white faggots,” she hissed. “Get on the fuckin’ floor, you white worm.” I obeyed. “Lick my goddamn boots, you cracker faggot!” She wore black, knee-high, leather heels. I bent my head to her feet, and pressed my lips to the toe of her right boot. She placed the heel of her left boot on the back of my neck. I squirmed beneath her boot rather like the worm she had called me, as I ran my tongue along the black leather. I heard Julie whimper in orgasm at the sight of me submitting to Tiana’s sadism.
After awhile, as her husband continued to rut into my wife, Tiana straddled my chest and ground her pussy against my face, enjoying multiple orgasms as she pinned my shoulders with her knees and slapped me about the head. Once both she and her husband had enjoyed their cum, they kicked us out of their hotel suite without so much as a good-bye. The depraved evening proved an unforgettable highlight of our time in Jamaica for both Julie and me.
When we arrived back home, Ambrose Grant met us in his limousine. He sat stoically in the backseat, a thick Jeroboam cigar in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other. He wore his $3,000 black Brunello Cucinelli suit, and his full beard had been recently trimmed. Julie threw herself into her step-father’s burly arms. “Oh, Daddy!” she declared excitedly. “I’ve missed you so, so much!” Mr. Grant pressed his lips to his *********, kissing her passionately, as he wrapped her in a protective embrace. "I missed you, too, you sexy little cumdump," he crudely agreed.
As Julie cuddled beside him in the back of the limo, Mr. Grant grinned across at me. “And what about you, son? Did you miss me, as well?”
I nodded. “I did, sir,” I replied.
“I have told you to fuck that sir shit, white boy. You know what to call me.”
“I…I did miss you…Daddy,” I replied. “Very much.”
The brawny former pro football player held out an arm to me, and I curled up on Daddy’s other side. As with Julie, he wrapped a powerful arm around me, and even leaned in to kiss me on the mouth. It was the first time Daddy had ever kissed me. It was my first time ever being kissed by a man. I felt lightheaded, dizzy, but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed that kiss a lot. “It’s good to have both my girls home,” Daddy intoned in his deep bass voice. “Now: tell me everything. I want to hear all about your time in Jamaica.”
Epilogue
Eight months later, I stood by Julie’s hospital bed as she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Daddy’s close friend, Doctor Nwachukwu, delivered baby Hakeem. While the nurses—bemused at the sight of the mocha-colored child—were cleaning my exhausted wife and our little boy, I went out to the courtyard to alert everyone that Julie was fine and had delivered a healthy 9.5 pound baby boy. Like his father, Ambrose Grant, Hakeem was a powerfully built mass of muscle.
Heedless of the no smoking signs posted in the courtyard, Daddy passed cigars all around. I declined, never having developed a taste for the pleasure. Tamar and Lamech shook my hand and slapped me on the back happily. My nineteen-year-old brother, who had moved to town and joined Daddy’s firm since graduating high school, ignored me as usual, but puffed on his cigar. I would have to call Mom back on the coast and let her know that everything had turned out perfectly.
“Well,” declared Daddy, stubbing out his cigar. “I guess we should head in and be introduced to my, ah, grandson.”
But before we went anywhere, two uniformed police officers were led into the courtyard by a nurse. “Sorry, to interrupt, gentlemen,” the black officer explained, “but a Miss Nefatari Johnson told us that we might find a,” he consulted a small notepad, “a Braedon Moore here.”
My brother looked up. “I’m Braedon. What’s this about? Why are you looking for me?”
“Mr. Moore,” the officer said, “we are placing you under arrest for embezzlement.”
Braedon dropped his cigar. “What? What the hell? Embezzlement? Where from?”
“Do you work for Grant Realty, sir?”
Daddy stepped forward. “That’s my firm, officers. Do you mean to say that this young man has been…stealing from me?”
“It appears that way, sir,” the officer explained. “An anonymous tip and supporting documents were forwarded to the DA, who issued a warrant for Mr. Moore’s arrest.”
“But, but, but that’s ridiculous. I’ve only been there for a few months. I haven’t…I would never…,” my usually arrogant, haughty brother stammered an attempted defense. Julie’s brothers just watched the tableau, occasionally sniggering at Braedon’s loss of composure.
“I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding, young man,” Daddy said, laying a hand on Braedon’s shoulder. “You should go with the officers, and I’ll have my attorneys look into the matter. Try not to worry.”
Braedon looked back helplessly at us, as the officers handcuffed him, read him his rights, and led him out of the hospital.
“Daddy,” I said. “If my brother, if Braedon, I’m sorry if he…if he did what they…”
A broad smile crossed Daddy’s face as Tamar and Lamech broke out in laughter. “Of course he didn’t do it, son,” Daddy explained. “I framed him. My niece, Nefatari, helped. If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s a white boy that doesn’t know his place.” Daddy’s sons nodded in agreement. “The only reason I brought your dipshit brother into the firm was to set him up. I figure he’ll end up with about five years in the joint. He’ll come out a lot more humble.”
“Fuck, yeah,” agreed Lamech. “Especially after some brotha turns his teenaged punk ass out. That’ll humble him for sure.”
There was no love lost between Braedon and myself, of course, still I protested, “But what about Mom? She’ll…!”
Daddy put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry your little white mind about it, girl,” he assured me. “I’ve got an acquaintance looking after your mother. Now that she’s got a taste for…the Culture…it’s just a matter of time before she’s growin’ a new young’un of her own. The right color this time. She won’t have a thought to spare for your asshole of a brother.”
Involuntarily, I found myself grinning. “You think of everything, Daddy,” I said.
He ruffled my hair. “I look out for my girls, baby. Speaking of which, c’mon, let’s check in on that dick ditch whore wife of yours and my latest progeny. I want to introduce Hakeem to his brothers.” Daddy placed his hands on the back of my shoulders, and guided me toward Julie’s hospital room.
