Master Ahmed leaned naked in the doorjamb of my son Wayne's bedroom, looking amused at the sight of my wife, Marisa, sitting astride my face, feeding me the copious quantity of cum that he had fucked into her married pussy as I lay in the bottom bunk of Wayne's bed. My face was smeared and glistening with his thick, gelatinous glop. Marisa climbed off my face and rushed to his side, obviously delighted to see her lover. Master Ahmed took her face in his hands and brought it to his thick lips, pressing his mouth tight on hers. I watched, mesmerized, as she took has large but flaccid brown penis in her small, white hand. It barely encompassed the full girth of that massive organ. I couldn't help but notice that she held it in the same hand on which she wore her wedding ring.
As she stroked his cock, feeling it grow semi-hard under the ministrations of her hand, Master Ahmed turned to me. "So, piggy. You got something for me?" Lying tangled up in Wayne's Minecraft bed sheets, I reached to withdraw my phone from my slacks, discarded nearby on the floor. I stood, nude as well, my cock only recently freed from the cage Master Ahmed made me wear. I was very conscious of my flabby, soft, pale body in stark contrast to Master Ahmed's strong, fit, well-defined, youthful, melanin-rich physique, my small, white cock in comparison to his massive, thick-veined erection, with its bulbous head and bloated balls. No wonder Marisa went to him so easily. It is what I wanted for her.
I unlocked my phone, and handed it to Master Ahmed. Rather than check the video I had taken last night at his instruction, however, the first thing he did was to take a close-up photo his mammoth cock in Marisa's small hand. "Making this your screensaver, piggy," he explained. "Don't let me catch you changing this." Marisa giggled.
"Of course not, Sir," I consented.
"Hey, piggy," he said.
"Yes, sir?"
"Isn't your place on your knees when you are in front of your owner?" I apologized, and immediately dropped to the floor, ashamed of the hubris I demonstrated, standing before Master Ahmed like an equal. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He started laughing once he opened the videos on my phone. "Check this out, bitch," he said to Marisa. My wife stood beside this young, black, dominant man who had taken financial and sexual control of our lives, her eyes wide-open, her mouth agape. They watched several minutes of me kneeling at a glory hole in the filthy video booth of an adult store, as I sucked one anonymous black cock after another, like the most depraved of faggots, ingesting massive quantities of semen from black strangers whose faces I never even saw. The sounds of slurping from the video filled the room, and once in a while a voice could be heard instructing "suck it, white boy" or "swallow that nigga load, cracker!" Whatever respect my wife might have still retained for me after feeding me Master Ahmed's semen from her cunt surely evaporated as she watched me devour one load of anonymous cum after another. Marisa just looked at me and shook her head. "A slave and a fag, it's all true."
Master Ahmed handed me back my phone. "Send that shit to my cell, piggy," he ordered. "Imma going to wanna keep that." He led Marisa to Wayne's bunk bed. "C'mon, bitch," he said, "let's fuck on the piglet's bed!" They fell on to the lower bunk together, laughing, Marisa in his arms, the two of them kissing, their tongues deeply entwined. I watched as Master Ahmed lifted Marisa's sheer nightgown over her head, revealing her naked body. I noticed reddened love bites all over her pert breasts.
Master Ahmed turned his head. "Yo, piggy: get lost. Go pick us up some breakfast. I feel like biscuits and gravy." I must have looked bereft that I was again going to be denied the opportunity to witness my Master enjoying my wife's white body. "Aw, faggot, don't look so sad," he teased. "I'm here all weekend. You'll get to see plenty of me in action with your sexy ass wife." As I retrieved my clothes from the floor, Master Ahmed said, "Ain't you forgetting something, white boy?" I looked around blankly, then spotted my cock cage on the floor by the bed.
"But, but I thought--"
"Thought what, piggy? That I was just going to let you just roam around free all day? Fuck that! No telling what kinda shit a white like you might get into if he wasn't under the control of a real human being. Now pick it up and put it on, fucker." Marisa sniggered at my humiliation.
I obeyed, refastening the stainless steel device to my flaccid cock. I snapped the padlock closed. My brief freedom was over. Master Ahmed held out his hand. "Keys, piggy," he said. I dropped the keys in his hand. "Now, scram!" I backed out of the room, catching one last glance of Marisa, as she kissed her way down our Master's torso toward his erect cock, not sparing a look for me. I scurried downstairs, pulling my slacks on as I went.
I drove to a diner a couple of miles from the house, where I ordered three big breakfasts, including biscuits and gravy for Master Ahmed. During the drive, I couldn't help but think of my previously faithful wife in the arms of this virile young black man. As dedicated as I had become to him, I found myself thankful that Marisa was on the pill. With things still up in the air with our ten-year old son Tommy—who had run away from home to live with his friend Jimmy's ******—and all the political and racial turmoil exploding around us, the last thing we needed was a baby. A mixed-race baby. Even as the thought raced through my mind, I felt my cock strain against its cage. The idea of Marisa's belly swelling with Master Ahmed's child...! I shook the thought out of my head, as exciting as it was disturbing.
When I arrived home with the food, I could hear Master Ahmed and Marisa still fucking; it appeared they had taken their love making into the shower. Marisa, usually reserved during sex with me, showed no such restraint with Master Ahmed. “Oh, fuck my filthy pussy!” her cries echoed through the house from the upstairs bathroom. “Nobody has ever fucked me so good!” As I laid out breakfast at the dining room table, listening to my wife’s obvious pleasure, my cock grew turgid in its cage, constricted by the stainless steel bars until it grew painful. I attempted to position it within my slacks to ease the discomfit, but to no avail. Was the orgasm I enjoyed this morning while sucking Master Ahmed’s splooge out of my wife’s cunt going to be the only release I was permitted this weekend? I prayed not.
Shortly, Master Ahmed and Marisa appeared in the dining room. He wore the navy blue cashmere bathrobe that Marisa had bought me on my last birthday, the strap left open, revealing his well-toned, tattooed body and dangling genitalia. Marisa wore only Master Ahmed’s Lakers shirt, which just covered her pelvis. Master Ahmed surveyed the breakfast spread. “Food looks good, piggy,” he commented. “But, uh, why the three table settings.” He smiled. “Oh, you don’t expect to join us, do you?” He shook his head, picked up my plate, and scraped the food onto his. “No, no, no, son: piggies don’t eat at the table like real people. Besides…your only breakfast is…in there,” he said, indicating Marisa’s crotch. My wife giggled.
As Master Ahmed and my wife sat to enjoy the breakfast I had laid out, he motioned for me to take my place on the floor under the table, where I could slurp his multiple loads out of Marisa’s cum-soaked vagina. This was already the second voluminous helping of his sperm that I found myself ingesting just this morning, to say nothing of all the anonymous African cum I had swallowed the night before at the glory hole. While denying me the actual pleasure of watching my wife being black-fucked, something I had wanted for so long, Master Ahmed was transforming me into a cocksucking, cum-swallowing faggot. He was rewiring my mind.
As I applied my tongue to Marisa’s snatch—on my knees, beneath the table—licking out my Master’s thick, gelatinous jism as if it were a tasty chutney, I noticed that Marisa had trimmed her pubes much closer than she’d ever done before. She must have done so in the shower before Master Ahmed filled her with his rich jizz. As I obediently licked, I could hear my Master and my wife enjoying their breakfast, talking as if I wasn’t even present. Master Ahmed spoke of many of the things I had become familiar with from his tweets over the last few weeks: the inherent supremacy of the black race, the looming extinction of people of white European heritage, the necessity for whites to pay reparations for their many sins against superior Africans, the ways in which white women can make sexual recompense for the racism of their fathers and husbands and sons. “I love paying reparations with my pussy,” Marisa agreed. “It feels so right to surrender it to a black man’s pleasure.” As she said that, she squeezed a very thick clump of Master Ahmed’s batter out of the depths of her vagina directly into my mouth. I gulped it down, feeling it lubricate the back of my throat.
Just then, I heard Marisa gasp, and heard a voice ask, “Who’s he?” It was our ten-year old son, Tommy, who had run away from home the previous weekend. He had walked in on his mother enjoying breakfast with an unfamiliar black man; as yet, he was ******* that his father was under the dining room table feasting on another man’s cum directly from his mother’s pussy. I froze uncertain what to do. Master Ahmed kept his composure, as if this was all perfectly normal.
“So, this is the other piglet, huh?” he observed. “I’m Ahmed, son. I’m your mother’s special friend. What brings you home. I thought you’d gone to live with some redneck Klan ****** or something. Yo, piggy,” he called to me, “your prodigal piglet has returned.” I scrambled out from under the table, looking at Tommy. His face was a wreck: one eye was swollen almost shut, his lower lip was split, his jaw bruised. He glared at me.
“***! What were doing on the floor?” he asked with shock.
“Never mind that,” I snapped at him. Master Ahmed chuckled, apparently amused at the situation, noticing how my lips glistened with the sheen of his semen. “What happened to you?” I asked. “What happened to your face?” Some latent, repressed maternal instinct for our wayward son must have kicked in for Marisa, as she got up from the table and wet a washcloth to wipe Tommy’s face of dried blood. She wasn’t, however, particularly tender, I noted.
Tommy looked at the floor, unable to make eye contact, as he explained, “Jimmy’s ***.” That’s all he had to say. “He…he did this. He hits Jimmy, too, when he’s...he gets *****.”
Master Ahmed stood from the table, pulling my…his…robe closed. “Come on,” he said. “Get dressed. We got shit to do.”
A half hour later, we all pulled up in front of Jimmy’s house in my car. Master Ahmed sat beside me in the passenger seat, Marissa and Tommy in the backseat. Master Ahmed turned to them and said, “Wait here. You,” he looked at me, “come with me. Get your phone out. I want this all on video.”
Master Ahmed pounded on the front door; when Jimmy’s father answered it, groggily, wearing only boxer shots, he glared at the black stranger on his stoop. “Who the fuck are you?” Then he saw me standing behind him on the lawn. Some semblance of understanding passed over his face, but before he could do anything, Master Ahmed had grabbed him by the throat and flung him easily to the ground. He gave the surprised man a couple of firm kicks to the gut, then slammed his fist into his face again and again. When it was clear the white man was subdued, Master Ahmed stood over him, calmly, as if nothing had even happened.
Master Ahmed pointed to me, then to Marisa and Tommy watching from the car. Jimmy’s loser father followed his finger. “You see them,” Master Ahmed asked. “This ******? They’re my property. You hurt one of them, you damage my property, you fuckin’ redneck piece of shit! You can beat your own piglet to death for all I fuckin’ care, but you damage my property, motherfucker, and I damage you! Got it?”
Jimmy’s ***, his face bloody and beaten, simply glared at Master Ahmed, stubbornly, looking for courage to defy the young black man who had just thrashed him. I caught it all on video.
“And before you even think of going to the police, cracker,” Master Ahmed warned him, “we gots little Tommy on video telling everything, how you beat him, how you beat your own little piglet, and we gots CPS on speed dial. So, yeah, fucker, go ahead and give the police a call. While you’re behind bars, I’ll make sure this redneck hovel of yours is burned to the ground.” Master Ahmed then raised the front of his basketball shirt just high enough for both me and Jimmy’s father to see the pistol he had tucked into the band of his shorts.
Giving the defeated white man a kick to the groin, Master Ahmed spat in his face, and led me back to the car. Looking back, I noticed Jimmy looking out at his soundly beaten father from behind a window curtain. We drove home.
“That was awesome!” Tommy cheered from the backseat. “Thank you, mister! You’re, like, the toughest guy in the world! That bitch didn’t stand a chance!”
Master Ahmed turned to Tommy. “Does this mean you ready to show a brother the proper respect, now, little piglet? No more calling us niggers?”
Tommy cast his gaze downward. “You know about that?”
“I do, piglet. I know everything. You ready to change your ways, boy?”
Tommy nodded enthusiastically. “I am, I’m sorry, mister. I’ll never say ni…uh, that word again, I promise!”
Marisa cautioned Tommy, “Always remember to say ‘sir’ whenever you address Ahmed, okay, Tommy? It shows him the respect he deserves.” Tommy nodded. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”
Master Ahmed dropped me and Tommy back home, explaining that he and Marisa were going to enjoy a weekend drive. Once in the house, Tommy said, “Ahmed is so cool, ***! Who is he? How come I never met him before? And where’s Wayne?”
I sat Tommy down beside me on the living room sofa. “Well, Wayne is at Danny’s for the weekend. Tommy, I’m really glad you’re home. And I really hope you’ve learned a lesson. But you’re going to have to know that some things have changed while you’ve been gone. I hope you can accept them.”
“Changed,” Tommy looked perplexed. “Like what?”
“Well, son, that man, Ahmed…I call him Master Ahmed, and so should you…he’s the head of our ****** now. He’s in charge.” Tommy looked less surprised than I had expected.
“So…he’s like the boss of us?”
I nodded. “That’s right. What he says goes.”
“Does he, like, live here?”
I shook my head. “No, not really. He’s only here for the weekend, then he has to go out of town. While he’s here, though, I’m sleeping in Wayne’s bed. That way Master Ahmed can sleep in my bed. With Mommy.”
“Oh. Okay,” Tommy seemed okay with the idea of Master Ahmed replacing me as head of the household. “I’m sorry I was so bad, Daddy. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss the feet of those black people at the park.” He was almost in tears. “I’ll try to be better, I promise!” He appeared sincere. I hugged him, happy to have my ****** intact again, if irrevocably altered. As Master Ahmed had explained to Jimmy’s father: we were all his property now.
“Change is difficult, son,” I acknowledged to Tommy. “The world is changing, and black people are going to be expecting that we, that all white people, treat them with more respect. When we do, the ones like Master Ahmed, they’ll take good care of us.” Tommy nodded his consent. “Okay, ***. Can I go play, now?”
I smiled. “About that, Tommy. When you left, we were very disappointed in you. So, we gave away a lot of your things. You can earn some of them back if you are very good and obey Master Ahmed and Mommy, okay?”
Tommy nodded. “Good,” I told him. “Now why don’t you go play with some of Wayne’s things. I’m sure he won’t mind, and he’ll be happy that you’re back home where you belong.” Tommy clambered off, while I went to the kitchen to clean up our interrupted breakfast. The aftertaste of Master Ahmed and Marisa’s sex was still strong in my throat.
Just as I finished with the dishes, my phone chimed, alerting me that I had a video call. I logged in to see an image of my wife sucking on Master Ahmed's mammoth prick. Marisa's saliva coated the thick shaft of his dark chocolate-colored cock, the sounds of her greedy slurping echoing from my phone. As her head bobbed up and down, I noticed the steering wheel behind her, making it clear that she was sucking off Master Ahmed as he drove.
"Yo, piggy!" The video image flipped and I found myself looking up at Master Ahmed's grinning face. "I got news for you, son," he said. "Your wife and I had a chat, and she's going to join me at the protest in DC. We decided to drive straight there, so we'll be taking your Cherokee since I left my car back home. "Fraid you'll have to make due with your wife's Corolla for now. We'll be picking up some clothes for her on the way, no more of this suburban Mom shit. She's a black man's ‘ho, now, and she's going to have to dress the part. Make sure you keep up on my Visa payments since we'll be sure to have some expenses along the way. I plan on showing my bitch a good time, you feel me?"
"But, but, Master," I protested, "is it safe? I mean, the videos, there's been so much violence at the protests."
"Aw, that's sweet, son," Master Ahmed laughed. "Worried about the mother of your piglets. Don't worry, boy: she's with me now. Nothing will happen to her. Yo, white girl: you got anything you want to say to yo' husband? Or your piglets?" Master Ahmed directed his phone toward Marisa as she continued working his schlong. She shook her head, and just mumbled, "ffo, mffoffing," her mouth full of black cock. The phone flipped back to Master Ahmed. "Guess not, piggy. I'll take fine care o' the bitch, don't you worry none. I'll have her back to you in a week or so. Probably. Be good, piggy." As he closed the call, I heard him say, "Suck it good, white girl, show your love!"
Once the call was over, I sat at the table befuddled. Master Ahmed, the man who had taken financial control of my life, who had locked me in chastity, at whose direction I had behaved like a cheap whore at a glory hole, had now absconded with my wife and my SUV. It was one thing to accept him fucking Marisa in our marriage bed, it was another for him to take off with her on a cross-country road trip, ******** her to potential violence amidst the protests and riots that had been erupting all over the country. It excited me that Marisa and Master Ahmed were together, but I worried about her, and was growing terrified of losing her not just for a night or a weekend, but forever. I realized that there were tears in my eyes. I wiped them away, and decided to make the best of things.
I looked up the number for Danny's ****** in Marisa's directory. I called them and asked if I could pick up Wayne this afternoon, as his mother had to go out of town unexpectedly. Danny's father explained that he and the boys were at the park, but that he could drop Wayne off on their way home in about an hour. "I'd appreciate that, thanks," I told him.
I then went to our bedroom, the first time I'd entered it since Master Ahmed spent the night fucking my wife in our bed. I realized that I was still wearing the same shirt and slacks in which I'd knelt in a filthy video booth and sucked off eight anonymous black cocks through a hole in the wall. I stripped the bed and then stripped off my clothing. The scent of sex on both was strong. I climbed in the shower in which Master Ahmed and Marisa had fucked just that morning. I let the steaming water wash over me as I thought back on the last couple of weeks: my many financial tributes to Master Ahmed, kissing the feet of black protesters in the park, Tommy running away, submitting to my new black boss at work, sucking black cocks at a glory hole, Master Ahmed showing up at my home and my learning that he and my wife had been in contact for weeks. I let the hot water wash over my little caged cock, rinsing away the dried pre-ejaculate that had crusted on it.
Refreshed, I dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. I checked my phone, but there were no new messages from either my Master or my wife. I peaked in on Tommy, expecting to find him playing Minecraft or Fortnite; instead he was scrolling through news about the protests on his brother's iPad (we had given his away for donation when he ran away from home). "Your brother is coming home from Danny's soon," I told him. "We'll have lunch when he gets here. You doing okay, Tommy?"
He looked up from his bunk bed. "Yeah, ***, I'm good. Is Ahmed back, yet? I want to thank him again for beating up Jimmy's ***."
"Uh, well, the thing is, Ahmed and your Mom, they went on a trip together. They are going to protest for black rights in Washington DC. We might not see them until next week."
"Oh, okay." Tommy didn't seem troubled that his mother had run off with a black man he'd only just met that morning. "The protests are good, ***," he assured me. "It's good if more white people like Jimmy's *** get beat up. They deserve it for being so mean."
I nodded my agreement. "I'll call you when lunch is ready. Grilled hot dogs sound good?"
"Sure!" He turned his attention back to the iPad and news of the ongoing black revolution.
When Danny's *** pulled up in a minivan, I met him outside. Wayne and Danny climbed out of the back. "Your brother's home," I told Wayne. "He's in your bedroom."
Wayne said, "Cool! Can Danny come, too?" I looked at Danny's father, who nodded his consent. The boys scurried into the house.
"Hey," I greeted him. "I'm David. I think we've met at a kid's birthday party or two." Climbing out of the minivan, he introduced himself as Ron. He was probably a couple of years closer to 40 than me, dressed in chinos and a golf shirt. "This is kind of awkward," he said, "but, uh, can I ask you something, David?" I nodded.
"Well, you see, the thing is, Wayne told us about you all...kissing the feet of protesters in the park." Shit, I thought; I assumed that Marisa had cautioned Wayne to not say anything. "And then when he came over yesterday, he told us about his Ahmed person that was staying with you."
"Right," I said. "He's a, uh, friend of the ******."
"Is he?" Ron asked. "Or is he more a friend of...your wife?"
My expression of shock must have been easy to read because Ron said, "No offense, David, really. My wife and I were kind of...curious. You see, my wife, Jill, she...well, you might know, she's a high school teacher. And she, well, for the last year, she's kind of had...relations with some of the senior boys, some of the…black senior boys from the school football team. I just thought, well, you and I, we might be in the same boat."
A wave of relief washed over me. Ron wasn't judging me as a pervert or a race traitor as Jimmy's *** had done. He was trying to find out if I was a cuckold like him, a cuckold to black cock. "Hey, Ron," I offered, "do you and Danny want to stay for hot dogs? I think there's a lot we could talk about." Like me, he appeared relieved. It must have taken a huge dose of courage to bring the subject up the way he had. "That sounds great, buddy."
In the kitchen we grabbed the dogs, buns, condiments, and chips, and headed for the backyard grill. While I prepped everything, I confessed, "You know, Ron, it's kind of a relief to have someone to talk to about all of this. My wife, Marisa, she's gone off with...with Master Ahmed for the week. To join in some protests."
"Master Ahmed?" Ron raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you see, that's the thing, Ron. I'm not just a cuck, like you. I'm, well, I guess you could say that I'm his slave."
"No shit?" Ron said, sitting down on one of the backyard chairs. "Wow. I mean, that's kind of, well, hot."
Over a couple of beers, Ron told me the story of his wife's blackening. It seems that one of her students, Derek, was in danger of failing her English class. If his grade point average fell too far, school rules required that he be dropped from the football team. The football coach asked her to tutor him to help raise his grade. Jill was hesitant at first, but gave in to administration pressure as Derek was one of the school's top athletes. After Jill's private lessons on Shakespeare failed to win Derek's attention, he teased her by saying, "Give me a peak at those lily white tits, Mrs. Watson, and maybe I be able to concentrate on this Shakespeare shit." Out of sheer frustration (and maybe just a little sexual curiosity), Jill flashed the seventeen-year old black teen by raising her shirt over her breasts with a laugh. Before she could lower it again, however, his large black hands were all over her tits. In no time at all, Jill and Derek were stripping off one another's clothes and he had her bent over the desk, plowing her from behind.
Their affair lasted the rest of the school year. Derek got his grades up with all the extra special attention he was getting, and managed to get a scholarship. When he went off to college, however, Jill found herself still hungry for black cock. She began seducing other boys in the school, most of them on the pretense of helping with their grades. Eventually, she confessed everything to Ron. Rather than angry, Ron, like me, found himself more turned-on than he'd ever been in his life. He encouraged his wife in her affairs, paying for motel rooms. Jill would come home, and Ron would jerk off as she told him about her trysts. Ron hadn't actually had intercourse with his wife in almost a year.
"Have you ever...eaten her out afterward," I broached delicately. Ron looked ashamed, but nodded. "I didn't want to at first, but Jill encouraged me to, well, clean her up, she called it. It was...intoxicating."
"Oh, I know," I agreed.
Ron looked at me happily. "You, too? Oh, my God. I thought I was the only one. When Wayne told us about Ahmed, about the protesters, I hoped, I mean...."
As I turned the dogs on the grill, I said, "Wait, here let me show you something." I fished out my phone and played the videos of me on my knees sucking black cock at a glory hole. "Holy God," Ron said. "So...so, you're a...I mean, you're gay?"
I looked him right in the eye and said with complete sincerity, "No, Ron, I'm not. That's just it. I've never had a gay thought in my life, but...but I have a deep need to serve black men. Here let me show you something else." When I lowered my fly, Ron objected that he wasn't interested in me that way. "Relax, Ron. That's not it. Just look." He looked down at my fly, and his mouth dropped open when he saw my small dick locked away in its stainless steel cage. "Master Ahmed locked me in chastity. He holds the key to my cage. He's taken over my life completely."
Ron shook his head, dumbfounded. "Damn, David. That's just, that's all just so amazing. How do you feel about it?"
"Let me ask you, Ron: how do you feel? Do you like sharing your wife with black teenagers? Do you like eating their cum out of her filthy pussy?"
Again, he looked ashamed, but nodded his head. "God help me, buddy: I do. I sure do."
"Me, too, Ron. I guess we're just a couple of cum-sucking cucks, huh?" We both laughed. "Here, I'm going to call the boys down, lunch is ready." I tucked my caged cock away, and went inside to call the boys to eat.
With Marisa gone for who knows how long, it would be good to have someone I could talk to. It sounded as though Ron needed a friend as much as I did. A fellow cuck buddy.
As she stroked his cock, feeling it grow semi-hard under the ministrations of her hand, Master Ahmed turned to me. "So, piggy. You got something for me?" Lying tangled up in Wayne's Minecraft bed sheets, I reached to withdraw my phone from my slacks, discarded nearby on the floor. I stood, nude as well, my cock only recently freed from the cage Master Ahmed made me wear. I was very conscious of my flabby, soft, pale body in stark contrast to Master Ahmed's strong, fit, well-defined, youthful, melanin-rich physique, my small, white cock in comparison to his massive, thick-veined erection, with its bulbous head and bloated balls. No wonder Marisa went to him so easily. It is what I wanted for her.
I unlocked my phone, and handed it to Master Ahmed. Rather than check the video I had taken last night at his instruction, however, the first thing he did was to take a close-up photo his mammoth cock in Marisa's small hand. "Making this your screensaver, piggy," he explained. "Don't let me catch you changing this." Marisa giggled.
"Of course not, Sir," I consented.
"Hey, piggy," he said.
"Yes, sir?"
"Isn't your place on your knees when you are in front of your owner?" I apologized, and immediately dropped to the floor, ashamed of the hubris I demonstrated, standing before Master Ahmed like an equal. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He started laughing once he opened the videos on my phone. "Check this out, bitch," he said to Marisa. My wife stood beside this young, black, dominant man who had taken financial and sexual control of our lives, her eyes wide-open, her mouth agape. They watched several minutes of me kneeling at a glory hole in the filthy video booth of an adult store, as I sucked one anonymous black cock after another, like the most depraved of faggots, ingesting massive quantities of semen from black strangers whose faces I never even saw. The sounds of slurping from the video filled the room, and once in a while a voice could be heard instructing "suck it, white boy" or "swallow that nigga load, cracker!" Whatever respect my wife might have still retained for me after feeding me Master Ahmed's semen from her cunt surely evaporated as she watched me devour one load of anonymous cum after another. Marisa just looked at me and shook her head. "A slave and a fag, it's all true."
Master Ahmed handed me back my phone. "Send that shit to my cell, piggy," he ordered. "Imma going to wanna keep that." He led Marisa to Wayne's bunk bed. "C'mon, bitch," he said, "let's fuck on the piglet's bed!" They fell on to the lower bunk together, laughing, Marisa in his arms, the two of them kissing, their tongues deeply entwined. I watched as Master Ahmed lifted Marisa's sheer nightgown over her head, revealing her naked body. I noticed reddened love bites all over her pert breasts.
Master Ahmed turned his head. "Yo, piggy: get lost. Go pick us up some breakfast. I feel like biscuits and gravy." I must have looked bereft that I was again going to be denied the opportunity to witness my Master enjoying my wife's white body. "Aw, faggot, don't look so sad," he teased. "I'm here all weekend. You'll get to see plenty of me in action with your sexy ass wife." As I retrieved my clothes from the floor, Master Ahmed said, "Ain't you forgetting something, white boy?" I looked around blankly, then spotted my cock cage on the floor by the bed.
"But, but I thought--"
"Thought what, piggy? That I was just going to let you just roam around free all day? Fuck that! No telling what kinda shit a white like you might get into if he wasn't under the control of a real human being. Now pick it up and put it on, fucker." Marisa sniggered at my humiliation.
I obeyed, refastening the stainless steel device to my flaccid cock. I snapped the padlock closed. My brief freedom was over. Master Ahmed held out his hand. "Keys, piggy," he said. I dropped the keys in his hand. "Now, scram!" I backed out of the room, catching one last glance of Marisa, as she kissed her way down our Master's torso toward his erect cock, not sparing a look for me. I scurried downstairs, pulling my slacks on as I went.
I drove to a diner a couple of miles from the house, where I ordered three big breakfasts, including biscuits and gravy for Master Ahmed. During the drive, I couldn't help but think of my previously faithful wife in the arms of this virile young black man. As dedicated as I had become to him, I found myself thankful that Marisa was on the pill. With things still up in the air with our ten-year old son Tommy—who had run away from home to live with his friend Jimmy's ******—and all the political and racial turmoil exploding around us, the last thing we needed was a baby. A mixed-race baby. Even as the thought raced through my mind, I felt my cock strain against its cage. The idea of Marisa's belly swelling with Master Ahmed's child...! I shook the thought out of my head, as exciting as it was disturbing.
When I arrived home with the food, I could hear Master Ahmed and Marisa still fucking; it appeared they had taken their love making into the shower. Marisa, usually reserved during sex with me, showed no such restraint with Master Ahmed. “Oh, fuck my filthy pussy!” her cries echoed through the house from the upstairs bathroom. “Nobody has ever fucked me so good!” As I laid out breakfast at the dining room table, listening to my wife’s obvious pleasure, my cock grew turgid in its cage, constricted by the stainless steel bars until it grew painful. I attempted to position it within my slacks to ease the discomfit, but to no avail. Was the orgasm I enjoyed this morning while sucking Master Ahmed’s splooge out of my wife’s cunt going to be the only release I was permitted this weekend? I prayed not.
Shortly, Master Ahmed and Marisa appeared in the dining room. He wore the navy blue cashmere bathrobe that Marisa had bought me on my last birthday, the strap left open, revealing his well-toned, tattooed body and dangling genitalia. Marisa wore only Master Ahmed’s Lakers shirt, which just covered her pelvis. Master Ahmed surveyed the breakfast spread. “Food looks good, piggy,” he commented. “But, uh, why the three table settings.” He smiled. “Oh, you don’t expect to join us, do you?” He shook his head, picked up my plate, and scraped the food onto his. “No, no, no, son: piggies don’t eat at the table like real people. Besides…your only breakfast is…in there,” he said, indicating Marisa’s crotch. My wife giggled.
As Master Ahmed and my wife sat to enjoy the breakfast I had laid out, he motioned for me to take my place on the floor under the table, where I could slurp his multiple loads out of Marisa’s cum-soaked vagina. This was already the second voluminous helping of his sperm that I found myself ingesting just this morning, to say nothing of all the anonymous African cum I had swallowed the night before at the glory hole. While denying me the actual pleasure of watching my wife being black-fucked, something I had wanted for so long, Master Ahmed was transforming me into a cocksucking, cum-swallowing faggot. He was rewiring my mind.
As I applied my tongue to Marisa’s snatch—on my knees, beneath the table—licking out my Master’s thick, gelatinous jism as if it were a tasty chutney, I noticed that Marisa had trimmed her pubes much closer than she’d ever done before. She must have done so in the shower before Master Ahmed filled her with his rich jizz. As I obediently licked, I could hear my Master and my wife enjoying their breakfast, talking as if I wasn’t even present. Master Ahmed spoke of many of the things I had become familiar with from his tweets over the last few weeks: the inherent supremacy of the black race, the looming extinction of people of white European heritage, the necessity for whites to pay reparations for their many sins against superior Africans, the ways in which white women can make sexual recompense for the racism of their fathers and husbands and sons. “I love paying reparations with my pussy,” Marisa agreed. “It feels so right to surrender it to a black man’s pleasure.” As she said that, she squeezed a very thick clump of Master Ahmed’s batter out of the depths of her vagina directly into my mouth. I gulped it down, feeling it lubricate the back of my throat.
Just then, I heard Marisa gasp, and heard a voice ask, “Who’s he?” It was our ten-year old son, Tommy, who had run away from home the previous weekend. He had walked in on his mother enjoying breakfast with an unfamiliar black man; as yet, he was ******* that his father was under the dining room table feasting on another man’s cum directly from his mother’s pussy. I froze uncertain what to do. Master Ahmed kept his composure, as if this was all perfectly normal.
“So, this is the other piglet, huh?” he observed. “I’m Ahmed, son. I’m your mother’s special friend. What brings you home. I thought you’d gone to live with some redneck Klan ****** or something. Yo, piggy,” he called to me, “your prodigal piglet has returned.” I scrambled out from under the table, looking at Tommy. His face was a wreck: one eye was swollen almost shut, his lower lip was split, his jaw bruised. He glared at me.
“***! What were doing on the floor?” he asked with shock.
“Never mind that,” I snapped at him. Master Ahmed chuckled, apparently amused at the situation, noticing how my lips glistened with the sheen of his semen. “What happened to you?” I asked. “What happened to your face?” Some latent, repressed maternal instinct for our wayward son must have kicked in for Marisa, as she got up from the table and wet a washcloth to wipe Tommy’s face of dried blood. She wasn’t, however, particularly tender, I noted.
Tommy looked at the floor, unable to make eye contact, as he explained, “Jimmy’s ***.” That’s all he had to say. “He…he did this. He hits Jimmy, too, when he’s...he gets *****.”
Master Ahmed stood from the table, pulling my…his…robe closed. “Come on,” he said. “Get dressed. We got shit to do.”
A half hour later, we all pulled up in front of Jimmy’s house in my car. Master Ahmed sat beside me in the passenger seat, Marissa and Tommy in the backseat. Master Ahmed turned to them and said, “Wait here. You,” he looked at me, “come with me. Get your phone out. I want this all on video.”
Master Ahmed pounded on the front door; when Jimmy’s father answered it, groggily, wearing only boxer shots, he glared at the black stranger on his stoop. “Who the fuck are you?” Then he saw me standing behind him on the lawn. Some semblance of understanding passed over his face, but before he could do anything, Master Ahmed had grabbed him by the throat and flung him easily to the ground. He gave the surprised man a couple of firm kicks to the gut, then slammed his fist into his face again and again. When it was clear the white man was subdued, Master Ahmed stood over him, calmly, as if nothing had even happened.
Master Ahmed pointed to me, then to Marisa and Tommy watching from the car. Jimmy’s loser father followed his finger. “You see them,” Master Ahmed asked. “This ******? They’re my property. You hurt one of them, you damage my property, you fuckin’ redneck piece of shit! You can beat your own piglet to death for all I fuckin’ care, but you damage my property, motherfucker, and I damage you! Got it?”
Jimmy’s ***, his face bloody and beaten, simply glared at Master Ahmed, stubbornly, looking for courage to defy the young black man who had just thrashed him. I caught it all on video.
“And before you even think of going to the police, cracker,” Master Ahmed warned him, “we gots little Tommy on video telling everything, how you beat him, how you beat your own little piglet, and we gots CPS on speed dial. So, yeah, fucker, go ahead and give the police a call. While you’re behind bars, I’ll make sure this redneck hovel of yours is burned to the ground.” Master Ahmed then raised the front of his basketball shirt just high enough for both me and Jimmy’s father to see the pistol he had tucked into the band of his shorts.
Giving the defeated white man a kick to the groin, Master Ahmed spat in his face, and led me back to the car. Looking back, I noticed Jimmy looking out at his soundly beaten father from behind a window curtain. We drove home.
“That was awesome!” Tommy cheered from the backseat. “Thank you, mister! You’re, like, the toughest guy in the world! That bitch didn’t stand a chance!”
Master Ahmed turned to Tommy. “Does this mean you ready to show a brother the proper respect, now, little piglet? No more calling us niggers?”
Tommy cast his gaze downward. “You know about that?”
“I do, piglet. I know everything. You ready to change your ways, boy?”
Tommy nodded enthusiastically. “I am, I’m sorry, mister. I’ll never say ni…uh, that word again, I promise!”
Marisa cautioned Tommy, “Always remember to say ‘sir’ whenever you address Ahmed, okay, Tommy? It shows him the respect he deserves.” Tommy nodded. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”
Master Ahmed dropped me and Tommy back home, explaining that he and Marisa were going to enjoy a weekend drive. Once in the house, Tommy said, “Ahmed is so cool, ***! Who is he? How come I never met him before? And where’s Wayne?”
I sat Tommy down beside me on the living room sofa. “Well, Wayne is at Danny’s for the weekend. Tommy, I’m really glad you’re home. And I really hope you’ve learned a lesson. But you’re going to have to know that some things have changed while you’ve been gone. I hope you can accept them.”
“Changed,” Tommy looked perplexed. “Like what?”
“Well, son, that man, Ahmed…I call him Master Ahmed, and so should you…he’s the head of our ****** now. He’s in charge.” Tommy looked less surprised than I had expected.
“So…he’s like the boss of us?”
I nodded. “That’s right. What he says goes.”
“Does he, like, live here?”
I shook my head. “No, not really. He’s only here for the weekend, then he has to go out of town. While he’s here, though, I’m sleeping in Wayne’s bed. That way Master Ahmed can sleep in my bed. With Mommy.”
“Oh. Okay,” Tommy seemed okay with the idea of Master Ahmed replacing me as head of the household. “I’m sorry I was so bad, Daddy. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss the feet of those black people at the park.” He was almost in tears. “I’ll try to be better, I promise!” He appeared sincere. I hugged him, happy to have my ****** intact again, if irrevocably altered. As Master Ahmed had explained to Jimmy’s father: we were all his property now.
“Change is difficult, son,” I acknowledged to Tommy. “The world is changing, and black people are going to be expecting that we, that all white people, treat them with more respect. When we do, the ones like Master Ahmed, they’ll take good care of us.” Tommy nodded his consent. “Okay, ***. Can I go play, now?”
I smiled. “About that, Tommy. When you left, we were very disappointed in you. So, we gave away a lot of your things. You can earn some of them back if you are very good and obey Master Ahmed and Mommy, okay?”
Tommy nodded. “Good,” I told him. “Now why don’t you go play with some of Wayne’s things. I’m sure he won’t mind, and he’ll be happy that you’re back home where you belong.” Tommy clambered off, while I went to the kitchen to clean up our interrupted breakfast. The aftertaste of Master Ahmed and Marisa’s sex was still strong in my throat.
Just as I finished with the dishes, my phone chimed, alerting me that I had a video call. I logged in to see an image of my wife sucking on Master Ahmed's mammoth prick. Marisa's saliva coated the thick shaft of his dark chocolate-colored cock, the sounds of her greedy slurping echoing from my phone. As her head bobbed up and down, I noticed the steering wheel behind her, making it clear that she was sucking off Master Ahmed as he drove.
"Yo, piggy!" The video image flipped and I found myself looking up at Master Ahmed's grinning face. "I got news for you, son," he said. "Your wife and I had a chat, and she's going to join me at the protest in DC. We decided to drive straight there, so we'll be taking your Cherokee since I left my car back home. "Fraid you'll have to make due with your wife's Corolla for now. We'll be picking up some clothes for her on the way, no more of this suburban Mom shit. She's a black man's ‘ho, now, and she's going to have to dress the part. Make sure you keep up on my Visa payments since we'll be sure to have some expenses along the way. I plan on showing my bitch a good time, you feel me?"
"But, but, Master," I protested, "is it safe? I mean, the videos, there's been so much violence at the protests."
"Aw, that's sweet, son," Master Ahmed laughed. "Worried about the mother of your piglets. Don't worry, boy: she's with me now. Nothing will happen to her. Yo, white girl: you got anything you want to say to yo' husband? Or your piglets?" Master Ahmed directed his phone toward Marisa as she continued working his schlong. She shook her head, and just mumbled, "ffo, mffoffing," her mouth full of black cock. The phone flipped back to Master Ahmed. "Guess not, piggy. I'll take fine care o' the bitch, don't you worry none. I'll have her back to you in a week or so. Probably. Be good, piggy." As he closed the call, I heard him say, "Suck it good, white girl, show your love!"
Once the call was over, I sat at the table befuddled. Master Ahmed, the man who had taken financial control of my life, who had locked me in chastity, at whose direction I had behaved like a cheap whore at a glory hole, had now absconded with my wife and my SUV. It was one thing to accept him fucking Marisa in our marriage bed, it was another for him to take off with her on a cross-country road trip, ******** her to potential violence amidst the protests and riots that had been erupting all over the country. It excited me that Marisa and Master Ahmed were together, but I worried about her, and was growing terrified of losing her not just for a night or a weekend, but forever. I realized that there were tears in my eyes. I wiped them away, and decided to make the best of things.
I looked up the number for Danny's ****** in Marisa's directory. I called them and asked if I could pick up Wayne this afternoon, as his mother had to go out of town unexpectedly. Danny's father explained that he and the boys were at the park, but that he could drop Wayne off on their way home in about an hour. "I'd appreciate that, thanks," I told him.
I then went to our bedroom, the first time I'd entered it since Master Ahmed spent the night fucking my wife in our bed. I realized that I was still wearing the same shirt and slacks in which I'd knelt in a filthy video booth and sucked off eight anonymous black cocks through a hole in the wall. I stripped the bed and then stripped off my clothing. The scent of sex on both was strong. I climbed in the shower in which Master Ahmed and Marisa had fucked just that morning. I let the steaming water wash over me as I thought back on the last couple of weeks: my many financial tributes to Master Ahmed, kissing the feet of black protesters in the park, Tommy running away, submitting to my new black boss at work, sucking black cocks at a glory hole, Master Ahmed showing up at my home and my learning that he and my wife had been in contact for weeks. I let the hot water wash over my little caged cock, rinsing away the dried pre-ejaculate that had crusted on it.
Refreshed, I dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. I checked my phone, but there were no new messages from either my Master or my wife. I peaked in on Tommy, expecting to find him playing Minecraft or Fortnite; instead he was scrolling through news about the protests on his brother's iPad (we had given his away for donation when he ran away from home). "Your brother is coming home from Danny's soon," I told him. "We'll have lunch when he gets here. You doing okay, Tommy?"
He looked up from his bunk bed. "Yeah, ***, I'm good. Is Ahmed back, yet? I want to thank him again for beating up Jimmy's ***."
"Uh, well, the thing is, Ahmed and your Mom, they went on a trip together. They are going to protest for black rights in Washington DC. We might not see them until next week."
"Oh, okay." Tommy didn't seem troubled that his mother had run off with a black man he'd only just met that morning. "The protests are good, ***," he assured me. "It's good if more white people like Jimmy's *** get beat up. They deserve it for being so mean."
I nodded my agreement. "I'll call you when lunch is ready. Grilled hot dogs sound good?"
"Sure!" He turned his attention back to the iPad and news of the ongoing black revolution.
When Danny's *** pulled up in a minivan, I met him outside. Wayne and Danny climbed out of the back. "Your brother's home," I told Wayne. "He's in your bedroom."
Wayne said, "Cool! Can Danny come, too?" I looked at Danny's father, who nodded his consent. The boys scurried into the house.
"Hey," I greeted him. "I'm David. I think we've met at a kid's birthday party or two." Climbing out of the minivan, he introduced himself as Ron. He was probably a couple of years closer to 40 than me, dressed in chinos and a golf shirt. "This is kind of awkward," he said, "but, uh, can I ask you something, David?" I nodded.
"Well, you see, the thing is, Wayne told us about you all...kissing the feet of protesters in the park." Shit, I thought; I assumed that Marisa had cautioned Wayne to not say anything. "And then when he came over yesterday, he told us about his Ahmed person that was staying with you."
"Right," I said. "He's a, uh, friend of the ******."
"Is he?" Ron asked. "Or is he more a friend of...your wife?"
My expression of shock must have been easy to read because Ron said, "No offense, David, really. My wife and I were kind of...curious. You see, my wife, Jill, she...well, you might know, she's a high school teacher. And she, well, for the last year, she's kind of had...relations with some of the senior boys, some of the…black senior boys from the school football team. I just thought, well, you and I, we might be in the same boat."
A wave of relief washed over me. Ron wasn't judging me as a pervert or a race traitor as Jimmy's *** had done. He was trying to find out if I was a cuckold like him, a cuckold to black cock. "Hey, Ron," I offered, "do you and Danny want to stay for hot dogs? I think there's a lot we could talk about." Like me, he appeared relieved. It must have taken a huge dose of courage to bring the subject up the way he had. "That sounds great, buddy."
In the kitchen we grabbed the dogs, buns, condiments, and chips, and headed for the backyard grill. While I prepped everything, I confessed, "You know, Ron, it's kind of a relief to have someone to talk to about all of this. My wife, Marisa, she's gone off with...with Master Ahmed for the week. To join in some protests."
"Master Ahmed?" Ron raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, you see, that's the thing, Ron. I'm not just a cuck, like you. I'm, well, I guess you could say that I'm his slave."
"No shit?" Ron said, sitting down on one of the backyard chairs. "Wow. I mean, that's kind of, well, hot."
Over a couple of beers, Ron told me the story of his wife's blackening. It seems that one of her students, Derek, was in danger of failing her English class. If his grade point average fell too far, school rules required that he be dropped from the football team. The football coach asked her to tutor him to help raise his grade. Jill was hesitant at first, but gave in to administration pressure as Derek was one of the school's top athletes. After Jill's private lessons on Shakespeare failed to win Derek's attention, he teased her by saying, "Give me a peak at those lily white tits, Mrs. Watson, and maybe I be able to concentrate on this Shakespeare shit." Out of sheer frustration (and maybe just a little sexual curiosity), Jill flashed the seventeen-year old black teen by raising her shirt over her breasts with a laugh. Before she could lower it again, however, his large black hands were all over her tits. In no time at all, Jill and Derek were stripping off one another's clothes and he had her bent over the desk, plowing her from behind.
Their affair lasted the rest of the school year. Derek got his grades up with all the extra special attention he was getting, and managed to get a scholarship. When he went off to college, however, Jill found herself still hungry for black cock. She began seducing other boys in the school, most of them on the pretense of helping with their grades. Eventually, she confessed everything to Ron. Rather than angry, Ron, like me, found himself more turned-on than he'd ever been in his life. He encouraged his wife in her affairs, paying for motel rooms. Jill would come home, and Ron would jerk off as she told him about her trysts. Ron hadn't actually had intercourse with his wife in almost a year.
"Have you ever...eaten her out afterward," I broached delicately. Ron looked ashamed, but nodded. "I didn't want to at first, but Jill encouraged me to, well, clean her up, she called it. It was...intoxicating."
"Oh, I know," I agreed.
Ron looked at me happily. "You, too? Oh, my God. I thought I was the only one. When Wayne told us about Ahmed, about the protesters, I hoped, I mean...."
As I turned the dogs on the grill, I said, "Wait, here let me show you something." I fished out my phone and played the videos of me on my knees sucking black cock at a glory hole. "Holy God," Ron said. "So...so, you're a...I mean, you're gay?"
I looked him right in the eye and said with complete sincerity, "No, Ron, I'm not. That's just it. I've never had a gay thought in my life, but...but I have a deep need to serve black men. Here let me show you something else." When I lowered my fly, Ron objected that he wasn't interested in me that way. "Relax, Ron. That's not it. Just look." He looked down at my fly, and his mouth dropped open when he saw my small dick locked away in its stainless steel cage. "Master Ahmed locked me in chastity. He holds the key to my cage. He's taken over my life completely."
Ron shook his head, dumbfounded. "Damn, David. That's just, that's all just so amazing. How do you feel about it?"
"Let me ask you, Ron: how do you feel? Do you like sharing your wife with black teenagers? Do you like eating their cum out of her filthy pussy?"
Again, he looked ashamed, but nodded his head. "God help me, buddy: I do. I sure do."
"Me, too, Ron. I guess we're just a couple of cum-sucking cucks, huh?" We both laughed. "Here, I'm going to call the boys down, lunch is ready." I tucked my caged cock away, and went inside to call the boys to eat.
With Marisa gone for who knows how long, it would be good to have someone I could talk to. It sounded as though Ron needed a friend as much as I did. A fellow cuck buddy.
