Date: Thu, 23 Feb 2006 20:16:37 -0800 (PST) From: Skorpio Subject: Thug Cash Master - Part 14 (author, interr) This story is pornoGRAPHIC fiction! If you are under the age of consent, turn back at once! Otherwise, read on... THUG CASH MASTER, by Skorpio. Part Fourteen: Blackout "Reese axed me to keep an eye on you," said Malik, pointing the remote at the television set, muting the volume. "That means I'm gonna be your Master `til he gets back." "Yes, Sir," Brad replied. Before lowering his gaze, Brad's eyes lingered for a moment on the thug's taut, slim torso and wiry tattooed arms. "Do you know when Master Reese will be back?" "Sit yo' ass down!" said Malik. "On the floor!" Malik wished there was a remote control for whiteboys. He imagined one with a Pause button to make them freeze, a Mute button to make them shut up, and a Play button to make him suck dick! Now that would make for a dope sci-fi movie, thought Malik. Why don't they show that kind of stuff on TV? The next best thing to a remote control was an obedient servant. Brad sat upon the floor. For the second time that day he found himself dominated by someone other than his Master. Where could his Master be? Brad wanted to tell his Master everything, whatever the consequences. Meanwhile, Malik went on, "I don't think you're givin' me enough respect, muthafucka! Next time you ask a nigga somethin', you better say `please Sir.' Hear me, boyeee? Guess Reese ain't finished schoolin' yo' ass!" "Yes, Sir," said Brad, contritely. "I'm sorry, Sir." "That's better! And yah, I know when my nigga comin' back, but I ain't tellin' you. Might be a few minutes, might be hours. He might not get back for days, but you not gonna know `til he comes walkin' through that door. Meantime, you're under my jurisdiction, understand?" "Yes, Sir," said Brad, fidgeting. His buttocks were tender from the violent flogging received the night before. "You scurred to look at me, boy?" "No, Sir," he replied. "But Master Reese told me not to look at him directly." "Is that so?" said Malik. "Do you know why he told you that?" "Because I'm inferior to him," said Brad, like a schoolboy reciting his catechism. "I'm not his equal." "Now that's what I like to hear!" Malik roared, slapping his knee. "Maybe my boy did drop some science on you, after all! Take a good look at me and tell me what chu see!" Brad slowly raised his head. His eyes took in the young thug's large, bare feet and surveyed the furry brown calves. Black trunks covered his knees. Brad lifted his eyes to the rugged six-pack, before resting on the lean chest with nipples like iron rivets. Sweat burnished the brown body like a patina. Malik possessed a square-jawed face with chiseled cheekbones, lavish lips more apt to scowl than smile, and a trimmed jet-black goatee glistening of coconut oil. White nylon tie-strings dangled down his back like ribbons from the do-rag capping his skull. Both ears glinted with diamonds. Lost in the thug's darkling, heavy-lidded eyes, Brad nearly swooned. He could not bear the intensity. It was like being blinded by the sun. "Tell me what you saw when you looked at me," demanded Malik. "You're a God, Sir, like my Master," replied Brad without thinking. "I'm just a little white worm." "Hell to the yah, that's you, aiiight, a li'l white worm!" Malik chuckled, deeply. "That's for damn sure! You even look like a worm. You got any sisters, worm-boy?" "No, Sir." "That's aiiight. If they looked anything like you, they'd be too ugly to fuck. What about your mama? Does she like niggas too?" "My mother is deceased, Sir," said Brad, with a lump in his throat. "Sorry to hear that, worm-boy. Do you think your mama is up in heaven?" Malik's voice was cold as ice-water. "Yes, Sir." "You think she sees everything you do?" "Yes, Sir, I suppose so." Brad quavered. Malik came to his point: "How do you think ma-dukes up in heaven feels about her son bein' a cocksucker, givin' niggas blowjobs and bein' a fuckin' slave and shit? How do you think that makes your mama feel when she looks down and sees what you all about?" Brad's head drooped, overwhelmed with self-loathing. "Speak up, boy!" Malik demanded, leaning forward. "How does your mama feel?" The mineral glow of his eyes was cold and penetrating. Brad felt naked and vulnerable, as if all his deepest feelings were ripped from him. He erupted in tears. "Ashamed, Sir... she's ashamed of me! My mom is ashamed of me!" `I got an idea!" said Malik, jumping up. "Let's make your mama even more disgusted with you! C'mon, follow me." Wiping his tears, Brad trotted after Malik into the bathroom and dropped to his knees when the young thug snapped his fingers. "Good li'l slave," said Malik. "You're a regular android, ain't chu! Don't need no remote wit' chu! You just do what chu told, ain't that right. You just obey. I like that. I really respect you for holding that attitude. You know your place. That's nice. Pull down my gear." Brad held his breath as he tugged the black mesh shorts. He swallowed, seeing Malik's long brown cock and heavy balls spring free. The thug raised the toilet seat and squatted. His massive member dangled over the rim. "You can suck my dick while I take a dump," said Malik. ""Don't forget mama's watchin'." Like an infant with a pacifier, sucking dissolved all Brad's fears and insecurities. Time stood still with a throbbing cock inside him. Fellatio fulfilled him. It was his nature. The juicy cock doubled in size in Brad's gaping mouth. Malik grabbed him by both ears and held him down on his dick until he released his bowels. The rising stench was not altogether unpleasant to Brad's olfactory senses, acrid yet sweet, like the odor of rotting flowers. Grunting with satisfaction, Malik grabbed the whiteboy by the hair and lifted him off his cock. Malik stood and turned. His round, brown ass was an inch from Brad's face. "Wipe my ass!" Brad unrolled toilet paper and proceeded to swipe between the firm, muscular cheeks. He wiped with extreme care, tossing the soiled tissues into the toilet bowl. "Sure you got it clean?" "Yes, Sir," said Brad. "Then, you won't mind licking it!" said Malik, laughing softly, enjoying this. "Clean my ass with your tongue. Get busy!" With both hands, Brad spread Malik's tight cheeks apart and began licking with his small, yet eager tongue. "Lick it clean!" said Malik. "That's right, lick my ass, worm-boy! A nigga don't need to wipe wit' chu around! Your tongue ain't nothin' but toilet paper, is it!" Without warning, Malik spun and seized the kneeling whiteboy by the throat. He pushed the ass-wipe's head into the bowl and flushed. Brad held his breath and closed his eyes. "Stick out your tongue!" shouted Malik. "Stick it out or I'll drown your sorry ass!" Brad forced his tongue through pursed lips, determined not to swallow the filthy water, but he could not help it. His face thrashed in the swirling water until Malik released his grip. Coughing and sputtering, Brad tumbled back, dripping with filth, stinking with the sweet and sour fetor cloying his nostrils and a foul flavor in his mouth. "That's where toilet paper belongs and don't chu NEVER forget it!" boomed Malik. "You're just one step away from getting' flushed. Now clean up and scrub this bowl. Make it sparkle. When you're done, present yourself! You got ten minutes." Brad hastily washed his face with cold water and attended to scrubbing the toilet. Lacking a watch, Brad had only a vague idea how much time was passing. In less than eight minutes he presented himself to Malik on his knees. "Look at me!" asserted Malik. Brad looked into Malik's hooded eyes and felt his soul turn inside out. The thug studied him thoughtfully, penetratingly. You've got somethin' on your mind, don't chu!" demanded Malik. `Yes, Sir," said Brad. "Call me Master!" "Yes, Master." "Mo' better!" said Malik. "You got somethin' on your mind, is that right?" "Yes, Master." "Break it down to me." Brad stammered, "Something happened at work today. Something bad." "Go on," said Malik, intrigued. Brad explained how Aaron Levitz pressured him into giving a blowjob and not just a one-time deal. Levitz expected oral satisfaction on a daily basis. Certain he failed his Master and sure to get another beating, Brad did not know what to do. "Is that all?" asked Malik, with a snicker. "What's the problem?" "I don't think Master Reese will like it." "All you doin' is suckin' dick. That's what you do. That's what you are. You're a cocksucker, so just be yourself. Suck that dick!" "Suck whose dick?" said Reese, entering. Loose black stonewash jeans hung from his narrow hips and a tight black muscle shirt hugged his physique. A gold chain circled his neck and a gold watch was on his wrist. "I said, suck whose dick?" Reese repeated. Malik nudged Brad. "Tell him," he said. Nervously, Brad recounted all that transpired with Aaron Levitz. "I'm very, very sorry, Master... I didn't have a choice... He's my boss, he made me do it... He said he would fire me if I refused. I didn't know what else to do, Sir... Forgive me, Sir." Reese patted Brad's tousled head and let him lick his fingers. "You did right tellin' me," said Reese, subdued like the calm before a storm. "Don't chu worry none. You ain't gettin' punished." "Thank you, Sir!" gushed Brad with gratitude. "You can crawl to yo' room now and say your prayers," said Reese. "Then, get some sleep. I got instructions for you tomorrow morning. Until then, don't worry about nothin', you unnerstand? I'm gonna take care of this." "Yes, Sir," said Brad. His eyes welled up like a puppy dog's with undiluted gratitude and affection. This abject look was not lost on Reese, who added, "You might be a piece of shit, but you belong to me and nobody messes with my shit! Now, go to yo' room." Brad scurried off on his hands and knees. A few moments later he could be heard praying at the altar in his room, reciting: "I am a little white worm. . . " "I like how he does that!" said Malik, dapping Reese. "He worships you, man!" "I'm his God." Reese shrugged his shoulders. "Yah, but he loves you, man! This bitch would do anything for you!" Reese's ample lips smiled. His sharp eyes cut Malik a wordless glance. "Dayumm, I need me a slave!" said Malik. "It's good to be the king," said Reese. "So why do you care about some fag messin' with your slave? Keeps him busy, keeps him in his place. Why not?" "It's the principle!" said Reese. "The principle?" echoed Malik, with raised brows. "Now you startin' to sound like me!" "Maybe," Reese acknowledged. "That's why I thought you'd unnerstand, man!" "Aiiight, what you got in mind, nigga! I know you plottin' somethin'!" Reese: "If this white pussy asked me tight, I might've let him use the worm. Don't got no problem with that. But threatenin' my income, that's another story!" "What we gonna do, blood?" "We gonna blackout on his ass, that's what we gonna do!" said Reese. "Pure and simple, yo! I got a plan, but I'm countin' on you and Dre to help me out." "We got yo' back, nigga," said Malik. "You know dat." "I know dat, nigga," said Reese. "Now, lissen up... this what I got in mind..." Reese broke down his plan. The next morning, Brad's alarm clock went off at six-thirty as usual. He prepared his Master's breakfast, prayed before the altar, showered in cold water, dressed, and fixed sandwiches for his lunch. Just before Brad departed, Reese invited him to kiss his dick. Brad loved placing his lips on his Master's cock. He wished he could suck his Master's cock, but being permitted to kiss it every morning, he had to be content. Reese took this opportunity to instruct Brad how to proceed. It made Brad feel good, safe, owned, knowing his Master would take care of Aaron Levitz. "Unnerstand what you have to do?" "Yes, Master," said Brad. "You better hurry," said Reese. "Don't want chu to miss yo' bus." Brad rushed down the stairs and caught his bus in time. He rode for thirteen blocks in a state of oblivion. He was a slave. >From the snack bar in the lobby of his building, Brad purchased coffee and an onion bagel with creamed cheese with the few extra dollars his Master gave him. Brad boarded the elevator to the sixth floor and made his way through a maze of cubicles. The usual faces greeted him. A wire in-basket on Brad's desk was filled with documents awaiting filing, mindless work, the kind he did best. He was relieved of contacting his Master every hour by phone. Every hour, on the hour, Aaron Levitz passed by, but Brad did not look up from his work. At 11:00, Brad was busy filing near his cubicle when his boss stopped by. "Don't forget," said Aaron Levitz in a low voice, "My office, twelve o'clock." "No, sir, I haven't forgotten," nodded Brad. One hour later, Brad approached his boss's office. The secretary was away from her post. Aaron sat behind his executive desk with its English Cherry finish. The vertical blinds were drawn and the radio issued classical music -- Mozart, if Brad was not mistaken." "You may enter, Bradley. Close the door behind you and come closer." Brad closed the door and approached his supervisor. Aaron's cuffed and pleated gray slacks and white Joe Boxer bikini briefs were around his ankles. His pointed, reddish penis stood at attention, resembling a stinkhorn mushroom. Large nuts rested between his hairy thighs. "You know what to do," said Aaron, with almost a giggle. "Suck my cock, bottom boi." Brad wet his lips and went down, teasing the head of Aaron's cock with his tongue and then licking and kissing his balls. He licked the shaft, and then sucked for several minutes before Aaron's body began to tense. Sperm gushed down Brad's throat like lava. "Shit, you're good!" Aaron exclaimed in awe. "You really like this cock, don't you, boi!" "Yes, sir," said Brad, in accordance with his Master's wishes. "I love your cock." "I can tell," said Aaron, still catching his breath. "Do you want me to suck it some more?" asked Brad, on his knees, with wrinkled, interrogative eyebrows. Aaron laughed. "Not right now, boi. You can't get enough cock, can you? Such a slut!" "Yes, sir," said Brad. "Your boyfriend is a lucky dude," said Aaron. "You probably suck him off every night, don't you." "Oh, yes, sir," Brad attested. "But my boyfriend doesn't live with me, sir. I live alone, so I don't see him every night. I'm home alone most of the time." "Is that right?" said Aaron, pulling up his pants. "Yes, sir," said Brad, on his knees. "Thank you for letting me suck your beautiful cock. Thank you, sir!" "You are such a bottom! So are you going to be home alone tonight?" "Oh, yes, sir! I'll be alone tonight. If you want to stop by, I'm at 665 South State Street, Apartment 2-B." "Sounds good," said Aaron, jotting down the address. "Is nine o'clock good?" "Nine o'clock is fine, sir. I'll be waiting." "You really want my cock, don't you, Bradley!" "Oh, yes, sir!" said Brad, emphatically. "I love your cock. I can't wait to suck it tonight." Aaron replied, "You're going to do more than just suck it." "I want to feel you inside me, Sir!" "You better not talk like that. You're getting my cock hard again," warned Aaron. "I've had a lot of bottoms before, but you're different. I like you, Bradley. You know how to service a top!" "Thank you, sir," said Brad. The taste of cum lingered in his mouth. "You better get out of here before I have you suck my cock again," said Aaron. "Get back to your cubicle. See you tonight around nine." "Yes, sir," said Brad, withdrawing. The afternoon hours crawled. At the stroke of five, Brad rushed out. Aaron observed his precipitous departure with a knowing smile. On his way home, Aaron stopped off at the gym. He completed three sets of bench presses, worked his arms, and did seventy-five crunches on an incline board. Afterward, he took his time showering and dressed slowly, because he liked looking at the other men. Aaron picked up dinner at Boston Market and brought it home to his brick townhouse on the west side, where he dwelled alone. Aaron sat in front of his large-screen TV with a plate of meatloaf and creamed spinach. He had been out of the closet since age eighteen, but he never managed to extricate himself from guilt. He liked sucking cock, but in any encounter he had to be the top with a bottom who openly and unashamedly desired him. Aaron showered and dressed. Black leather pants and an open, white linen, short-sleeved shirt completed his ensemble. At ten minutes to nine, Aaron Levitz parked his Mercedes Roadster outside 665 South State Street. He took a swig of Courvoisier from the flask he kept in the glove compartment, and then locked his car. He knocked at Apartment 2-B. His cock was hard. "Come in," said Brad, answering the door in blue jeans and a green tee-shirt. Globed candles illuminated the apartment. Incense was in the air. Aaron looked around, nervously. He had a bad feeling about this. His cock shriveled. "Are we alone?" he inquired. "No, we're not," said Brad. >From the master bedroom emerged Reese, Malik, and Dre. They were shirtless. Their polished eyes glinted in the candlelight. "I want to introduce you to my Master and his friends," said Brad. TO BE CONTINUED... IN PART 15: NIGHT OF RECKONING