Date: Tue, 5 Jun 2018 00:12:00 +0000 (UTC) From: Skorpio Subject: Dustin and the Psychiatrist - 6 (author, interr) In this pornographic story, a young homosexual finds himself at the center of a sinister conspiracy to precipitate the Faggot Apocalypse which will usher in a New Age of Man - forcing all white males to their knees with an all-consuming thirst for Nubian DNA. If high fantasy or white submission are not your cup of fetish-tea, Nifty Archives has an inexhaustible treasury of provocative stories with new fiction daily for your ejaculatory pleasure. Make a donation to keep Nifty running and free of charge. Dustin and the Psychiatrist, by Skorpio Part Six "How do you turn that thing off?" Lost in the disheveled blankets and sheets, the rubber plug was buzzing loudly. Dustin looked at Jordan helplessly. His lower lip was a tremulous hook of consternation. He longed to tell this dark, strong, passionate man everything, but he was afraid of the response. There was no other way. Dustin could only say the one thing he was afraid to say. The truth. "I don't know. It's remote-controlled." "Do I even want to know who controls it?" "My psychiatrist." "Your - ?" Jordan took a deep breath. "Why does... no, when did... no, hold up, let me think." Dustin searched beneath the covers to retrieve the loud, vibrating sex toy. "I should probably put it back in." "No, you should probably not!" Jordan exclaimed with righteous indignation. "I'll be taking care of that snapping pussy from now on. You know that, right? I mean, you're feeling the same way like I do, right? This is real. Am I right?" "You're right," said Dustin, softly. "It's real." He almost said "complicated." He knew the truth had to come out, but he did not want to lose this feeling of mutual belonging. "You feel me, don't you, baby?" The naked brother sitting on the edge of the bed twisted his body to lock eyes. His hand was on his heart proclaiming sincerity. The timorous whiteboy nodded tacitly. He had his bare back to the headboard, knees drawn up, using a sheet to cover his swollen, tender pink nipples. The anal plug buzzed in his hand. Both men felt as if they had woken in bed together for a thousand-and-one Scheherazadean nights, and yet they were still enigmas to one another. "I can't believe how good your pussy feels," said Jordan. "Like it was custom-made for my dick, you know? You took the whole thing without a hitch. I'm not used to getting that deep. Baby, I'm not trying to be crude, but the pussy. Was. Tight. I wanted to stay inside that pussy forever and never come out." A bashful smile illuminated Dustin's face. No one had ever spoken to him this way. No one had ever made love to him before. No black man had ever expressed such heartfelt appreciation. "I want to be your hole forever," pleaded Dustin's green eyes, but the importuning words did not leave his lips. "Listen to me," said Jordan. "I run my mouth when I get excited, but I guess you know that by now. You had me talking to your pussy all night long. Snap, baby, I don't even know how to talk to you right. Do you mind me calling it a pussy? I know some dudes don't like that shit. To me, it's a pussy. The way I figure, if you got a hole between your legs where my dick goes, that's a pussy, you feel me? But, I won't use that word if it offends you. What's it gonna be? Is that your asshole, your cunt, your pussy, your mangina, you tell me what's what and I'm gonna respect you for it. "Pussy is okay," said Dustin, meekly. "Whatever pleases you." He wanted to say: "I don't just have a pussy. I am a pussy. I'm your hole, whatever you want to call me. You must know that." "Okay, that's one way of putting it. You please me, I please you! That's how this is supposed to work." Jordan leaped to his feet. His long, brown member and extra-large, brown testicles bounced about, yet his thick, round, chocolate ass was too firm to jiggle. Owing to senses heightened and enhanced by the blunt, it seemed to Dustin that this beautiful man was a vortex of manliness in the semblance of perfection. Jordan raised a window to admit fresh air. He whispered something to the dark red geraniums flourishing in terra cotta pots on the sill. Ordinarily, he sang to them every morning, convinced that was why they prospered. Lately, Jordan had been singing "Love Don't Love Nobody," the Jean Carne version, but now that Dustin was in his life, a new song was in order. Through the screen insinuated a vernal breeze dispersing the canopy of smoke. Jordan took a deep breath, filling his capacious lungs with negative ions left behind by the thunderstorm. He had suspected that Dustin did not object to his vulgar mouth while they were making love. Otherwise, Dustin would have said something. "One more thing!" Jordan spun around. "What kind of shit offends you the most? In a relationship, I mean. Where do you draw the line? What won't you stand for? Wait, don't say anything yet. I'll go first. This is important. Lying and cheating are unforgivable. I can deal with anything else. But, those two things, no, just no." "I would never lie to you," vowed Dustin, sincerely. It felt good to articulate with speech. All night he never said a word because Jordan told him to hush. Now, Jordan wanted a conversation. Anxiously, Dustin wondered: "What will he think of me when the truth comes out?" Whatever Jordan's reaction, telling him everything was the correct thing to do. There should be no secrets between them. He knew that in his heart. Not simply because this tall, dark, handsome lover-stranger deserved that much respect. It was also because they shared something real. The love they made all night was meaningful. Something new graced the world with its existence when they came together. "I know you wouldn't," said Jordan. "I knew that about you last night in the taxi. You're different. I could feel it. Does that sound crazy?" "Pretty much," Dustin smiled. "I think that I'm going crazy too." In fact, if Jordan did not stop moving restlessly around the room with his long cock swinging irresistibly, Dustin was going to lose his mind. "I shouldn't have to say this, but I like to spell shit out. If you and me are going to be together, I'm telling you now that I will never cheat on you. Never gonna happen, baby. Can I get the same promise from you? Yeah, I know. It's stupid. I already got your answer in my soul. You gave it to me last night, remember? But, I got to hear it anyway." At that moment, the noisy butt-plug stopped buzzing. Dustin placed it atop the blanket and looked up at Jordan, his green eyes moist with apprehension. Silence fell over the room. Jordan's smoky eyes seemed to enlarge. He took in the slight quiver of Dustin's lower lip and the gulp in his slender throat. A feeling of protectiveness came over him. Sitting down on the bed, Jordan pulled away the sheet covering Dustin's chest. His long, brown fingers very gently caressed the whiteboy's pink, swollen nipples. A long groan of sensuous pleasure slipped helplessly from Dustin's parted lips. His eyes closed as their avid mouths and tongues came together for a brief but passionate fusion. Jordan sat back. He had many questions. Wild thoughts stampeded through his mind. So much needed to be spoken. If only they had known one another for more than thirteen or fourteen amazing hours, if they had least been together for a few days, even one more day, there would not be this awkwardness between them. It was almost painful not being able to enjoy the more perfect union they deserved. The cannabis was making him feel loquacious and horny. Jordan could remain silent no longer. "Tell me about this shrink you're seeing. He's the reason for the butt plug and the dick cage, is that right? Why the fuck would he do this to you? Look, It's not that you don't look kind of sexy in that gear, `cause you do. I guess you know it's not your dick I care about. Like I told you, I'm all about the pussy. That's my thang. If you want to keep wearing that silver shit, it's cool with me. In fact, I tend to lose my hard when I gotta look at another cat's junk, I got to be straight with you. Uh, not straight like that. I'm totally gay, baby. Well, not totally gay. A little bit into chicks, absolutely not into dick, but I am gay, I swear. I'm not looking to be with a female. I wasn't looking to be with anybody, to be honest. I gave up looking for Mr. Right. Tired of lies, sick of infidelity. Over and over. Is it me? Do I bring out the worst in men? I don't want to do that to you. And I don't mind if you keep the cage, but that vibrator has got to go. You won't be needing it. Tell that to your shrink. Where was I...? Oh, yeah. Why is he making you wear that shit? What's that supposed to do? Were you, like, masturbating compulsively, or something? I know you weren't out fucking with that dick. You've probably never used your dick for fucking. So that's not it. Dayumm, baby, what's your story?" "Dr. Ezinwa says the cage is to take my mind off my cock and focus on my hole," Dustin replied. "He holds the only key. He controls the plug with his phone. He says that I won't need them once I accept myself as nothing but a hole for black cock." "Say what?" Jordan was incredulous. "Ezinwa. What kind of name is that?" "Nigerian." Jordan tilted his head. "You're telling me that your black psychiatrist from fucking Nigeria locked your dick in a steel cage, made you wear a vibrating butt plug he controls by phone whenever he feels like it and has you believing you're nothing but a hole for dick? Black dick? I need a cigarette. Don't go nowhere. I got some in the other room." When Jordan returned, a Newport was stuck between his lips. "Knew I had one more square around here. You want summa this? We can share it." "I don't smoke... tobacco," said Dustin. "I shouldn't either. Maybe now that you're in my life, I won't have to." He walked around to Dustin's side of the bed and sat down again. He collected and tamed his chaotic thoughts before giving voice to them. "Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'm not ignorant. I know where the brother's coming from. I don't feel that way about white folks, you know? I mean, we are different in some ways. More than you realize. Word is bond. But men and women are different from one another, too. I like differences. I'm a yang looking for his yin, you feel me? If you thought of yourself as the one and only hole for my one and only black dick, I could second that emotion. You're more than just a hole to me, but it's sexy hearing you say that." Dustin choked back a sudden sob. Tears welled in his eyes. "Tell me more about this shrink," said Jordan, wiping away a salty tear with his fingertip and tasting it. "I have a bad feeling about this next question, but do you suck his cock?" "Yes, I do," said Dustin, softly. "I needed to." "You mean, you wanted to." "No, no," Dustin shook his head in denial so abject that the long, blond bangs flew away from his eyes. "I need black cock. I have jungle fever." "Baby," Jordan soothed, "there's a lot of that going around in case you haven't noticed. All that means is you got a taste for the `phyner thangs' in life." He took one long, last drag from the cigarette before putting it out. It was not going to be enough. "Not that kind of jungle fever," Dustin insisted as his voice rose anxiously in pitch. "Have you ever heard of NEP? That's what I have. There's no cure for NEP. I'll go insane, literally insane if I don't get enough black cock. Technically, it's black sperm that I need, I think. Something about the DNA in black men's semen. I don't understand exactly. But, I have to have it..." While Dustin rambled, Jordan jumped up again to recover his phone and began hastily typing with both thumbs. "I found something!" he interjected. "I had no idea there were so many different schools of psychology. Seems like the experts don't agree on everything. NEP is on a list of obscure, obsolete, and/or controversial psychiatric terms. NEP. Nubian Ero-Pyrexia. `A supposed mental disturbance among homosexual men of Caucasian extraction characterized by a delusional obsession with the genitalia of Men of African descent. No etiology has been determined. It has been rejected by the American Psychological Association as an illegitimate psychological disorder.' That's interesting, but check this out -- it's recognized by the Nigerian Psychological Association and about a dozen other groups with African names." "I couldn't find anything online," said Dustin, "but Dr. Ezinwa knows what he's talking about. He understands what's wrong with me. He gets what I'm going through. I can't deal with this on my own. That's why I quit college today because it's gotten so bad that I can't even focus on my studies. I have to see Dr. Ezinwa every day." "You dropped out? Did your shrink tell you to do that?" "No, no, it was my own idea... I think. I knew it would please him. We talked about it, I think, but I'm not sure. All I know is it was the right thing to do. Why can't I remember more?" Jordan heard the uncertainty in Dustin's voice. It seemed to him that Dustin was struggling mentally and losing. He wished that he could give Dustin an infusion of his own strength. He pressed Dustin's slim, cool hands firmly between his own which were larger and stronger. The pendulous member between his long, brown thighs twitched. "I remember some of it now," Dustin exclaimed as the veil of forgetfulness was lifted. "The Doctor did tell me to do it. It was his idea. I don't have a problem with that. It was the right thing to do. He's right about everything." "Baby, ain't nobody right about everything," said Jordan. "Not your doctor. Not nobody. Not even me." "There's more. I remember giving Dr. Ezinwa a blowjob yesterday! I had a feeling about that. I had the delicious taste of cock and sperm in my mouth all afternoon. Why couldn't I remember that? I don't understand." "Did you like sucking his dick?" "I love his `bura.' That means `magnificent black cock' in Nigerian, I think. Why is my head so screwed up? It must be the fever." The brother put the back of his hand to Dustin's forehead. "You're not running a temperature. Tell me why you love this dude's dick so much." "Oh, Jordan," Dustin sighed. "It's what I'm trying to explain. I love all black cock. I can't help myself." "Believe it or not, I actually get that. It's sexy. Everything about you is sexy. There is nothing about you that doesn't turn me on. If you want to love all the black dick in God's green acre, I can get down with that. Just so long as you only make love to this one black dick right here. You can take all that universal love you got and funnel it in one direction." In his palm, he supported the python in question. "I don't want to blow Dr. Ezinwa again. I mean, I do, because I can't help wanting, but I won't do it. I'll try. I want to be with you. Jordan, I don't know. I have to do what the doctor tells me. He's the doctor. I don't know what he'll say. I'll try. But if he tells me to do something, I can't refuse. I can't refuse you, either. I'm not strong like you." "Let me be strong for you," insisted Jordan, running his fingers across Dustin's firm, well-shaped chest, lightly tapping the smooth, flat abdomen, and flicking the tiny padlock on the waistband of the steel cage. He wanted to turn Dustin over onto his stomach. Dialogue seemed superfluous when their bodies were in such ardent proximity. One more thing, however, had to be said before they could make love. "I don't think Dr. Ezinwa is good for your ass. I think he may have brainwashed you." "Dr. Ezinwa isn't like that," Dustin objected strenuously. "Baby, hear me out. Look at this like I see it. You are paying a man -- a lot of money, I'm gonna assume -- to convince you that you're worthless. He's got you thinking you have some weird, made-up illness and that you're nothing but a hole. If all you were was a hole, I wouldn't be having these feelings." "But, I am a hole," said Dustin, obstinately. "And Dr. Ezinwa is good to me. I think he even kind of likes me despite the fact that I'm a hole, but he can't let on because... because he's my doctor, you know?" "Um, yeah, so what kind of doctor gets blowjobs from his patient?" Dustin grimaced. His brow furrowed. This was hard to talk about. No, it was simply hard to explain. The lack of understanding between him and Jordan was painful to endure. "What I have is real," said Dustin, giving it one more try. "This is a real thing. I will literally go crazy if I don't get black cock. Dr. Ezinwa is helping me learn to live with this. It's scary, Jordan. I'm scared." For the first time, Dustin's fears spilled out. Tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Ever since his affliction first raged out of control, he had been frightened. The things Dr. Ezinwa told him were even more terrifying. But only Dr. Ezinwa could help him. Dustin had to make Jordan understand that Dr. Ezinwa was not the villain in this story. He was Dustin's savior. Jordan did not move to wipe the whiteboy's tears. He sat immobile, looking intently at his distraught lover. The brother's large, almond-shaped eyes were all-encompassing. One could easily get lost in those wondrous eyes. Yet his impassive face yielded no reaction. He seemed to be waiting, but for what he had no idea. "I will introduce you to Dr. Ezinwa," said Dustin. "He can explain this better than I can. He's looking out for me, you'll see. He's really a nice man. He has a nickname for me. He calls me Obo. He's very educated. You have to meet him. "Obo?" said Jordan, rather loudly. "What kind of name is that? What does Obo mean?" "It means `the hole between a woman's legs,'" Dustin intoned. "Say what?" "The hole between a woman's legs." A startling change came over Dustin. The warm tears dried up and his green irises stared blankly into distant space. His bare, smooth chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. His body seemed very much at ease. Other than a rapt expression and far-away gaze, he appeared completely relaxed. "Dustin!" said Jordan, sharply. "What's happening?" "You said, `Obo'." Dustin's reply sounded eerily robotic. "What? What? What does that mean? What happens when I say `Obo'?" "I'm not sure, but I think it's like a hypnotic trigger switch." He spoke more naturally and looked at Jordan directly now, yet there was still a strange, abstracted look on his face that was unsettling. "Are you hypnotized now?" "I think so." "Because I said, `Obo?'" "That's right." "Dr. Ezinwa hypnotizes you." "Yes, I think so." "You think? Why do you keep saying that? Don't you know?" "It's like I-know-but-I-don't-know, you know?" "No, I don't." A large bee buzzed loudly at the window screen trying to get at the red-blossomed geraniums. For a second, Jordan thought it was the vibrating butt plug come back to life. "I am seriously not digging that contraption," he thought. Jordan walked to the window and took a deep, invigorating breath of fresh air. Bold, bright sunlight glowed like a golden aura around his naked body. It was early Saturday morning. That's why the sound of Second Street traffic was so quiet. "What are you getting yourself into, Boot?" he asked himself aloud. Boot was what his people called him back home and in the streets where he came up. It stood for Jordan Junior. He wanted Dustin to call him Boot too. He loved hearing Dustin say his name. "Well, old sport, it looks like you're getting into whatever Dusty's gotten himself into," he decided at length. Talking to himself was a habit brought upon by solitary living. Jordan was a natural talker. He required an interlocutor. Dusty was going to be Dustin's pet name. "Old sport" was something picked up from "The Great Gatsby," which he was currently reading. Jordan turned to Dustin who was sitting upright in bed, gazing straight ahead with long locks dangling in his eyes and his sweet, kissable lips on the verge of a complacent smile. Yet the whiteboy might as well have been a manikin. Unmoving, inert, waiting to be activated. Like that sex-toy. Seeing his lover in such a state was repugnant to Jordan, and yet hypnosis presented him with an opportunity to get to the bottom of this mystery. Dustin needed his help. "Dusty, how does this work exactly?" Jordan asked. "If someone says `Obo,' that puts you in a trance, right? What did you call it? A hypnotic switch?" "I think it's like that." "So, anybody can do this to you if they know the right word?" "Only black men," said Dustin with discernible pride. "Only black men. I see. What happens to you?" "I become obedient." There was the slightest hint of a shrug. Between questions, Dustin lapsed back into a manikin. "Totally obedient?" Jordan needed to know the full extent of what Dr. Ezinwa had done to Dustin. That was his only reason for asking, he told himself. That was the ticket. "I think so," said Dustin. He cocked his head, giving the matter more consideration. "Yes!" he declared. "Yes, I am. Totally obedient." "Interesting," Jordan mulled. He had no interest in a totally obedient white slave for a lover. He wanted an eager bottom who could think for himself and act on his own initiative. And yet, there was definitely something a little sexy about a whiteboy doing what he was told. Or was it only for Dustin that he could feel this way? Everything about the boy made Jordan's blood hot as brandy. "Do you have a safe word that wakes you up?" Jordan realized "safe word" was not what the term he needed, but that was where his mind went. He would have to study up on hypnotism, he concluded. How was any of this possible? "Yes, I do." "What is it?" "Nubian Ero-Pyrexia." There was that word again. That dubious disorder which some African shrink for fun and profit had managed to convince Dustin was an aberration only he could treat. Was Nigeria fresh out of princes with financial troubles? Jordan did not fault Dustin for being naïve. Whiteboys had a reputation for being easy marks. Jordan was attracted to them, at least the cute, fuckable ones, but not blind to their shortcomings. A little naïveté could be endearing, he figured. And yet, to be taken in by such a preposterous scam screamed gullibility in the extreme. Not thinking, Jordan repeated the name of the alleged malady. "Nubian Ero-Pyrexia." It sounded bogus. Like someone with no ear for academic jargon made up a word for jungle fever. People should stop doing that. Jordan was sick of alternate facts. Suddenly, Dustin's exposed upper body gave a small, abrupt jerk. His long eyelashes fluttered. He looked around, dazed and confused. His angelic face was contorted. He shot Jordan a frantic look and reached for his hand. "What were we talking about?" he gasped. "Did I fall asleep on you? What time is it? I have to..." Without skipping a beat, Jordan snapped, "Obo!" Dustin's pink lips stopped moving. His hand dropped to his side. There was no recognition in his glassy eyes. "That's better," said Jordan, grimly. "I'm not done yet." That simple two-syllable word really was a hypnotic trigger that could be switched on and off. Dustin never looked more helpless. Never more vulnerable. Never more desirable. Yet, Jordan was not tempted. For a fleeting moment, perhaps. This was more power than Jordan wanted over any human being whom he cared about. His conscience would not permit it. What he must do now was of necessity. "Baby, I want you to really hear this, okay? Everything is going to be all right. Relax. You are always gonna be safe with me. That's a promise. I need to ask some more questions. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think you might be in danger. After I get some answers, I'm gonna wake you up and never hypnotize you again. Word is bond, baby. Are you comfortable?" "I'm very comfortable," said Dustin. "I want you to tell me everything you can about you and Dr. Ezinwa. Why him? Start at the beginning." "It began, I guess, with Curtis. He was a black dude I met at a gay bar a couple of weeks ago. I was never really into black men before, mostly because I had a thing for beach boy surfer types, but Curtis was the only guy who asked me to dance. Someone told me once that I'm so cute, guys are afraid to approach me. Curtis was hot. When we slow-dragged, he pressed his groin to mine, and I could feel the size of his hard cock. He wanted to come home with me. I couldn't say no. That night felt like my first time sucking cock. The coarse way he spoke to me, the intoxicating way he smelled, the forceful way he took my throat, it was like an entirely new experience! His thick, plentiful cum tasted like beef gravy. It was amazing sex. I don't know how else to describe it." Jordan shifted uneasily. This was not going to be comfortable to hear. The thought of his sweet Dustin going down on some nigga he just met at a watering hole was maddening. Gazelles like Dustin should know better. Panthers know where to find their prey. Without pause, Dustin went on with his deposition. He recounted how white cocks lost their flavor, if they ever had any to begin with, and how their sperm left a nasty aftertaste in his mouth like bleach. Only black men could give Dustin what he needed. Over a short period of time, this preference became a persistent hankering which turned into a chronic craving which resulted in an insatiable nocturnal insistence for black cock. Any black cock. Wherever he could find it. Dives, restrooms, parks, and alleyways. One night, Dustin paid a homeless man, reeking of piss and booze, one hundred dollars to suck his cock. He was a man possessed. The compulsion was so frightening that Dustin decided he needed professional help. He could not go to his family doctor without his folks and who knows who else finding out. There were therapists on campus, but privacy was a concern there, as well. Anyway, therapy was not going to cut it. What Dustin needed was a psychiatrist who could prescribe medication. Maybe there was a pill that could make his problem go away. He found Dr. Udeme Ezinwa's name online in a listing of local psychiatrists. His expertise was in "psycho-sexual neurosis" and "disjunctive identity reconciliation." Dustin had no idea what that meant. In retrospect, Dustin wondered why he had not realized the doctor's name was African. It was odd that he did not even consider it. Nor did he seek any further once he latched onto the name of Dr. Ezinwa. It had an exotic and yet strangely familiar, almost comforting ring. It sounded like the name of an old, bearded wise man with an accent who smoked a pipe. Four days ago, Dustin was stunned when he met the strikingly handsome, well-built, twenty-eight-year-old psychiatrist from Nigeria in person. "Aiiight, now we're getting somewhere," Jordan interrupted. "Tell me about this headshrinker. What did he tell you?" "Dr. Ezinwa said that I have a form of jungle fever that will cause insanity if I don't ingest enough African sperm. He told me that in his country white men are sometimes called `adebesi.' It means `a man who sucks penises like a woman.' He said that in the old days, some of his countrymen kept these `suckers of cock' in a stable or harem. Faggots like me are the hole between a woman's legs. That's what we are. That's our job. Dr. Ezinwa told me the only way I can keep from ending up in a straightjacket is to accept the truth. I'm nothing but a hole for black cock." "Crazy, just crazy," muttered Jordan. With some history under his belt, the thirty-year-old did not doubt there was some truth to these claims. Before Europeans invaded the African Continent, in fact throughout the Age of Antiquity, homosexual acts were an accepted datum of human existence. Sex between men was a natural sexual activity. Only men who carried themselves like women were stigmatized. Even slavery was practiced, but not like this. Slaves in Africa were at the bottom of the food chain. Their humanity may have been brutally disregarded, but it was never doubted. Poor Dustin was being duped into believing he was no longer a man but an aperture for other men's selfish pleasure. He was being groomed by a ruthless monster for a life of sexual servitude. The enormity was staggering. "Tell me about the time you gave Dr. Ezinwa a blowjob," said Jordan. "It happened twice," came the reply. "The first time was during my first session. I loved sucking his bura. It was magnificent. I couldn't get enough of his cum. I thought that I did a really good job blowing him, but the next day he told me that my FQ was only a `5'." "I'm afraid to ask, but I'm gonna ask anyway. What's an FQ?" "I never heard of it either until Dr. Ezinwa told me about it. FQ stands for Fellatio Quotient. It's a rating system from `1' to `10.' Dr. Ezinwa said that I'm just an average cocksucker. He is going to help me improve." "Is that why you sucked his dick again?" "That was yesterday. He told me to suck it which made me so happy. There was another doctor present. I wanted to suck his cock too. He has a big cock. I could see it through his pants when I stared at his crotch really hard. That's something I can do now. While I was giving Dr. Ezinwa a blowjob, the other doctor stuck me with a needle." "Hold up," said Jordan, shaking his head in disbelief. This was a lot to unpack. To begin with, who ever heard of a Fellatio Quotient? Was that something else Dr. Ezinwa made up to fuck with Dustin's tousled head? Even if such a thing did exist, there was no way Dustin deserved a measly "5." He was much better than that. Maybe not a '10,' not yet, but he was at least a `7.' As for the needle, Jordan did not know what to think about that. Who was this other doctor? What were the two of them up to? "Did that doctor inject you with something?" Jordan asked. "Was he black, too?" "He was black. I think he was taking a blood sample." "Why? Why? Why would he do that?" "I don't know." "Were you hypnotized when this was happening?" "Yes." Dustin smiled vacantly. "Of course you were." Jordan posed a few more questions. He needed to confirm that Dustin had no idea why his blood might be drawn. Not that any of this made sense: two black mad-scientists slash con-artists slash white-slavers slash psychos slash who-knows-what-else brainwashing an innocent whiteboy, raping him, and stealing his blood? This was some fucked-up, evil shit. His nostrils flared with growing displeasure as he learned of Ezinwa confiscating Dustin's 14-karat rope, and imposing the chastity belt, the black dildo, and the remote-controlled, vibrating butt-plug. He experienced actual nausea at the thought of Dustin paying good money to be sexually abused on a daily basis, for being made to drop out of school, and for public humiliation. When Dustin recounted his embarrassment over getting dressed in full view of the receptionist as Ezinwa activated the plug for the first time, Jordan clenched his fists. "Where is that damn thing!" he said, looking around the bed. He hated the contraption more than ever. He held it, gingerly, expecting the insidious device to go off. A black flame flickered in his eyes. "Nooo..." he exclaimed as the scales fell from his eyes. "That was you in the men's room at the food court, wasn't it?" Dustin's brows went up with a glimmer of surprise. "That must have been me," he said. "I was in the only stall and some guy was drying his hands... Was that you? I knew you were black. I wanted to suck your cock so bad. Then, the plug happened and it was so loud... You were gone by the time I came out of the stall." "Oh, baby, yes, it was me!" Jordan gently seized Dustin's face with both hands and kissed him tenderly. "Fate was trying to bring us together." Jordan pulled back with a frown. Dustin could not return affection in the state he was in. "I could command him," thought Jordan, "but that wouldn't be a real kiss at all. This isn't real. Those freaks put my baby in the sunken place and I have to get him out." This was as much as Jordan could stand. He contemplated what to do next. Something had to be done. Obviously, allowing Dustin to see Dr. Ezinwa again was out of the question and going to the police was simply asking for trouble. Dustin would listen to reason. He must. Again, it occurred to Jordan that he had the option of taking advantage of Dustin's obedient state of mind. Even if Dustin were not in a hypnotic trance, Jordan had the intuition his submissive lover would yield to his wishes. Jordan was bossy by nature and used to getting his own way with whiteboys except when it came to their lies and infidelity. Maybe that was why they all betrayed him. Maybe he was too domineering. Maybe he was not domineering enough. Maybe whiteboys need to be dominated. It was something to ponder. In any case, Jordan did not want to deprive Dustin of his God-given free-will. That much was clear. There could be no secrets between them. He smiled and chuckled softly at Dustin's untroubled, albeit frozen, features. How he loved that snub, upturned nose with those miniature nostrils and that winsome philtrum like a little path to the most kissable lips on earth. "Dusty, listen up," he said, smoothing the top of the whiteboy's tousled head. "When you awaken, you will remember everything that you told me. You will remember that you were hypnotized. Your thoughts will be clear and focused. You will feel free to speak your mind. Do you understand?" "I understand." This would be the last time Dustin spoke in that transfigured voice, Jordan vowed. Never again would he use the hypnotic trigger. He wanted a submissive lover, that much was true, but only one who submitted willingly, lovingly, and fuckingly. "Nubian Ero-Pyrexia," said Jordan. "Come back to me!" Dustin woke from his trance. The first thing he said was, "I love you." "I love you more," said Jordan. As if to confirm that amorous declaration, Jordan's long, brown member began to ascend. Dustin's wondrous eyes widened in awe at its sublime, irresistible beauty. The dark pole of flesh called out to Dustin. "Worship me," it said inside the whiteboy's mind. Dustin scrambled out of bed and kneeled between Jordan's thick, muscular thighs. "You read my mind," said Jordan, with a knowing smile. He leaned back across the bed, supported by his elbows. His long, lean torso arched. His prodigious erection pointed upward like a steeple. A puff of air from Dustin's lips caressed the chamois-soft scrotum bulging with testicles the size of hen's eggs. With his fluent tongue, Dustin licked the root-base of the throbbing shaft. Slowly, his cool, moist lips and flickering, hot tongue worked their way upward inch by inch. "Ohhh, baby, that feels so good," Jordan groaned. "Soon as you make me bust this nut, I'm taking you out to breakfast, brunch, or a picnic in the park, whatever you want." "What time is it?" Dustin exclaimed. "I've got a session this morning!" "It's almost 9:30." "I have to be there by ten! I'm going to be late!" "You don't need to go to him," said Jordan. "I don't think he's good for you, baby. I don't trust him." "I know you don't." Dustin bit his lip. Why was it so hard to think clearly? "I can't believe Dr. Ezinwa would do anything to harm me. " "I don't care if this thing you have is real, you shouldn't be sucking his dick," Jordan protested. "That's crazy. He hypnotizes you and makes you forget. What about the needle? This weirdo is up to something that's not good, baby. Not good at all." "Tell me what I should do. If you tell me not to go, I won't see Dr. Ezinwa ever again. It's just... I don't know -- what's gonna happen to me if I don't get help?" Dustin choked back a sob. He never felt more frightened or confused. If only someone would tell him exactly what to do and what to think, that would go a long way toward solving his problems. Despite all that Dustin had been through, it was not until this moment that he realized how much he hated making decisions. Life was simpler as a child when he obeyed his parents. They were strict, perhaps severe at times, but it was for his own good. "What are you thinking, baby?" solicited Jordan. "Why do I have to grow up?" said Dustin. The words fell from his lips more like a hopeless plea than an inquiry. The abject weariness in his otherwise sweet voice was incongruent with his light, angelic face, blond mane like a halo, and eyes the color of glistening leaves in spring. "Why can't I stay a boy forever? That's what I want." "Maybe you were not meant to grow up," said Jordan, gently. "I hate to generalize, but I've known a lot of white guys who never really outgrew their early teens. Their bodies matured on the outside, but inside they were stuck in puberty -- emotionally, mentally. I'm just saying." "That's exactly how I feel. Like I'm still thirteen." Dustin's voice piped with the excitement of having his deepest feelings confirmed, but it only lasted for a moment before his face darkened with shame. "I'm sorry... I'm such a disappointment...I'm such a hole..." "You're not a disappointment," said Jordan. "You're everything I ever wanted. Forget about growing up. I'm gonna be the daddy from now on, aiiight? You hear me... boy? Hear what I'm telling you? You're my boy. Do you wanna be my hole? My bitch? It's all good, baby-boy. Whatever you want, just so long as you're in my life, you and me, no matter what." "That's what I want." Dustin wrapped his pale, slender arms around Jordan's tree-trunk thighs for comfort. All this time, Jordan's succulent brown cock remained fully erect, pointing upward like a baton. It was a miracle on the order of the loaves and fishes that Dustin was able to resist putting his mouth back on it. "Now, tell me, baby. Who's your daddy?" "You are. You're MY daddy." "Damn straight." The digital clock on the nightstand distracted Dustin. Time was slipping away. He felt sheltered by Jordan. Never wanted to leave his side. Perhaps if Dustin saw Dr. Ezinwa one more time, told him about his newfound love, maybe the doctor would understand why Dustin could never suck his magnificent bura ever again? What if Dr. Ezinwa did not understand? What would Dustin do then? "Daddy, tell me what to do." Jordan scratched his balls as he often did when plunging into deep thought. In his heart, Jordan knew that their future depended on whatever he decided. They were at a critical juncture where the wrong decision might estrange them forever. Or bring the happily-ever-after. "Let's assume it's true that you need lots and lots of black dick or you'll go crazy -- funny-farm crazy," he spoke up at length. "I'm not even gonna challenge that. In fact, I can see how it could even be a possibility. I'm not gonna lie, but I'm not gonna brag, either. I've seen what black dick can do a whiteboy... white chicks, too. It is what it is. And what it is doesn't matter because I've got all the black dick you're ever gonna need in this life. You know that's right! And I'll make all your decision for you here on out if that's what you want. But you have to make this one decision entirely on your own. You have to choose between Dr. Ezinwa and me. You can't have us both. I don't trust him. I definitely don't want you sucking his dick again. That's for damn sure." "I know what to do," said Dustin, pulling away from his lover's naked, tantalizing body with an unexpected burst of resolve. "If I hurry, I can make it to Dr. Ezinwa's office just in time." The brother's sharp eyes narrowed with disapproval, but before he could find the right words, Dustin clarified his intent. "For the last time," declared the naked whiteboy in the steel chastity device, looking up at his man with newfound hope and confidence. "This is the last time I'll see Dr. Ezinwa. I have to thank him and tell him... that I'll be all right. I owe him that. I think it's the right thing to do. I truly believe Dr. Ezinwa cares about me, but some of the things he's said have me... confused. Sometimes, I'm not sure who or what I am... and I've been feeling like something terrible is going to me and not just to me... except, I don't feel that way now that I'm with you... I love you so much!" Jordan reached out with his long, strong arms, pulling Dustin into a tight embrace. Their lips met in relief from being kept apart for so long. The long, thick brown cock pressed against the smooth, flat stomach of ivory-peach. "Go wash up," whispered Jordan in Dustin's ear. "I'll find something for you to wear and call a cab. Say goodbye to that freaky shrink and come right back. I'll be waiting." There was no time for a shower. Dustin washed his face and hands and ran a wet washcloth under his armpits and between his ass cheeks. There were several sticks of deodorant in the medicine cabinet amid a clutter of toiletries with exotic, delectable labels: Hair Milk Moisturizer, Mimosa Honey Pomade, Black Vanilla Oil, Coconut Hibiscus Cream. Dustin would have loved to remain in the bathroom for hours. There was toothpaste in the sink and a ring around the bathtub. The wicker hamper overflowed with dirty clothes. Dustin could not wait to return from his mission to organize those bottles and scrub down the tiles. While Dustin performed his ablutions with alacrity, Jordan ironed the khaki slacks which were damp and rumpled from the night before and procured a clean cotton shirt, a size too big, along with a pair of clean boxers also oversized. Both men were soon dressed and waiting in the vestibule for the taxi to pull up. "How long do we have until it gets here?" asked Dustin, pressing up against his lover's body. He felt diminutive and delicate compared to this sturdy, brown giant of a man. It was such a good feeling. "Five minutes." "Then, we don't have time for..." Dustin cupped his lover's swollen crotch and licked his own kissable, fuckable lips in consideration of that powerful, black cock. "It's here," said Jordan with a sigh. The yellow cab in front of the brownstone was the same vehicle which had transported them through the raging storm. Jordan escorted Dustin to the cab and opened its door for him. "Where to," barked the driver. "333 State Street," said Dustin, scrambling into the back seat. "I'll be waiting for you," said Jordan, reluctant to close the door. "Ladies, I don't have all day," groused the driver. "I love you," said Dustin. The cab took off down the street and rounded a corner. Dustin was gone. Pink petals from the flowering trees fluttered around Jordan as he stood on the sidewalk. Alone. His heart pounded with misgivings and an ache that was almost painful. It was going to be all right, Jordan told himself. Soon, his soul mate would be back in his arms. Very soon. This was meant to be. Come romance, come passion, come wild dreams, come sensual pleasure beyond imagining. All Jordan had to do was place his trust in their destiny. Fate brought them together. Kismet would look out for them. Jordan turned to ascend the concrete steps to the front door when abruptly he stopped short. "Hell, no," he exclaimed, taking out his phone to summon another taxi. TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 7 OF DUSTIN AND THE PSYCHIATRIST