Date: Sat, 16 Dec 2023 12:31:50 -0600 From: Evan Williams Subject: The Hidden Side The Hidden Side This story is a work of erotic fiction strictly for entertainment purposes and is not intended to be read by inappropriate audiences. Anyone offended by racially loaded same-sex erotic fiction across generations and based on teenage memories should find other entertainment. Please support Nifty, which survives through donations to the site. Send all feedback to Evan Williams, classic14rider@gmail.com. It was a minor gesture. A black high school senior was sitting at his table in a coffee shop when a group of younger white boys at the next table were roughhousing and knocking their books on the floor. The black boy rushed to help the hapless white boys pick the books up. A younger white boy glanced over at him, "Thank you." The white boy's blue eyes entranced the black boy. His young, black body was suddenly warm. His cock hardened in his trousers as he silently asked, "What's happening to me?" Preppy white boys are unfailingly polite. They were raised that way. Their mothers taught them this as children, and their fathers reinforced it as they got older. From their fathers, preppy white boys learned that men respect women, respect their elders, and respect community institutions and authorities such as the church and the police. This, along with their smooth, angelic skin, flowing hair, and penetrating eyes, makes the desire to submit to them and swallow their cum irresistible to black boys. Every black boy remembers a basketball game where their own team was bigger and physically stronger than the group of white boys. Yet, the white boys beat them soundly because they were better organized, played as a team, and used their heads to win the game, while everyone on the black boys' team played as if they were individual superstars and nobody else on the team mattered. After the game, the black boys, admiring the winners, which is characteristic of all boys, harbored a secret desire to suck the white boys' cocks. It arose from an irresistible but misguided masculine attempt to participate in the winning team's victory. Black boys would have been more successful if they had studied the white boys' strategies and teamwork rather than simply masturbating in their beds every night, fantasizing about sucking every last drop of cum from white boys' bodies, but that's just how boys are. White boys had fantasies, too. They imagined that if they could suck all the cum black boys produced, which would have been a difficult undertaking, to say the least, they would have muscles and a physique like black boys. This was a fallacy. While it is true that if the white boys had managed to drink the elixir for black boys' cocks, they would have experienced unusual energy and stamina, there is no evidence whatsoever that they would have gained muscle mass. In addition to drinking black boys' cum for protein, they would also have to do calisthenics for lean muscles and lift heavy weights if they wanted to bulk up. In the coffee shop, the thought of serving a white boy who is younger than him was inexplicably arousing to the older black boy. When he realized that the white boy could be his "brain" and he could be the white boy's naked black body to be used as the white boy pleased, made the black boy want to go somewhere to jack off. It crossed his mind, "This white boy just acknowledged me, and he's beautiful. That makes my dick hard as fuck. My dick gets hard just imagining this young white boy as my master." Unbeknownst to the white boy, he was now firmly established in the black boy's mind. The white boy's curly dark hair and blue eyes transfixed his admirer. The smooth, creamy white skin of the boy's face and arms captivated him. There was only one thought in the black boy's head, "I must taste this white boy's cum and have it inside of me. I must suck his cock so he will spew his juices inside of me." He smiled at the white boy. The boy awkwardly smiled back. Once again, the black boy's cock throbbed in his pants, releasing a stream of precum. High school, for boys, is an arena of physical and sexual competition. Two boys pared off in the gym to see which would dominate. One had a strong and aggressive body, while the other had a quick and agile mind. As the two boys wrestled, the white boy gained the upper hand. The boys enjoyed a moment of intimate contact between their warm, young bodies, with the white boy mounting the black. The boy's crotch rested on top of the black boy's round ass and nestled between the boy's black ass cheeks. It was a snug fit, and the white boy's dick hardened in his gym shorts. Their bodies pressed against each other. Both boys froze, realizing the wrestling match was no longer about sports. The black boy felt his opponent's domination and arousal. Unexpectedly, the black boy's cock hardened in response. Both boys' mouths hung open, and they panted breathlessly. A new lesson was forming in their young minds: a black body existed only to give white people pleasure. This privilege extended to older white men. They had the right to use young black bodies, too. The black boy suddenly realized that he must surrender his young ass whenever a white boy or man wanted it. His dick throbbed at this revelation. The two boys held their wrestling position as their cocks pulsated uncontrollably, soaking their gym shorts in precum. The lesson was sinking in. When the black boy went home, he masturbated with an intensity he had never felt before. He found himself in a struggle within his imagination. All day, he had gazed at his classmates, lost in the beauty of their rosy faces, blue eyes that looked like precious stones, and the coolness of their smooth, ivory bodies when they stripped off their clothes in the locker room. With these images in his head, he masturbated for hours, whispering lest his parents overhear, "Fuck me, heroic white boys. Fill my ass and my mouth with your hot cum. Fuck your nigger slave." He blushed as soon as he uttered these hateful words from his dark lips. He bolted upright in his bed and shook his head violently, "I'm a proud black man. I'm a proud black man." Who was he trying to convince? There was no one in the room but himself. His mind quickly returned to images of his classmates' rosy faces and sapphire eyes. He lustily stroked his thick, black cock and cried, "I'm your slave, white boy. I'm your slave." As soon as he said this, his thick cock gushed loads of pungent, sticky cum. He fell on his back in the bed, arms spread wide, energy drained from his dark body. He whispered to all the imaginary white boys in his head, "Rape me. Make me your slave." Exhaling, he surrendered his soul to domination by white manhood. They could put a black boy's body to use better than he could. Images of beautiful young white boys filled his mind. His cock lurched. He knew he needed their cum inside of him. His dark body, slick with sweat, rose and fell with his heavy breathing. The next day, the boys wrestled again, but they were alone in the gym this time. There was no coach to referee the match, nor were there spectators to impress. The black boy glared at his opponent, determined to win the match. But his legs melted when he looked into the white boy's eyes. The white boy's face was soft and innocent. He seemed to peer into the black boy's soul. The black boy's limbs felt like jello. The white boy quickly wrestled him to the mat. Then he did something unexpected. He lowered his gym trunks, exposing his jock strap underneath. He whipped out his hard, red cock and thrust it in the stunned black boy's face. The black boy was amazed at the manliness of the white boy's member. Despite the softness and innocence of the boy's face, his dark, hard, throbbing, manly cock revealed another side of him. He had aggression and passion. He had the need to conquer and dominate, just like any other male. The white boy imagined stripping his opponent naked and tying the boy up in his bedroom, playing with the boy's big "nigger cock" and low-hanging balls for as long as it amused him. He imagined running his hands all over the black boy's hard, naked body like his captive was a slave, and the white boy was affirming that he owned every inch of him. The white boy's manly cock throbbed uncontrollably, leaking precum all over the black boy's dark face. The black boy's eyes widened as his opponent, with the manly red cock, grabbed his nappy head and shoved his cock down his throat, not allowing the boy to speak and barely to breathe as the white boy's trust grew more violent in his mouth. Suddenly, the white boy's cock exploded with cum, drenching the black boy's mouth and flooding into his body. The black boy sat on the wrestling mat and sighed, despite his desire to look angry; he was in heaven. The only words that issued from his lips were the whispered shameful admission of conquest and sexual ecstasy, "White boys rule." Black boys and black men fascinated Dr. Tolliver. He grew up in a time when most black people were house servants and manual laborers. He associated dark bodies with working with the foulest parts of human life, such as hauling garbage, cleaning bathrooms, and wiping shit from a bedridden person's ass. To Tolliver, black people were accustomed and well-acquainted with cleaning up after the nastiest parts of the human body. Although his family had black servants and maids when he was growing up, he only heard about black prostitutes but never met one in person. It did not surprise him that black people were prostitutes. Close contact with people's bodily fluids would not disturb them. Somehow, this thought aroused him. To Tolliver, black bodies could be put to use for things that were forbidden to white bodies. Blacks had different standards. He worked in a local high school, recruiting boys to enroll in his university, where he conducted research. While he recruited many white boys, the black ones particularly fascinated him. They were loud, physical, and emotional, perhaps as a result of their slave ancestry. Logic, reason, pride, and self-respect restrained what whites would do with their bodies. There was no such restraint on the part of black boys. When an enterprising white businessman didn't take it upon himself to put young black bodies up for sale, the blacks did it themselves. Tolliver looked at black boys as not being off-limits for his nastiest thoughts and fantasies. Like the maids in his father's house, there was legitimate work for them to do most of the day, but nights and mornings were reserved for the discreet pleasures of the master of the house. It made Tolliver's dick hard just thinking about it. Dr Tolliver frequently scouted the high school library for promising black boys. He walked up and down the aisles, watching the senior boys study. When he saw a boy he particularly fancied, he looked over the boy's shoulder to see what he was reading and strike up a conversation. "I see you are enjoying poetry," Tolliver said to one boy named Tyrone. "Yes," the boy said, "My favorite poem is Alexander Pope's `An Essay on Man.' My teacher introduced our class to this work last fall." The boy's eyes became dreamy as he recited, "Better for us, perhaps, it might appear, Were there all harmony, all virtue here; That never air or ocean felt the wind; That never passion discompos'd the mind." Tolliver grinned and recited in reply, "But ALL subsists by elemental strife, And passions are the elements of life." The boy furrowed his brow and replied, "What would be this man? Now upward will he soar, And little less than an angel, would be more..." Tolliver grinned and replied, "Now looking downwards, just as griev'd appears To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears." The boy raised his eyebrows. Tolliver stared at him. Tolliver's gaze was intense and unwavering, and their eyes met. The boy quickly looked away. Then he continued uncertainly in reply to the man, "A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot; or garden tempting with forbidden fruit..." Tolliver frowned and answered the boy with rapid, sharp speech, "Oh, I prefer Eliot's J. Alfred Prufrock," and continued, "Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, the muttering retreats of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels and sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells..." To which the boy drew from memory and replied, "Streets that follow like a tedious argument of insidious intent to lead you to an overwhelming question..." Tolliver briskly interrupted and recited, "Do I dare to eat a peach?" To which the boy responded slowly as if the meaning of his recited words dawned upon him as he spoke, "I am deferential, glad to be of use..." Tolliver's eyes lit up. Grinning at the boy, he licked his lips, "Oh yes. Follow me." The boy scooped up his books, and Tolliver led him into his private study in the library. He beckoned for the boy to sit beside him at his desk. The black boy gave the professor a quivering grin, flattered by the white man's attention but uncertain about where this would lead. Tolliver bent close to the boy, saying, "I want you to try something." He slid a blank sheet of paper in front of the boy and said, "I want you to draw a tree." The black boy looked confused. "What kind of tree?" "It's up to you. Whatever tree suits your fancy." The boy leaned over, drawing. In a few minutes, he produced a sketch. It was a big oak tree covered with leaves in mid-summer. He handed the picture to Tolliver, who grinned, "I see. Just as I suspected," and continued, "You see, this is a kind of psychological test. The tree you choose to draw reveals how you actually feel about your penis." The boy, eyes wide, reared away from the man, but Tolliver leaned forward confidentially, "There's nothing to be alarmed about. I see that yours is big, thick, and strong, with a full bush on top." The boy blushed, smiled, bit his lip, and looked away. Tolliver continued, "Don't be embarrassed. My tree is old and shriveled. It is a skinny and barren elm tree." The boy looked at the man with pity. "You're still a horny, nasty little thing. You're always thinking about your cock, and the next opportunity, you'll have to beat it off, just like every other black boy I've ever come across. You're an animal." The boy drew back and frowned, but he was still blushing. Tolliver continued, "That's not an insult. It's a compliment. It's quite natural. You want to beat that big, black cock of yours, but you're in the library, surrounded by books and civilized white boys and teachers." Tolliver stuck the blunt end of his ink pen into his mouth and chewed on it. He spoke wistfully, as if he were miles away, lost in a daydream, "Here you are, black and horny, trying to study, and all you can think about is stroking that big, black cock of yours. You want relief, but you can't get it." The boy slowly and absent-mindedly nodded in agreement. "I understand," Tolliver continued, "And I'm going to give you that relief." Dr. Tolliver looked at the boy with pity and affected a sympathetic tone, "You've got that throbbing, big, black cock in your pants, and you're in desperate need to give yourself relief. You can use my office to relieve yourself." Tyrone stared at the floor and said in a low voice, "Usually, I just go to the boys' bathroom to jack off." Tolliver frowned, "Oh no. That's not good enough. Not for a fine young man like you. Not for such a learned scholar of poetry." He gestured with an open hand to a couch in his study, "Why don't you just recline here and enjoy yourself fully? You will have all of the privacy and comfort you need." The black boy looked sheepish. "Thanks, Dr. Tolliver. I'll let you know when I finish." Tolliver grinned like a wolf, "Oh, I'll know when you've finished because I'll be right here watching." The black boy's eyes widened, "You mean you're gonna watch me jack off?" Tolliver, "Certainly. You're my young scholar; I must ensure you do it right. It's what I will require of you once you're enrolled in the university next year, so you might as well get used to it." Tyrone looked uncertain, "You mean you've already decided to accept me at the university?" Tolliver grinned, "Yes, and I've even arranged to have your tuition paid on a full scholarship so long as you participate in a special research project I have set up called `BBB.'" Tyrone tilted his head to the side, "BBB? What does that stand for?" Tolliver just grinned. The initials stood for "Black Boys' Balls," but he was afraid to share the meaning of the initials with the boy just yet. "Let's save that for later. All you need to know right now is that it's an elite program that perfectly suits what you are." Tolliver stood up, towering over the boy who remained seated, "You've spent all these years using your mind, studying poetry, and God knows what else. Your teachers and parents have no doubt told you that it was important to develop your mind." Tyrone slowly nodded. Tolliver continued with a sharp edge to his voice while tapping his pen on his desk, "They meant well, but they did you a disservice. It is not your mind that you should have been developing all those years; it was your smooth, naked black body." Tyrone's eyes widened. "Don't look alarmed, boy, this is the truth. It is unhealthy for a young black boy to run around thinking he has a mind while neglecting his body. It is unhealthy for all of his primal bodily instincts to be bottled up inside of him. I am here to liberate you. I am here to set you free." The wheels in the young black boy's head were spinning at 1,000 miles an hour. Tolliver wandered around the room and continued, pointing at Tyrone's drawing on his desk, "Look at that picture, boy. Look at the picture of the tree you've drawn for me and tell me that big, black cock of yours doesn't want relief. Tell me your black cock doesn't want the freedom to spew its cum all over the classroom while your teachers babble on about Milton and Dante." Tolliver suddenly turned toward Tyrone, "Boy, do want people to admire you? Do you want to be the center of attention wherever you go?" Tyrone nodded his agreement. "Well, there's only one way for a young, black boy like yourself to do that. Stop the futile struggle to develop your mind and accept the reality that your greatest strength is your body." Tyrone looked uncertain. Tolliver continued, "The world wants to see your bestial passion and energy. Show it to them. If you want to be the center of attention wherever you go, you must show the world your passion. Do you understand the meaning of the saying, "People will come to watch you burn if you light yourself on fire with passion"? Tyrone narrowed his eyes as thoughts formed in his mind, "It means," he said with hesitation, "If I do what I feel passionate about, people will admire me..." Tolliver nodded coaxingly, "That's close. That's close. Let's conduct a little experiment that you will often do in the BBB program at the university," Tolliver leered at the boy, "Pull down your pants right now and stroke that monster black cock for me. Stroke it while I watch." The boy looked away, blushing again, "Do I have to do it while you're in the room?" "You must do it while a man is in the room. You must have an audience. This is what it means to discover your place in society. This is what it takes to find out what you are good for. Pull down your trousers and stroke that black cock." Tyrone objected to Dr. Tolliver's suggestion that the boy should masturbate in the old professor's office while he watched. "Something feels wrong about it..." the boy said, now unsure that anything he once thought was true was correct. Tolliver looked with a penetrating stare, "Of course, something feels wrong about it. That's because you have been misled. Did your mother ever tell you that your soul was the most important thing you had?" The black boy nodded in assent. Tolliver shook his head at the boy in mock pity, "The poor lady didn't know any better. She doesn't know anything about becoming a man. For a young black boy, your dick and your balls, and your muscles are the most important things. All that rubbish about the soul and the mind are sheer fantasy." Tyrone looked sincerely frightened. "Don't overthink it," Tolliver told that boy. "That's your problem. You just have to go with it." Tolliver paused to study the boy's confusion. Slowly, an idea emerged in the old man's head. His eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his face. "Of course," he whispered, "How could I have missed it?" We walked over to the boy and stood right in front of him. His crotch was in the boy's face. Slowly, like a stripper in a nightclub, Tolliver lowered the zipper on his trousers. "Wha-What are you doing?" the boy said, rearing away from the man. "Don't be alarmed," Tolliver reassured him while grabbing the back of the boy's nappy head, pushing it toward his unzipped trousers. "This will be good for you, and if you want to go to college, you must learn to trust and obey me." Hesitantly, the boy allowed the older man to pull his head toward his trousers until the black boy's face was pressed against the older man's boxer shorts. The stench of the old man's crotch and pubes made the boy wrinkle his nose and make a disgusted face. The man held the boy's face in his crotch, "How could I have expected you to masturbate in front of me until you first learned that you must submit to me? Open up, boy, and use your lips to take my cock into your mouth." Tyrone hesitated. "I don't have all day, boy. As we speak, I see your college application and scholarship flying out of the window. Open your mouth so that a world of opportunity will open for you." Tyrone opened his mouth and used his thick, black lips to draw the white man's dick onto his tongue slowly. The warm, moist feeling of the boy's mouth and tongue made the old man's cock come to life. It sprang straight up, hitting the roof of the black boy's mouth. "That's it, you little black cocksucker," the old man hissed, "Suck my hard cock to gain your freedom." The black boy moved his mouth up and down the old white man's shaft, massaging it. The old man's cock tasted and smelled vaguely like ammonia. The man pushed his cock harder down the boy's throat, nearly making the lad gag. Clutching the black boy's nappy head, the man thrust inside his mouth, saying, "Yeah, that's it, boy. Show me what you're good for." Tyrone felt the metallic taste of the man's cock on his tongue, but a strange sensation slowly came over him. His impulse to push away from the man's crotch was slowly replaced by tranquility. Sucking on the old white man's cock unexpectedly started to make the black boy feel peaceful. Tyrone couldn't explain what was happening, but the white man's cock in his mouth made him feel tranquil. "That's it," the old man said, "Surrender to the feeling. Don't think about it; just accept your feeling that this is what you're meant to do. All black boys are meant for this. Put your lips to good use." Tyrone couldn't deny the overwhelming feeling. The idea was forming in his head that his lips and mouth were made to service older white men's cocks. Tyrone's own cock was throbbing in his pants uncontrollably. The boy ripped open his trousers and openly masturbated as he sucked the older white man's cock. "That's a good boy," Tolliver reassured him. You are nothing but a body. Forget all that garbage about having a mind." Still clutching the boy's head, Tolliver used Tyrone's mouth to massage his hard cock. Tyrone was the best sex toy Tolliver had ever "purchased." The old professor, overcome with pleasure, shook violently before unloading a tsunami of cum in the black boy's mouth. Tyrone gagged but was unable to break away from the oversexed man's grip. The black boy was forced to swallow a putrid river of the old man's semen. The boy's disgust and humiliation aroused him. His young black cock erupted, pumping his Negroid cum into the air and splattering it all over the distinguished professor's office. The old man's entire study smelled of young and old saliva and cum. He was certain he had made a breakthrough. (To be continued)