Date: Mon, 26 Feb 2018 12:13:18 -0500
From: whipped@protonmail.com
Subject: Missouri Slave Summer Chapter 4

Category:
Interracial and/or Authoritarian

This story is fiction and not based on any real events or people. Everyone
portrayed is over eighteen. You must be at least eighteen to read this
story. Never do this stuff in real life.

I wrote this for a biracial reader with fantasies about slavery who is into
raceplay. I was a little uncomfortable writing it so I apologise if it
isn't terribly good. He said there were only a few raceplay stories out
there.

I received a lot of requests to keep writing this story after the first
chapter, almost all from biracial men. This is my attempt at that. I tried
adding stuff that the readers said turned them on. Most wanted a whipping,
but I've done my best to minimize it for nifty. This chapter is short and
deals with the rest of the buck breaking.

Same deal as before. If I get feedback and ideas, I'll keep going.

Slavery, rascism, and prejudice in real life is never okay. Also, don't
self hate. Black, white, green, love yourself.

And if you enjoy nifty, donate.

Marcus didn't remember much of the whipping. He remembered being released
from the bench by the men he'd seen at the rest stop. He remembered being
taken to a tree and his hands tied around it so he couldn't move. He
remembered the white men laughing and seeing them sort through various
sticks, canes, and whips. He remembered the feel of the rough ropes eating
into his wrists. He even remembered pissing himself.

That happened when one of the men, who smelled of sweat and tobacco, had
grabbed him by the head and whispered, "Ain't a real nigger till you feel
the lash, boy."

It was too much for him.

The next hour was a blur of pain. Otis insisted every man had a go with
with each of the instruments. He wanted to make sure they didn't overdo it
if he wasn't supervising them and that they knew how to handle a whip. They
yipped and woo-yeahed everytime they tried a new tool.

When it was done, they threw a bucket of salt water on Marcus' well marked
back. They said it would keep it from getting infected.



Marcus



When they untied the ropes, I fell to the ground broken. My back was raw
and my ass was leaking Master Otis' cum.

I felt something warm and wet hit my back almost immediately.

It was piss.

One by one, the men took out their dicks and pissed on me.

I lay there and took it.

When it was Master Otis' turn, he didn't piss on my back.

He reached down, grabbed me by the underarms, and pulled me to my knees in
front of him.

Then he took off his overalls until he was standing there in nothing but
dirty white briefs, his fat and body hair coming out every edge of them.

He said:

You're going to show you learned your place, boy, and know what you
are. You do a good job and that's the end of the whipping and fucking for
the day. You do a bad job, I'm sure the boys will help me this time with
the buck bench. Now, open that pretty little nigger mouth and don't waste a
drop.

I didn't understand for a minute. Then he pulled my hands to his underwear
and it hit me.

I was his toilet.

His cock sprung out hard. It was at least eight inches. I could still feel
the pain in my ass as I took the head of it in my mouth. I figured if I
didn't suck I wouldn't be a cocksucker.

The first bitter salty shot of piss caused me to gag. I started to buck
away, but he held my head down.

He stroked my hair and said, "Know your place."

It calmed me somehow.

By the time he emptied his bladder, my stomach was sloshing and I felt
nauseous.

He had me lick the last drop of his piss from his cockhead and then he
dressed himself.

I knelt there, a dick licker, a pissdrinker, his slave.

Then I heard Otis order the men, "Carry it back to it's stall and lock it
in place. We got an early day tomorrow."