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Provided By: BDSM Library

Synopsis: Tom Meade’s gambling addiction causes him to fall under the control of local black mobsters. Even worse they force him to include his beautiful wife Corrine in their plan to film the gang rape of the wives and daughters of other gamblers. Morgan, a menacing black thug, takes his pleasure from humiliating Tom by forcing Corrine to have sex with him while Tom watches and eventually participates. Over time, sex with Morgan and his gang changes becomes a different type of addiction for Tom and Corrine. When Morgan is killed, they find themselves adrift sexually until they learn of an exclusive club where white married couples are sexually used and humiliated by blacks.

Chapter 1 Not the Beginning


     “Jesus, who’s she,” I blurted out when Quarles’ men pulled the laundry bag off her head? 

     Morgan’s head snapped around in my direction.  “Shut up, asshole.”

     I’d only opened my mouth because I was surprised.   The other women Quarles’ crew had brought were older, wives and girl friends.  This one was wearing a Purdue sweatshirt and a plaid miniskirt.  I recognized the plaid.  It lined the expensive raincoat Corrine had bought me for Christmas.   

     Corrine started to say something but thought better of it.  She knew Morgan would like nothing better than for one of us to run off at the mouth and give him a reason to do some damage to our physiognomy.  Slapping us around was something he obviously enjoyed. 

     “What’s her name,” I asked.  It was a question I was allowed.  I couldn’t direct her unless I knew her name.

     “Cheryl, she’s a college girl,” said Morgan looking pissed he had to answer. 

     She was still out of it.  They must have drugged her.  That was different.  The others had been awake, tied with duct tape but Cheryl’s arms and legs were free.

     They dropped her on the bed and her skirt flew up.  One of Jerome’s crew must have checked her out because her white cotton panty was pushed to one side.     

     Morgan was on the situation in an instant.  “Any of you fucks do anything with her,” asked Morgan sounding more than pissed?  

     “No, Morgan, we just took a look at her coochie.  We only looked.  She’s got a full bush,” said Jerome the driver of the green panel truck who brought her to my place and the second-in-command of the crew after Morgan.  He lifted her skirt to illustrate his point.

     “That better be all, motherfucker,” said Morgan stepping closer to the girl then reaching down to grab the crotch of her cotton panty and yank it further to one side.  The girl moaned when Morgan touched her.

     Jerome was right about the bush.  In an age when pre-teens to grandmothers shaved their pubic region, Cheryl was an exception.  She had a thick mat of luxuriant black hair that appeared to have never seen a razor.

      She was pretty.  And from what I could tell had a good figure, at least the legs were long and slender.  I would have guessed Mediterranean heritage based on the curly black hair and facial features, maybe Greek or Italian. 

     Morgan parted her labia and felt around then gave up. “She’s dry,” he said as he needlessly wiped his fingers on her skirt. 

     Everyone breathed easier.  If he’d pulled a come soaked finger out of her cunt, one or more of Jerome’s crew would be dead.  What’s worse, Corrine and I would be witnesses.

     “Like Jerome said, Morgan, we only copped a feel, honest, man. We just checked her out,” said Jamal, Jerome’s younger but larger brother.

     “Next time, don’t look and don’t touch,” said Morgan in a tone of pure menace.  Morgan was barely larger than average in size but he was one scary son-of-a-bitch.

     “Right, you got it,” said Jerome.  The blacks behind him all nodded their agreement. 

      There wasn’t a doubt in my mind Jerome and his crew would keep their hands off the merchandise in the future.  Messing with Morgan could lead to a very unpleasant death.

     “We better get started,” I said glancing at my watch.  I should have been tired since I’d already worked a twelve-hour day but having Morgan around was like sucking down a case of Red Bull.  Fear is a hell of energy drink.

     “Before we begin, Corrine needs to make sure she’s still cherry,” said Morgan.

     “I thought you said she went to Purdue,” I said assuming wrongly virgins weren’t accepted at good colleges.

     “She’s supposed to be a cherry.  Make sure, Corrine,” said Morgan.

     “How would I do that,” asked Corrine a slight tone of exasperation creeping into her voice.  “You should have asked her before you knocked her out.”

     “As I recall, the female is born with a cap on her hole,” said Morgan in his typical don’t you dumb ass white people know anything voice.  “Word has it Cheryl here has kept her knees together.”

      “It’s called a hymen and it’s not unusual for girls to tear it in ways other than sexual intercourse.  Gymnasts rip theirs on the balance beam.  I know I did.  Or she may have borrowed her mother’s vibrator and taken her own virginity,” said Corrine in her schoolteacher’s voice she used when she wanted to irritate Morgan.  Corrine had taught middle school before we decided it would be better if she joined my business.

      As for irritating Morgan, I was under the impression our breathing the same air irritated him.   He was black.  We were white.  That was as far as it went where Morgan was concerned.  He got his kicks messing with Corrine while I watched.  Fucking a white man’s wife while the poor bastard stood by, angry and helpless, was undoubtedly a happy moment in Morgan’s life.

     “Check it out, I said,” said Morgan in a tone indicating further argument might result in the loss of her front teeth.

     Corrine shrugged then walked to the bed and sat down by Cheryl.  Then she stood up, reached under the bed for the fisherman’s tackle box where she kept make-up and other things she needed to make adult films.

     “We ain’t got all fucking day, Corrine,” said Morgan.

     My wife didn’t answer just opened the box and took out a tube of a lubricant.  The product was called ‘Wet’.  It was water-based, odorless, and colorless.  And to be honest, my favorite among the lubricants Corrine purchased.  A woman’s sex should smell and taste natural not like raspberry, strawberry or even worse, mango.

     Corrine coated her fingers.  She used one hand to part Cheryl’s labia as she tried to get her finger past the entrance we all know is there but sometimes hard to find especially when it’s concealed in a forest of pubic hair.  Jerome’s team closed in around the bed like black vultures waiting for the lioness to get her fill of the dead wildebeest.  The fact Cheryl was young and attractive had them anxious to get started with her.

     “She’s small and tight,” said Corrine squirting Wet directly on Cheryl’s opening.

     “She’ll be big and lose when we’re done with her,” said Kelso causing the others to laugh.  Kelso was what my parents would have called a mulatto.  A shade lighter and he could pass for white.

    “Spit on it,” suggested Mel, Jerome’s cousin from Back East where as he once mentioned to Corrine, he was wanted on some felony rape bullshit.

     Ignoring Mel, Corrine worked her finger pass the opening.  It disappeared up to the first knuckle and stopped.  Her face got a thoughtful expression as she moved her finger around.

     “She’s still got her hymen,” said Corrine unable to hide the look of surprise on her face.  I suppose the possibility of an active college age female retaining the membrane struck her as remote.  Her remarks about losing hers on the balance beam were consistent with what she told me when we first started getting serious enough to share secrets.

     “I was eleven when my foot missed the beam and down I went like a stone, straddling four inches of solid oak covered with a thin sheet of foam.  I felt something tear inside me.  It hurt so bad I fainted.  It was much worse than when I let Bobbie Edmonds deflower me for real.”

     When I escorted Corrine to her high school reunion, I got to meet the Robert Edmonds who had dated and deflowered my wife.  He’d picked up a few pounds since graduation.  We got along great.  I told Corrine it was because we had something in common.  She was not amused.

     “We got ourselves a genuine white cherry, boys,” said Jerome, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

     I suppose breaking a female’s cap is a rare treat for any male unless you’re an African king or an Arab sheik.  I’ve certainly never done it.  And if she’s white from a well off family and you’re a black man from the ghetto, it must be the nothing short of getting early parole.

     Morgan stepped away, took out his cell and made a call.  I couldn’t hear what he was saying.  My guess is he was reporting to Mr. Quarles Cheryl still had her virtue.

    Nothing happened until Morgan completed his call. 

    “Corrine, shave her cunt while Tom set’s up,” said Morgan flipping the phone closed.



Chapter 2 Background



     There really wasn’t much for me to do.  I’d shot a commercial for Earl’s Discount Furniture that same morning and the cameras and lighting were still in place.  Eight hours ago, Earl Buncombe had sat on that very bed with his granddaughter in his lap and informed his viewers the king sized canopy bed, nightstands, and dressers could be purchased at the ridiculous low price of nine hundred and ninety nine dollars.  Per Earl, it was an incredible bargain and could be found at any of his five locations in the Greater Indianapolis area.

     I’m Thomas Meade, owner along with the bank, of Meade Media. Catchy right?  Up until about a year ago, I was doing well but things had gone wrong and it was my fault.  I need to tell you a few things.

     After I graduated college with a business degree and accepted my ROTC commission as a second lieutenant, I spent a year in the Middle East following real soldiers around with a video camera.  I commanded a small group of videographers whose job was to make a video record of the war.  They say the Army can teach you a profession and in my case it did.  Shooting video turned out to be something I liked and according to my colonel was damn good at.

    I returned home to Indianapolis when I finished my ROTC commitment.  I lucked into an entry-level job at Carter Graphics, a local company specializing in making television commercials and print advertisements.  Old man Carter took a liking to me.  His wife had passed on and his only son had been killed in a hunting accident.  I worked my tail off for five years then one day he collapsed in his office.  It was one of those heart attacks where you’re dead before you hit the floor, a massive myocardial infarction.  Not a bad way to go in my opinion.

     Still I was shocked when the probate lawyer called to say he’d willed the business to me.  I was a small business owner at thirty years of age. 

     I changed the company name and threw myself into the business working sixteen-hour days.  Over the next five years, sales increased three hundred percent.  Meade Media got a reputation for being creative, on time, high quality and reasonable.  I expanded our reach, capturing my share of out of town and even out of state accounts.

     Some friends introduced me to Corrine.  She was seven years younger than me, recently divorced, no children.  The fact she was a former Miss Indiana who kept her figure by following yoga and Pilate’s regimens that would challenge a Navy Seal made me want to get her in bed the moment we met. 

     But she had other ideas like insisting we get to know each other before we hopped in the sack.  It turned out she was right.  We dated three months before we slept together.  For the first time since I broke up with my college sweetheart I was in love and Corrine returned my affection.  Six months later I asked her to marry me.  We low keyed the wedding.  Neither of us had much family.  That was three years ago.

     Two years after we were married, Corrine quit teaching and joined Meade Media.  She made the excuse that since I worked all the time; it was her way of being with me.  I think she was also tired of teaching school and all the bureaucratic hassle that makes up what we call public education these days.

     Corrine’s smart and a fast learner.  She handles all the scheduling, arranges for models and actors and is basically responsible for bringing everything together when we shoot a commercial.  Wife or not, she is very good at her work.

     The thing with Mr. Quarles has changed our relationship. Corrine has been made to do things she would never have conceived of doing before.  She’s no prude but sticking her finger in a young girl’s vagina to confirm she’s still a virgin is definitely not native to Corrine’s character.  But she’s been forced to do much worse.  It’s definitely had an impact on what used to be a very respectable straight marriage.

     We don’t talk about it but neither of us can see how things will ever go back to the way they were pre Quarles.  Humpty Dumpty has fallen off the wall.


Chapter 3 Mr. Quarles Visits



     So where did I go wrong you’re asking.  It’s simple, really.  I decided I was much shrewder than the professional gamblers who set the point spread for the Colts and the Pacers.  Owning your own business allows you to write off things like good seats to home games.  I started betting on the games I was attending.  I rationalized having money on the game made sitting there a lot more exciting.

    Over time my bets got larger.  If I lost, I bet twice as much next time hoping to get it all back, a loser’s strategy.  It got out of hand.  One day I realized I owed more than a quarter million dollars and I didn’t have it.

     Owing large sums to bookies AKA criminals is not a recipe for longevity.  That’s how I met Mr. Alfred T. Quarles.

      I was working late and alone.  I was in my office worrying about my gambling debts.  I hadn’t told Corrine.  She’d been talking about getting pregnant, quitting work, and starting a family.  That morning when I told my bookie he would have his money tomorrow, I got the impression he didn’t believe me.  Maybe it had to do with the fact, he heard me say it a dozen times before.  I was trying to face up to the prospect of telling Corrine I was going to have to take out a large loan to pay my debts and motherhood would have to wait.

     I was drinking scotch and feeling sorry for myself when four black men appeared in my office.  I wasn’t sure how they got in.  The front door was supposed to be locked.

     Two were obviously muscle since they looked like they played defensive line for the Colts.  One other reminded me of the black movie star, Wesley Snipes, the one who made all the vampire films. He had an unmistakable aura of menace about him.  His body language yelled I would just as soon kill you as look at you.  As it turned out, Corrine and I would spend a lot of time with him but no matter how many hours we were together, he still scared the shit out of me.

     But it was the oldest of the four who had my attention.

     “I’m Alvin Quarles.  This is my assistant, Morgan.  You owe me money,” said the small black man who unbidden took a seat in front of my desk.  He was obviously someone who paid attention to clothes and for a mobster had expensive taste.  He dressed better than my banker.  He looked positively elegant sitting there with one hand resting on his gold-headed cane.  He was wearing a navy pin stripe suit that fit him perfectly.  His red bow tie was one you actually had to tie.  The only thing flashy was the diamond cuff links that if they were real could be hocked for this year’s Cadillac.

     It took me a second to associate his visit to my gambling.  Abe, the man I placed my bets with was white.

    “I don’t have it but I am going to take out a loan and pay you.  I just need a few more days,” I said.

    He had a strange way of expressing himself, courteous but threatening.  “Mr. Meade in my business, you occasionally have to set an example or people loose respect for you, especially if you’re a black man in a white man’s world.  You understand what I’m saying, Mr. Meade?” said Mr. Quarles.

     “I said you’d get your money in a couple of days,” sounding truculent.  I considered myself a good businessman and hanging tough was part of my shtick.  Plus I was a little drunk.

     “But if I allow you to bring your debts current, others will assume they can also be in arrears for substantial periods.  I will have to devote all my resources to collections.  Do you understand my point, Mr. Meade?”

      “Yes, I’m a college graduate,” I said the booze having made me stupid and sarcastic.

      He ignored my sarcasm.  “Unfortunately my family could not afford to send me to a place of higher education,” said Mr. Quarles in a very quiet polite voice. 

      “Look, I have to get home.  You’ll get your money the day after tomorrow,” I said standing up.

      “Your lovely wife Corrine must be waiting dinner for you,” said Mr. Quarles.

      “My wife is not your concern,” I said getting pissed as I stepped out from behind the desk.  That was when the muscles grabbed me.  The thought things would get violent had not occurred to me.  I was a businessman.  We took each other to court for unpaid debts.  I’d had to call my lawyer more times than I could remember.

      They lifted me off the ground by my armpits and frog marched me into the open area where we filmed commercials.  It was filled with sets used for video taping spots planned or recently finished.  I was yelling for them to let me go or I would call the police.

    The one named Morgan located a rope we used to raise or lower backdrops.  They tied my wrists then tossed it over one of the ceiling beams and hauled me up to where my toes barely touched the floor.  They stood back and watched for a few minutes as I tried to stand on my toes because my arms hurt.  I was cursing them as I danced around.  I was being about as dumb as a human can be.   Then it really got scary.

     Morgan unbuckled my belt and pulled down my pants and boxers.  At first I was screaming my head off for him to stop undressing me then I was screaming because Morgan’s hand was wrapped around my testicles and applying enough pressure to permanently change their shape.

     He had hold of my cock in one hand and my balls in the other.  It felt like he was trying to separate the two.    

     It hurt so bad I wanted to faint or vomit.  Just when I thought the pain couldn’t get any greater, Morgan switched to where he was holding one nut in each hand.  He’d alternated between crushing one then the other.  Mr. Quarles had taken a seat in a nearby rocking chair, another Earl Buncombe special.  He sat quietly rocking as his man put me through several of the most painful minutes of my life.

     “That’s enough for now, Morgan,” said Mr. Quarles rocking back and forth.

     Morgan gave my left nut a final flattening.  It was several minutes before I recovered enough to beg them to stop.  “As God is my witness, Mr. Quarles you will get your money.”

     “You a church going man, Mr. Meade,” asked Mr. Quarles?

     “No, but I mean what I say.  I’ll go to Third National tomorrow and borrow the money.  I promise I will.”

     “I’m a deacon at Third Avenue A.M.E Zion, haven’t missed a Sunday service in over ten years,” said Mr. Quarles.  “We have a wonderful new minister, Reverend Cochran.  He likes to preach about being true to one’s self.”

     Pain can sober you up and smarten you up all at once.  “He’s right. I shouldn’t have gambled more than I could pay.  I’ve learned my lesson.  If you’ll just let me go this one time, I will pay you what I owe tomorrow.”  I intended to go down to Third National and get down on my hands and knees and beg for a loan if that was what it took.

     “You are patronizing me, Mr. Meade.  You looking at this old nigger thinking you can fool his dumb ass by acting sorry.  What do you think, Morgan?”

     “I think we should cut his nuts off and make him swallow them,” said Morgan reaching into a pocket of his leather jacket for a switchblade. 

     When he pushed the button causing the blade to appear with a loud click, it was my signal to start to blubber.  “God, no, please,” or something like that was all I could manage as Morgan knelt down in front of me and took hold of my right testicle.

     “When respectable folks like you open their copy of the Star and see where a white man was found castrated in his place of business, they’ll make a note to call their bookie and make sure they don’t owe anything,” said Mr. Quarles.

     I was muttering, “Oh God, oh Jesus,” as Morgan prepared to separate me from my balls.  I could feel the blade against my scrotum.

     “Or perhaps we can make some another arrangement.  I just had a thought.  Hold up, Morgan,” said Mr. Quarles delaying my emasculation.  Maybe it was a last minute thought on his part or it was all planned out beforehand.  I never found out.

     Mr. Quarles thought for a moment before he spoke.  “Are you open to other possibilities, Mr. Meade?”

     I spoke with all the sincerity I could muster, “Anything, just name it.”

     “I may be getting soft.  However, violence of this sort strikes me as so antiquated.  You agree, Mr. Meade?”

     I would have agreed the world is flat and the sun revolves around the earth.  “Yes, Mr. Quarles.”

     “It attracts attention.  And to be frank it’s become dated and a little boring.  I’ve always prided myself on being modern.  While I don’t have a fine college education like you, Mr. Meade, you would be impressed if you saw my operation.  I have the latest in computers, servers, even a satellite connection to the sports book in Las Vegas and Atlantic City.  A passel of clever black youths spend all their time making it work.  They’re college graduates like you, Mr. Meade,” said Mr. Quarles.

     All I could manage was a lame, “Technology is very important.”  Morgan had relaxed his grip on my nuts but he hadn’t let go.

     “I just linked up with an operation in Rio de Janeiro so I could take bets on soccer.  Soccer’s the coming thing.  Maybe one day, Indianapolis will have a professional soccer team.  I might even invest in it when it happens.”

     In spite of the throbbing pain from my swollen nuts I was paying attention.  I wasn’t sure where he was going but if it meant I got to keep my balls I was going too.  Mr. Quarles then took a different tack and threw me a curve.  He had a way of keeping you off balance.

     “Are you a racist, Mr. Meade?”

     “No, I have three black employees. We don’t discriminate.  We pay them the same as everyone else.  Ask them about me.  I treat them fairly.”

     “I’m a racist.  I don’t like white people.”

     All I could manage was, “Oh.”

     “White people shit on me all my life.  I paid them back by taking their money and when they didn’t pay what they owe, taking their balls.  But, being here in your place of business, I see an opportunity to make them pay in a way that will attract less attention and be more personally satisfying.  You understand what I’m saying, Mr. Meade?”

     He had me confused but I was in survival mode and smartening up.  “Not fully, but if you explain it further, I will.”

     Mr. Quarles took a look around at my equipment that was still set up from the day’s filming.  “Do you have the latest technology here, Mr. Meade?”

     “Yes, we’re on our third generation of digital video.  Those Sony cameras are the highest resolution commercially available.  They’re the same model used to make Hollywood movies.  I just installed a new editing system to combine CGI with real images.  All the lighting is polarized to support digital photography.”  I was talking fast desperate to save my manhood.

     “Calm down, Mr. Meade,” said Mr. Quarles.

     I said, “Yes, sir,” and shut up.  I was becoming a quick leaner.

     “I am going to make you a proposition.  I will allow you to pay your debt as soon as you can arrange a loan as long as it is no later than the day after tomorrow.”

     I spoke without hesitating, “Agreed.”  Meade Media was not leveraged and could serve as collateral.   But all the profits for the next few years would have to go to re-paying the loan.  Corrine would be justified to look for a divorce lawyer.

     “Wait until I finish, please,” said Mr. Quarles.


     “For being so generous in your case, I expect you to help me with others like you who believe they can gamble and lose but not pay.”

     I spoke up, “I’m not a violent person.”

     “You keep interrupting.”

     I decided to keep my big mouth shut.  “Terribly sorry, won’t happen again, Mr. Quarles.”

     “From time to time, you and your wife will do a job for me.  Morgan and one of my crews will bring a white woman here. Possibly, a white man, there are instances where the wife is the one who likes to gamble.  They’ll perform with her or him sexually.  Using your expertise and equipment, you’ll create a pornographic video of their performance and give me the only copy.  They will be the stars of an adult film.  With me so far, Mr. Meade?”

     “Yes, I’m with you, Mr. Quarles, but Corrine doesn’t need to be involved and I’ve never made porn.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn.”  I’d been approached several times by sleazy types who wanted to use my facilities to make adult films.  I threw them out of my office as soon as I found out what they wanted.

     “Corrine will be involved because I say so.  I understand she is a vital part of what you do here so you need her.  She can be your fluffer.  You can’t make an adult film without a fluffer.  As for making porn, I’m sure you can master any difficulties associated with adult films.  I’ve heard you tell your customers you like a challenge.”

     “Suppose they go to the police, Corrine and I could be arrested.”

     “I’ve been in business here over thirty years.  I’ve gotten to know many of Indianapolis’ finest, especially the higher ups.  I’ve helped them financially, not easy to get by on a policeman’s salary.  I wouldn’t worry about the police but I would be concerned because if you fail me, you and your cock and balls will be in different parts of the city along with your wife’s tits.  What say you, Mr. Meade?”

     I didn’t have a choice, “I’ll do it.”

     “You mean we’ll do it.  After all, marriage is a partnership.”

     I said, “Right, we’ll do it.  Corrine will be there.”  Although I had almost no hope she would agree to help me.

     When Morgan untied the rope, I dropped to the floor and curled up in the fetal position, weeping.  I half expected them to leave but everyone stood quietly as I slowly got myself together. 

     “There’s one more, small thing you can do for me, Mr. Meade,” said Mr. Quarles when I had gotten to my feet.

     “Anything, Mr. Quarles, anything,” I said desperate to get them gone.

     “Alex and Sidney have taken a fancy to you, Mr. Meade.  They’re good boys and I occasionally like to give them a little perk.  Are you up for that?” asked Mr. Quarles.

     He had lost me other than I now knew the names of the two large well built men who were standing near by.  It wasn’t my smartest performance not that my answer really mattered.  “I will do anything I can.”

     “Excellent, Mr. Meade,” said Mr. Quarles before announcing to the two, “He’s all yours.”

     A minute later, I was sandwiched between the two.  They were kissing me as they undressed me.  Outside of once in middle school, I had never had a homosexual encounter.  Neither had I ever had the urge to have sex with a man.  But after everything I experienced in the last half hour, I wasn’t about to scream, “Get your fucking faggot hands off me.”  Terrified I cooperated as best as I could.

      Mr. Quarles and Morgan had taken a seat on a modular Italian leather sofa that was featured in an upcoming commercial.  I had a sense it was some kind of test.

     The idea that the two body builder types were gay hadn’t crossed my mind.  They undressed themselves as they undressed me. 

     “Looks like an Oreo,” commented Mr. Quarles from his position on the couch.

     He was right.  I’m not muscular and the three of us must have resembled the sandwich cookie.  In spite of Corrine’s entreaties, I don’t go to the gym.  But I’m not fat either.  At an even six foot and one hundred fifty pounds with fair skin thanks to my Nordic heritage, I was a sharp contrast to Alex and Sidney.  They positioned me between them as their lips and hands roamed.  I was a skinny ass white boy pinned between two ebony body builders each of whom has at least a hundred pounds on me.

     Their tongues were busy and I was too scared shitless to do anything other than act like I was into it just as much as they were.  Alex sucked my nipples and fondled my cock as Sidney poked his cock in my butt crack while turning my head to kiss my mouth and ears.

      Morgan felt the need to break his usual silence and comment.  “It makes you wonder how a faggot like that kept that good looking wife of his happy.”

     “Perhaps, Mr. Meade is bisexual,” said Mr. Quarles.

     When the three of us were naked, they led me over to a sectional sofa.  For the second time in my life and the first time in adulthood, I put a cock in my mouth.  I blew Alex while Sidney returned the favor.

     Looking back on the experience I admit it could have been a hell of a lot worse.  Honestly, a brutal homosexual rape would have seemed more likely.  But the pair took it easy and I went along, not even protesting when they positioned me on all fours with my butt hanging off the edge for sodomy

    From somewhere, Alex produced a tube of lubricant he applied to my anus before placing his finger aside.  A second finger followed.  I was lucky Corrine took a positive attitude to my liking of anal play.  Her fingers and strap on dildo prepared me for what happened next.

     I reached between my legs and jerked my cock as Alex’s cock head applied pressure to my sphincter. Two callused weight lifter hand gripped my flanks as he drove himself inside me.

     It was a deep breath moment as pain momentarily gripped my rectum. 

     “Have you ever been cornholed by a nigger, Mr. Meade?” asked Mr. Quarles.

     Talking while your bowel is trying to get used to a large object is not easy but I managed somehow.  “No, this is a first for me by anyone, Mr. Quarles.”  In my one previous gay moment, it was my cock in his ass.

     “Lying motherfucker, that white boy’s ass is getting fucked regularly,” said Morgan. 

     Alex went inside until I felt his ball sack slap against mine.  He pulled back then began a regular rhythm.

     “Mr. Morgan here has a point.  The last white boy about died when Alex cornholed him.  You could here him scream all the way to downtown Indianapolis.  Are you lying, Mr. Meade?  Or do you have another explanation.”

     “My wife uses a strap on dildo to fuck me in the ass,” was all I could manage between grunts.  Sidney had gotten underneath the two of us and was sucking my cock while Alex fucked me.  After a few minutes they stopped and switched positions.

     “You white folks are one sick race,” said Mr. Quarles leaning back in the chair.

     Mr. Quarles stayed quiet as his two henchmen fucked me in a half dozen positions.  I won’t go into what it is like to suck a cock that five seconds before was buried deep in your asshole.  It doesn’t taste great and it smells worse.

     Sidney was the first to come in my ass.  I sucked and licked his dick clean while Alex added his semen to my bowels.  After Alex had deposited his load, I felt something warm and wet filling my gut.  Christ, I realized, he’s pissing in my asshole.

     “Give him the full treatment, Sid,” said Morgan.  “Do the thing they do at the club.”

     I had no idea what Morgan meant or what club he was talking about.  Exhausted, sore, and still frightened out of my skull, I lay still as Sidney placed his mouth on my sphincter and sucked out the contents.

     Moments later, his lips were glued to mine and his tongue forced it way inside my mouth along with a quantity of anal slime.  There was nothing to do but swallow it as I felt Sidney’s lips surround my sphincter and extract a second mouthful.

      After we repeated the kiss and swallow act, I was left to collapse.  I lay immobile as I heard the two dressing behind me.  I prayed it was over.

      A cane poked me in the ribs.  Mr. Quarles was standing by me.      “Life isn’t ever going to be the same for you. Mr. Meade.  You’ve been fucked by two niggers and that’s a big deal for a white man.  You’ll be hearing from Morgan when we need you and your wife.”

     They left leaving me to my misery.  Thank God I made it to the toilet before the urine and semen enema caused me to empty my bowels with explosive force.

     In spite of my condition, I managed to clean up the place before climbing into my car for the drive home where I had to face Corrine.






Chapter 4 Surprise! Corrine Agrees To Fluff



     “An off-stage person hired to keep a male porn star in a state of erection, usually by performing orally,” read Corrine off the computer screen.  She had just looked up the term, ‘fluffer,’ in a Web-hosted slang dictionary.  “Do you realize what you agreed to?”

     We were in our home office.  My swollen testicles were resting against a cold pack.  They were slowly getting better.  The swelling was slowly going down.  I’d just spent the absolute worst hour of my marriage telling Corrine about my gambling and my agreement with Mr. Quarles.  I kept expecting her to get up and walk out or tell me to pack my bags and get out.  But she had hung in so far.

     I’d left out the part where I was sodomised by Alex and Sidney.  It didn’t seem relevant.  My asshole was sore.  There was a wad of toilet paper stuffed in my butt crack to absorb the piss and come that slowly leaked out. 

     Corrine would have wanted to hear all the details and I was too embarrassed.  Al Quarles was right about how being fucked by black men gave a white man a different perspective.  I wasn’t the same proud asshole full of hubris that woke up that morning.

     The term, fluffer, was unfamiliar to us.  I suspected it didn’t mean anything pleasant.   “I didn’t have a choice.  They were going to cut my balls off and shove them down my throat.  He said they would cut your breasts off.”

     “So instead, you agreed your wife could suck off men so they could gang rape strangers while you made a porn flick,” said Corrine looking totally disgusted.  I kept expecting her to tell me to vacate the premises permanently.

     I said I was sorry for the fiftieth time.  I was exhausted.  Two Vicodin were barely controlling the pain in my scrotum.  My butt was tender and I felt queasy when I thought about what I had swallowed.

     Corrine leaned back in the desk chair looking up at the ceiling.  “Be quiet for a minute and let me think.”

     It was several minutes before she straightened up in the chair and gave me her decision.

     “You are never to gamble again.  I mean never.  If I catch you spending a dollar on the state lottery, I’ll divorce you.  If some kid come to the door selling raffle tickets for little league, you ask me first before you pull out your wallet.  No, you send him my way and I will buy the tickets.  Your gambling days are over.”

     “I promise I will never gamble again.  I swear it,” I said breathing a sigh of relief.  She was going to help me.  I didn’t doubt for one minute that if she didn’t show, my balls would not be with the rest of me.

     “Be quiet.  I’m not done,” snapped Corrine.


     “I’ve been a decent person all my life.  I don’t claim to be Mother Teresa but I have not acted like a slut.  I’ve been faithful to you since we began our relationship.  I haven’t even looked at another man since we married and there have been opportunities,” said Corrine.

     I didn’t doubt men and maybe even women hit on Corrine at her health club.  She was a beautiful woman with an incredible body.

     “You’re very beautiful, Corrine,” I said.  “Any man would be attracted to you.” 

     “Quiet, I’m still not done.”

     “Sorry.”  I was saying that a lot, today.

     “You’re asking me to become a whore, a slut, in order to save your sorry gambling ass.”

     “I know.  I feel terrible about it.  I argued with Quarles.  Told him I could handle it alone but he said you had to be there.  I didn’t have a choice.  He threatened to hurt you too.”

      “All right, I’ll help you; but if you ever disrespect me for anything I do or throw it up to me, I will cut your balls off and make you eat them.  And I will use the dullest knife I can find.”

      “I’d never disrespect you, Corrine.  I love you,” I said.

      “All right, I must love you too; but right now I can’t think of a single reason why.”



     “It was over six weeks before Morgan called.  I’d actually begun to hope Mr. Quarles had decided to drop the idea or really wasn’t serious about it in the first place.  Maybe he was just yanking a white boy’s balls.

     Two days after the visit, I’d handed Abe a briefcase containing almost a quarter of a million dollars.  The bank manager gave me a knowing look when I asked for the loan in cash.  Abe asked me if I wanted to place a bet on Sunday’s game but I politely declined.

     Morgan’s call was brief.  “I’ll be there at 9:00 to make sure everything’s ready.  The crew will bring her sometime after 10:00.”

     I walked over to Corrine’s office and gave her the news.

     “He didn’t say who she is,” asked Corrine?

     “Morgan’s not the informative type.  I imagine it’s the wife or girlfriend of someone who owes Quarles money.”

     “I picked up some things at the drug store,” said Corrine.  She opened a tackle box for me to look.    It was the same type she used to make up the models when we shot a commercial.

     Corrine was a very organized person who believed in preparation.  There were boxes of different brands of condoms and two plastic squeeze bottles of lubricant.  There was also several of what are euphemistically termed marital aids.  There was an unopened blister pack containing a dildo vibrator with one of those forked fingers for the clit.  The packaging identified it as Doctor Johnson’s Maximum Pleasure Dildo.  There was also an anal probe named the Butt Master.  It was two feet of flexible latex with a handle on one end and a round ball on the other.  I mentally calculated the ball would reach well into my large intestine if someone stuck it up my ass.  At the bottom of the drawer there were packages of different size batteries.

     I didn’t think drugstores sold dildos but I didn’t want to make an issue of where she got them.  There was an adult store at the next exit off the interstate.  It was difficult for me to imagine Corrine shopping there but I let it pass.  After all, whatever she felt compelled to do was to save my sorry gambling butt.

     “You think you’ll need all that,” I asked facing the import of what was in the tackle box?  I was on the verge of turning my beautiful wife who I loved dearly into a whore, a slut, and a participant in the production of pornographic films.

     “Who knows?  I have no idea what a fluffer’s tool kit contains.” 

     “God help us,” I said falling heavily into the chair and placing my head in my hands.  “What have I done?”

     “Don’t be like that,” said Corrine looking slightly miffed.

     “Like what,” I asked?

     “Like you’re about to go take a handful of pills or drive off a bridge.  If I can manage to get through this so can you,” said Corrine putting her hand on mine.  “We’ll be okay.”

     I stiffened my shoulders.  Having your wife proved more resilient than you can cause a husband to get his act together.  “I’ll pull myself together,” I said.  And Corrine was right as usual.  I needed to buck up and be a man while I watched my wife suck black dick. 



Chapter 5 Morgan and Corrine



     Morgan showed up a little after 9:00.  I introduced him to Corrine and things got weird immediately.

      “Take your clothes off,” said Morgan while he was shaking her hand.

      “Why,” I demanded angrily.  Somehow the idea my wife would be getting naked had never come up.  Things were happening too fast for me.

      “Because I say so and I’m the one with a gun,” said Morgan pulling his jacket aside to reveal the large nickel-plated semi-automatic.

      Corrine pulled her blouse out of the top of her slacks and started unbuttoning.  “It’s okay, Tom.  Just give me a minute, Morgan.”

      My manly pride evaporated as I stood there and watched my wife strip down to her bra and panties.  I felt so miserable I considered rushing him so he would blow my brains out.  But what would that have gotten Corrine or me? 

     “All wrong,” said Morgan walking a circle around Corrine letting his hand trail around her waist.  She was down to a basic white bra, full cotton panty, and trousers’ socks.  At work, Corrine dressed for comfort.

     “This is what I normally wear,” said Corrine.

     “Got anything sexier,” asked Morgan?

     “Such as,” asked Corrine?

     “Heels, hose, but not pantyhose, and one of those things that hold up hose,” said Morgan.

     “A garter belt,” said Corrine.

     “Yeah, a garter belt,” said Morgan.

     “We’re an imaging studio not Victoria Secrets,” I said in a tone of exasperation.

     “There’s some lingerie in the prop room left from a shoot we did last month.  Let me go check,” said Corrine before hurrying off.  She gave me a look ordering me to behave.

    She was referring to a small job we did for a Web site that sold risqué lingerie.  You could buy the same things at the mall but some people prefer online shopping.   Morgan and I stood there watching Corrine’s butt as she walked away.

     “Didn’t know your wife was that hot.  You get off watching her with other men?” said Morgan rubbing his crotch as he looked at me.

     “No, I do not get off watching her with other men,” I said defiantly.

      “Better if you did cause it’s going to happen whether you like it or not.  She’s a prime piece of tail.”

      I decided to change the subject.  “Who are they bringing?”

      “You in the military,” asked Morgan?


      “Air Force, ever hear the phrase, on a need to know basis,” asked Morgan?

      “Yes, of course.”  You heard that stupid phrase all the time in Uncle Sam’s army.

      “Well, I will tell you what you need to know so you don’t need to ask questions,” said Morgan.

      “I do need to know what you plan to do to her.”

      “You’re the director,” said Morgan.  “You tell Jerome and his crew what to do.”

      “Like in a porn flick,” I said.

      “Yeah, stupid, all her holes, different positions, two cocks, three cocks, as many as they can get in her.  Mr. Quarles is counting on you to produce a quality product, something he can be proud of when he shows the welching bastard how much his wife loves black men.”

      My directing experience was limited to several fifteen minute infomercials I done over the last year.  Other than those, it was thirty second and one-minute commercials.  The infomercials had turned out all right.  You can watch one of them seven nights a week at 2:30 in the morning if you got cable.

      My recollection was interrupted by the sound of high heels tapping on the concrete floor.

      “Much better,” said Morgan as Corrine approached from the direction of the stockroom.

      Corrine was wearing white everything: high heels, hose, garter belt, thong panty and bra.  White looked good on her with her blonde hair and dark copper tan.  She thrown on a short silk gown but left it open.  She’d done some modeling when she was in college.  When she reached Morgan she turned gracefully around allowing the robe to slip off in her hand just like a runway model.

     “Come here, beautiful,” said Morgan taking Corrine in her arms.  She stiffened for a moment then relaxed.

     “We may just give up on the girl Jerome is bringing and gangbang you,” said Morgan allowing one hand to drop to Corrine’s almost bare bottom.

     “Mr. Quarles wouldn’t like that,” said Corrine pressing against him.

     I was having difficulty processing what was happening.  On one hand, Corrine was saving me from emasculation and I should be eternally grateful.  She was doing exactly what I had begged her to do.

     On the other hand, the way she was pushing her sex against his crotch made me want to jerk her away and slap her silly.  I also wanted to kill Morgan but the odds of him killing me first were much better.

     “Ever been with a black man,” asked Morgan reaching inside the too small bra to free Corrine’s breast?  The model who did the Web shoot was a Size Four with model’s A cup breasts.  Corrine was a C cup and the bra barely covered her nipples.

     “No, I never dated one and I only slept with men I was in a relationship with.”

     Morgan kept talking as he moved the other bra cup aside exposing Corrine’s erect nipple.  His black hand covered her pale breast making a strong contrast in skin tone.  We have an in ground pool and her bikini had left tan lines. “So, a black man never asked you out?”

     “No, never,” said Corrine after thinking a moment.  She was a relentlessly honest person.

      “You worried about something, Tom,” asked Morgan turning toward me?  Driving me insane was part of his fun.

      I answered quietly like the whipped dog I was, “No, nothing.”

      Morgan kissed Corrine.  I never wanted to murder anyone so badly in my life.  The fact she kissed him back made it worse.  I just stood there fuming while they swapped spit.  I’d expected Corrine to go along reluctantly.  On the other hand, I knew she was the kind of person who once she agreed to something gave it her all.  Looking back, she had a much better grasp of our situation than I did.  She was insuring our survival while I was choking on my male ego.

     Morgan broke the deep kissing and turned in my direction.   “Let’s see if Tom gets a hard on while I check you out as a fluffer.  While you were changing, Tom told me he was looking forward to watching you suck off other men, especially black men.”

     “He did, did he,” said Corrine giving me a look communicating I was to calm down.

     “No, I’m not,” I said but without any real conviction.

     “Look.  Tom’s got a come stain on his trousers, poor bastard,” said Morgan before taking Corrine by the hand and leading her toward the bed.  

     When I looked down I saw he was right.  I was wearing summer weight gabardine slacks.  They were light tan and a highly visible wet spot was dead center in the flap covering my zipper.  It was the kind of thing that happens in high school when you’d been staring at a cheerleader’s crotch too long.

     When I looked up, Morgan had taken a seat on the edge of the bed.  He was leaning back, supporting himself with his arms.  I watched as Corrine unbuckled and unzipped his pants them slid them along with his briefs to his knees.  Without any hesitation whatsoever, my wife knelt down and took his cock in her mouth.

     “Make yourself useful, Tom.  Check the equipment or something,” said Morgan as he relaxed back on the bed. 

     You have no one to blame but yourself, asshole, was what I told myself as I walked to the Control Room.  You’re the idiot who lost quarter million dollars.  I took a seat in the director’s chair and powered on the robotic cameras surrounding the bed.  The screens flickered to life and I had a five-sided high definition view of my wife sucking another man’s cock.

     Corrine was kneeling between Morgan’s legs.  Both her boobs were now out of the bra.  At the moment, she was stroking the shaft while licking his balls.

      I should mention Corrine is fabulous in bed.  She’s energetic, aggressive, and uninhibited. Plus she’s creative, always finding new ways to keep our sex life interesting. Since we became a couple, those were qualities enjoyed only by yours truly until tonight.  However, at the moment, a black thug who I knew only by one name was also getting the best blowjob I’d ever experienced.

     I watched as she worked on Morgan.  His black cock was glistening.   I refrained from getting into comparing sizes; however I’d guess we were equivalent.  Morgan’s seemed a little longer but mine was thicker.  I made some adjustments to the cameras to true up the color.  Then without thinking I flipped on the microphones.

      “Suck that black dick, bitch,” blared through the speaker startling me.  I grabbed the dial to turn the volume down. 

     That was accompanied by the grunting noise Corrine makes when she sucks my dick only this time it wasn’t my dick.  Corrine was one of those lucky women who get turned on when they perform orally.  I had marveled the first time she blew me when she managed to bring herself to a simultaneous orgasm by the judicious application of her fingers to her clit.

     I watched and listened for a while then I took my already erect manhood out and began to masturbate.

      All right I am a prick, a creep who got his wife in this situation then couldn’t resist jerking off to it.  Stroking my cock with one hand, I took the overhead camera’s controls in the other.  I pressed the button on the side of the joystick changing the focus.  Slowly, the camera zoomed in.  I didn’t stop until the screen was filled with my wife’s face and Morgan’s dick.

     She was giving him her best.  One minute hollowed cheeks sucking hard.  Next she had her lips pressed against his pubic hair as she forced the cockhead into her throat.  Then she backed off working the underside of the shaft with her tongue.  I was stroking my rock hard prick while her tongue was swirling around his tip. The high def camera captured the spider webs of drool between his penis and her chin.  Thick ropes of saliva were dripping off her chin down to her boobs.

     “Going to blow, bitch, take it, take it all and keep it,” said Morgan as he began to climax. 

     Corrine’s hollowed out cheeks indicated compliance.  My wife can suck you dry. 

     “Show me,” said Morgan sitting up when he finished. 

     Corrine opened her mouth.  Her tongue was covered in semen.

     “Look up at the camera and swallow it,” said Morgan somehow sensing I was watching. 

     The camera captured the movement of Corrine’s throat as she swallowed.  I blew my load so hard it arched into the air and landed on the keyboard.

     I spent the next few minutes cleaning come out of the keys with a Q-tip.

     “Everything’s ready,” I said as I approached the bed where the two of them were seated engaged in post oral sex chitchat.  At that moment, Morgan’s cell phone sounded.  The odd sounding ring tone, Corrine later informed me, was music from some dead black rapper.

     “Open the door, Jerome’s here,” said Morgan. 

     I walked over and pushed the button.  The truck door slowly opened and a black van drove into the building.

Chapter 6 Marilyn Is With Child



     Corrine whispered, “She’s pregnant,” as soon as Kelso dumped the woman on the bed then pulled the cloth sack off her head.  Corrine rushed to the side of the bed shouting, “Be careful, assholes.”

     I don’t know what I expected but a pregnant woman wasn’t it.  Her name was Marilyn Tate, wife of Charles Tate, junior partner in the law firm of Tate, Tate, Wiggins and McKnight.  During the course of the evening, she told Corrine she had about eight weeks before delivery.  She was thirty-eight and had two miscarriages. Her husband was a corporate lawyer.  She knew he gambled a little but nothing serious.

    Jerome and his crew did not look terribly enthusiastic about gang banging a female with a belly the size of a beach ball.  Her milk swollen boobs rested on her stomach.  Marilyn wasn’t what you’d considered a turn on.  The shorts she was wearing contained an elastic front panel that was expanded to the max.  Maternity clothes don’t make for a cock hardening sight. 

     “Please don’t let them hurt my baby,” said Marilyn as Corrine cut the tape off her feet and hands.

     “I’ll do everything I can to help you but you’ll have to help me by doing what they say,” said Corrine.  “Don’t give them a reason to knock you about.”

     Looking back, I realized Marilyn being pregnant brought out Corrine’s maternal instincts.  Corrine’s reservoir of empathy was immediately taped by the life inside Marilyn’s belly.  Women are like that, nurturing, and protective. 

     “What are they going to do,” asked Marilyn looking fearfully around at Jerome and his crew, a nightmare scenario for the average white suburban housewife.

     “Have sex with you,” said Corrine.  “Your husband has lost money gambling and this is a warning for him to pay.”

     “You mean they are going to rape me,” said Marilyn starting to cry.

     “Yeah, we’re going to put a train on your fat white ass and rape the shit out of you,” said Kelso causing Marilyn to burst into tears.

     “What’s your name,” asked Corrine staring directly as Kelso.

     “Kelso, bitch, what’s it to you,” said Kelso.

     “If you upset her, we won’t be able to make the kind of adult film, Mr. Quarles wants and I’ll make sure he knows who to blame,” said Corrine.  

     I should have been proud of my wife standing up to them but I was too busy worrying about making a porn film starring a very pregnant woman. 

     “You don’t dis me, white cunt,” said Kelso advancing menacingly toward Corrine.  His arm was raised to strike her.

     “Cool it, Kelso.  She’s right.  Mr. Quarles wants it to look like the cunt’s having a good time, loves getting her twat stuffed with nigger dick,” said Morgan stepping between Corrine and Kelso.  Thank God, Kelso immediately backed off.

     “Give me a minute to calm her down,” said Corrine to Morgan.  “Tom, get the bottle of vodka from your office.”

     I started to deny I had a vodka bottle in my office.  No one was supposed to know it was there.  But the time for my stupid games and evasions was past.  I ran to the office, grabbed the bottle and some paper cups then returned as quickly.  Corrine was having a whispered conversation with Marilyn

     “Everybody take a drink and chill,” said Corrine taking the cup I gave her and offering it to Marilyn.

     “I can’t drink with the baby,” said Marilyn refusing the vodka.

     “One swallow won’t cause fetal alcohol syndrome.  You need to relax. It will help you do what’s needed.  That will keep your baby safe.  Is it a boy or a girl?” said Corrine seeking to distract and calm the woman.

     “Carl and I want it to be a surprise.  We asked the ultrasound technician not to tell us,” said Marilyn before taking a swallow of vodka. 

     I walked around filling paper cups with premium vodka for the crew.  Morgan refused, mentioning something about being a member of the Nation of Islam.  The idea of that wife fucking bastard as religious struck me as ridiculous.  I wondered if it was okay in his religion to blow your load down another man’s woman.

     “Next time, make it Crystál and get some decent glasses,” said Jerome taking the cup from me.  I later discovered Crystál was two hundred dollars a bottle champagne.  I stuck with vodka.

    I hurriedly finished installing the wireless microphones as I explained the first scene that was going to feature Marilyn masturbating with a vibrator while Jerome’s crew stood around the bed jerking their cocks.  It became my signature Tom Meade porn opening.

    I went back in the Control Room.  Corrine had propped Marilyn up with pillows so she would be more comfortable.  She could barely reach over her stomach to place the dildo on her clit.

     I told Marilyn to open her legs wider so the camera could zoom in on the small bullet shaped vibrator she was pressing against her button. 

    Miniature wireless microphones were concealed in the ears of Corrine, the six black men, and Marilyn.  Morgan was seated in the back of the Control Room watching me work.

     Marilyn was nude except for a pair of black stay up hose that had a wide band of lace at the top.  It was the only thing Corrine could find that fit her.  Morgan had rapped me on the back of the head to communicate his displeasure we didn’t have a full wardrobe of slut attire.  I made a mental note to have Corrine remedy that for next time.

     I grabbed the joystick and commanded the overhead camera to take a slow traverse that began at Marilyn’s feet and ended at her head before returning to her glistening sex.  The sheen was courtesy of Corrine.  The safety of the unborn child had been her stated rationale for squirting Wet over Marilyn’s vulva then working it deep into her opening with her fingers.  Corrine’s willingness to penetrate Marilyn’s vagina was one more thing my overworked brain decided to process at a future date and time.  Corrine had been adamant in the past about her dislike of lesbian sex.

     I zoomed out to get a shot of the five naked men standing around Marilyn’s bed jerking their hard cocks.  The sixth man was named Levar and at the moment he was seated in a nearby winged back Queen Anne chair with his legs thrown over the arms.  Corrine was kneeling between his legs and for the first time performing her official fluffer duties. Moments before, Levar’s failure to get good wood had gotten us off to a nerve-racking start.

    Levar had foolishly spent the afternoon humping a woman named Shelia who according to Levar had drained him of his essence repeatedly.  Shelia, a woman apparently of no small appetite had so exhausted Levar’s sexual capacity; he could not achieve an erection thereby angering Morgan who reacted in characteristic fashion.   

     “Suck on this, you dumb nigger,” said Morgan forcing the hapless naked Levar to his knees as he placed the barrel of the nickel platted semi-automatic between his lips. 

     “It’s Shelia’s fault, Morgan.  I didn’t want to fuck her.  She made me,” said Levar.  At least I think that was what he said.  Speaking with the barrel of a gun in your mouth hinders articulation although he continued to stroke his limp dick at warp speed.

     “What did I tell you, nigger,” demanded Morgan pulling back the slide to chamber a round. 

     I was ready to piss my pants.  Corrine and I are not gun people.  We don’t own one.  Just being in the same room with a gun scares me.

     “Keep it in my pants.  You said for me to keep it in my pants,” said Levar starting to sob a little as he worked the shaft with the reverse hand stroke favored by black men with big cocks.   “Please, Morgan, I can get it up.  Let me try again.”  

     “What else did I say, Nigger” asked Morgan who appeared on the verge of pulling the trigger?

     Corrine was seated on the bed, her arm around Marilyn whispering what I assumed were encouraging words.  She had just finished helping Marilyn undress and put on the hose.  Marilyn didn’t seem thrilled to be naked in front of Jerome’s crew.

     I glanced at the clock.  It was almost eleven and we hadn’t captured a single minute of video.

     “Save it for tonight,” said Levar after thinking for a minute.  Apparently sex with the libidinous Sheila had killed some memory cells.

     “What else did I say,” demanded Morgan taking the gun out of Levar’s mouth to land it smartly on the side of his head sending him to the floor with blood leaking out of his temple?

     “You said any nigger can’t get a hard on; you’d blow his pecker clean off,” said Levar covering his privates with both hands, not effective body armor against a nine millimeter round.

     Corrine showed her shrewd feminine qualities by intervening to diffuse the situation.  “Tom can start with five.  I’ll work with Levar.  He can join in when he’s ready.”

     Morgan took a minute to consider Corrine’s offer then he slowly put his gun back in the holster before speaking.  He couldn’t ignore the obvious.  If he blew Levar’s penis off, Marilyn would totally freak out and we weren’t going to make Mr. Quarles porn flick.  “All right, but the next time this happens, somebody is going home without a dick.”

     “Mic check, raise your hand if you can hear me,” I said anxious to get going before Morgan killed someone.  “Testing,” I repeated as I flipped through the roll of microphones.  It felt odd when I opened Corrine’s microphone, said “Testing,” and watched as she raised one arm while stroking Levar’s soft penis all the while keeping the head in her mouth.

     We all have hidden talents and fluffing turned out to be Corrine’s.

     I fed Marilyn her first line while she was lying there in the center of the bed stretching to push the tip of the hard plastic vibrator into the base of her clit.  I acknowledge the need to write better dialogue.

     “I want all you black boys to fuck my white pussy then you can fuck my white ass  I want my husband Charlie to see how much I love black dick,” said Marilyn in the breathless voice I had suggested. 

     “Good,” I whispered in her ear.  Corrine had succeeded in focusing Marilyn on one goal.  Do what it takes to protect your unborn child.  After this is over, you can go home and cut your husband’s balls off and feed them to him.

    I took a minute to get some close-ups of Marilyn’s face and sex as she used the vibrator to get herself ready.  She responded when I told her to moan, arch her back, and lick her lips.  “This is for you, Charlie,” she cooed to the camera.

     “All white women are whores,” commented Morgan quietly from his overseer position.  “Godless, filthy whores who in spite of their supposed middle class values will fuck anything with a cock.”

    A quick glance showed that my white whore now had a couple of fingers stuck up Levar’s ass.  The combination blowjob and prostrate massage appeared to be working since Levar’s manhood was showing signs of life.

     Morgan noticed where I was glancing.  “Your wife knows how to suck a black man’s cock.”

     I assumed he meant it as a complement.  “Thanks.”

     “You’re up, Jerome,” I spoke into his microphone.  “Roll her over into the doggie position.”

     Jerome climbed on the bed and helped an awkward Marilyn come to her knees and elbows.

     “This is too slow,” complained Morgan.

     “Editing will speed it up. Please, I need to concentrate,” I said speaking more harshly than was wise.  I worried whether behind me Morgan was debating whether to blow my brains over the control board.  But he surprised me.

      He muttered, “Sorry,” and was quiet.

      “Jerome, spread her cheeks apart and put your thumb on her asshole.”  Marilyn had put on weight during her pregnancy and her asshole was hidden inside two globes of loose fat.  Like most pregnant women, the baby’s pressure on her organs had produced a monumental case of hemorrhoids.  If it bothered Jerome, he didn’t show it.  His cock was poised at the entrance of the man’s woman and that in itself was enough to make his dick hard.

      Jerome licked the pad of his thumb, did as he was told, and then messed up.  “Like this?” he asked looking toward the Control Room.

      “Yes, but do not look at the camera or me,” I barked before speaking for Morgan’s benefit.  “I’ll edit that out.”

      “Jerome, keep your thumb on her butthole as you put your cock in her pussy.  Marilyn, can you reach back and guide him into you?”  Marilyn’s hand barely reached his penis but it was enough for him to enter her hole, hesitate a moment to savor the experience of fucking a pregnant white woman before continuing forward to where his balls touched home plate.

     “Oh yeah, this is good pussy,” said Jerome smiling and throwing his head back to express his pleasure.  It was an unscripted line of dialogue that made the Al Quarles cut.

     I breathed a sigh of relief as my first penetration scene began.  Jerome began slowly then picked up speed as he thrust into her.

     Things were going better than I expected.  I’m not saying I was thinking about renting a tuxedo for the next academy awards just that it wasn’t a total screw up and I had hopes of being alive and attached to my nuts when dawn broke tomorrow.

    Jerome was pumping away so I issued Marilyn a prompt.  “Oh baby that feels so big.  Your cock is so much bigger than my husband’s Charlie’s needle dick.”  The way Marilyn said it I believed her.  I issued my final instruction for Scene One Take One, “Jerome, put your thumb in her ass and fuck her harder for fifteen seconds then get off her.”

     Jerome moved his thumb aside to allow a sizeable gob of spit to fall directly on her sphincter.  He smeared it around with this thumb then pushed it deep in her butt.  Marilyn responded with a loud moan. 

     As I moved the robotic cameras around to capture a variety of shots of Jerome and Marilyn, I thought about how her husband would react to the disc.  Would he fall into a jealous rage and kill her?  That didn’t seem likely since he was the one at fault.   Or would he take the blame himself as I did when I considered what was happening to Corrine?

     Of course, I was trying to make it look like Marilyn’s gang bang was the thrill of her life and she was certainly cooperating.  On screen she was pushing back, meeting Jerome’s thrusts with a loud grunt.   She kept repeating, “Fuck me, baby, fuck me,” over and over.  Maybe Moran was right.  All white wives had an inner slut that only the presence of black cock can unleash.

     I gave her another line she repeated with a certain relish.  “I want another black baby in my belly just like the one you gave me eight months ago.”  Corrine later told me she suggested Marilyn focus her anger on her husband.

     Was her motivation, survival of her and the baby, desire to humiliate her bastard husband (an argument strongly advanced by Corrine who seemed to have her own game of humiliate the husband underway), pleasure of having a young lean handsome well-endowed black man pounding his cock in her pussy, or a combination of all of the above?   I went for the all.  Life is complicated. 

     It was something of a mystery what Mr. Al Quarles was up to.  As far as I was concerned, threatening to cut off my balls got my attention and quick compliance.  Maybe it was a peculiarly black man’s revenge for a lifetime of slights, real and perceived.  Humiliate and degrade the proud white man by forcing him to acknowledge the sexual superiority of the black man using his own woman as a guinea pig.  Somehow that sounded too much like a white man’s version of how the black man thought.  Perhaps, Al Quarles was bored with castration and needed a break.  He had an offbeat sense of humor and thought making a gangbang video of the debtor’s woman was a hoot.

     “You’re up, Jamal,” I said noting that Jerome had been pounding Marilyn’s hole for the desired three minutes and it was time to switch.

     Unexpectedly, Morgan reached over me to grab a spare set of headphones.  “Is this Levar,” he asked holding the jack over the input for Levar’s microphone?

     That caused me to look toward where I last saw Corrine.  Levar was still seated in the high backed Queen Anne chair but Corrine was no longer kneeling between his legs.  She had climbed up on the chair facing him. Her feet were precariously balanced on the chair arms allowing her to raise and lower herself.  Levar was fucking my wife; actually it was more accurate to say my wife was fucking Levar.

   His large pink tongue was licking her boobs as they passed by.  His hands gripped her buttocks.  From the look on Corrine’s face, it was obvious Marilyn was not the only woman present enjoying penetration.

     Levar’s manhood had definitely revived.  Its size made me understand why Shelia had taken advantage of him that afternoon.  I visually estimated how far inside Corrine it reached when her bottom slapped down on his thighs.  Navel level was my answer but that seemed impossible.

     “Yes, that’s it,” I answered indicating the proper input jack.

     Morgan jacked in and spoke, “Levar, if you come, you die.”

     Levar looked quickly in our direction.  He stood up, lifting Corrine with him, holding her butt for support.  Corrine arms were around his neck.  They continued to fuck as he slowly turned around and put her down in the chair.  Once she was free of his embrace, Corrine threw her legs over the arms and masturbated.  That was a surprise.  Somehow it struck me as uncharacteristic of my wife.

     “Dumbest fucking nigger on the planet,” said Morgan who surprised my by chuckling.

    I suppose it was funny even though my wife was proving to be a whore of the first order.  I reminded myself I had agreed upon pain of her cutting my manhood off with a dull kitchen knife not to reproach her.    My fuck up had issued her a free pass to enjoy fucking other men.  No one to blame but myself.

     “Kelso, you’re up next,” I queued Kelso his three minutes of pregnant pussy were about to begin.  When he mounted her rear, Marilyn proved she could handle the largest cock of Jerome’s bunch.  I got some great video of his log sliding in her hole.  I pictured the baby reaching out to play with it as it entered her womb.

     Jerome was now standing in front of Mrs. Thomas Mead getting his slimy cock sucked.  Jamal joined his brother creating opportunity for Corrine to give head to two men at once.   It was a night of firsts.

     I gave each of the remaining three studs, their three minutes of pussy heaven.  Maurice had long arms and did an excellent job of working Marilyn’s enormous breasts as he pummeled her snatch.

     We took a short break after the six had enjoyed Marilyn’s hole for the requisite three minutes.  I opened a cooler and handed water bottles to everyone.

     “You all right,” I asked Corrine who moments before had been down on her knees attending orally to three cocks?

     “Fine,” said Corrine wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  “My jaw is going to be sore tomorrow.”

     “I wonder if OSHA has a listing for fluffer’s jaw,” I said.

     Corrine gave me a dirty look then laughed.  “Tom, maybe you should write up an accident report and send it to Washington.”

     “I mean are you really all right,” I asked again?

     “What do you think?  Let’s just get through this.  We can talk about it later,” said Corrine.

     “Okay, I better get double penetration started or we’re going to be here all night,” I said.

    “I hope Marilyn is okay.  She claims that outside of her husband, she has only been with two other men.  She’s never done DP.”

     Jerome and Jamal was the first pair to mount Marilyn.  Jamal lay on his back as pregnant Marilyn cautiously climbed on top.  He had to help support her as she eased his cock in her pussy.  After a few practice strokes, a standing Jamal presented his dick to her mouth.  Marilyn didn’t hesitate to form her lips around the head.

      It made me wonder if she had been truthful with Corrine about her lack of experience.  Regardless, she could now stand on stage at the Indianapolis’ Clowes Memorial Hall and tell the world that hell yes; she had been double penetrated and loved every fucking minute of it.

     I fed her several lines to the effect she adored sucking the black man’s dick while another black man was fucking her.  She delivered them in a convincing fashion.  You could tell from the way she spoke Charlie’s name, she wanted to add to his humiliation.  How would you feel watching your on screen wife take a cock larger than yours out of her mouth and announce to the world how much she loved sucking it?  And if it was black, that would make it worse.

     Off screen, my fluffer’s face was buried between the butt cheeks of Kelso who was leaning forward, his arms resting on the Queen Anne.   Her hands separated his buttocks so she could apply her tongue to the dark brown asshole playing his Rusty Trombone. Even from the distance, I could see her saliva glistening in the polarized light.  It was Corrine’s first experience of playing the Rusty Trombone but I gather that girls in the black ghetto learn the instrument in middle school.

     I watched fascinated as Maurice came up behind her with a hard cock and placed it between her butt cheeks and pushed.  That prompted Corrine to turn around smiling and say something as she handed him the Wet.  Maurice fondled her tits as she squeezed some in her hand then reached back to apply it to her asshole.  She returned her face to Kelso’s crack while Maurice after minimal effort sunk his cock in her lubricated ass.  My prick was hard as a rock.  But I needed to concentrate on my directorial responsibilities so I returned my attention to Marilyn.

     “Jamal, can you reach the Wet without taking your cock out of Marilyn’s mouth?”

     He responded by stretching his arm out toward the Wet but he was a good six inches short.

     “Levar, toss Jamal the Wet,” I directed and a chastened Levar quickly did as he was told.

     I had no idea whether Marilyn was into backdoor sex but I decided to give it a try anyway.  Editing would cover up any mistakes.  I enabled Marilyn’s microphone.  “Fuck me in the ass, baby. I want your cock in my shit hole.  I’ve never let Charlie stick his tiny little weenie in my poop shute.”

     She hesitated a few second then repeated exactly what I said and she did a good job of making me believe she meant it.  Who knows?  Maybe she did.   Guys tend to leave their pregnant wives alone.  Marilyn may not have had a good fuck in eight months.

     Jamal followed my direction to move to her rear, lubricate her anus, and finger fuck her butt beginning with one finger then moving to two and ultimately three.

    Marilyn dutifully repeated my words for the cameras describing in lurid terms how wonderful it felt when Jamal’s prick popped past her sphincter and entered her rectum.  “Oh Jesus fucking Christ, I love having my shitter fucked,” moaned Marilyn as Jamal reamed her rear.  I had to instruct him to turn slightly sideways to get the shots I wanted of his dick sliding in and out of her anus.  Marilyn followed my direction to reach back with one hand and separate her butt cheeks.  I got great close ups of Jamal’s cock gliding in and out her ass.  The way her flesh pedal surrounded sphincter held on to his penis allowed you to think she loved it even if it wasn’t true.

     For the next fifteen minutes, Marilyn’s orifices played host to a different pair of cocks. When the third and final twosome was done, we took another break.

     “What’s next,” asked Morgan looking at his watch?

     “I was thinking for an ending Marilyn would kneel down in the middle of the guys and they jerk off in her mouth,” I said imitating the finale of every other gangbang movie made since porn began.

     “How about first we let the girls have some fun before we blow our load,” asked Jamal? 

     “What have you got in mind,” I asked but I knew the answer?

     “Girl on girl,” said Jamal.  “I want to see Corrine eat her pussy.”

     “Sure, why not,” said Morgan cutting short any objection I might have.  “You guys deserve a reward.”

      “It can’t be part of the final disc,” I said defiantly.  I wasn’t going to allow a video of Corrine out of the building if I could help it. I was expecting Corrine to object but she didn’t make a sound.

     “It doesn’t have to be in the final,” said Morgan.   “Just something to get Jerome’s crew ready for the finale.”

     I knew what he was upping the ante in the humiliate Tom game. 

     “You okay with this,” I asked Corrine?  She had always been adamant that while she had nothing against lesbians, sex with another woman wasn’t for her. 

     “At this point nothing matters,” said Corrine.  “All right with you, Marilyn?”

     Marilyn finished her water and tossed the empty in the trash before speaking.  “If I said No, would it change things?”

     “Not in the least,” said Morgan.  “Let’s get to it.”

     Marilyn had held up surprisingly well for all she’d been through.  She had been screwed several times by six different men in all three orifices, enough to exhaust a woman, especially a pregnant one.  However, she looked eager enough after Corrine ran a brush through her hair and touched up her make-up.

     “Let’s sixty nine.  I’ll get on top,” said Corrine getting on the bed.

     Two minutes later I was back in the Control Room.  Marilyn took a supine position in the center of the bed.   Corrine carefully climbed on board.  Fortunately, Corrine is tall and Marilyn short or it wouldn’t have worked.  Jerome’s crew crowded close.  A quick scan showed everyone had good wood.  I cued the action.

     I watched the monitor as Corrine began to kiss Marilyn’s pussy.  Assuming Corrine had been honest with me about never having engaged in oral sex with a female, I found it surprising she didn’t hesitate to lick up and down Marilyn’s ravaged slit. Her mouth attacked that cum soaked twat with the gusto of a bull dyke.  A quick glance at another monitor showed Marilyn applying her mouth to Corrine’s sex with equal vigor. 

     “White girls love to eat pussy,” was Morgan’s comment on the matter.

     Jerome was right about girl on girl sex being a turn on.  His guys were stroking and laughing as they shouted at Corrine and Marilyn, urging them on.  Watching those two gang fucked women eat each other’s cunt was a definite turn on. Perhaps it was the idea of watching white women eating pussy your dick had recently vacated.   I felt my own cock responding to the sights and sounds of lesbian sex.

     For Jerome and his crew, maybe the fact they were white women added to how they felt.  I’ve since decided racism plays a surprisingly large part in our attitudes toward sex.  After several minutes of watching the rug munch, the men began reaching in to touch the women.  That seemed to ratchet up the intensity of their oral sex. 

    A few moments more and Jerome and Jamal climbed up on the bed and pulled the pair apart.  What ensued was spontaneous.  I gave up on directing.  I lay back in my chair, stroking my cock as I watched my wife get screwed in every orifice.  Kelso pulled her to where her head hung off the bed and faced fucked her while he worked her nipples hard.  Levar was double stroking deep into her pussy.  I suppose it’s the kind of sex, women fantasize but seldom if ever get.

     I did manage to pull it together enough at the end to capture required footage of a kneeling Marilyn getting her face covered in semen.  Anything who has watched porn knows facials are the pro forma ending.  In spite of their earlier ejaculations, they managed to coat Marilyn’s face with jism.  

     Marilyn followed my instructions to use her finger to slide most of it onto her tongue.  The final shot was of a smiling Marilyn, her face, hair, and milk filled boobs glistening with spunk waving at the camera blowing a come bubble.  Acting wise I considered Marilyn something of a thespian.

     “That’s a wrap,” I announced.

     Corrine showed up with a wet rag to wipe Marilyn off.  She helped her dress.  They gave each other a little hug when it was time for her to leave.  As Jerome’s crew prepared to take her back to her car, Morgan drew her aside to deliver serious threats to her and the life within her.  From the look of her face, I believed she would keep her mouth shut.  If she didn’t, I would be going to jail for a long time.

     Minutes later, Corrine and I were left alone to clean and straighten the set.  I downloaded all the captured video to a clean set of DVDs then erased it off the computer’s hard drive.

     “I’m so sorry I got you into this,” I said as we drove home.

     “Stop apologizing,” was all she said as she placed her weary head on my shoulder and dozed off.  “What’s done is done.”


Chapter 7 The Abyss



     “When you stare into the abyss, it stares into you,” said Corrine         breaking the silence.  We were home in bed, both staring at the ceiling fan. 

     It was four thirty in the morning but we were still awake.  Thank God it was Saturday and we had the day off.  We hadn’t gotten home until three.  And in spite of the fact we were both physically and emotionally exhausted we couldn’t sleep.  Too much heavy shit had gone down and my mind wouldn’t let go.  Corrine must have felt the same because she was the first to break the silence.

     I should add I had a grip on my hard cock.  I was slowly stroking my raging erection trying to keep myself under control.  I was afraid to tell Corrine the reasons I was tumescent.  As soon as she spoke I felt a certain familiar movement from her side of the bed.  Surprise, Corrine was working her clit.

     I felt the need to talk also so I answered immediately, “What movie is that from?”

       “Not sure it’s ever been in a movie.  It’s a famous quote from Nietzsche,” said Corrine.

       I should mention that Corrine is both smart as a whip and well read.  She was a National Merit Scholar and went to college on a scholastic scholarship.  My wife is what you call a deep thinker.

      “So name some of his movies,” I said.

      “Whose movies,” asked Corrine?

      “The guy you just mentioned, Nietzsche,” I said.

      “He was a German philosopher, not a movie director.  He wrote several famous works of philosophy.  He was also I love with his sister and they lived together as man and wife.  But that’s not my point,” said Corrine.

      At times I tried to be competitive but the reality is Corrine’s smarter than me.  But it didn’t keep me from trying. “Wasn’t there a movie about being underneath the ocean?  It was called The Abyss?”

      “Yes, there was; but that’s also irrelevant.  It had nothing to do with Nietzsche,” said Corrine laughing. 

      “So what did you say a minute ago,” I asked?  We were both openly masturbating.  We often jerked off together while watching porn.  I felt it was a poor substitute for a fuck but after a long day at the office, we didn’t have the energy for coitus.

      “I repeated Frederick Nietzsche’s famous quote that when you stare into the abyss, it stares into you.”

      “And that means what?”  I’d decided it was time to give up on being cute.

      “When you get involved with evil, it changes you.  No what how noble your reasons or just your cause, confronting evil has a price.”

      “So why didn’t Nietzsche just call it evil not the abyss,” I asked working my balls with one hand while the other stroked my shaft.

      “He wrote in German.  But that was what he meant,” said Corrine who had pushed the covers off.  One hand was rubbing her vulva and the other twisting a nipple.  It wasn’t our usual easy does it jerking off, we were punishing our body. 

      “I assume we are talking about what happened with Marilyn and even before she arrived.  I agree it changed me and I wouldn’t say necessarily for the better.”  I was approaching matters slowly.  I didn’t want to blurt out watching her fuck other men, especially black men, turned me on to the max and I felt guilty as hell about it.  No, that’s not right.  What bothered me was that I didn’t feel guilty about it.

      “At least her baby will be okay,” said Corrine. 

      “It should be.  You kept them from knocking her about. That was wonderful of you, by the way,” I said as I gave her a kiss.   “Now she has to go home and confront her husband about the money he owes Quarles.  That could be traumatic.”

      “And they both have to live with the DVD of her being fucked by six black men.  You’ll edit out the part where Marilyn and went down on each other.”

     “Of course, you won’t be in the final product,” I said.  “I’ll start editing as soon as I get some rest.”  Morgan said Mr. Quarles wanted it ASAP and I didn’t want to make him wait, prompting a return visit.

     “That was a first for me, you know.  Other than making out once in high school, I’d never done anything with another woman.  I think Marilyn has done it before,” said Corrine.

     Thinking back, I agreed Corrine’s was not the first pussy Marilyn ever put her tongue in.  She had burrowed her face into my wife’s dripping cunt with real enthusiasm, making little cooing sounds as she licked Corrine to a first class orgasm.   Marilyn may have been terrified of the situation and the chance of losing the baby but once Corrine and she went French, she exhibited genuine lesbian lust.   

     “So how was it,” I asked?  I knew she needed to tell me some things.  I just had to be patient and let her take her own good time.

      “Truthfully, you want to know?”

      I meant what I said next.  “We’ve both been through quite an ordeal.  It was very different from what we’re used to.   I think honesty is called for.”

      “I should have been disgusted.  Her vagina was full of come.  But since we’re being honest, eating her turned me on.  The presence of multiple loads of semen made the sex hotter,” said Corrine.

      “How about what she did to you?” 

      “That turned me on too” said Corrine.  “I climaxed when she did.”

      “Including the anal part followed by the kissing,” I asked referring to the hardcore act Jerome had ordered the two women to perform.  I wasn’t certain Corrine knew I’d watched when Jerome made the women suck semen out of each other’s butthole then engage in some serious tongue kissing.

      “Anilingus, you and I have done that a few times.  However you’re a-hole wasn’t oozing sperm.  It was hot in a kinky sort of way,” said Corrine thoughtfully.

     “Eating butt is a big part of Jerome and company’s sexual repertoire.  The only time Marilyn showed any reluctance was when Kelso presented his back door to her and demanded a rim job.”

     “He went about it wrong.  Anyway, Marilyn was reluctant at first but the fear of losing the baby got her through it,” said Corrine.  “I thought she handled it very well under the circumstances.  After she did Kelso’s ass, she didn’t hesitate to rim the others.”

     “So did you.  You were my rock.  I couldn’t have got through last night without you.”

     “It’s not so bad once you get past the idea of placing your mouth on a stranger’s butt hole.  Some of them weren’t that clean.  However, and I want you to know I find this hard to admit, that excited me more.  If you asked me yesterday morning if licking a shit stained asshole was a turn on, I’d said you were out of your mind.”

     “Degradation and humiliation can be sexually stimulating.  Morgan took you in front of me and I felt humiliated but my cock was hard as a rock.  I wonder if Marilyn had a change of attitude about anilingus.  Maybe the next time she has sex with her husband, she’ll order him on all fours and spread his cheeks for an ass munching,” I said.

     “After what she went through tonight because of him, I’m not sure there will be next time.”

     I continued to stroke my cock.  I hadn’t been so ready to fuck Corrine since before we go married.  However I didn’t want to just climb on her so I kept the conversation rolling. “So outside of finding it erotic to perform orally on a well fucked female pussy and ass, what else did the abyss offer you,” I asked.

     “In spite of or maybe because of the fact I was scared, I found the entire experience erotic.  And that bothers me.  I went into last night determined to do what it took to keep us alive.  I steeled myself for the ordeal thinking it would be unpleasant and degrading but I would get through it.”

     “But things did not turn out as your anticipated,” I said.

     “I got turned on at the beginning when Morgan made me undress.  My vagina was positively dripping by the time I reached the prop room looking for something to please him.  What kind of person does that make me?”

     Don’t be judgmental I told myself.  The thought she was a cock sucking, ass eating, white whore who loved being gangbanged by black gangsters with big dicks crossed my mind but I stayed cool.

     “You seemed to get into sucking him off.  I’m not reproaching you just making an observation.” I was surprised at the turn of the conversation.  Any casual observer who watched Corrine perform that evening would have concluded the woman was into what was happening but I hadn’t expected her to admit it this soon.  Self is the most powerful form of deception.

     “I had one orgasm after another,” said Corrine.  “It seems wrong and against everything I believed in.”

     “I’m sure any normal female would have acted as you did.  Excitement, danger, and the presence of a half dozen young well-endowed handsome black men add up to a potent combination.  Plus there was an aura of inevitability about the night.”  

     “By inevitability, you meant the fact we didn’t have a choice made it easier to acknowledge the eroticism of the situation.”

     “Precisely, there is an old Chinese proverb.  If rape is inevitable, you might as well lie back and enjoy it.  I’d say that worked for Marilyn too.  Between inevitability and protecting her unborn the woman fucked with everything she had.  I detected the occasional orgasm on her part.  She had one when you went down on her.”

     My quote about accepting the inevitable rape wasn’t as brainy as Corrine’s abyss comment and I had no idea who said it first but I felt it applied just as well.

     “You’re right, of course.  Think we should go into therapy,” asked Corrine?

     “No, they’re legally required to report certain crimes.”

     “I didn’t think of that.  You said the abyss looked in you, too.”

     Since Corrine had dumped her bucket, I felt both obligated and enabled to dump mine.  Actually it was what I had been hoping for since our conversation started.

     “I was turned on watching you have sex with other men.  There, I’ve admitted it.  You have no idea how guilty it makes me feel.”  I chose to emphasize my point by kicking my covers off then taking her hand and putting it on my hard cock.  I reached over to feel her boob.   Her nipples were erect and she moaned when I touched them.

     “I could tell.  Remember when Morgan pointed out the spot on your trousers,” said Corrine.

     “I have a confession to make.  I jerked off in the Control Room watching you suck his cock.  I blew my load so hard the jism landed on the keyboard.  I had to clean it out with a Q-tip and a can of air.”

     Corrine began stroking my cock as we discussed our evening.  “I suppose that’s not unusual either.  I’ve read in Cosmopolitan where the most common fantasy of married men is watching their wives have intercourse with other men or even another woman.  You saw both tonight.  You want me to suck you?”

     “No, I want to eat you,” I said rolling over on her and scooting down to where my mouth could reach her unwashed sex.  The aroma was overwhelming.  I inhaled deeply taking it into my lungs.  The smell was so strong you could taste it and the taste was so powerful you could chew it.  I was in the most profound sexual ecstasy of my life when my lips touched her cunt and my tongue plunged into her juicy hole.   

     There were probably six loads of semen in her cunt mixed with her secretions and Marilyn’s saliva, topped off with a good layer of sweat.  Her anus had the funky smell of old jism.  

     “I should shower first,” said Corrine.

     We had tumbled into bed too tired to shower.

     “No, please, the raunchier the better,” I said parting her labia with my tongue.  I was overjoyed she was still gooey.  The concoction was thick enough I could scoop it up with my tongue. 

     “Oh,” was all Corrine said spreading her legs wider to ease my access.

     She relaxed as I energetically sucked and licked her clit and vagina. At one point, I switched my mouth to her sphincter and she accommodated me by raising her legs to the ceiling and pulling them back toward her head.  The change in position caused a quantity of rectum-marinated cock juice to exit her anus and land on my tongue.

     I had joined the select club of perverted husbands who get off eating their wives pussy and ass after other men have fucked them.  I recalled from somewhere we were classified as cream pie eaters.  The term seemed apt.

     After I had consumed her available fluids, I crawled on top, bent her double and fucked her pussy like a madman.  My cock, acting as a plunger, forced more of her liquid content to the surface and the feel of it surging along my shaft and onto my balls was heavenly.

    Moments later, I orgasmed and so did Corrine.  It had been our most satisfying, erotic, and energetic fuck in quite a while.

    “I guess the abyss really got hold of me,” I said as soon as I caught my breath.

    “That was kinky,” said Corrine putting her head on my chest.

    “It was bizarre,” I said, still savoring the flavors remaining on my palette.

     “Is it something you would like to do in the future,” asked Corrine?

     “Yes, if you’re willing and don’t think it’s disgusting of me.”

     “I think we shouldn’t judge each other under the circumstances. Let’s just go with the flow and accept the inevitable nature of what’s happening.”

     Wise words from the woman I loved.  I decided to follow her suggestions to the letter.


Chapter 8 Just Desserts

     Our second production for Mr. Quarles did not, thank God, involve a pregnant woman.  Noreen was a middle aged slightly overweight housewife who at the beginning felt she could tell Jerome’s crew to go to hell and get away with it.

     It had been roughly six weeks since we’d made Marilyn’s DVD.  I spent hours editing in our home office with Corrine looking over my shoulder.  The odd thing was that without a word being spoken, we agreed to defy Mr. Quarles and make two versions.

     Quarles’ version featured Marilyn and Jerome’s crew sucking her pussy and fucking all three orifices for seventy-five minutes.  Her willingness to protect her unborn child combined with my clever edits resulted in a “Marilyn Adores Black Cock” result.  I didn’t doubt her husband would conclude that she had a very good time indeed.

     Our version included scenes of Corrine sucking cock, eating butt, fucking the crew in different positions, and going down on Marilyn.  It ran for another thirty-five minutes.

     Editing also triggered some very hot sex between us.  Try to picture me bent over my desk with my pants down at me knees and Corrine stroking my cock while she fingered and licked my asshole.  My wife used the term, Rusty Trombone, to describe that particular sex act.  That on a couple of occasions, my rear wasn’t that clean didn’t slow her down a second.  My sphincter sparkled after she gave it a tongue wash.

     The sex had a voyeuristic component.   A foot in front of my face, the high definition workstation screen showed Corrine doing the same to Kelso.  I found it hard to believe that it was my wife whose face was buried in Kelso’s crack working his sphincter with enthusiasm.  At times, it looked like she was trying to suck out the contents of his asshole.  We had more and hotter sex during the editing than in Aruba on our honeymoon.

     It was almost a week after I handed the disc to Morgan before he gave me some feedback and that was only after I dialed his cell.  The conversation was brief.

     “Morgan, this is Tom Meade,” I said.

     “What do you want,” asked an annoyed Morgan?

     “I just wanted to know whether Mr. Quarles liked the disc.”

     “If he didn’t like it, you would have heard,” said Morgan ending the call, leaving me disappointed.

     Like last time, Morgan arrived an hour early to make sure we were ready.  Corrine looked more than ready. She came out of her office wearing a short robe covering some very sexy lingerie. 

     “Come here, baby” said Morgan signaling for my wife to step into his arms.  “Let me see you,” said Morgan after they kissed.

     “Well, what do you think,” asked Corrine after slipping out of the robe and spinning around?

     I took one look and my dick voted for me.  My wife definitely had sex appeal.  Corrine had been shopping for heels, hose, boy shorts, garter belt, and bra.  The lingerie was black lace and it looked damn good on her.  She’d casually mentioned buying something that fit for the next Quarles production.  I considered it significant I was seeing her purchases for the first time.  The fact she had been to her hair stylist and had a facial and her nails done earlier in the afternoon wasn’t lost on me either.

     “Looks mighty good for a white bitch,” said Morgan smiling as he pulled her back into his arms for another kiss that involved considerable tongue action.

     “Everything ready, Tom,” asked Morgan? He was standing with his arm around Corrine holding her like she was his.  Corrine’s arm was around his waist and her sheer bra didn’t hide the fact her nipples were erect.

     “Yes,” I said gesturing toward the bedroom set Buncombe’s was featuring in that month’s sale.  It was genuine cherry at least there was a thin layer of cherry on the outside of the white pine.  The set consisted of a king bed, matching nightstands, ladies dresser and man’s chest on chest for the ridiculously low price of eleven hundred ninety nine dollars.

     “Mr. Quarles has a request,” said Morgan reaching into a jacket pocket for a slip of paper.

     “Sure, if we can,” I said.

     Morgan read me what was on the paper then handed it to me.  “Triple penetration in the reverse cowgirl position.”

     I knew what triple penetration was but reverse cowgirl was new to me.  “Reverse cowgirl, I’m not familiar with that one.”

     “Bitch on top of the first brother facing his feet with his cock deep in her ass, second brother between her legs fucking her coochie, third brother standing, straddling her face, getting his dick sucked,” said Morgan.  “When Jerome’s crew arrives, Corrine will show you how it’s done.  Won’t you, baby?”

     Corrine smiled but didn’t speak.  She looked thoughtful.  I could tell her mind was trying to work out how to accomplish Quarles’ request.  It turned out to be a no brainer to do but difficult to capture on video.

     “That’s not necessary.  I get it,” I said.

     “She’d love to do it. Every hole filled with a big black cock,” said Morgan.  “Wouldn’t you baby?”

    Morgan was fucking with me.  Corrine had obviously had some sort of epiphany regarding being gangbanged.  As for me, I was role-playing with Morgan.  As far as he was concerned I was the jealous white husband angrily watching my beautiful and newly sluttish wife engage in group sex with irresistible black men.

     In reality, Corrine’s behavior was a spectacular turn on for me.  I had concealed my newfound lust with a tight fitting athletic supporter containing a wad of tissues to soak up any semen that might leak out on to my navy blue slacks.  Corrine wasn’t the only one dressed for the occasion. 

     “Whatever,” I said to end the conversation.  Filming a triple penetration in the reverse cowgirl position was going to involve some difficult camera work.  How do you get revealing camera shots when the bodies are packed that close together?  I decided I was going to have to use a hand held camera with a built in light source for extreme close-ups.

    Morgan returned to making out with Corrine sliding her boob out of the bra so he could suck her nipple.  The loud hiss of pleasure she made when his lips captured her bud signaled his efforts were welcome.

     “I have some things to check on in the Control Room,” I said as I did an about face and walked away.

     Morgan shouted as I left.  “What’s the matter, Tom, Don’t want to watch me and Corrine get it on.  Stay and have sloppy seconds.”

     I kept walking even though I would have loved partaking in sloppy seconds.

     I turned on the cameras and microphone as soon as I sat down.  I made one change I hadn’t done last time.  I tasked the application to write the incoming video and the audio to the hard drive.

     This is different I told myself watching Corrine undress Morgan.  She was easing the black turtleneck over his head.  I had to hand one thing to the bastard.  He was built lean showing well-defined muscle.

     Corrine was sucking his nipples as she unbuckled his belt.  The way she quickly dropped to her knees as she pushed his trousers down signaled how urgently she wanted his dick in her mouth.  She even managed to keep it there as she took off his loafers and socks.  He steadied himself with one hand on her shoulder as he stepped out of his pants. 

     A completely nude Morgan put his hands on both sides of Corrine’s head and engaged in a little skull fucking.  At one point, he looked up at the ceiling camera and smiled.  The bastard knew I was watching on camera. 

     I wasn’t just watching.  I was stroking it.

     Morgan lay back across the bed.  Corrine got busy with his cock.  I got some extreme close-ups studying her expressions as she went through the ritual we call a blowjob.  She kept looking up at him with an expression on her face that communicated having his pecker in her mouth was the hottest experience of her life.  Romance writers would call it a look of raw passion.

    I always heard women don’t really like oral sex.  They just do it to keep their man happy.  I didn’t think that applied to Corrine.  She looked Morgan in the eye and took his peter right down to her throat opening.  Her nostrils flared indicating one final deep breath then she forced him deeper.  Her neck swelled as the narrow passageway opened.  Her carefully French manicured fingers were massaging with his balls and one finger had found its way to his anus.

     Morgan must have been impressed because he said, “Damn, Corrine, you suck dick like a nigger whore.”

     Morgan let her work for a few more minutes then announced, “Time to ride my pony.” 

     Corrine straddled him then took his cock and guided into her hole.  He grabbed her nipples and pulled her down for a round of face sucking.  She came back up ready to ride. 

     I had a close up of her face as she worked his dick.  And work is very descriptive.  He amused himself by pinching and twisting her nipples.  Ever so often, he used her buds to drag her down to where she could suck on his tongue like it was his dick.

     Other than low moans when she drove him deep into her womb, they were quiet.  I didn’t time them but after a while it got fast and furious.  Morgan bucked off the bed as he filled her tank.  She went crazy screaming obscenities as she let go. 

    They lay side-by-side breathing heavy for a few minutes then Corrine got off the bed and walked in my direction. The Control Room was twenty feet away but she covered it quickly.  I had no idea why Corrine was coming toward me.  All I could say, she was one hell of a woman.  If she’d been walking through a graveyard, all the male corpses would have popped out of their coffins with a hard on.

      She was an incredible sight when she opened the door.  Hair was disheveled and there was a wild look in her eyes.  Lipstick was smeared.  Tits were out of the bra and her nipples were hard and red. The boy shorts were back by the bed and her labia had that well-fucked look.  Her clit was bright red and sticking out between her pussy lips.

     She maintained eye contact with me as she crossed the room and gracefully stepped up on the arms of my chair.  She straddled me and when I looked up I could see drops of Morgan’s spunk decorating her pussy.

     She slowly lowered her cunt to my open mouth as she spoke, “You deserve a fresh one, Tom.”  She was using one hand to hold the back of the chair to balance while the other opened her labia so I had a clear shot at her pussy.

     My mouth was feverishly sucking on the hole Morgan’s pecker had occupied five minutes ago.   I wanted what was inside. 

     “Suck it, Tom. Suck it all out,” whispered Corrine as inhaled her belly button to her spine and contracted her abdomen.  That and gravity transferred the bulk of Morgan’s jism to my mouth.  My hand was a blur working my dick.  Just as I emptied her twat, I blew my load down the front of my trousers. I flopped around like a landed tuna.  Some of the come landed on my loafer. 

    After I popped off the biggest load of spunk ever, Corrine climbed down and walked back to the door.  Morgan was there.  He’d watched the whole scene.  I must have been a sorry sight.  My face was smeared with Corrine’s cunt elixir and his pecker juice.  There were long stripes of my jism trailing down the front of my navy blue slacks.

     When Corrine reached Morgan, he took her in his arms and they kissed.  Then he smiled at me and spoke.  “I’ve always heard married sex gets boring; but I guess that’s not true in all cases.” 

     As they walked back toward the set, I wiped off my pants and shoe.  I made a mental note to call the lady down at Barnes & Noble to see if she had any books by Nietzsche on the shelves.  The abyss had taken over.

Chapter 9 Noreen Fights Back

     “You’re going to do what we say, bitch,” demanded Morgan of a screaming terrified Noreen.  Five minutes ago, Noreen’s chubby five foot two was standing toe to toe with Morgan loudly informing him that she was from Alabama and there was no way in hell black men were going to touch her.  Actually, she voiced her objection more colorfully.  I detected a slight trace of a Southern accent.

     “You niggers are all going to jail as soon as I can get to a phone,” said Noreen looking straight at Morgan.

     “But first we’re going to make a film showing your husband how much you love sex with Afro-Americans,” said Morgan calmly.  He seemed taken off stride by the vehemence of her objections.  Morgan struck me as the kind who wasn’t used to dealing with the word No.

     “No fucking way, my daddy was the Sheriff of Cobb County, Alabama and he taught me only Yankee white trash whores screw coons,” said Noreen after Morgan explained she would be starring in an Al Quarles production of a Tom Meade porn epic.  She looked absolutely stunned when Morgan mentioned the three hundred and twenty five thousand dollars her husband owed his bookie.  Still, to Noreen it was his problem not hers.

      “Put Henry in your stupid nigger fuck film, he’s the one who lost the money,” said Noreen disgustedly. 

     Obviously, Al Quarles was not the only racist in Indianapolis.  Corrine and I exchanged looks of amazement.   Being respectable middle class white people, obsessed with political correctness, we knew the proper terms were black men, Afro-Americans, or more genteelly men of color.  We understood it was perfectly acceptable for Morgan and the crew to refer to each other as ‘Nigger’ but it was strictly forbidden and dangerous for a Caucasian to include the N-word in his vocabulary.  Coon was definitely not PC.  It was as bad as jigaboo, spade, and sambo.  Somehow Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement had slipped by Noreen unnoticed.       

    Like I said before, Morgan seemed taken back by her outburst.  Maybe, he wasn’t used to someone objecting or perhaps he was feeling a little mellow after fucking Corrine and watching me suck his spunk out of her vagina.

     But when Noreen attempted to emphasize her non cooperation by taking a round house swing at his head he blocked only at the last minute, the Morgan we all knew and feared came back into the picture.

     He grabbed Noreen’s other hand; then holding both hers in one of his, he slapped her silly.  It was open palm to one side of her face followed by backhand to the other.  I had a side view.  Spit sprayed out of her mouth as her head snapped in the direction of the slap.  He repeated the double slap then dropped her to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

     Noreen was tough because she didn’t start blubbering or begging him to stop.  There was a thin line of blood leaking out one nostril and red handprints on both sides of her face.  Morgan followed up immediately grabbing a handful of red hair to lift her to her feet.  Once standing, he punched her in the gut hard enough we could hear the hiss of the air leaving her lungs.

     Still, it wasn’t the kind of bone breaking punch that would have burst Noreen’s spleen killing her.  Morgan had pulled his punches else Noreen’s body would be somewhere in an unmarked grave. 

     “Strip her, Jerome,” said Morgan.  Noreen was back on the floor curled up in a tight ball trying to figure out how to get oxygen back in her lungs.

     “Right, boss,” said Jerome always anxious to do Morgan’s bidding.

     But Noreen was not going to go quietly in the night.  She struggled to keep her pantsuit on, requiring Jamal and Kelso to help Jerome.  She put up a good fight but a one hundred fifty pound woman, regardless of where in Alabama she was born, is no match for three muscular young Afro-Americans.  Two minutes later, Noreen was crouched on the floor looking slightly ridiculous wearing only a pair of those calf length trouser hose. 

     Her figure wasn’t all that bad.  At least her stomach didn’t look like an anaconda that just eaten an explorer.  Her tits were large and appeared at least for now to be holding their own against gravity.  I’d say she would look damn good for her age if she took off ten, maybe fifteen pounds.  The only odd thing about her appearance was that her pubic hair was neatly trimmed in the shape of a heart.

     “Are you ready to do as you’re told,” asked Morgan?

     “No fucking way, you can rape me but I’m not fucking a pack of dirty niggers,” said Noreen once more prompting Corrine and I to exchange looks of amazement.

     I thought about saying something to Noreen to ease her mind  pointing out that my beloved wife had been fucking said pack of unclean black men and enjoying the living hell out of it.   She was even willing to share the Afro-American body fluids she accumulated with her loving Caucasian husband.  But I stayed quiet which is one of the reasons I’m still alive and married.

      “Put her on the bed,” said Morgan to Jerome.

      Don’t you touch me, you black bastards,” yelled Noreen as they grabbed her arms and legs.  They lifted a squalling, spitting, and squirming Noreen off the floor and tossed her on the bed.

     “Spread her” said Morgan reaching into his pocket.

     Kelso held her arms over her head while Jamal and Jerome each took a leg.  She struggled with the three for a moment before realizing it was hopeless and giving up.

     “Spread her legs wider,” said Morgan removing a pair of needle nose pliers from his pocket.  I have since learned black men consider needle nose pliers an essential part of their kit.  Placing the tips around sensitive body parts and applying pressure is an excellent way to encourage cooperation from the female whether that means providing a hummer or fixing a sandwich.

     “Keep your nigger hands off me, motherfuckers.  Stop it, you’re going to break my legs,” screamed Noreen as they treated her ankles like a wishbone forcing her legs into a split a serious devote of yoga would appreciate.

     Her resistance was utterly futile. She was only making it more difficult for me, the director, since my heroine was starting to look the worse for wear. 

     Morgan demonstrated he was adept at castrating both genders.  Noreen screamed in protest as he spread her labia open and freed her clitoris from its fold.

    “Hold her still, dammit,” said Morgan to his helpers as he coaxed her clit out with two fingers then placed the business end of the needle nose on each side of the tendril of flesh and squeezed.

     My business is sound proof and located off by itself in an industrial park.  That was a good thing because Noreen screamed so loud my ears hurt.

     “Jesus, they’re killing her,” said Corrine taking a step toward the bed.

     I grabbed her arm to stop her.  “No, she’ll be okay.”  I didn’t doubt for a moment that Morgan was going to convince Noreen to see things his way.

    Corrine looked at me then shrugged.  Later, she thanked me for stopping her.  “I would only have wound up like Noreen with pliers marks on my pussy.”

     I held on to my wife as Morgan spent several minutes finding new ways to crush parts of Noreen’s vulva.  Noreen proved she was one hell of a screamer.  Finally, Morgan’s switchblade appeared in his hand.  The very tip of her love button was in the pliers and the nerve ganglia associated with the female orgasm were stretched to an impressive length.

     “Are you going to perform or do I cut it off,” asked Morgan holding the blade against the base of her womanhood?

     While I do not think, having your clit chopped is on a par with having your testicles removed; Noreen considered her love button important enough to ignore her daddy’s ban on sexual intercourse with the inferior black race.  “I’ll do it.  Just don’t cut me.”

     “Get her ready, Corrine,” said Morgan returning pliers and switchblade to his pocket.

     Show over, everyone relaxed except Corrine who rushed to Noreen’s side to comfort her.

     “Are you okay,” asked Corrine putting her arm around the sobbing woman?

     “Who are you,” asked Noreen recovering quickly?  No one had been introduced.

     “I’m Corrine, the fluffer.  I need to fix your hair and get you ready.”

     “I need my purse,” said Noreen.  “My medicine is in it.”

     Jerome was close enough to hear.  He grabbed her handbag off a nearby table and started to hand it to her but Morgan intervened, snatching it away.  And it was a good thing he did because he pulled out a nickel-plated semi-automatic pistol.

     Morgan held the gun up for Jerome to see then shook his head in dismay before muttering, “Dumb fucking niggers, get us all killed.”

     “I need my medicine,” repeated Noreen. 

     Maybe she did need her medicine or maybe she planned to shoot us.  There was no way of knowing.

      Morgan ejected the magazine and took a close look at the weapon.  “Twenty five caliber Beretta, whore’s gun.” He thought for a moment then slipped it in his pocket.  Perhaps he knew of an unarmed prostitute badly in need of protection.

      “It was a Christmas gift from Henry,” said Noreen dejectedly.

      I gave Corrine a pair of gold earrings last Christmas.  I made a note to move up to diamond studs.

      Morgan took another look inside the purse then dumped the contents on the table.  There were at least a dozen pill phials.

      “Vicodin, Percoset, Oxy-contin,” said Moran reading the labels.  “Bitch has got herself a regular pharmacy.”

      “Vicodin,” said Noreen holding out her hand.

      Morgan tossed her the phial then tossed one of the others to Jerome. He took a quick look at the label, opened it, and swallowed a couple of white caplets.   He handed it to Jamal who downed a couple.  It went around the crew winding up in my hand.  The label read, ‘40mg. Percoset.’  I started to put it back on the table but Corrine grabbed it, shook two of the caplets in her hand then popped them in her mouth. 

      “Gimme,” said Corrine reaching toward Kelso who had just taken a drink from a plastic water bottle.  As I watched her take a swallow then hand it back to him, I made a mental observation my wife had been undergoing significant changes in her attitude on several topics.

     Pre Quarles, she would never have been willing to take drugs or even worse share a water bottle with a stranger.  Corrine was picky when it came to personal hygiene.  She even refused to drink after me, objecting to what she referred to as backwash. 

     On the other hand, she had performed sex acts with Kelso and the others that were downright nasty.  I suppose it would be ridiculous to be concerned about a little matter of Kelso’s backwash when you had spent time with his dick in your mouth or your tongue in his ass. 

     Noreen tapped four Vicodin into her hand then swallowed them.  Kelso handed her the water bottle and she washed down her drugs.   She looked around at everyone, shrugged her shoulders and made an announcement.  “I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”

    Corrine swung into action.  Noreen’s intransigence had caused serious delay.  After a quick discussion about sizes, Corrine rushed off to the prop room while Noreen repaired her make-up and hair.  Corrine returned with a pale blue set of underwear that worked well with Noreen’s red hair and fair complexion.

     A quarter hour later, a revived Noreen was in the center of the bed masturbating with the aid of a purse sized plastic vibrator.  Heavy make-up combined with matching hose and garter belt gave her the requisite slut look.  Five naked black males surrounded her bed stroking their cock while our heroine faithfully repeated my words about how much she was looking forward to being filled with black dick.  I’d written out some of the dialogue before hand and if I do say so myself, it sizzled.

    Tension over, the supporting cast was in a relaxed mood.  Under my astute direction, they leaned in to feel and kiss her tits or engage in what is referred to as a porn kiss.  That’s tongue kissing with the tongues outside the mouth.  Noreen’s smallish light pink tongue made an interesting contrast with the larger darker tongues of the crew.  Noreen had apparently made her peace with the situation because she swapped spit with alacrity. Each of the five twisted Noreen’s knobs as they kissed.  I had to admit they were good when it came to knowing what turned a woman on.  This white boy learned a few things watching them.

     Corrine was nearby kneeling in front of Levar who once again had spent the afternoon banging Shelia exhausting his sexual energy.  Her pink tongue was traveling the length of his manhood working to restore him to tumescence.

     Morgan pulled out his big shiny semi-automatic giving every indication he planned to shoot Levar when he confessed he had repeated his transgression.  But after Corrine said she could remedy the situation, he adopted an I-give-up attitude and returned the pistol to its holster allowing all of us to breathe a sign of relief.

     “Do it,” said Morgan ordering Corrine to fluff Levar and she, too eagerly for my taste, complied.

     The incident made me wonder how good Shelia was in bed.  She must be incredible for Levar to risk eating a bullet.  Perhaps I should ask him to fix me up.  In theory, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with me enjoying interracial sex since Corrine had serviced seven different black men.  Rationality returned and I dismissed the idea.  Screwing Sheila, whoever she is, might incline Corrine to borrow Morgan’s switchblade and slice my balls off.

     I directed each of the six-man crew to take a turn putting his cock in Noreen’s mouth while she maneuvered the tip of the vibrator around her clit.  She was either damn good at faking a climax or had one.  It really didn’t matter to me.

     My second film was more polished than the first.  Given I was not working with a pregnant star and had more options.  I included Mr. Quarles request for triple penetration in the reverse cowgirl position.  I used a hand held camera to capture some great close-ups of three black cocks slamming into her orifices.  The crew had gotten used to taking direction.  There’s a technique to filming porn.  You need certain types of close-ups that border on the gynecological.    

     Noreen’s performance proved interesting.  Foolishly difficult at the beginning, once she agreed to perform she didn’t hold back.

     I attributed it to the inevitability factor.  The bottom line was that she had no choice in the matter.  It was going to happen whether she liked it or not, so why get mutilated by Morgan’s switchblade.  Go ahead fuck your brains out.  No one can blame you.  Your asshole husband lost all that money.  Later, I realized my logic also applied to Corrine.

     Morgan had promised if Noreen cooperated she would get home safely.  Corrine had backed up his commitment by telling her the other women (actually there had only been one) were returned to their husbands.  I wouldn’t want to be Noreen’s husband, Henry, when she walked in the door with interracial spunk dribbling down her legs.

     I’d watched several hardcore porn films since I made my first film.  I’d made notes on things I wanted to try.  One of the films was called ‘Double Stuffing Coeds’.  Noreen’s anus proved it could accommodate Jerome and Jamal’s cock at the same time.  Her sphincter remained open after they pulled out and I got a close up of the inside of her rectum.   Now that was not porn but art.

     “Look at that shithole,” commented an admiring Levar who was holding the light I was using to illuminate the interior of Noreen’s bowel.

     Corrine stayed busy with her fluffing duties while I directed and filmed.  As we approached the end, the crew once again dumped Corrine on top of Noreen for some girl on girl sex.  I watched in amazement as they ate each other’s cunt like their life depended on it.  And in a way, it did. 

     After the women completed their mutual oral session, the guys joined in for a free style gangbang that included Corrine’s sphincter demonstrating it was also capable of being double stuffed.  Apparently, I had taught Jerome’s crew something knew in the art of the gangbang.

     We ended with Noreen getting her face coated with jism six times over.  On my cue, she smiled at the camera as she used the side of her finger to push errant clumps of semen onto her outstretched tongue.

     Arriving home at three, Corrine and I did not waste any time when we finally got in bed.  Wordlessly, I spread her legs and proceed to bury my face against her vulva and sphincter as we rolled into the sixty-nine position.  Her mouth and fingers attached my cock and balls.  Once I had noisily consumed the liquid contents of both orifices, I fucked her like a madman.  I collapsed as soon as I finished and slept until mid afternoon.

     We didn’t have a real conversation until that night at dinner at our favorite restaurant.  It took two martinis to loosen our tongues.

     Corrine spoke first.  “Are you all right with what happened last night?”

     “Yes and no,” I answered.

     “The yes part first,” said Corrine looking serious.

      “I was incredibly turned watching you with Morgan and the others.  I’m having some difficulty processing being jealous one minute and getting a hard on the next.  I’m not comfortable with myself that I find it incredibly erotic watching you with other men.”

     “The no,” said Corrine.

     “I’m worried about you.  I don’t mean it like you think.  I’m concerned that when it’s over and let’s hope that one day it will be, you’ll have regrets and blame me.”

     “Given how I’ve been acting with Morgan and his bunch, I don’t see how I could blame you for anything.  I’ve lost all self control,” said Corrine placing her hand on mine.

     “I’m caught up in it myself.  I mean sexually.  Last night I would have loved to be one of the men gang banging Noreen.   I practically lost it when she kept referring to Morgan and the others using the N-word,” I said.

      “She was a tough one.   Do you blame me for being a very willing fluffer?  I blame myself because I know it contradicts everything I believed in,” said Corrine.  “It’s the essence of being objectified as a sex object.  I’m just a warm mouth, not a person.”

     “No, I don’t blame you.  You’re not the one who placed those bets.  And you shouldn’t blame yourself for enjoying sex with them.  All it means is you’re normal.  The bottom line is they’re nice looking men with good bodies and to be honest, they know how to show their appreciation for a beautiful woman like you.”

    So the conversation ended on a positive note.  When we got back to the house, I slipped a DVD of her and Morgan’s initial performance into the player.

     “You filmed us,” said Corrine looking at the screen as we slipped in bed.  She opened her night table drawer, removed a tube of lubricant, and applied it to her fingers then transferred it to her sex.  The fact she was willing to masturbate in my presence while we watched her having sex with Morgan could only mean that the Meade’s were in new territory.

     “Yes, it’s very erotic, especially to me,” I said reaching in my pajamas bottoms to extract my already hard cock as I reached for the lubricant in Corrine’s hand.  On screen, she was undressing Morgan.  When she removed his shirt, she glued her mouth to his nipples.

     “Me too,” she said stroking her sex.  She surprised me by delivering a hard open palmed slap to her pussy.  Was my normally pain adverse wife undergoing a sea change in that regard too?

      We lay side by side in bed masturbating as we watched.  After a while, Corrine moved down in the bed to suck me.  Next, she mounted me in the reverse cowgirl position so she could watch the DVD.  We both finished when Morgan ejaculated and she climbed off the bed headed in the direction of the Control Room to share her newly acquired body fluid. 

     Too bad, there wasn’t a camera in the Control Room to capture the finale.

Chapter 10 Back To Cheryl

     “Nice and smooth, like a baby’s butt,” said Levar running his hand over Cheryl’s newly shaved sex. 

     My multi-talented wife had used a pair of barber scissors to trim Cheryl’s luxuriant growth down to an an eighth of an inch before she lathered the area and shaved it smooth.  Fortunately, I kept a shaving kit in my office for the times I don’t shave then learn I have a client coming to visit.

      When it came time to shave the ring of fur surrounding Cheryl’s butthole, Levar helped Corrine by lifting her legs and holding them under his armpits while his huge hands parted her buttocks.  He seemed totally enthralled by the process.  “She’s got fur around her asshole.  I didn’t know women had that, must be just white girls.”

       “Black women have body hair but in general less than Caucasians and that applies to males as well.  Asians have even less body hair,” said Corrine never missing an ex-school teacher’s chance to pass on knowledge.  I don’t think Levar understood a word of what she said.  He was too busy running his fingers over Cheryl’s hairy sphincter.   

      “Let me,” said Levar taking the tube of lotion out of Corrine’s hand.

      “All right but take it easy,” said Corrine watching as Levar squirted the white cream on his fingers then gently massaged it into Cheryl’s pubes.

      Cheryl had started to move around a little indicating she was coming out of whatever they had drugged her with.

      I’d noticed Jerome over to the side getting something ready that involved a bent tablespoon and butane lighter.  Still I was surprised when he arrived by the bed with a syringe and a length of surgical tubing.

      “What’s that,” asked Corrine?

      “Speedball,” said Jerome.  “It’ll wake her up and get her going.”

      “What’s a speedball,” asked Corrine?

      “H and C,” answered Jerome wrapping the tubing around Cheryl’s upper arm.

      “And exactly what is H and C,” asked Corrine sounding pissed likes she always does when she gets an answer she doesn’t understand?

      “For a woman who claims she was a school teacher, you sure don’t know much, heroin and cocaine, the best of both worlds,” said Jerome taping Cheryl’s flesh to bring out a vein.

      “Are you going to swab that,” asked Corrine?

      “Fresh out of swabs,” said Jerome preparing to use the syringe.

      “Hold it, I’ve got some,” said Corrine reaching into her fluffer’s tool kit for an alcohol swab.

      We all watched as Jerome expertly injected the speedball in Cheryl’s arm.  He later told Corrine he was a medic in the army.

      “That’ll fix her right up,” said Jerome when he was done.  “I mixed in a little crank to give her a boost.”

      “If it doesn’t kill her,” said Corrine.

      “She’ll be fine, ready to fuck her own daddy,” said Jerome.

      Cheryl was certainly fine as far as I was concerned.  A full head of curly black hair that belonged in a shampoo commercial, attractive, well balanced facial features, long graceful neck, and a tall slender figure in good proportions.  She could have gotten work as a runway model.  

     Lying there nude with her freshly shaved pussy, she had an aura of innocence that was giving everyone a hard on.

     I kept questioning how such an attractive female had somehow managed to preserve the membrane sealing her opening.  Later, Corrine informed me the belief there were no virgins past the age of thirteen was a typical male fantasy.

      “Haven’t you ever heard of Queen Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen?  They named a state after her,” said Corrine.

      “Which one,” I asked.

     “Virginia,” said Corrine looking superior.

     That’s what I get for marrying a schoolteacher.  Cheryl was the star of my seventeenth porn film for Al Quarles.  I kept a spreadsheet on my home PC of the date, time and star of each film.  After the first two, it settled into an irregular pattern where every four to six weeks, Morgan would alert me to expect a visit.  If any of my employees noticed they didn’t say anything other than one of the female copywriters asking Corrine why there was such an extensive collection of sexy lingerie in the prop cage.   

      Fortunately, there were no more pregnant ones like Marilyn or difficult ones like Noreen.  Except for one who was some losing gambler’s sister, they were all wives in their late thirties and up.

     The oldest was fifty-three.  She bore up surprisingly well demonstrating her body tissue had retained its elasticity during several double stuffing scenes.  The least appetizing was named Lois who tipped the scales at something over two hundred.  Lois would not stop crying even when Morgan threatened to slice off the clit she had hidden underneath thick folds of labia.  The tears did not prevent her from performing in the usual fashion it just made everything seem a little sad.

     Picture a porcine female engage in panoply of different sex acts all the while blubbering like a two year old.   Jerome’s crew thought it was a hoot and I believe actually felt sorry for her.  One odd thing happened after we finished with Lois.  After three hours of being fucked in every position and in every hole by six different men and one woman, she said thank you to each of them and kissed them on the cheek.  I suppose that when you looked like Lois getting that much sex in one outing was something to be thankful for.

     When I mentioned to Corrine that Lois would be pretty if she dropped fifty pounds, she huffily informed me Lois was beautiful just as she is and that all men including me were so stupid about what makes a woman beautiful.  Strange that Corrine who watched her diet and spent the first two hours of each workday at the gym would defend obese Lois.  But neither Freud nor I understand women.

     Morgan and Corrine continued having sex before each filming.  I masturbated as I watched looking forward to when she would arrive in the Control Room with her thighs clamped together so she could share his treasure with me. 

     Several months ago, our little pre-film scenario underwent a change that had a significant impact on my psyche.  I was in the Control Room engaged in self-abuse.  Corrine and Morgan were in the bed.  Five cameras and three microphones were informing me how much my wife enjoyed fucking him.   She was squeezing her tits, riding his pony, all the while muttering endearments such as, “Fuck me harder, give it to me, you beautiful black motherfucker.”

     Corrine was going at it with her usual élan when Morgan made a suggestion that since it came from him was a command.  “Ask Tom to join us.”

     It was interesting he wanted Corrine to ask me.  He could just as easily said, “Get your ass out here, Tom.”  Did making Corrine ask me reinforce my understanding of where I was in the come chain.   When it comes to mind games I’m not very good and Morgan was a master.

     Corrine looked up at the camera, smiled and spoke.  “Come out and join us, Tom.”

     I didn’t bother to put my cock back in my pants before I walked the twenty feet to the set.  Morgan’s lean muscled body was lying on his back in the center of the bed.  His clothes were neatly folded on a nearby table where Corrine had placed them as she undressed him.  The semi-automatic was resting in its holster.  Morgan’s other gun was inside my wife.

      I stroked as I watched them.  Corrine was doing all the work.  Morgan wasn’t moving just laying there looking in my direction.  He wanted me to notice the obvious.  She wasn’t holding anything back.  She was pulling out all the stops.  Sheen of perspiration covered her back.  Her eyes were tightly closed.  She was muttering something under her breath.  Her fingers had a grip on each nipple and she was working them hard, using her nails.  She straddled him leaning slightly forward.

     From her backside, I could see his glistening black cock and the way the white skin surrounding Corrine’s vagina clung to it as she raised and lowered herself.  Christ, her pussy loved that black cock holding on to it with its own sense of desperation. 

     Each time she raised her body, I could see her abdomen contract.  She was squeezing his dick with her core muscles.  It was her Pilate’s breath, in through the nose, out the mouth, lifting her rib cage on the inhale, totally focused.

     She wants it to be good for him I realized.  No, not just good, great, the best piece of ass he ever had.  What does he think I wondered?  When Morgan’s downtown on Third Avenue hanging with the brothers, does he tell them about screwing this white guy’s wife?  Do they all laugh as he brags about how crazy she gets when his black dick is in her twat?  What does he say about me? “The prick jerks off while he watches us.  He captures the whole thing on video so he can whack off to it later.  And after I dump my load in her cunt, the crazy bastard sucks my jism out and swallows it like it was mother’s milk.”

   I wondered if they have an ethnic term for white men who get off sucking black men’s semen out of their wife’s pussy.  Corrine mentioned something about cream pie eaters but that didn’t sound like a black man’s slang.   At that point the idea came to me that everything about what the three of us were doing turned me on.  Even the thought of Morgan telling others about us made my dick hard.

      “Tell Tom to come closer,” said Morgan interrupting my efforts to gain psychological insights into what was happening.

      “Come here, baby,” said Corrine opening her eyes and looking in my direction.  A few steps took me to beside the bed.

      “Tom wants to eat your pussy,” said Morgan.

      “Eat my pussy, Tom,” said Corrine leaning back to give me access.  Her hands were resting on his knees.  She let her head fall back as she thrust her tits toward the ceiling.  It was an image so hot it seared a black spot in my brain.

      I felt like I was in a trance as I started to climb on the bed but Morgan had another idea.

      “Tell Tom to get undressed first,” said Morgan to Corrine.

       Corrine conveyed his orders immediately.  “Get undressed, Tom, so you can lick my pussy while I fuck Morgan.”

       I quickly shed my clothes in a pile by the bed; then I climbed on the edge.  I hesitated a moment trying to decide what to do next. Three ways were new to me.  I leaned in to get a close-up view of his cock as it advanced and retreated.  I felt a large powerful hand on the back of my neck.  It pulled me down to their joined crotches.  The side of my face came to rest on Morgan’s abdomen.  My ear was right on his belly button.

     Then he did something that almost freaked me out.  I felt a large rough hand wrap around my balls and squeeze gently.  The last time that happened, the swelling did not go down for three days and a switchblade was involved.  But I managed to stay calm and before long, the way he was manhandling my gonads felt very good indeed.  Morgan’s action struck me as anything but heterosexual.

     Which frankly I am, hetero that is or was up until Morgan happened along.  That’s not strictly true.  Once, in high school, my best friend and I gave each other a blowjob.  Actually it was more than once but we were both more interested in girls than guys.   Alex, who works for me as a graphic designer says you’re born either gay or straight and that bisexuality is a fraud.  I definitely considered myself straight.

     But there I was with the side of my face resting on Morgan’s sweaty belly while his hand was massaging my balls. 

     “Lick me, Tom,” said Corrine putting her hand on the back of my head to press my face against her crotch bringing me in contact with both her pussy and his cock.

     My father had an old saying he liked.  “It’s time to fish or cut bait.”  It seemed to apply to my situation.  My mouth moved forward a quarter inch and started fishing.  On the down stroke it lapped at Corrine’s clit that was in a state of expansion I had not previously witnessed.  On the uplift, my tongue moved along the shaft of Morgan’s dick.

     The smell and taste of her pussy and his cock was driving me over the edge. Not to mention the feedback my pleasure centers were receiving from the way he was stroking my balls. 

      After several minutes of mind blowing three-way sex, Morgan ordered a change.  “Corrine, Tom needs it too.”

     Corrine opened her eyes and looked down at me.  She rose up, allowing Morgan’s cock to slip out of her pussy onto the side of my face.  It felt wet and hot against my cheek.

     Corrine took hold of Morgan’s cock and repositioned it at my lips.  “Take it, baby, let me feed you his big beautiful black cock.”

     While thinking the use of big black and beautiful was excessive alliteration, I opened my mouth, took it in and sucked on it.  It wasn’t there long.  Corrine was only willing to share up to a certain point.

     After a few minutes, I got to repeat the act and later a third time. After that Morgan indicated he was ready to come and it was best effort time on the part of Corrine and me.  My mouth sucked and licked the side of his penis as it pounded into Corrine.  His hand was massaging my ball sack.  He moved his thumb to my anus and pressed it against my sphincter.   

     “Oh yeah,” exclaimed Morgan as he deposited his load in my wife’s pussy.  Corrine responded with her own noisy climax.  Hers went on for a long time. Out of breath, she fell forward into his waiting arms.

      They kissed for a minute before he spoke.  “That was good, baby.  Tell Tom he needs to clean me up before he gets his reward.”

      Corrine reached down to take hold of Morgan’s softening cock holding it for me.  “Lick Morgan clean, Tom.”

      Why not I told myself as I performed my janitorial duties.  I replaced the coating of his semen and her glandular secretions with my saliva. Morgan rolled off the bed when I was done.   I looked expectantly at him.  I was hard as a rock and dying to come.

      “Corrine, give Tom what he wants,” said Morgan.

      Thirty seconds later, I was underneath Corrine getting more than a taste.  We engaged in mutual oral.  Two of her fingers were in my ass.  One hand was massaging my balls while she sucked my dick.  My face was buried in her pussy.  My tongue was straining to see how far it could reach.  I swallowed a mouthful of second hand jism as I pumped my load in Corrine’s mouth.

      I was lying there on the bed breathing heavy when Morgan’s cell rang.  He answered, spoke maybe two words then ended the call.  “Better get dressed Tom or Jerome and his crew will find out you’re queer.”

Chapter 11 Deflowering Cheryl

     “I get her cherry.  It’s my truck brought her,” said Jerome staking his dubious claim to Cheryl’s virginity.

     A dispute had broken out among Jerome’s crew about who would have the honor of deflowering Cheryl Whittaker.  I knew her last name because she told Corrine.

      Corrine was thoroughly disgusted with the idea of taking Cheryl’s virginity but there wasn’t anything she could do about it other than help her through the experience.

      Jerome’s speedball had brought her awake and alert, perhaps too alert.  She took one look around and freaked out.  Why wouldn’t she?  One minute you’re climbing into the brand new Corvette your daddy gave you for your high school graduation when someone grabs you from behind.  Before you can scream, a hand covers your mouth. You feel a sharp prick in your arm and everything goes black.  You wake up in football field sized room full of sets for making television commercials.  You are naked with a freshly shaved pussy surrounded by seven out-of-the-ghetto black man arguing over who gets to fuck you first.  It had to be disorienting.

      Strangest of all, there is an attractive white couple present.  The wife’s dressed in sexy lingerie and there is a big wet spot in the crotch of her thong.  Her handsome husband seems nice but he’s obviously not in charge.

     Cheryl reacted normally.  She panicked and starts screaming. It took a couple of bitch slaps from Morgan to calm her down.  That didn’t worry me too much.  Corrine had previously demonstrated to the Morgan that pancake makeup could hide facial bruises so knocking her about wasn’t a problem.

      Corrine assumed the role of facilitator.  “It’s going to be all right, Cheryl.  Just do what they ask then you can go home,” said Corrine.  My wife was sitting on the bed her arm around the girl who had one hand covering her breasts and the other her crotch.  Given we’d all watched Corrine shave her pussy and asshole, her modesty seemed somewhat after the fact.

      “Who are you,” asked Cheryl?

      “I’m Corrine and I’m here to help you get through this.”

      “Through what?  What happened”?  Who shaved me?” said Cheryl asking her questions in rapid fire.

      “I shaved you because they ordered me to,” said Corrine.

      At this point, Morgan took over briefing Cheryl.  He took a seat on the bed bracketing her between him and Corrine.  “Your daddy owes us money.  That’s why you’re here.”

      “My dad’s a car dealer and he’s rich.  Why would he owe you money?” asked Cheryl.

      “He likes to gamble and he’s had a run of bad luck.  He made a lot of bets he can’t cover.  You’re going to help him pay it back by starring in our movie.”

      “Movie, I don’t know anything about movies.  I’m majoring in Industrial Engineering,” said Cheryl who seemed slow on the uptake.  Maybe it was the dope screwing up her brain.

      “You’re going to have the lead role in a porn flick titled Cheryl Loses Her Cherry,” said Morgan with a big grin on his face.  The man loved his work especially when it required instilling fear and humiliating white folks.

      “No, I won’t allow it, no way,” said Cheryl looking around at everyone with a defiant look on her face.

      “Sorry, no is not an option.  My man Kelso is going to do the honors,” said Morgan obviously enjoying his little chat with Cheryl.  He’d also made an executive decision about who got her first.

      “Who’s Kelso,” asked Cheryl looking around at Jerome’s crew?

       Jerome looked particularly disappointed he hadn’t won the Cherry Popping Contest.  Kelso appeared ecstatic.

      “Yo, that’s me,” said Kelso moving closer to the bed.

      “Corrine, show Cheryl what Kelso’s got for her,” said Morgan.

      Morgan’s reason for picking Kelso was obvious; nine thick inches of rock hard penis complemented with testicles the size of navel oranges.  It was an instrument fully capable of wrecking even the most cock resistant hymen. 

     Corrine, moving rapidly from the role of facilitator to fluffer, dropped to her knees and reached for the tab on Kelso’s zipper in one graceful movement.  After a quick unzip, she reached in and pulled out his very impressive manhood.  Of course, I’d seen and envied it before. 

     In spite of its formidable appearance, Corrine had proven on multiple occasions it wasn’t too large to fit in her orifices.  Still, for innocent young Cheryl, the sight of Corrine’s white hand wrapped around Kelso’s enormous black dick must have been a frightening sight.  Its one thing for a nice Caucasian girl to lie in bed and masturbate over a good looking black entertainer, but it’s a whole different ball game when she finds herself surrounded by ghetto trash bent on rape and mayhem. 

      “What do you think,” asked Morgan?

      “It’s too big,” said Cheryl swallowing hard as she stared at the large and growing cock my wife was stroking.  Everyone including me laughed at her.

      “Don’t worry, darling.  Kelso will make it fit,” said Kelso.

      “You don’t understand. I took a holy vow not to have sex until I’m married.  I swore in church before a statute of Virgin Mary to remain chaste until my wedding night,” said Cheryl.

      “Corrine, fluff Kelso while I explain to Cheryl her daddy’s gambling debts have cancelled her vow,” said Morgan.

      Cheryl watched wide-eyed as Corrine began to noisily apply her hands and mouth to Kelso’s penis.  Morgan let her watch for a minute before he began to bait her again.

      “You like to suck cock,” asked Morgan still seated with his arm around her?

      “No, it’s a sin to have sex unless you’re married,” said Cheryl at last dropping the arm covering her small breasts.

      “Corrine’s married but not to Kelso.  Tom, your director is her husband.  He gets off watching his wife suck Kelso’s cock.  Don’t you, Tom?” 

       “Yes, I get off,” I said admitting the obvious.  My trousers had tented.   Morgan had informed his crew on several occasions about my unnatural desires. 

      “Look, I can’t do this.  You’ll have to get someone else,” said Cheryl making me wonder if she was in shock or just plain stupid.

      “No, sorry, you’re the one.  This is how it works.  Corrine will find you something sexy to wear.  Tom will put a tiny microphone in your ear so he can give you direction.  Then we start making your movie.  You do and say exactly what Tom tells you and in three hours, you will be back home safe.  Of course, you won’t be a virgin anymore.  You’ll be a whore but let’s face it you were going to wind up that way eventually.”

      “You don’t understand I can’t do this.  It’s immoral,” said Cheryl.

      Morgan was losing patience.  Out came the needle nose pliers and the switchblade.  He pushed Cheryl back on the bed and sat on her.  She screamed when he captured her nipple in the pliers.  He pulled her nipple further than you would have thought possible, as he took his switchblade out, clicked it open and placed it against the base of her nipple.  Cheryl was screaming for him to stop.

      “You want me to cut your nipples off and FedEx them to Whittaker Chevrolet,” demanded Morgan holding the blade against the side of her breast.

      As I said before, needle nose pliers complimented by the sharp edge of a six-inch blade win every argument. 

      Between screams, Cheryl agreed to perform.  However, I have to admit, the result differed from the others.  Cheryl was just too frightened and inexperienced to be convincing as a white woman reveling in black cock.  She got through the dildo scene all right but she was a terrible cocksucker even after Corrine at Morgan’s direction gave her a short lesson in oral gratification of the male sex organ.

      For the scene where Kelso took Cheryl’s cherry I did something creative.  She still refused to cooperate so I fed her dialogue about fantasizing a black gang rape where she lost her virginity.  Jerome’s crew had to hold her down.  Two of the guys held her ankles lifting and spreading her legs while Jamal pinned her shoulders.  Corrine lubricated her opening and stretched it open so I could film her hymen.  A pinkish membrane of flesh stood guard at the entrance to the well of life.  It was the first time I’d ever seen one which puts me in the company of most men.  Today’s girls borrow their mom’s dildos and take care of it when they’re preteen.  How many males can truthfully claim they have popped a cherry?

     Cheryl was busy praying the rosary with her eyes closed; no doubt wishing it was all a bad dream and she would wake soon back in her dormitory room.  At least I think the Pater Noster was what she was muttering.  I’m a lapsed Catholic but I recognized the Our Father.

        I was lying across the bottom of the bed with a hand held camera when Kelso took position between her legs.   Corrine had fluffed him to the max.  It was going to be a tight fit.

     Jerome’s crew was gathered close by to watch the historic moment.

     “Take it slow.  Move only on my command,” I whispered as he positioned his cockhead at her opening.  The touch of his member caused Cheryl to open her mouth and scream for the Lord Almighty to send the Angel Gabriel to save her honor.  I listened carefully but I didn’t hear the flapping of wings.

   My camera lens was less than a foot from Cheryl’s vagina.  I was determined to capture her deflowering in an artistic fashion I could be proud of.  Fortunately, Kelso was lean and his skinny thighs did not block my shot.   I was shooting between his legs straight at her vagina.  Her pink asshole was slightly gaped open no doubt anticipating penetration in the immediate future. The five robotic cameras were capturing all other angles.

     I directed him to go into where he touched her hymen then stop.  I had him repeat the initial entry two more times.  Corrine had applied plenty of lubricant but it still took a hard shove to wedge her open.

     Cheryl was screaming like a banshee between calls for the Virgin Mary to save her from a fate worse than death.   She was twisting her body to avoid contact.  Kelso demonstrated his knowledge of proper rape technique by pinning her thighs down with his kneecaps.

     “This is how you hold a bitch still so you can get inside,” said Kelso pressing his knees into the soft flesh of her inner thigh.  I didn’t doubt it hurt.

     “Be all over in a minute, honey, and you’ll be a whore just like your Mama,” said Kelso to reassure Cheryl.

     “Now, go to the hymen, stop for a count of three then push forward but just enough to get past her cherry,” I said.

     The camera captured his body tensing when he was ready to punch through.  Then a quick shove ahead with a slight hesitation as the hymen resisted Kelso’s blunt instrument.  Kelso’s muscles tensed as he struggled for a moment before lurching forward a couple of inches.  A narrow trickle of blood seeped out of her vagina and down to her anus.

      “I’m through,” announced Kelso with bravado.  “My name’s Kelso Warren so you know who did you the first time.”

      I found it hard to picture Cheryl telling a future husband her first time was with a black rapist named Kelso Warren but at least she knew his full name.

      “Now, go in slow as far as you can,” I said.

      The camera captured the slow descent of Kelso’s penis to the point his balls touched her buttocks.  Cheryl squalled in pain and humiliation as her virtue was despoiled.

     Best yet from my perspective was a ring of blood immediately formed around her vaginal opening?  I filmed several drops falling on the white sheets.   I felt like I was transcending pornography to arrive at something that bordered on art.  When I told Corrine that latter, she said I was full of shit.

     I directed Kelso to pull out so Corrine could once again open and illuminate the no longer innocent aperture.  I had my before and after shots of her vagina.

     “She’s all yours, Kelso,” I said getting off the bed.  The deed was done.  Cheryl the Virgin was now Cheryl the Whore.  Kelso responded to the solemn moment by placing her legs on his shoulders, bending her double and pounding away.  Cheryl’s screams turned to quiet sobs.

     “This is one tight little pussy,” said Kelso as he thrust into her.  

     The next day with my editing system I slowed down Kelso’s penetration.  Remember the beginning of the first Star Wars film where Darth Vader’s imperial battle cruiser is pursuing Princess Leila’s smaller ship and it passes right over the camera.  It seems to take forever.

     Through some clever editing including adding a sound track, I was able to achieve the same thing with Kelso’s cock slowly, very slowly, gliding into Cheryl’s vagina.  You would have thought his penis was a yard long.

      I felt a little hurt when I showed my work to Corrine and her only comments were, “Why are men so fixated on virginity?  Why is being the first to stick your dick in a woman so fucking important?”  I didn’t know the answer so I stayed quiet.

      The rest of the film followed the usual script.  Cheryl’s anal virginity didn’t seem to matter to her outside of the pain of having her sphincter stretched and rectum expanded.  However, Jerome acted like he had just climbed Mt. Everest without oxygen after he pushed his prick past her well-lubricated sphincter and entered her unexplored rectum.  He high-fived Jamal and Levar.

      Interesting I told myself when they placed Corrine on top of Cheryl for mutual oral.  I’d expected her to object citing the horrible nature of such an act; but she stuck her tongue on Corrine’s well-fucked pussy and gave it a generous lick.  I noticed a sea change in attitude of our former virgin.  Where Cheryl had at best tolerated multiple penetrations by Jerome’s crew, she exhibited enthusiasm for eating Corrine’s pussy.  And for the first time, she achieved an orgasm from my wife’s talented mouth.

      I filmed a different ending than my regular six-on-one semen facial.  Instead, actors took turns jacking off on Cheryl’s tongue, covering it with their magic elixir.  After she not so proudly displayed her treasure to the camera, I directed her to swallow.

     After consuming six loads of jism, she followed my direction to smile at the camera and wave bye.     The moment I yelled, “Cut,” she hurried to the nearest trash receptacle and puked her guts out.

     Jerome’s crew went into hysterics at the sight of her heaving in a large Rubbermaid barrel.  I didn’t think it was that funny especially since I had to wash out the barrel before I left.

Chapter 12 Things Change

     “What’s this,” I asked when Corrine threw the Star down on my desk then dropped dejectedly into a chair?  It was a little before ten in the morning on a Tuesday.  Corrine had just gotten back from the World of Fitness.  She had rushed out without changing.  My wife looked mighty fine in her spandex shorts and sports bra.    There was a sheen of perspiration on her shoulders.  I find that highly erotic.

     I picked up the paper and looked questioningly in her direction.  She had been crying.  I’m not a newsperson other than sports and business.  Corrine reads the Star start to finish each morning on the elliptical trainer.

    “It’s the lead story,” she said looking worried and upset.

    I read the headline out loud.  “Mobsters gunned down in broad daylight.”

    “Just read it, for Christ sakes,” said Corrine.

    I was stunned by the first sentence.  Alvin Timothy Quarles and Lawrence Morgan Taylor had been killed when they exited an office building in downtown Indianapolis.  The office was reputed to contain an illegal gambling operation. 

     The police were searching for the killers but there were no witnesses. According to the detective in charge of the case, the murders bore the hallmarks of an organized crime execution.

     The article further stated Mr. Quarles was alleged to be the head of a multi-state gambling organization that grossed several hundred million dollars a year.  Mr. Taylor who had served three years in prison for felony assault had been arrested twice for murder but never indicted or tried.  He was alleged to be second in command of Quarles’ organization.  The article went on to quote rumors Chicago’s organized crime lords had been seeking to expand into Indianapolis.   The article postulated friction between Mr. Quarles organization and the newcomers had led to the murders.

     There was a gruesome picture of a small man and a large man lying on the sidewalk in pools of blood.

     “My God, we’re fucked,” I said.  “The police will find the DVDs.”

     “Why, they made us do it.  We’re not to blame,” said Corrine reaching for a tissue from the box on my desk.

     “I’m not sure the law would agree with you,” I said.  “If the police get those discs, they’ll trace them back to us in a matter of hours.  The press will have a field day with the story.  Local businessman and wife make porn films for mobster using gambler’s wives.  We’d be ruined.  It would draw national coverage.”

     “I guess you’re right,” said Corrine looking dejected.  “It would be easy for them to trace the discs to us.”

     “It’s our building, our sets, and our equipment.  Like I said, we’re fucked.”

     “So what do we do,” asked Corrine?

     “Go see Marvin.  Get ready for the worst.  Maybe we can arrange for me to be the one who goes to prison.  Keep you out of it.”

     “I’m just as guilty as you are,” said Corrine.

     “That’s not the point,” I said.  “I got you into this.”

      “You really think Marvin can help us,” asked Corrine?

      “Not personally, he’s a contracts lawyer but he’ll know someone who can.”

      The question I didn’t ask Corrine was how she felt about the prospect of not having sex with Morgan and the others.  Her tears said a lot.  There was also the related question of how much I would miss my role in our three some.  I’d developed a passion for burying my face in Corrine’s sperm soaked pussy.

     But avoiding prison was a far more serious matter, so I put off the sex issue for now.  Based on what you read in the press, prison would mean lots of sex but not the kind I looked forward to. 

     That afternoon Corrine and I spent a half hour in Marvin Phelps’s office describing our relationship with Al Quarles.  Marvin had been my lawyer since I took over Carter Graphics.  We considered him a friend.  At his suggestion we only gave him the bare bones of the story. 

     “The less I know the better,” was his comment after I told him it involved Corrine and I making pornographic films for the recently deceased Al Quarles to use in intimidating gamblers who owed him money. 

      I tried to leave out the part about Corrine’s involvement but she wouldn’t have it.

     “We worked together.  It wasn’t just Tom,” said Corrine correcting me. 

     “How were you involved, Corrine” asked Marvin?

      “Mainly I worked off camera as a fluffer; but I was also responsible for props,” said Corrine.

      “Props, what kind of props,” asked Marvin?

      “Lubricant, dildos, and lingerie, Morgan wanted the women to be dressed like they were in a porn film.  So I had to have hose and garter belts in different sized and colors,” said Corrine.

      “Morgan, who’s he,” asked Marvin?

      “Al Quarles second in command, he was killed with Quarles.  He was in charge when we made the films,” I said.

      “You mentioned fluffer, Corrine, I’m not familiar with the term,” said Marvin.

      “Sometimes the guys couldn’t get an erection, especially if they had already climaxed more than once.   I provided oral sex to restore their hardon,” said Corrine in the matter of fact tone you would expect from someone who performed fluffing duties for seventeen porn films.

       Marvin was obviously not a man of the world.  He looked confused and even pained before he spoke.  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re telling me.”

       Corrine became explicit.  “I got down on my knees and sucked their cocks until they were hard.  They then took said hard cocks and stuck it in one of the orifices of the female who was the star of the gangbang film,” said Corrine.  “Sometimes they stuck them in me.”

      Marvin could only manage an, “Oh, I see.” Then he was quite for a while before he spoke. “The best man for this kind of case is Scott Reynolds; but there might be a problem given the situation and some of the things that transpired between you and Quarles’ men,” said Marvin.

     I asked, “If Scott’s the best man, what’s the problem?”

     “Ah, this is difficult,” said Marvin looking pained.

     “Just tell us,” I said.

     “Scott Reynolds is black.  It might be embarrassing given what occurred during the production of your adult films,” said Marvin.

     Corrine reacted quickly.  “Marvin, the situation is far too serious to worry about being embarrassed.  I was the fluffer.  I performed sexually in whatever way they required.  If Scott Reynolds is our best shot at staying out of jail, I don’t care if he’s an Eskimo.”

     “All right, I’ll call Scott and set up a meeting,” said Marvin.   

          Our first meeting in Scott Reynolds well-appointed offices had been brief, less than ten minutes.  After I wrote a check for fifty thousand dollars as a retainer, we sat down with Scott and staff.

     Corrine had googled his name before the meeting.  He was another one of those almost too handsome black attorneys who had developed a reputation for winning tough cases for guilty people.  I suppose you’d call him the Indianapolis version of Johnny Cochran.

     “Nice looking guy,” I remarked looking over Corrine’s shoulder at the screen.  She shot me a look but we left it alone.

     The staff turned out to be a young male attorney, Carl Price, a female attorney, Nancy Turner, and a paralegal named Oscar Pearson.  Nancy was a very hot looking black woman in her early twenties.  She had a terrific figure her tight business suit and short skirt didn’t conceal.  Carl was a tall lean type who had once played professional basketball and Oscar reminded me of a nice version of Morgan.  

     We seemed to be on a streak when it came to meeting good looking black people.  Scott’s tastefully decorated office and strictly business attitude impressed Corrine and me. 

     Scott dropped a question as soon as we provided a brief summary of our predicament.  “Do you have any of this material in your possession, any video whatsoever?’

     “Yes, we have the unedited raw footage and a copy of the final product we gave Quarles,” I said.

     “Where is it,” asked Scott?

     “At home, I have an editing computer in our home office.  The most recent one is on the hard drive and the others are stored on DVD,” I said.

     “Nothing at your place of business,” he asked?

     “No, nothing, we couldn’t risk our employees finding out,” said Corrine. 

     “Please be sure, it’s very important,” said Scott.

     We thought a minute before we answered Meade Media was clean.  Corrine and I made a point of taking absolutely every frame we shot for Quarles out of the building.  During filming, I’d made sure all the digital video was written to a single hard drive and we double checked to make sure we had erased it after we transferred it to disc. Once that was done, I reformatted the disc so it couldn’t be recovered.”

     “All right, I want you to go immediately to your home and get every scrap of video you shot for Al Quarles and bring it here.  I’m sending Oscar, our resident computer genius, with you.”

     “You want us to bring it here?  Why,” I asked.

     “Assume for now a team of FBI agents will soon search your house and place of business looking for evidence. I don’t want them to find anything to connect you to Al Quarles.”

     Three hours later, we arrived back at Scott’s office.  All my backups and discs, even the hard drives out of the computer were in a box Oscar sat on the conference room table at the start of our second meeting.


     “You made seventeen of these for Al Quarles,” asked Scott picking a disc at random out of the box and handing it to Oscar who inserted it in his laptop and got busy with the wireless mouse. 

     I almost panicked as the wall-sized screen flickered to life.  There was Corrine on top of Morgan fucking her brains out.  Sweaty, working her nipples, and riding him for all she was worth, it wasn’t where I would have chosen to start.  Scott had picked one of the discs I made for Corrine and me to watch during postproduction sex.

     “Fuck me, Morgan, you beautiful black bastard. Fuck my hot white pussy,” blared through the surround sound as Oscar adjusted the volume.

     At that point, I couldn’t identify which particular film it was.  However, it was one of the later ones because yours truly appeared on screen naked with an erection.  Nancy gave me a look that made me want to hide under the table.

     “I thought you said the films featured wives and girl friends of people who owed Al Quarles money,” said Scott looking surprised.

     “This was filmed before the female featured in the film arrived.  Morgan always came at least an hour earlier to have sex with the two of us,” said Corrine demonstrating she was better able to handle the embarrassment than I was.

     “He came early to have sex with the two of you,” repeated Nancy looking straight at me.  “Was it consensual?”

     I resisted the urge to confess I was a disgusting pervert who got off watching black gangsters fuck his beautiful wife.  Instead I said something stupid that caused everyone including Corrine and me to laugh.  “He was carrying a big gun.”

     “Given that Al Quarles and Morgan threatened to castrate Tom and cut off my breasts, I’d say it was non consensual at the beginning.  However, once it was underway, things acquired a dynamic all their own,” said Corrine looking not the least bit embarrassed we were watching her fuck her brains out.  It was one thing to watch the action alone in the privacy of our bedroom.  Watching it with Scott and his staff was a whole different ball game.

     The so-called dynamic was on full display in high definition video five few feet away.  I was on the bed licking Corrine’s clit while she rode Morgan.  His hand was massaging my balls.  The pad of his thumb was pressed against my sphincter.

      “We called it the inevitability factor.  If rape is inevitable, you might as well lean back and enjoy it,” was all I could manage as the camera came in for a close up of Corrine holding Morgan’s cock for me to enthusiastically suck.  Nancy wrote something on her legal pad.

     “So you are gay, Tom,” asked Carl?  It seemed a dumb question since he was watching me both eat pussy and suck dick.

     Before I could answer Corrine came to my defense.  “Bisexual would be more accurate.  We both are.  I had sex with the women,” said Corrine.  “Tom performed orally only with Morgan but in a limited fashion.”

      “Limited fashion, how so,” asked Nancy?

      “Morgan always ejaculated inside me,” said Corrine.

      “And Tom went down on you after Morgan finished,” said Nancy looking at the screen where Corrine was straddling my face and jerking my cock.  It was obvious what I was doing.

     “Nancy, I’m not sure this is relevant to the issue at hand,” said Scott.

     “Only to determine the degree of consensualness,” said Nancy standing her ground.

     “I think it’s safe to say it began on a non consensual basis. However, Morgan was an excellent lover and I found myself attracted to his bad boy persona,” said Corrine.  “It was an aspect of my personality I wasn’t aware of until I met Morgan.”

     “I discovered watching Corrine have sex with Morgan and the others turned me on.  Performing orally on her after he ejaculated in her vagina also proved to be erotic,” I said borrowing some nerve from Corrine and looking Nancy straight in the eye.  “Until Al Quarles came into our lives, we were a very straight monogamous couple.”

      “May I ask why you made a video recording your encounters with Morgan since they weren’t to be part of the final product you provided to Mr. Quarles,” asked Carl?

      “We liked to lie in bed and masturbate while watching,” said Corrine matter of factly.  After we watched, we had great sex.

     “I’m starting to envy your sex life,” said Scott.  “Now who is the female?”

     My standard porn opening was on screen.  An attractive blonde woman was in the bed working a dildo/vibrator into her vagina.  Standing around the bed were six black men stroking their hardons.

     “Her name was Tricia,” I said recognizing the blonde with the augmented breasts.  She was the one who looked most like a porn star.  Outside of Cheryl the virgin, she was the best looking.

     “Tricia Melons, we called her.  Her last name was Simpson, I think.  We weren’t supposed to know but sometimes they told me,” said Corrine.

     “We’ll need you to help us identify each of the seventeen females involved,” said Scott.

     “We’ll do the best we can,” I said.

     “Were any of them younger than eighteen,” asked Nancy. 

     “Yes, that’s very important,” said Scott reinforcing Nancy’s question.

     “No, most were in their late thirties or early forties. Cheryl the Virgin was in her early twenties,” I said.  “She was a student at Purdue.”

     “Cheryl the Virgin,” questioned Scott?

     “Her name was Cheryl and she was a virgin,” I said.  “In her case, it was her father who owed Al Quarles money.  He owns Whitaker Chevrolet.”

     “A college girl,” said Carl expressing disbelief.

     “May I ask how you determined Cheryl was still a virgin,” asked Scott.

     “I put these two fingers in her vagina.  Her hymen was still intact,” said Corrine holding up the two fingers she’d used to examine Cheryl. 

     “It’s on the disc.  I filmed the interior of her vagina.  There was a membrane of tissue an inch inside her opening,” I said being a showoff.

     “You captured her deflowering on video,” asked Nancy?

     “Yes, Kelso took her virginity.  He was the member of Jerome’s crew with the biggest cock,” I said.

     You have all this on DVD,” asked Scott gesturing toward the box of DVDs.

     “Yes, it’s in there,” I answered.

     Scott and his staff exchanged puzzled looks then he spoke.  “Assuming this disc is representative of the others, let’s watch it to the end.  Then we should have a better idea of where we stand.”

      “It’s representative,” said Corrine.

      From somewhere I recalled the girl sex between Corrine and Tricia was incredibly hot.  Both women had gone at each other like panthers.     

     For the next fifty-five minutes, we watched Tricia Melons perform.  No one said much as Tricia and her six black partners progressed from simple blowjobs, vaginal intercourse in the missionary position to the more exotic positions with multiple partners engaged in multiple penetrations.

      “Was it painful,” asked Scott?  We were watching a scene where moments before Tricia had loudly demanded, “Double stuff my whore’s ass, motherfuckers.”  With the aid of a couple of pillows, Jerome and Jamal had tilted her into position and managed to get both their cocks in her anus.  My close-ups were excellent.  And the open hole shot when they pulled out to reveal the lighted interior of her rectum was something any director would be proud of.

     “Not really once you’ve been sodomized several times,” said Corrine speaking from experience.  That caused the men to look hungrily in her direction while Nancy made more notes.  I wondered if Nancy had ever been double stuffed.

     The next scene was of Corrine and Tricia having sex.  They energetically performed orally on one another then employed a number of different sex toys including the insertion and withdrawal of a string of anal love beads. At some point, Jerome’s six joined them and the result was two sets of triple penetration.  Once again, my hand held camera video was intermixed with clips from the robotic cameras producing cock-hardening results. 

      Scott’s conference room table was glass.  The fact Scott, Carl, and Oscar had erections and were having trouble keeping their hands off their dicks did not go unnoticed by Corrine or me.  I would have loved to slip my hand up Nancy’s skirt and see if she needed fluid in her differential. Nobody spoke a word as we watched the two white women and six black men engage in various forms of multiple penetrations.  I half expected everyone to strip for a lawyer’s orgy; but we managed to stay in control.

     The final shot was my standard, captured mostly by the overhead camera, Tricia getting a facial from the six, swallowing as much jism as she could catch in her mouth.

     “Wow, that was really something,” said Scott when DVD finished.

     “Do you have a background in pornography, Tom” asked Nancy?

     “Absolutely not, until Al Quarles came into my life, I never considered making porn,” I said.

     “Tom was a videographer in the army,” added Corrine.  “We ran a respectable commercial media business.”

     “And you were never involved in the porn industry either, Corrine,” asked Nancy.

     “Never, I taught school until I joined Tom’s business,” said Corrine.

     “You say this was not the DVD you gave to Al Quarles,” asked Carl?

     “Correct, if you took this and edited out any appearance by Morgan, Corrine and myself you have what we gave to Quarles,” I said.  “Those are in the box, too.  We gave Al Quarles a single copy.  Of course, he might have duplicated it.”

    “In the DVD, Tricia certainly looked willing,” said Carl.  “Was she?”

     “No, not really, she was kidnapped and threatened with disfigurement if she didn’t make it appear she was eager to service Jerome’s crew,” said Corrine.

     “How did he threaten to disfigure her,” asked Scott?

     “Morgan said that if she didn’t cooperate, he would cut her breasts open with his switchblade and take out the saline pouches,” said Corrine.

     “Ouch” said Scott.  “The important thing is the DVD appears to be consensual.”

     “They all appear consensual to varying extents except for the one with Cheryl the Virgin.  It was only near the end when we went down on each other, she showed any real enthusiasm,” said Corrine.

     “Fat Lois cried throughout the performance but was enthusiastic nonetheless,” I said.  Corrine shot me a dirty look for mentioning Lois’s weight problem.

     “Can you imagine showing all seventeen of these to a jury,” said Carl wistfully?

     “Court TV’s ratings would go through the roof.  But it’s our job to make sure it doesn’t happen,” said Scott.  “I have one final thought and it’s more of a question.  What motivated Al Quarles to engage in such an elaborate scheme?  I should mention I met Mr. Quarles briefly on a number of occasions but he was never a client.”

     “I honestly don’t know.  Corrine and I speculated he was bored with sticking a gun in their mouth and threatening to cut their balls off,” I said.

     “It plays to the white man’s fear of the black man’s superior virility,” said Carl.  “Look, loser, your wife went crazy over these black men.  She can’t get enough.  That was why it was important they appear willing, even eager.”

     “Who says black men are great in bed,” said Nancy smiling at me?  “It’s bullshit.”

     “Oh well, we may never know.  Keep our number with you at all times.  If the police appear, say absolutely nothing and call us immediately.”

Chapter 13 On Our Own

     “What’s all this,” I asked Corrine after she dumped a bag of adult products on our bed?

      “I bought it this afternoon.  We need something to get our sex lives back on track,” said Corrine ripping open a blister pack containing one of those vibrating dildos that included a clitoral stimulator and a little bump on the side for stimulating her G-spot.  The packaging claimed to use space age materials to achieve levels of pleasure previously unachievable.  The days of simple latex had passed.

     The something Corrine referred to was our substitute for the sex we had with Morgan and company.  It had been ten months since his death.  Every day I expected the police to show up and arrest us.  The wait was nerve racking and took its toll on our sex life.

    But the law had not shown up to take us to jail after a perp walk for the nightly news.  The murder of Quarles and Morgan had died in the press after a couple of days.  The police hadn’t arrested anyone and had even announced they had no suspects.  The public is not very demanding when the victims are known criminals. 

    I’d buried myself in my work rationalizing we would need huge sums for legal fees when we were arrested.  As a result of shrewd marketing, Meade Media had won a major contract producing public service announcements.  It was quite profitable and the company was making rapid progress paying off the debt my gambling had created.

     Things were looking up in another direction, too.  A month ago, Scott Reynolds called to say he was ninety nine percent sure, we wouldn’t be charged.  “No one has found the discs and believe me, if our publicity loving District Attorney had them, you would be in jail and he would be on television crowing about what a fantastic job he was doing.”

      “Has Simon had any luck finding them,” I asked?  Simons Discreet Inquiries was the detective firm Scott hired to find Al Quarles copies of the disc before the police.

      “No, he thinks Al Quarles may have destroyed them since they implicated him.  But Simon’s going to keep looking.”

      “Are you going to destroy the discs I gave you,” I asked?  The evidence I handed over to Scott was never far from my mind.

      “Yes, eventually, when the stature of limitations has been reached,” said Scott.  “If I were you, I’d take Corrine to a nice restaurant to celebrate then screw her brains out.  She’s the kind of woman who needs it regularly.”

      After I hung up, I gave some thought to his last remark.  It struck me as terribly indiscreet for someone who guarded his words as carefully as Scott.  Was mentioning Corrine’s need for regular sex just a careless observation from watching her perform on video or was it a more personal assessment?  Or stated more directly, had Scott been screwing my wife? 

     I told myself to quit being a jealous asshole as I walked over to give Corrine the good news.  We hugged each other and broke into tears.  Facing the prospect of prison and loosing everything we worked for had not been easy.  As Scott suggested, we celebrated at Indianapolis’s best restaurant then we went dancing.  Watching my beautiful wife sway her hips to the rumba revived my flagging sexual libido.  Back home, we’d had sex or the first time in months and it didn’t consist of jerking off together while watching porn.

     A week later Corrine showed up with her shopping bag of goodies.  She’d left work early saying she had a tennis lesson and some errands to run.  When I got home, she followed me to our bedroom.

      “I also bought some hardcore interracial videos at the adult store.  Let’s watch one together,” said Corrine holding up a handful of DVDs.

     Corrine bought five DVD’s featuring white women having sexual intercourse with black men.  Black Dicks In White Chicks No. 5 was my personal favorite because one of the girls in the video resembled Corrine.  And the way she energetically handled three black cocks at once added to the similarity.

     “And I thought you might like this,” said Corrine holding up an odd shaped thick black dildo that had a narrow base and even stranger in my view, a rubber tube connected to a squeeze bulb.  It resembled the device my doctor used to take my blood pressure.

     “What is it,” I asked?

     Corrine read the label on the packaging, “Inflatable anal stimulator, it’s a butt plug that expands after you insert it.”  She squeezed the bulb causing the dildo to grow.  “Want to give it a try?”

      Up to this point in our marriage, sex toys had been Corrine’s province.  Not that she had a large assortment.  The top drawer of the table on her side of the bed contained three different sized vibrating dildos she had when we got married.

     Sometimes when we were lying together, masturbating she would take one out and use it.  Mostly, she used her fingers and a bottle of lubricating jelly with a warming agent.  She never seemed to have any trouble reaching the Big O.

      However, based on what was strewn over our bed, she’d made a quantum leap in her sex toy inventory.  One thing I did notice was the color, black.  

     I started to say something about her choice of hue.  But since I had put her through hell with my gambling I kept quiet.  “Sure,” I said reaching for the butt plug and a plastic bottle of lubricant.

     “No, I’ll do it.  I’m in the mood to take care of my man tonight,” she said before kissing me with maximum tongue.  “Get undressed,” she said when the kiss ended.

     Thirty seconds later I took a position in the center of the bed on my back. Corrine had stripped off her shorts and top.  I noted she was not wearing any underwear, which was a bit unusual.

     “Lift your hips,” she said grabbing two pillows to slide them under me.  “Raise your legs and grab your big toes.”

     I lay there like a good boy while Corrine first kissed and licked my anus then covered it with lubricant.  Next, she carefully inserted her finger in my brown eye causing me to moan with pleasure. 

     “You like,” asked Corrine after I moaned at the intrusion.

     “I like,” I said noting that Corrine had kissed and licked my rosebud on only two previous occasions both of which involved the consumption of hard alcohol.   She refused my request for analingus on other occasions.  Obviously, her experience as a fluffer had lead to a new outlook.  Jerome’s crew was into having their butt eaten and Corrine obliged.

      She positioned the pointed end of the plug at the center of my bulls eye and gave it a little push.  It felt huge.  “Relax, take a deep breath,” she said stroking my cock when she felt me tense up. 

     My ass was virgin territory and unused to intruders.  I almost panicked when she gave another push and I felt my rectum spasm.  “Take it out. It hurts.”

     “Relax, give it a second, its nowhere near the size of Kelso’s cock,” said Corrine reminding me of the many times she had been anally penetrated by an oversized black dick.  She gave the butt plug a little push as she gave me a spank on my bottom.  The sting caused me to think elsewhere and the plug slipped inside me.  A couple of deep breaths and the muscle spasm subsided along with the associated pain.

     “All right,” I said.  “I’m good.”

     “Just good,” asked Corrine working her hand up and down my well-lubricated shaft while giving the black bulb a number of squeezes.  I heard a hiss of air and felt a tightening in my bottom.

     “Yeah, it feels good, damn good,” I admitted reacting to the pressure on my prostate.

     Corrine climbed off the bed, wiped her hands on a towel, then selected one of the discs and loaded it into the player.  “I got five since they offer a free one if you bought four.”

      The inflatable anal stimulator was working as advertised.  I managed to reach the bulb and give it several more squeezes.  I lowered my legs as the DVD began to play those ridiculous advertisements for eight hundred numbers.  “Is this a cream pie video’s?”

      “No, I asked Les if he had any DVDs of husbands eating their wife’s pussy after black men had dumped a load in it.  He checked his computer but he couldn’t find anything.  He said all the felching was either gay male sex or women going down on each other after taking a load,” said Corrine climbing back on the bed between my legs.

     “Felching, what’s that,” I asked?  The idea of Corrine’s vocabulary of perverted acts exceeding mine seemed wrong somehow.

     “According to Wikipedia, the most common meaning is sucking semen out of the rectum.  We’ve seen girls felch in porn videos and I felched the women we filmed.  It started out as a gay term.  After the top man drops his load in the bottom man’s butt, he sucks it out and shares it.”

     “Felching, top man, bottom man, you seem to be expanding your vocabulary,” I said.

     “A good wife is knowledgeable regarding sexual practices,” said Corrine ending that part of the conversation by slowly stroking my cock for a few seconds then taking it in her mouth as she squeezed the bulb.

     Left unsaid was the fact that I was a felcher.  On numerous post filming acts of sexual intercourse, I had formed my lips on Corrine’s hard fucked butthole and extracted a semen cocktail deposited by Jerome and crew.  Corrine’s newfound knowledge and acquaintances had me beyond curious.

      “Who’s Les,” I asked pursuing further information about my wife’s visits to the adult store?  Pre Morgan, she would never have gone into such an establishment.

      “Manager and owner,” said Corrine taking a break from working my cockhead with her tongue while her fingers pressed into the area underneath my balls.  Corrine had always performed more than adequately in the oral department but her experience as a fluffer had moved her up several notches.

      “What’s the store like,” I asked quickly reaching a full erection?

      “Les runs a good operation.  It’s well merchandised and clean. It seems busy.  I had to wait in line to check out,” said Corrine.

      “Mostly male customers,” I asked?

      “Yes, but plenty of females, I’d guess sixty forty male to female ratio, maybe seventy thirty, some couples, too,” said Corrine.  “I’ll ask Les next time I’m there if he’s ever done a customer profile.”

      I knew the answer to the next question but I pretended I didn’t.  “Is there a video arcade?”  It was a stupid question since the sign out front advertised the presence of peep booths.

     “Yes, in the back. I thought you said you’d been there a couple of times,” said Corrine.

     “I did go there twice but that was before we were married.   I just wasn’t sure the arcade was still there.”  Given all that had happened since my visits, it seemed a lifetime ago.

     “Oh, it’s still there,” said Corrine a lilt to her voice.  One hand was down at her crotch working the little man in the boat as she blew me. 

     I decided to pop the sixty-four dollar question.  “Did you go in the arcade?”

     Corrine rose up on one elbow to look at me.  Her hand was fisting my cock as she spoke.  “Would you get mad if I did?  But first, tell me.  Did you go in the arcade on your two visits?”

     The answer was yes.  I’d jacked off watching videos.  “Probably, I can’t remember,” I answered.  Why was I being so fucking coy?

      “Bullshit, Yes or No,” asked Corrine passing her tongue along from the base of my penis to the tip then engulfing the shaft and taking it down to where her lips pressed into my pubic hair?  My cockhead was pushing into her throat.  Her tongue was massaging the bottom of my shaft.  The woman had talent.

      “Yes, I went in,” I answered.

      “Did you use the gloryhole?”

      “So you know about gloryholes,” I asked?  Corrine’s vocabulary had certainly grown.

      “Yes, Sandy explained them to me.  She said female customers and couples visit the arcade occasionally.  You haven’t answered my question,” said Corrine continuing her work on my rock hard pulsating dick.  The topic of conversation along with my wife’s talented mouth had me ready to explode. 

      I asked, “Sandy, now who is Sandy?”

      “Sandy is Sandra and she is Les’ significant other, short little brunette covered in tattoos,” said Corrine before repeating her question.  “Did you take advantage of the gloryhole?”

      “No, the place was practically empty when I was there.  Nobody was in the other booths.” I was telling the truth.  One reason I had only gone twice was the place was dead and smelled of piss and semen.

      “Would you have if you had the opportunity,” asked Corrine obviously enjoying sucking my cock while probing my psyche?  Corrine was a psychology minor in college with a major in childhood education.

      I gave another honest answer.  “Probably not, like I said before.  Pre Morgan I was straight.  However, hypothetically if I’d had a few drinks and was horny as hell and a penis came through the gloryhole, I don’t know what I would have done.  The things I did with Morgan showed me I’m not quite who I thought I was.”

     Left unsaid was what I would have done if a guy in the next booth had invited me to send my dick his way.  I probably would have done that without too much hesitation.

      “Given the right circumstances, who knows what any of us might do,” said Corrine as she pumped the bulb twice.

     The anal inflator had reached the point it felt like a log in my butt. I loved the way it was pressing against my prostate.

      “So, did you go in a booth,” I asked attempting to delay my orgasm through conversation?

      “Yes, but only on my last visit,” said Corrine.

      “I’d think the place would be scary for a woman,” I said honestly.  Hell, I thought the dark hallway with its two rows of peep booths was creepy when I was there. I wasn’t sure the door to my booth would lock.  And in those days, I would have freaked out if someone had walked in with a hard on expecting me to suck it.

      “Les promised to keep an eye out for me on the security camera,” said Corrine.  “Sandy and Les bought the place a year ago.  She says they’ve made a lot of improvements.”

      I made a suggestion.  “You should have asked Sandy to go with you for a little girl on girl action.”

      “I didn’t think of that but maybe next time,” said Corrine before allowing a mouthful of warm drool to fall slowly on my cock.  It landed right on the tip then spread down over the shaft.

      I tried to picture Corrine in a booth kneeling on the jism stained linoleum jerking off the cock on the left while she sucked off the one on the right.  Rather than cut to the chase, I decided to hang back a little.  “What did you watch?”

      It was a moment before Corrine could answer.  Her lips were pressed against my pubic hair.  My dick head was being squeezed into her throat opening while her tongue was licking the underside of my shaft, its tip flicking my scrotum.  Under the circumstances, I waited patiently for an answer.

     “I kept pushing the button to change the DVD.  There were over a hundred different selections, even fetish films with S&M or women peeing on guys.  Afterwards, Les showed me the equipment room.  It was quite impressive.”

      I wasn’t ready to change the subject.  “So what did you watch mostly?”

      “There was an interesting one where a pretty blonde girl was being gangbanged by a group of blacks and Latinos,” said Corrine.  “And there was a bisexual one with two males and a female.  One of the guys was black so I found it erotic when the white guy sucked the black man’s cock while the girl used a dildo,” said Corrine.

      “That does sound exotic,” I said struggling not to blow my load. 

      “There was a very interesting film with a transsexual who was drop dead gorgeous with a terrific figure and a ten-inch cock.   She was doing two men.”

      “He was doing two men,” I corrected.

      “If you saw him at the mall, you would never think he was a man,” aid Corrine.

      I kept trying to distract myself in order to delay my orgasm but the topics under discussion weren’t helpful.  “Did you masturbate?”

     “Of course, silly, isn’t that what those booths are for?  There’s even a box of tissues to wipe up the jism,” said Corrine gently squeezing my nuts with one hand.

      Corrine wore pants most of the time.  On our date nights, she would wear a dress or a skirt and blouse if we were going to a nice restaurant.  “Were you wearing a skirt?” I asked?

      Her answer was cock hardening.  “A tennis skirt, I went there right after my lesson.  When I got in the booth, I slipped my panty off and put it in my purse.  I forgot to put it back on after I finished.”

     My sexy wife had been shopping in an adult store wearing a tennis skirt and no panty.  I pictured her bending over to pick something up. I was surprised Les or someone didn’t rape her.  On the other hand, maybe they didn’t have to.

     “What did you do then,” I asked teetering on the verge of blowing my load down her throat?

      “I put a ten dollar bill in the machine then put one foot on the trashcan and the other beside the screen and jerked myself off.”

      “And the gloryholes,” I asked?

      “Oh yeah, I jerked him off.  He wanted me to suck it. They both did.  But I decided on my first visit to stick with hand jobs.”

      “How many hand jobs did you do”

      “Three, then my arm got tired and I had to get home and change,” said Corrine before making a strong and successful effort to bring me to climax.

     I orgasmed so hard my scrotum collapsed into a tight hard ball the size of a walnut.  I’m not sure there was a sperm left on board when she emptied my balls.  I heard the hiss of air escaping from the butt plug and relaxed as it deflated.  Corrine pulled it out of my ass.  I lay there a while with my eyes closed while she got off the bed and opened several packages.

     “My turn,” said Corrine lying down beside me.  She handed me two large dildos and a tube of lubricant.  She deftly raised her hips and slipped two pillows underneath her butt.

     “Is that story true,” I asked looking up from my position between her legs? 

     “Of course, put your tongue in my pussy to see how wet it is,” said Corrine raising her legs then pulling them back to where her ankles were interlocked behind her neck.

     Corrine is super flexible.  She attributes that to yoga.  “That never ceases to amaze me,” I said spreading her fluid coated labia with my thumbs.  There was a thin trickle of a clear liquid oozing out her vagina toward her sphincter.

     “Come to yoga with me.  With practice you could do it,” said Corrine.

     Is there anything on the planet more irresistible than a warm wet pussy just begging to be eaten?  “I’m going to pretend you did,” I said attacking her anus with my mouth. 

     “Did what,” asked Corrine?

     “Went back in the video arcade and let guys fuck you,” I said before forcing my tongue past the ring of muscle guarding her rectum.  Was she just being a tease or had working as a fluffer turned her into the kind of slut who frequented adult video arcades?

     “I didn’t but we can pretend,” said Corrine giggling like a schoolgirl at my mental discomfort. 

Chapter 14 We Join the Group

     Over the next months, we’d covered most of the previously uncovered possibilities of couple’s sex.  Beginning the night Corrine brought home a shopping bag of marital aids, we started a feverish quest to find something that produced the same level of wow we got from making porn videos for Al Quarles.

     We worked our way through all the positions of the Kama Sutra I was flexible enough to attempt.  Some of the position should only be attempted if you are contortionists.  We followed up by exploring different kinds of fetish and role-play.  I was too mature for infantilism.   

       We gave bondage-discipline-sado-masochism a thorough but ultimately unsatisfying examination.  My cock didn’t get hard when Corrine paddled me while I was spread eagle on the bed secured by Velcro connected nylon straps unless I imagined it was Morgan or Nancy swatting my derriere.  I got my rock off pretending the hard paddle was Morgan’s hand.

     But in general, pain wasn’t a turn on.  I can’t say the same for Corrine but the problem there was I didn’t get off on being the pain giver.  She had her fastest time to orgasm ever when I applied a ridding crop to her nipples while she pressed one of those spot massagers against her vulva.  The fact her eyes were closed and she kept yelling, “Harder, you black bastard,” emphasized we were not looking in the right direction.

     Ultimately, role-play struck us as plain silly compared to the real life roles of porn director and fluffer for Al Quarles.

       We gave up on the rest of the sexually out there menu other than one rather bizarre niche referred to as Japanese rope bondage.  For some unexplained reason I found it intriguing if not overwhelmingly erotic.

     I had been an Eagle Scout and a member of the Order of the Arrow so I was no stranger to knots.  I could still tie a half hitch or a sheepshank.  Still I was mildly surprised when Corrine emailed me the URL of a WEB site dedicated to something called Nawa Shibari along with a brief comment.  “We should try it.”

     I now have a box in my closet containing different colors and types of expensive hemp rope along with an assortment of bamboo poles.  I even purchased a couple of how to volumes and a large book of color photos made by one of the true masters of the rope.

      There are also a number of stills of Corrine in various poses that the Japanese refer to as art and I consider cock-hardening porn.  I recently made a ten-minute video of her in several of the advanced poses.  My favorite is of her balancing on one foot where each tiny movement caused the crotch rope to stimulate three critical points: anus, vagina, and clitoris.

      I found Japanese rope bondage interesting as an exotic form of human pleasure but still didn’t quite have the kick of watching Corrine screwing Morgan or performing her fluffer duties; not to mention orally extracting the fluids found in her orifices afterwards.

      After running the gamut of sexual practices, we arrived at the inescapable conclusion there was something missing.  We both knew what it was.  I hesitated to bring it up but Corrine didn’t.  We were eating dinner at home when she took a deep breath, straightened her spine and spoke.

     “I think we need to be totally honest with one another,” said Corrine making her opening gambit.

     Although her remark seemed ambiguous, we both knew what she meant.  I felt a sense of relief we were finally ready to discuss the matter openly still I hesitated to speak frankly.  “I agree.  I assume we are going to talk about sex?  Because if we are, I have some things to say.” 

     “Of course, sex is the topic.  Do you want to go first or should I?”

     I poured us another glass of wine while I considered whether to start; then I gracefully wimped out.  “You were the one with the courage to bring it up first so why don’t you begin.”

     “I don’t miss the violence or the awful things we did to those poor women but I do miss the sex,” said Corrine in one breath.

     I suppose it’s not easy for a respectable middle class white woman from a devout Lutheran family to admit to her husband she craves black cock in a group format.

     “So do I,” I said.  “Even though it means I’m a voyeur and bisexual and even worse.”  For some odd reason, I did consider my desires worse than Corrine’s.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe because it involved the guilt associated with me wrapping my lips around Morgan’s cock or the feeling I got when he took hold of my balls and pressed his thumb against my sphincter.

     “What do you miss the most,” asked Corrine?

     I wasn’t really sure what I missed most but I opted for the safe answer, “Watching you having sex with black men then having sex with you afterwards.” 

      “Black men only,” asked Corrine.  “That sounds so racists.”

      “I know.  I’m not saying I couldn’t get off watching you with an American Indian, an Oriental or even another white man but I’d prefer a black man,” I said.

      “Me too, it must have something to do with historical guilt about slavery, lynching, and segregation,” said Corrine.  “Who the hell knows what’s buried in our white liberal psyche?  One of my ancestors was in the Klan.”

      Most people associate the southern states with the Knights of the Klu Klux Klan; but the awful truth is that Indiana was the state where the Klan reached its zenith of power in the early nineteen hundreds.  There was a period in this state when you couldn’t be elected dogcatcher unless you had the Klan’s endorsement.  And the state had more than its share of lynchings.   Still, I had no idea how this impacted our sex lives a century later.

      “We’re certainly not alone.  There are thousands of hardcore WEB sites featuring sex between white women and black men.  So I don’t think we’re that unusual,” I said.  I’d hadn’t told Corrine, three of them were charging my personal credit card .95 each month for the pleasure of looking at pictures and downloading video of excessively augmented blondes having intercourse with incredibly well endowed black studs.

      “Weird, huh,” said Corrine.  “Before we got involved with Morgan and his crew, I never gave black men much thought.  Of course, I thought black movie stars and athletes were handsome but I didn’t picture myself in bed with them.”

      “Black men were not in my sexual universe either,” I said.  “Actually, neither were black women.”

      “How do you feel about black women, now?  Would you do Nancy if you had a chance?”

      “Scott’s Nancy, Nancy Whitman,” I asked?  The question threw me off.  I suppressed my urge to say I would love to fuck Nancy.  Her picture was on her firm’s WEB site.  I’d jacked off looking at it imagining those full brown lips wrapped around my white cock.

      “Do you know any other attractive black females named Nancy?”

      “No, but your question surprised me.  I suppose I would.  Would you like to watch us?”

      “Maybe, yes, I suppose so,” said Corrine. “I’d like to go down on her.  You’re not the only bisexual in the family.”

      “You had oral sex with seventeen different white females.  How do you feel about that?”

      “I won’t deny I liked it.  You can see that on the video.  I never faked an orgasm when they were eating my pussy,” said Corrine.  “That brings up another sex and gender issue.”

      “And that is,” I asked but I knew.

      “You sucked Morgan’s cock.  How did it make you feel?”

      “Guilty, concerned about my sexual orientation, but I’d do it again if I had the chance.  The fact I could taste your pussy on it made it so hot.  If it was just Morgan and me, I’m not sure I would be interested.”

     “Is that a completely truthful answer,” asked Corrine?

     “Not entirely, his thumb on my butthole felt good so who knows.  If Morgan had wanted to sodomize me I would have gone along because it was Morgan and he scared the shit out of me.  But maybe I would have liked it and begged for more.  Who the fuck knows!”

      “It turns me on when I know you’re watching me having sex with black men,” said Corrine.   “I’d loose all my inhibitions when I’d looked over and saw you jacking off watching me ride Morgan’s cock.  It was the most intensely erotic experience of my life.”

      “So we have a sexual problem that needs solving,” I said.

      “I think sexual need is a more accurate term than sexual problem.”

      “You’re right, of course,” I said

      “Yes, so how would you summarize it,” asked Corrine who had a schoolteacher’s tendency to neatly summarize the day’s lesson.  There was a certain so-what-have-we-learned-today-class tone to her voice.

      I could tell from the start she was leading the conversation somewhere. I spent a few minutes gathering my thoughts before I started.  “Couple’s sex has proven incapable of meeting our sexual needs.  We require sexual intercourse involving others, specifically black males, possibly black females too.  How am I doing so far?”

      “Good, continue,” said Corrine praising her favorite student.

      “I desire to watch you screwing black men and participate myself at some level.  You want to have sex with black men while I watch.  You find my presence and joining in adds greatly to the level of sexual intensity,” I said.

     “You didn’t mention the matter of eating Morgan’s cream pie,” said Corrine being both critical and constructive.

     “I wasn’t sure how it fit in plus it strikes me as unmanly and homosexual. Although it’s hard to imagine a gay man with his head buried between your legs sucking come out of your vagina,” I said acknowledging my most guilt ridden desires.

     Corrine put her hand on mine and spoke.  “I think it’s wonderful we can be so honest with one another about our feelings.  Most couples couldn’t do that.”

     I squeezed her hand before I answered.  “We’ve been through a lot but we’ve stuck it out and stayed together.  I love you with all my heart.”

      “I love you too, darling.  And I have something I want to run by you,” said Corrine.

      “All right, go ahead,” I said taking a sip of wine.  I was right about our discussion leading somewhere.

      “Suppose there was a group or club where we could both satisfy our desires, would you be interested,” Corrine asked?

      I answered without hesitating.  “Yes, provided it met certain criteria.”

      “What criteria?”

      “Discretion and safety would be my main ones,” I said.  “We are business owners whose personal reputation is closely linked to Meade Media.  If word got around, we were some kind of sexual perverts; it could hurt the company with those hypocrites who spend Sunday morning at church and Sunday afternoon whacking off to Internet kiddie porn.”

      “Understood, discretion is guaranteed and so is security,” said Corrine.

      “So tell me,” I said not wanting to seem too eager. 

      “I’ve recently learned of a club for black and white couples with our type of needs,” said Corrine.  “From what I’ve know, it sounds perfect for us.”

      “Right here in America’s heartland,” I asked?  Indianapolis wasn’t exactly Sodom or Gomorrah.

      “It’s nationwide but yes, it has a local branch,” said Corrine.

      “Tell me more,” I said.

      “The black couples are in charge. They use us for their sexual pleasure including bisexually.  It meets once a month for an orgy.  We have to attend nine of the twelve parties annually to remain in the club.  There’s a special party in the fall and attendance is mandatory.  And once every quarter, we’re on call for black couples.”

     “How do they decide who can join,” I asked?  I could tell from the expression on Corrine’s face, she was more than casually interested in our joining.  So far, she wasn’t the only one interested.

      “Membership is by invitation only.  There’s a vetting process.  The local chapter is limited to forty couples; half are black and half white.  No racially mixed couples are admitted.  Only married couples can join and only married couples can remain as members.” 

      “Eighty people, not exactly small, does it have a name?”

      “I’m sure it does but I don’t know it.  They’re very secretive,” said Corrine.

      “How did you learn about it,” I asked?  Corrine had two primary sources of outside information, Planet Fitness and the Adult Store two exits away.  Neither seemed a likely source of such esoteric knowledge.

      “Scott told me.  He and Nadine are members,” said Corrine.  “In fact, he is willing to be our sponsors.”

      I halted a moment to process the fact Attorney Scott McReynolds had discussed our joining a sex club with my wife and I didn’t know a damn thing about it.  “Why didn’t Scott tell us both about the club?”

      “I asked that question.  Please don’t let his answer upset you.  He said white husbands are usually willing to join but wives less willing.  So if I wasn’t willing, there was no point in mentioning it to you.  They try to keep the club’s existence as quiet as possible.”

     “Sounds logical, I wasn’t aware you and Scott had been talking recently,” I said feeling a bit miffed.  If handsome black Scott was banging Corrine, I wanted to watch and enjoy the aftermath.

     “We had lunch last week,” said Corrine.

     “Only lunch,” I said.

     “His wife Nadine was present,” said Corrine.

     “For a three way,” I asked?

     “Nothing sexual happens until after we join; then we can do a three way or a four way if you like.  Nadine said she has a real thing for white men, especially those who are into oral,” said Corrine.  “Also Nancy Whitman and her husband, Greg, belong which means you’ll get to screw her.”

     “Did you agreed to join,” I asked picturing myself between Nancy’s legs driving my dick in her hole?

     “Without you, of course not, we both have to agree.  Do you want some time to think about it?  Scott says we have until the weekend to make up our minds.”

     “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested,” I said after hesitating long enough for Corrine to believe I was really weighting the pros and cons.  Of course, I wanted to join.

     “We may not get in.  There’s a vetting process before a selection committee,” said Corrine.

     “With your face, figure, and supercharged libido, it’s a lock. I’m the one they may not want,” I said.

     “Nadine said you were hot and she was looking forward to getting to know you better,” said Corrine.

     “How would she know that?  We’ve never met.” I got that sentence out before I realized she’d seen me on video extracting Morgan’s come from Corrine’s vagina.  “Oh, I see.  So what’s the next step?”

     “We spend an afternoon with the selection committee,” said Corrine.

     “Doing what exactly,” I asked.

     “Whatever they tell us to do, all kinds of sex,” said Corrine. 

     “Including gay sex,” I asked?

     “Yes, but let’s call it bisexual.  No one’s really gay,” said Corrine drawing a distinction some would argue with.

     “So I will be sodomised,” I asked?

     “Yes, both ways,” said Corrine.

     “What do you mean by both ways,” I asked?

     “Males are expected to be both pitcher and catcher.  White club members are not allowed to discriminate based on gender; but black members can be strictly heterosexual.  According to Scott, that’s the number one difficulty in finding acceptable white couples.  There are lots of white couples where the husband doesn’t mind if the wife eats black pussy but he wants nothing to do with black cock.”

      “Just so I’m clear on this.  If a black man wants me to suck his cock or take it up my ass, I’m required to say yes,” I said.

      “Right, and if he wants to suck your cock or fuck him, you’re required to oblige.  And I have the same rules as you,” said Corrine.  If any of this is a show stopper for you, I’ll tell Scott we aren’t interested.”

     “No, I want to join.” I said with a firmness that surprised me.


Chapter 15 Longwood Motor Court


     “Are you sure you’re all right with this,” asked Corrine as I got in her car.  Mine was in the shop.  We were taking the afternoon off to attend a meeting at Longwood Motor Court out on Route 37.  The instructions for getting there were in my pocket.  According to Mapquest we were forty-six point five miles and sixty-three minutes away.

     “We discussed this until we’re worn it out.  We both agree it’s something we want,” I said.   “Drive, woman.”

     “Are you nervous,” asked Corrine once we got out on the highway?

     “Yes, I’m concerned they’ll declare me sexually inadequate and refuse to admit me,” I said trying to keep it light.

     “That’s not likely,” said Corrine.

     “My dick’s too small,” I said.  “Those black studs will make my weenie look tiny.  Everyone will laugh and point at me.  They’ll call me needle dick Tom.”

     “You’re being ridiculous.  I’d rate your cock as larger than average plus you have both staying and recovery power,” said Corrine playfully grabbing my crotch.

     “Thank you, but you’re being kind,” I said pushing her hand away.

     “And more importantly, you have a very talented tongue.  Black women love having a white man eat their pussy.  Its one advantage white males have over their Afro-American counterparts.  Black men do not like to go down.”

     “And how would you know that, Mrs. Meade,” I asked.  As far as I knew, Corrine did not have any close black girl friends.

     “Personal experience, Jerome’s crew ate pussy when you directed them to but I could tell their cocks were not into it.  And I read it on the Internet.  Besides, everyone knows it’s true.”

     “Scott and his wife won’t be there,” I said opening up the possibility she had been having three-way sex with the Reynolds.

     “No, we won’t know anyone.  The Reynolds are our sponsors and sponsors aren’t allowed to test applicants.  There’ll be four Afro-American couples plus one other Caucasian couple hoping to join.”

     “So we white folks are outnumbered,” I said.

     “I’m used to worse odds,” said Corrine thoughtfully.  “The important thing is to do whatever they ask.  This is a test of obedience as much as anything.”

     Somebody had provided her insight about the selection process and that had to be the Reynolds.  They were the only ones we knew who were members.  I shoved the thought of Corrine doing Scott out of my mind and kept the conversation going.  “Even if it means taking a cock in my ass,” I said.

     “You can handle it.  We’ve proven that,” said Corrine.

      Yes, I could handle anal intercourse.  Corrine had purchased strapon dildos from Les and Sandy then trained me to take a big one in my butthole.  My wife had sodomised me every night for the last ten days to make sure I was prepared. 

     The pain was almost unbearable the first time but it got easier.  Even though initially I demanded she take the goddamn thing out of my rear, Corrine held on, slamming it home until my cries for mercy turned to moans of pleasure.

     In point of fact it went from painful to pleasurable too quickly for my peace of mind.  Looking forward to your wife fucking you in the ass can cause you to doubt your commitment to heterosexuality.

     Last night on a final run through, I jerked off as Corrine straddled my upturned ass and drove a ten by three artificial penis down my Hershey highway.  Within two minutes of penetration, there was a puddle of semen underneath me and I was ready for eight hours sleep. 

     I found it quite erotic watching my wife walk around our bedroom with a black dildo protruding from her crotch.  She’d bought two versions of strapon penises.  One used waist and thigh straps to hold it in place.  However the other type was strapless.  So why do I refer to it as a strapon?  The packaging identified the product as a strapless strapon. 

     Sandy had informed Corrine the strapless was a new design she had tested on Les with excellent results. Constructed of a pliable substance whose texture was designed to stimulate deep tissue, it was a double-ended black monster prick. An odd shaped dildo that vibrated and fit deep in Corrine’s vagina anchored it in place.  Apparently it molded around her G-spot like a glove providing the wearer with extremely pleasurable sensations. 

     Corrine much preferred the new product claiming she could achieve multiple orgasms fucking my ass.  From my point of view there was no difference other than what made her happy made me even happier.

     As we drove, we switched topics.  We talked about work for a while.  Meade Media had won another large contract.  I was looking for additional office space and personnel.  We discussed the pros and cons of various locations and perspective employees we’d interviewed.  The time passed quickly and before long I saw the sign in the distance.

      “There it is,” I said.  “Any final words of wisdom?”

      “Just remember, they are in charge so do as you are told.  We are their bitches,” said Corrine pulling off into the motel’s parking lot. In support of my much put upon wife who had sacrificed her morals to preserve my balls, I squared my shoulders and put on my game face. We were five minutes early when I knocked on the door of Room No. 122.

     “You must be Tom and Corrine, welcome, I’m Bob,” said the smiling black man who opened the door and extended his hand.  “Ted and Jean are already here.”  There was a white couple seated on the bed looking expectantly at us.  “Come in and we’ll introduce you.”

     It was a first name only introduction.  Our door greeter’s wife was Rachel.  They looked to be in their thirties.  They were a contrast in body types.  Bob was a lean six-footer while Rachel was short and anything but lean.  She had a big round ass and her idea of greeting a white man was to embrace him for a serious tongue kiss.  Mindful of my desire to join their club, I swapped spit and tongue fenced with her for a decent interval.

     “Are you going to be my white bitch,” asked Rachel when the kiss ended?

     “I plan on it,” I replied tactfully.  

     The next black couple was Ralph and Suzanne both average builds.  You could say the same for Martin and Carol although Carol had a large rack and the thin material of her cotton sweater didn’t leave any doubt about the location and size of her nipples.  The way she held herself when we shook hands signaled she was proud of those puppies and expected me to pay them a lot of attention.  I didn’t see a problem with that.

      Marshall and Connie were couple number four.  They were the handsomest of the four.  Marshall was one of those black men with large knobby shoulders, muscular arms and chest and a very small waist.  Connie reminded me of Scott’s Nancy so I was interested in what was under her tight fitting jeans. 

      An open adjoining door connected Room No 122 and Room No. 124. Each room contained a king sized bed.  The furnishings were standard motel, not new but not worn out either.

     Our competition, Jean and Ted, appeared relaxed.  Jean, a slightly overweight motherly type, was certainly no comparison to Corrine figure-wise.  And, if I do say so myself, balding Ted, didn’t exactly measure up to me.  However, since Ted’s loose trousers could have concealed a twelve incher and Jean could be the oral equivalent of a Category 3 tornado, I decided to treat them as serious competitors.

    First name introductions over, Bob made an announcement.  “The four of you undress then I’ll explain how everything works.”

     White folks get to undress first I realized, as I got busy with my shirt buttons.

     In my analysis, the club was the result of combining black anger, white guilt and mankind’s love of sex.  A trained psychologist would have a field day probing the psyche of the members.  I didn’t consider myself a racist except in the sense of neglect.  I didn’t have any black enemies nor did I have any black friends.  If Al Quarles and Morgan hadn’t shown up in our lives, I doubt we would have given Afro-Americans more than a passing thought.

      As soon as we undressed, Bob issued further instructions.  “Tom, you and Jean lay together on the right side of the bed.  Ted and Corrine take the left.”

     Interesting, they separated Corrine and I.  I suppose it was to take away our comfort zone.  As we lay down, the four black couples stepped closer to get a good view.   It was kind of weird laying naked with eight fully clothed people starring at us.  After a while, they asked us to assume various positions and do cute things like get on all fours then reach back and pull our butt cheeks apart.

     Even a king sized bed gets crowded when there are four adults.  Ted and I were touching shoulders and hipbones.  I’d let Jean take the outside.  Inspection over, the four of us lay there with our arms by our sides in what Corrine would call yoga corpse pose.

     “Relax and cuddle up while I explain the rules,” said Bob.

     “We don’t bite,” added Rachel.

     “I do,” chimed in Marshall causing a titter of nervous laughter.

     I turned toward Jean and put my arm around her and we spooned.  She snuggled her back and bottom against me.  My cock was nestled in a strange woman’s butt crack for the first time since before I got married.

     “First of all, you can leave at any time.  If you find this isn’t your scene, then get dressed and depart with no hard feelings.  The Club isn’t for everyone.  Understood?”

      We all muttered agreement.

      “The Club doesn’t allow condoms so if you can’t handle a penis not wearing a party hat you should leave now.”

      “We’re a meat to meat operation,” added Rachel eliciting a disapproving look from Bob.

      Corrine and I were used to unsafe sex with black men.  Not a single one of the condoms she’d set out when making Quarles’ videos had ever been used.

     “No problem, Ted and I prefer bareback,” said Jean moving her ample bottom so my penis moved further into her crack.  She also took my arm that was loosely draped around her waist and moved it to her breasts.  I obligingly captured a nipple between my fingers.  A glance to the left revealed Ted was tightly wrapped around Corrine.  His arm was breast high.

     We later learned Jean and Ted were experienced swingers.  They’d belonged to a local wife-swapping group that was an affiliate of a national organization.  Through the swinger’s club they’d met a black couple who introduced Ted to the pleasures of sucking black semen out of Jean’s orifices.  “I always loved Jean’s cream pie but it was a thousand times better when it was a chocolate cream pie,” was how Ted expressed it.

      Since Jean also turned out to be a lover of all things black when it came to sex, their new found friends suggested they apply to Black Masters & White Slaves or BM&WS for short.  In fact, it was Ted who first told me the rather awkward but apt name of the club.

      Over time, Jean and Ted turned out to be friends.  They were a pleasant, energetic duo that shared a love of serving as sex slaves for Afro Americans.

      “Bare back is fine with us,” added Corrine.

      “Good, the only other rule is we’re the masters and you are the slaves,” said Bob.

      “Actually, there were a host of other rules but we didn’t find out about them until we were members.  For example, white couples AKA slaves were not allowed to recommend new members.  Slaves could not be involved in any facet of the club management or administration.  Monthly dues were two hundred dollars a month for slave couples, fifty for masters.

      A month before, Corrine had mailed our membership application to a post office box.  Along with the paperwork was a check for five hundred dollars and a full frontal nude photograph of the two of us.

     Love of sex makes you do crazy things and paying five hundred dollars to cuddle up with pudgy Jean while Ted grinds his dick on my wife’s gorgeous ass was one of them.

      “Here, girls, we don’t want the gentlemen blowing their load until we Masters give the word,” said Rachel handing Jean and Corrine a small leather strap studded with snaps. “Suck them hard and lock them down.”

      I recognized the strap.  It was a type of cock ring. Up until that moment, I had never owned or used a cock ring.  I had a rough idea how they worked.  It turned out they were standard equipment for male slaves who were expected to maintain an erection for prolonged periods.

     Fortunately, Jean was no neophyte when it came to installation.  She took the strap from Rachel rolled me on my back and began jacking my penis in one continuous motion.  When I looked over at Corrine and Ted, I was surprised to see his cockhead was already in her mouth.  One hand was stroking his shaft and the other massaging his balls.   Like I said before when Corrine commits, she doesn’t hold anything back.

     Since the subject of cock rings had never been broached between us, I had no knowledge as to the depth of Corrine’s understanding of the topic.  Was this one more area of expertise, she had mastered on her visits to Sandy and Les’ adult store?  Were cock rings as common as cocks in the arcade?  My poor judgment having compelled my wife to become a fluffer, I was not in a position to remonstrate if she had gained her knowledge at someone else’s crotch through an arcade gloryhole.

     Jean was a skilled fellatrix whose mouthful of warm drool quickly produced the desired result.  I was rock hard at maximum length when she placed the strap around the base of my manhood, pulled it tight, and snapped it together.  There was enough blood trapped in my penis to make me feel lightheaded.  Corrine finished with Ted a second or two later.

     “Good work, ladies,” said Rachel lifting my manhood to inspect the result.  She checked the tension and found it satisfactory.  “Nice and tight.”  A moment later, Ted had passed muster.

      “Jean and Tom, you’re in the other room with Marshall and Connie, Ralph and Suzanne,” said Bob consulting a clipboard he’d picked up off a nearby table.

      Jean held my hand as we followed the foursome into an identical motel room.  Marshall and Ralph were each carrying a clipboard that turned out to be a long list of sex acts we were required to perform along with a rating of our performance.

     We stood quietly while our masters undressed.  Penis wise the men were average.  I was thankful there wasn’t a mega-dicked Kelso among the examiners.  Connie had a terrific figure and Suzanne was only a small step down from Connie.  The way Connie put one foot on the bed and rubbed her sex after she peeled off her panty made me want to jump her but I was a slave and they don’t jump masters.

     Marshall spoke after a quick glance at the clipboard.  “Down on your knees, Slaves.  We need to test your oral skills.”

     Jean and I dropped to our knees by the bed.  Marshall and Ralph stepped up surrounding me.  Connie and Suzanne took identical positions beside Jean then I felt the bed move and Connie was on her back with her legs lifted and spread.

      “Show her how much you like eating black pussy, Jean,” said Suzanne guiding Jean’s face into position.

      “Yes, Ma’am,” said Jean.

      Marshall’s cock was about three inches from my face when he spoke.  “Can you guess what’s next, Tom?”

     “Yes, Sir,” I said licking my lips to wet them.

     Ralph’s cock was almost as close to my mouth as Marshall’s.  He interpreted my gesture in his own way.  “Tom’s just can’t wait to get our black dicks in that pretty mouth of his.”  I had to admit he wasn’t wrong.  I’d quietly abandoned the idea Tom Meade was a card carrying hetero.

     My ears informed me Jean was eating Connie with a noisy gusto.

     “Show me how much you love the taste of my pecker,” said Marshall traveling half the distance to my mouth as I traveled the other half.

     “Start slow,” had been Corrine’s advice when she was conducting a blowjob training session designed to get me into the club.    She’d found another use for the strapon in addition to fucking my ass. 

     Morgan’s was the only male cock I’d sucked since high school and then for only a minute or two before it disappeared back in Corrine’s vagina.  For reasons not quite clear, I didn’t consider what I did with Morgan cocksucking.  I’d simply allowed Corrine and Morgan to stuff his already hard member in my mouth; then I moved my lips up and down the shaft exulting in the taste and smell of her pussy.  When it came to Morgan, Corrine was too much of a cock hog to let me enjoy it for long.

    But Marshall’s cock was soft and smelled of soap.  I reached between his legs gently taking his balls in hand as I applied pressure to their underside with the side of my palm, a technique suggested by my wife who considered my blowjob skills seriously deficient.

     As I tackled Marshall’s penis, her directions to take it slow, get acquainted, and flick the mushroom cap with my tongue rang through my head.  I teased his piss hole with the tip of my tongue.  I’d reached the point where the shaft was firm enough for me to engulf its length pressing my lips into his pubic hair as the head pressed into my throat opening when Marshall announced, “Not bad, Tom, your turn, Ralph.”

     Marshall stepped back to make a brief entry on his clipboard.     Ralph’s cock was semi-hard when I opened my mouth to take the head inside for a tongue-lashing.  I was getting more into it each time my lips traveled back and forth across that warm column of warm male flesh.

     “Tom strikes me as a man who has sucked dick before,” said Ralph.  I didn’t consider it wise to attribute my skill to my wife’s training rather than experience.  I looked at Ralph hoping the lust I was feeling showed on my face.  Corrine said one of the best ways to sell a blowjob was to communicate having cock in their mouth was an unbelievable turn on.

     “Never met a white boy who wasn’t a dick sucker,” said Marshall.  “They’re all part faggot.”

     “Tom sucks like he’s all faggot.  How are you ladies doing,” asked Ralph?

     “I’ve finished.  Jean’s a level one cunt lapper.  Suzanne is getting her rug munched,” said Connie.

     “Let’s see if Tom can handle a skull fucking,” said Ralph.  “Open wide, Thomas.  Ralph placed his hands on the side of my head taking control of its motion.  I was prepared for what he had in mind.  I’d watched Jerome’s crew skull fuck my wife and the women they brought. 

     “It’s a typical guy thing in that they have to be in charge.  So they hold your head and fuck your throat.  When you choke and drool on your own tits, they think it’s a turn on,” said Corrine my personal sex advisor who had taught me to tilt my head back to open my throat, flatten my tongue, and open my mouth as far as my jaw hinge allowed. 

    “Excellent,” said Ralph pushing his cock to where it nestled against my throat opening then moving his hips forward an inch or two.  For any individual, gag reflexes range from strong to weak.  Mine were weak and Corrine had dildo trained my throat to accept foreign objects.  Still, I choked a little when the head of his pecker pushed into my gullet.  Corrine would have been proud of the way my tongue lapped the underside of his shaft, its tip touching his balls, as he put a solid two inches down the pipe.

     “Tom shows real aptitude as a throat fucker,” said Marshall placing his fingers alongside my neck to feel the presence of Ralph’s cock.  That called for another notation on the clipboard. 

     Ralph pulled out to allow Marshall to replace him.  His cock was slightly thinner and longer.  I managed to work that baby while it was lodged inside my throat.

     The oral ended with the two of them standing close beside me so I could lick and suck both cock heads at once.  Based on their comments, I had passed that phase of the exam.

     “We’re done here,” announced Suzanne.  I hope you like your pussy wet, Tom; because Jean has my tap running,”



Chapter 16  Successful Afternoon

     “Let’s switch to hetero,” said Marshall glancing at his wristwatch.

     I was kneeling on the floor with both their cocks in my mouth when Marshall announced a gender change in the oral sex portion of the examination. Jean’s head popped up from between Suzanne’s legs then returned for a final lick or two.

      I reluctantly dropped my handhold from their buttocks and allowed their saliva-coated cock to leave my mouth.

      “Don’t worry, Tom.  You’ll get a chance to suck it some more,” said Ralph sensing my disappointment.

      “Do me first, Tom,” said Connie falling back on the bed positioning her sex right at the edge. 

     I suppose you don’t join a sex club unless you like sex a lot.  Our examiners were demonstrating a deep-seated love affair with the processes of procreation. 

      Suzanne climbed up on the bed straddling Connie’s face. She took hold of Connie’s ankles and pulled them back under her armpits. “I’ll hold her ankles for you, Tom.  Show us how much you like to eat chocolate.”

     I had never had a black woman.  A beautiful cocoa colored pussy lay before me.  The labia were small and symmetrical.  There was a tiny v-shaped patch of curly black hair pointing down at a fully activated clit hovering above a pink vagina opening I found incredibly inviting.

     I couldn’t help but notice how wet Connie was as I leaned forward placing my hands on her upper thighs for support.  I couldn’t tell whether it was Jean’s saliva or Connie’s glands, probably both.  All I could say for sure was there was a thick coating of wet covering her sex and oozing out of her vagina. 

     “I hope you like your pussy juicy, Tommie,” said Connie smiling down at me as I lowered my head.

     “We call her, The Juicer,” added Marshall whose knob was receiving Jean’s attention.

     This was the part of the exam I felt most confident.  “I love it juicy,” I said as I used my tongue to scoop up a couple of tablespoons.  It was thicker than water but thinner than honey and the flavor sent a powerful signal to my brain.  I stuck my tongue out to show Connie and Suzanne then swallowed it.

     “Ooh, that’s nasty but nice, Tom.  Now show us what a good slave you are and get me off,” said Connie positioning her face under Suzanne’s vagina.  Suzanne reached down to fork her fingers around her clit so Connie’s tongue would have a clear path to her love button.

     Making Connie climax was a labor of love and none too difficult.  I loved the way she tasted.  When it comes to cunnilingus, I have no inhibitions.  I swept my tongue over her adorable brown hole pausing to savor the musky flavor of the wrinkled skin.   I teased her opening with the tip of my tongue then moved upward to the vagina and clitoris.  A glance over her mons showed Suzanne’s clit was the recipient of serious tongue action.

    I pressed the pad of my thumb against Connie’s sphincter as I worked my tongue between her vagina and her clit.  The Juicer proved she deserved her nickname as I kept up my attack.  Connie contorted her body as le petit mort swept broke over her like a July thunderstorm.  I continued to work my station until she was done.

     Connie slipped out from under Suzanne and off the edge of the bed to embrace me for an exploratory trip around the inside of my mouth using her tongue as a probe.  I made a mental note that if black men really did not like to go down, they were missing a good thing.

     “I hope you like to eat butt, Tom,” said Suzanne taking Connie’s place.  Connie settled her recently climaxed and dripping cunt over her partner’s face.  Suzanne’s long pointed tongue leaped into action.  Connie signaled Suzanne’s desire for analingus by bending her legs back to the point her sphincter was at eye level.

     “Eat her ass first, you nasty man slut,” moaned Connie as her love button experienced the power of Suzanne’s tongue.

     I placed my hands on Suzanne’s buttocks using my thumbs to stretch her butthole open.  There was a thin ring of curly hair surrounding her brownie.  I looked Suzanne in the eye then I leaned down and licked around her anus parting the hair in a different direction; then pressing the tip of my tongue into the partially open asshole.

     “Eat my backdoor, Tom. Show me how much you love butthole,” said Suzanne.

     I pressed my lips and tongue hard against her sphincter, burrowing into her tight hole.  The point of my tongue forced its way past the ring of muscle that guarded her opening.  I felt fingertips brush against the top of my head followed by the sound of flesh slapping flesh.

     “Smack that dirty slut’s pussy,” chanted Connie as she delivered a series of none too gentle palm slaps to Suzanne’s vulva.  I rimmed Suzanne until the slapping ceased then transferred my oral attention upward. 

     Once again, the object of my oral affection was primed and it wasn’t long before Suzanne proved she belonged to that select group of women who scream their way to orgasm.    


     “This next part is called Slave Sodomy.  Its how male slaves in the old South were sodomised by master,” said Marshall.  “Get on your knees and put the side of your face flat on the floor.”

     I heard him in spite of the negative way my hearing had been affected when Suzanne hit the Big O and celebrated by crushing my head between her muscular thighs as she screamed curses and flopped around like a landed marlin.  Connie maintained her position straddling a bucking Suzanne with a death grip on her nipples that left them an inch longer than before.   

     My Uncle Larry was a Civil War buff who taught American History at Vincennes University.  He’d even written several books on the subject but somehow I doubted he had ever heard of Slave Sodomy.

     “Tom, turn your head to face Jean,” said Ralph.

     When I turned, Jean’s face was no more than six inches away.  Ralph put his hands on the back of our heads and slid us together until our lips were touching.

     “Jean, share with Tom,” said Marshall from his position at Jean’s rear.

     Jean smiled, pressed her lips against mine.  Instinctively, I opened my mouth.  Jean spat several tablespoons of a viscous liquid into my mouth.  Its salty flavor gave it away.

     “Enjoy your snowball, Tom,” said Ralph.  Fortunately, snowball was already defined in my slang dictionary.  Several of the girls I dated in high school were snowball enabled.  Still, those snowballs had been composed of my very own semen where this was Ralph’s or Marshall’s, perhaps a little of both.

     I showed my snowball savvy by spitting the contents of my mouth back into Jean’s. We repeated the swap several times before we engaged in a lustful spate of serious tongue kissing and face licking that left both our mouths covered in spunk.

     Jean stuck out her tongue and licked her lips then grinned at me.  She seemed to have the capacity to enjoy anything as long as it involved sex.

     I felt a finger touch my anus then smear it with a lubricant.  I could see Connie was working on Jean’s butthole so Suzanne must be doing mine.  The right side of face was pressed against the carpet.  My rear was pointed toward the ceiling.  A finger entered my hole and worked its way in a circle.  Suzanne took hold of my cock and wanked it as she inserted a second finger.

     “Ever been cornholed, Tom,” asked Ralph placing his hands on my buttocks spreading my cheeks.

     I had never even heard the term cornholed before but given the context and the fact the word contained the four-letter word hole; I understood what he meant. “Only with a dildo,” I answered.

     “Well, It’s my lucky day.  I get your cherry.  You’re in for a treat,” said Ralph.  “Isn’t he Suzanne?”

     “He’ll love it.  Tom’s got a tight hole,” said Suzanne working her lubricant coated fingers around the inside of my rectum stretching my sphincter.  “Tommy’s a lucky slave because Ralph loves to bareback white boys their first time.”

     I could feel Jean’s breath on my face as she moaned in response to whatever Connie was doing to her sphincter.  Suzanne had several fingers in mine and they were in contact with my prostate so I joined Jean in a chorus of moans.

     “He’s ready,” said Suzanne pulling her fingers out of my ass.

     A moment later Ralph placed his foot on the side of my face pinning my head to the floor.  It was dog style with a difference.  Ralph had one knee on the floor behind me.  His other leg was angled across my back with the sole of his foot covering the side of my face.  Jean’s face was pressed to the carpet by Marshall’s foot.  Somebody, I assume was Suzanne, was wanking my penis performing long smooth strokes that began at the base of my balls and ended when her fingers slipped off the tip of my dick. 

     I felt a blunt object knocking on my backdoor.  It knocked twice then went on in causing me to groan.

     “Hear that,” asked Ralph?  “There’s no sweeter sound than the one a white man makes when a black cock glides into his ass.”

     I moaned my agreement as Ralph went as deep as he could while using one hand to separate my buttocks.  At maximum depth, he savored the moment twisting his hips to make me feel the presence of his cock in my lower bowel.

      “Stirring your shit, Tom,” said Ralph making short thrusts. 

     “Black balls and white balls, I just love to play with balls,” said Suzanne as she playfully wrapped both her hand around our scrotums and gently pressed them together. 

     For reasons unknown, I found this marriage of testicles extremely erotic.  “Oh, that’s so nice,” I moaned as Suzanne played handball with one hand while she gave my cock long slow strokes with the other.  She had a way of coming off the tip that was driving me insane. 

     After a few rounds of ball play, she maneuvered her head between my legs to take the head of my cock in her mouth for a tongue wash.  She formed her lips on the underside of my mushroom and locked on tight, whipping her tongue over the piss hole.  Only the cock ring kept me from draining my balls in her mouth. 

     In spite of Ralph’s foot, I could see Marshall was identically mounted on Jean.

     “In Dixieland, the Master robbed his male slaves of their manhood and dignity by sodimising them in the middle of the cotton fields while the other slaves watched,” said Ralph.  “It degraded the black man in the eyes of his family and people.”

     “Jean, this does not pertain directly to you; but we thought you’d still love a good ass fucking,” said Marshall whose cock was gracing the inside of Jean’s rectum.  Connie was on her back between Jean’s legs licking her clit.

     “I adore a good ass fucking,” said Jean her voice distorted by the weight of Marshall’s foot pressing her mouth into the carpet.

      “That’s not strictly true, Marshall,” said Ralph who at the moment would be robbing me of my manhood if we were in the middle of a field surrounded by a throng of Caucasian cotton pickers.  “Masters frequently sodomized female slaves while working in the field.”

     Their conversation was causing me to consider Southern agriculture in a different light.

     “I know that but female slaves expected the Master to sodomize them.  They didn’t feel degraded by the act,” said Marshall.

     “Wouldn’t bother me in the least to have my face shoved down in the dirt with a white man sticking his dick in my butt while everyone watched,” said Connie.  “How about you, Suzanne?”

     “I’d feel mighty proud especially if my husband and family were there to see me taking Master up my ass,” said Suzanne taking my cock out of her mouth to comment.    

     I later learned Marshall and Ralph worked together at a brokerage firm in downtown Indianapolis.   Connie was assistant principal of an inner city middle school and Suzanne was a hospital administrator.  Yet, they seemed to know a lot about the sexual practices of, as they liked to call it, Dixie.

     However, I agree there is something incredibly degrading about having the sole of a foot pressed along the side of your face while you’re being fucked.  I suppose it symbolized being under the Master’s boot.  He was not only invading your person in a most intimate way, he was driving his point home by holding your head down with his bare sole. 

     Of course, in some cultures, sodimising a reluctant male is considered a way of displaying cultural superiority and dominance.  One of my college friends was arrested for possession on spring break in Cancun.  The Federales took all his dope and money, beat the shit out of him, and butt fucked his ass for hours before taking him back to his hotel.  He spent some time in therapy recovering from the mental anguish of being repeatedly ass fucked in the prison courtyard while several hundred Mexicans cheered. 

     On the other hand being degraded sexually was why white people like me joined the club.  Corrine and I were there for sex, humiliation, and degradation, not necessarily in that order.  My cock was hard as a rock and if there hadn’t been a leather strap baring my sperm from escaping I would have blasted Suzanne’s tonsils.

     “Lick my foot, Slave,” said Marshall relaxing the pressure so Jean could turn her head slightly to pass her tongue along the underside.

     “You too, Tom,” said Ralph following his lead. 

     There was definitely something hyper erotic about licking Ralph’s sole while he fucked my ass.  Corrine agreed with me when we discussed it afterwards.  Ralph and Marshall picked up the pace, pounding away.  I was grunting like a pig each time Ralph’s penis make a trip.  They both finished in a frenzy of ass pounding, punctuated by curses and stinging open palmed slaps to our flanks.

      When a sweating, out of breath Ralph allowed his cock to soften and pop out of my anus, I felt a trickle of warm semen drip down on my balls.  Suzanne stayed in place for a minute capturing the seepage with her open mouth.  Definitely hard-core take-no-prisoners sex I decided.  Jerome’s crew could have learned some things from those four.

     It was Marshall and Ralph’s second orgasm in a half hour.  Afterwards, Corrine and I concluded chemical support was required given the number of times the male examiners blew their load during the examination. 

    To keep up in the future, I made a mental note to call our GP and get him to write me an ED prescription to get me through those occasions when I was expected to blast multiple orgasms.

     It was break time.  Bob and the others came into the room.  They must have finished a little earlier.  He offered everyone bottled water or soda from a cooler he was carrying.

     “How are you holding up,” asked Corrine taking a sip when we had a private moment?

     “Fine, see,” I answered moving my hips to cause my still hard cock to bob up and down.  “You?”

     “Excellent, I was a little worried when they separated us.”

     “Jean’s doing great.   She’s very uninhibited. How’s Ted?”

     “The same.  Are you excited?” said Corrine.

     “Yes, I may blow a hole in the wall when I finally get to come,” I said.

     After the break, Jean and I swapped rooms and Masters with Ted and Corrine.  Once again, I was surprised.

     “Come here, handsome.  Let’s see if you’re a good kisser,” said Martin gesturing for me to step closer.  I hesitated a second before stepping into his arms.  We kissed for a few seconds then Bob took his turn.

     Rachel and Carol had positioned Jean on the bed.  She was lying on her back with her head hanging off.  At the moment, her face was between a standing Rachel’s legs.   Carol, rather obligingly was on the bed between Jean’s legs eating her pussy.

     “You’re a good kisser, Tom,” said Bob making a note on the clipboard.

     “Not all the Masters are top men.  A slave has to be versatile,” said Martin as he handed me a plastic bottle of lubricant then climbed on the bed on all fours with his rear pointed in my direction.  He rested the side of his face on the bed as he reached back with both hands and spread his buttocks.

     “Eat it, Tom,” said Bob standing close by.   His hand was on my bottom rubbing my cheeks.  If this wasn’t gay sex I didn’t know what it was.  Gayness is a concern for men like myself who consider themselves heterosexual.  But at that moment, it wasn’t gay sex.  It was just sex.

     So for me, it was an afternoon of firsts, especially in a homosexual sense.  I went to my knees and pressed my mouth against Martin’s sphincter applying lips and tongue with real enthusiasm.   There’s no gender difference in working an asshole open with your mouth and tongue fucking it.  I rooted like a pig in a vegetable garden as I burrowed my face in Martin’s crack.

     “That’s enough, Tom,” said Bob placing his hand on my shoulder.  “Now, lube his hole and fuck it.”

     I had absolutely no problem following directions.  After I loosed his anal ring with my fingers, I placed my dick in the center of his anus, took a firm grip on his hips, and pushed.  Once I was in the backdoor, I charged all the way to the basement.  From the little mewling sounds, Martin was making, I could tell he loved it.

     I had a good motion going when Bob took the lubricant bottle out of my hand.

     “Lean forward, we’re making an Oreo,” said Bob as he inserted a slippery finger in my butthole. 

     A moment later, Bob’s cock was in my ass.  My cock was in Martin’s.  I was the white filling between two black halves.  Bob’s hands grasped my chest, pinching my nipples hard.  This particular part of the test ended when Bob pumped his load in my bottom.     

     I spent the next two hours having sex in more positions than I could later recall.  It pretty much covered the gamut of sexual possibilities with two males and two females.  I could tell our examiners were pleased.

     “You certainly don’t have any hang-ups,” said Martin as he pulled his cock out of Rachel’s ass and inserted it in my mouth.  I was underneath Rachel in a sixty-nine eating her cunt while Martin plowed her ass.  “Some candidates balk at ass to mouth action.”

     “I like the taste,” added Jean whose mouth was working on Bob’s cock that had most recently resided deep in Carol’s rectum.

    Partners and positions keep changing.  One minute I would be pounding away between Rachel’s legs with Bob’s cock in my mouth.  A quarter hour later, I was sucking Martin’s cock while Carol was combining a prostate massage with a hand job.

     “You four form a daisy chain,” said Bob when the others joined us.  

     Our examiners took a break to compare notes while I ate Jean’s pussy while Corrine sucked my cock.  I was getting tired but I told myself to suck it up for the ending when they brought the four of us together.

     For the finale, they removed Ted and my cock rings.  That was an incredible relief.  Ted and I were told to lie across the beds. 

      “Jean, climb on Tom facing his feet.  Corrine, you mount Ted,” said Bob.

     Jean’s mess of a pussy descended on my face as she took my cock in her mouth.  I didn’t last long.  Neither did Ted.  I blew my load in long spurts that Jean gulped down as they arrived.

     While we dressed, Bob gathered up the clipboards and tabulated our scores.   We got the good news before we left.  Both couples had achieved a passing grade.   The only hurdle remaining was our Initiation.  Instructions would arrive by mail.

     I slept most of the drive home after exchanging a few words with Corrine about the examination.

     “We got in.  Are you pleased?” asked Corrine as we drove away from the Longwood.  I could tell she was very pleased.

      “Pleased but exhausted.  Sex exams are tiring,” I said tilting my seat back.

     “I was a little concerned you might have a problem with all the guy sex,” said Corrine.  “I hadn’t expected there would be so much Down Low.”

    I questioned the term.  “What is Down Low?”

    “Down Low is a slang term.  It refers to men who have sex with other men but who consider themselves neither bisexual nor homosexual,” said Corrine.  “It’s primarily refers to African American males.”

     “Oh, and where did you learn this,” I asked realizing her definition did not make quite make sense.

     “Ted, he and Jean have been wife swapping with a black couple.  That’s how they learned about the club,” said Corrine.

     “The only thing that surprised me was kissing Bob and Martin but I recovered quickly.  I’d never made out with a guy.  Martin said I was a good kisser.”

     “Martin is right,” said Corrine offering the kind of psychological support a good wife considers her duty.

     The conversation lulled and I fell asleep. It seemed like I’d been asleep only a few seconds when Corrine announced, “We’re home.”

      “I’m going straight to bed without passing Go,” I said when we reached our bedroom and started undressing.

      “I’ll second the motion,” said Corrine uncharacteristically dropping her clothes in a pile by the bed as she undressed.  Usually, she’s such a neat freak and hangs everything up.

     We slipped under the covers naked and turned off the light.  I figured I’d be asleep as soon as I closed my eyes.  A four-hour sex exam sure wears a guy out.  Corrine rolled over and I spooned against her warm backside.

     Just as I about to drift off, my nose detected body fluids.  Both of us were coated with dried saliva, sweat, semen and female secretions topped off with a layer of pheromones.  We should have showered and I considered getting up and rinsing off; but I couldn’t summon the will to get up out of the warm bed.

     I inhaled drawing the scent of old sex deep into my lungs.  I felt my cock start to harden.

     “What are you doing,” asked Corrine pressing her bottom against my incipient hardon?

     “Smelling pussy and cock,” I replied before inhaling deeper.

     Corrine took a deep breath before answering.  “That’s a blend of six pussies and six cocks.”

     “I wonder if you fuck enough people, you can get to be like one of those wine tasters who can tell the year and name of the vineyard by taking a sip. I can smell Ralph’s semen in your hair,” I said inhaling deeply.

     “You’re sure it’s not Bob’s,” asked Corrine turning around to face me.

     I kissed her as I pressed my erect penis against her belly.  I placed my fingers on her clit and rubbed down into her opening.  It felt sticky.  “This is Bob’s,” I said bringing my fingers to my nose.

     “You’re full of shit, Tom Meade.  You’ve got Connie’s cunt all over your face,” said Corrine licking my lips.  “I also detect the odor of Marshall’s penis.”

     That was as far as the conversation progressed before the two of us lost all pretense of control.  I wasn’t tired, anymore.   I had the energy of a nine year old.  I kicked the down comforter off and dove head first toward the foot of the bed.  I grabbed Corrine’s legs and rolled her on top of me burrowing my face in her fabulous smelling snatch.

     She was sucking my cock and licking my balls all the while inhaling my scents and urging me to, “Eat her fucking filthy pussy”.

     Corrine and I were no strangers to great sex but that night established a new gold standard.  I was intoxicated by her taste and smell.  I couldn’t think or function other than sexually.

     When I finally climbed on top and pushed my cock in what was the hottest, wettest, and tightest cunt on the planet, I never wanted it to end.  We fucked for what seemed like hours before I deposited what felt like a quart of come in her dirty filthy beautiful hole.  It was like my butt cheeks were filled with semen and I was draining them dry.

     I know that’s all bullshit but it was one hell of a fuck, the greatest ever.

     We both lay there panting.  It was Corrine who spoke first.

     “I guess joining the club was a good idea.”

Chapter 17 Initiation

     When you join a sex club you had better be prepared for a lot of sex, I told myself as I crawled between Nadine Reynolds’ ebony thighs. Nadine had thoughtfully placed a pillow under her hips and spread her legs wide apart so I wouldn’t have any trouble eating her.

     Corrine and I were back at the Longwood Motor Court undergoing the second part of our initiation into Club BM&WS.  After part one, Orientation, we were being welcomed with four one-hour sessions where we were expected to sexually service a different black couple during each hour.

     According to the literature we received in the mail, the Club considered the afternoon a combination of welcome and training.  The afternoon was intended to give us a sampling of what to expect at the monthly meetings.

     The first couple was our sponsors, Scott and Nadine Reynolds.   Scott was also my criminal lawyer who luckily we had never had to go to trial with.  I strongly suspected he had been screwing my wife behind my back. 

    That point was moot soon since Corrine was right beside me preparing to take Scott’s fully erect black cock in her mouth.  

     Nadine was one of those buxom black women with big tits and a matching butt.  She was certainly aggressive and seemed to have a real thing for white men.  She’d been all over me from the moment Corrine and I walked through the door.

     At her direction, I’d just spent time sucking on her oversized nipples bringing them to a state of extreme readiness.  Between the cock ring and the erectile dysfunction pills my doctor had prescribed I was also in state of extreme readiness.  I was so hard you could strike a match on my dick. 

     As my face reached her sex, I took an exploratory swipe of my tongue across her clit she’d exposed for me by parting the thick folds of her labia.  I grabbed the nubbin of flesh in my lips and pulled it out so I could suck it.  I inhaled her musky aroma as I worked on her mini-dick.  I’ll go to my grave believing black pussy smells different than white; even though I’ve been told a hundred times it all smells the same. 

     “White boys love eating pussy, especially a black woman’s pussy” said Nadine placing her hands on the side of my head to pull me hard against her sex, arching her back in reaction to my warm mouth on her sensitive flesh.  I found myself coming around to her idea there was something special about the way an ebony snatch tasted, smelled, and even felt.

      “Nadine once dated a white boy in college, a real Georgia cracker, a dye-in-the-wool nigger hating redneck,” said Scott as he gently pushed my wife down toward his crotch.  Nadine had a liberal arts degree from Emory University in Atlanta where according to her she majored in getting racist white boys to do down on her while one of her girl friends took images for the college Web site.

     It was something her husband Scott took a certain amount of pride in. “The cracker once ate her snatch while his red neck frat brothers watched.”

      “Harvey hated black people but he loved the taste of chocolate,” said Nadine before offering me an incentive.  “Eat me nice, Tom, and I’ll let you fuck me.”

      “Yeah, Cory baby, suck my dick.  You know how I like it,” breathed Nadine’s husband Scott as Corrine took his cock in her mouth and swirled her tongue over the head.  His last comment confirmed my suspicion he and Corrine had been getting it on.

     Scott’s deep sonorous voice sounded a lot like Barry White.  That undoubtedly contributed to his success in the courtroom and in getting white woman like Corrine to spread their legs for him.

     Corrine was practicing her yoga trick of doubling one leg underneath her allowing her vulva to rest on the side of her foot, a practice she claimed to have learned from the Kama Sutra.  A rocking motion permitted her hands free masturbation.  Scott’s shaft and balls were getting her full manual as well as oral attention while she was giving her clit a massage with her insole.  My wife is a very talented woman. 

     My leg was pressed against Corrine’s as we performed orally on the Reynolds.  For reason’s unknown, we both found it erotic to be touching while having sex with others.

     “Don’t neglect my heinie, Tom,” said Nadine raising her legs to indicate analingus was expected. 

     I burrowed my face between her meaty buttocks, my lips seeking her bull’s eye.  My tongue circled the slightly raised circumference clockwise and counter clockwise before zeroing in on the opening.  I placed the tip of my tongue dead center of her sphincter.  I hesitated a split second to relish the experience.  A strong push and once more, my tongue was up a black woman’s ass.

     “Good boy,” said Nadine reaching down to grab her buttocks and pull them apart allowing me to go deeper.

     The letter announcing our acceptance into the club arrived within a week after our examination at the Longwood.   We already knew we’d made the grade but the letter made it official.  The manila envelope also contained information about our initiation along with forms we had to complete and bring with us.

     I hadn’t realized there was an initiation so I asked Corrine as I handed her the letter.  “What‘s involved?”  As usual she was fully briefed.  I assume by Scott Reynolds who I’d come to realize had guided our every step along the path for joining the club.

      I rationalized that if Scott and Corrine were having an affair, it was my fault.  If I hadn’t gambled and wound up being owned by Al Quarles, Corrine and I would still be a monogamous couple.  I’d sworn never to reproach her for whatever happened as a result.

     And since I got off watching her with black men my only legitimate complaint was she wasn’t letting me be a spectator.  The fact my sex life was nothing short of incredible was also a factor in my acquiescence.  Regardless of how we became members, I found sex with black men and women an unbelievable turn on.  I didn’t care who Corrine humped as long as I participated along with her.

     Corrine opened the envelope, examined the contents and read the brief note announcing we were accepted as members in Black Masters and White Slaves and could participate fully as soon as we were initiated.

     “There will be an orientation session at the start of the initiation.  The club’s president will go over the rules.  That’ll last about an hour.  It’s a good time to ask any questions you might have.  Then they take our pictures for the club’s Web site,” said Corrine.

      “What kind of pictures,” I asked?

      “Revealing ones, here you need to fill this out,” said Corrine handing me a sheet of paper with a large number of items to check and a place at the end for me to write a paragraph about how I eager I was to serve the sexual needs of my black masters.

     “I’m not happy with the idea of having nude pictures of us on the Web for the world to see,” I said looking at the paper.

     “Only club members can access the Web site. Its password protected,” said Corrine.

     “Will we have a password?”

     “Yes, but there are different levels of access depending on whether you are a master or a slave,” said Corrine.

     “What’s this all about,” I asked holding up the form.

     “It’s your sexual profile.  You get the male version.  I get the female.  Let’s fill them out together,” said Corrine handing me a pencil.

     “Name is easy enough,” I said filling in the top line of the form. “But what do they mean by slave name?”

     “Some members might choose to have a different slave name than their real name,” said Corrine.

     “Sounds too confusing, I’m sticking with Tom,” I said.

     “Tom sounds like a slave name but I’m going to put down Cory,” said Corrine.  “Cory, the white slave girl who loves being used by her black Masters.”

     I filled in my height and weight along with my hair and eye color.  I entered eight inches as my cock length and checked the box indicating I was circumcised.  “Top, bottom, or versatile,” I read aloud.  “Which am I?”

     “Check versatile,” said Corrine.  “That means you can both pitch and catch.”

     “I’m not sure that’s true.  I’ve screwed one another man in the ass and that was Martin, last week.”  I don’t know whom I was trying to fool, my wife or me.  The club’s examination had shown I could fuck men as well as women.   However, I still had problems letting go of my illusion I was a straight eight guy not a fairy

     “And how was it for you,” asked Corrine?  “As I recall, Martin loved it.”

     “Since my hard on was enforced by the cock ring, I’m not sure.  It felt good.”  Martin had moaned and jerked his cock as I buggered him.  I liked screwing Martin.  And I also got off when I was the catcher but I wasn’t quite ready to admit it to Corrine or myself.

     “You’ve screwed me in the ass and you butt banged Connie and Rachel,” said Corrine speaking as she was writing.  “You got off on that.”

     “That’s different,” I said.  “You have a beautiful ass.”

     “Thanks, you’re sweet.  It says at the bottom of the form you can change your profile online so just put down versatile for now and if it turns out you don’t like buggery, change it later,” said Corrine.

     “All right,” I said checking the box.  There was an impressively long list of BDS&M activities like spanking, whipping, cock and ball torture, nipple clamps, etc.  There were two columns with two choices each.  One column indicated your willingness to experience the activity, the other to perform the action.  I was universally no to experience but yes to perform.  If some black male or female wanted me to put a pair of alligator clamps on their nips, I could handle it but I preferred to keep my buds clamp free.

     “Why you little painslut,” I said to Corrine, later, when we were editing each other’s profile for mistakes. She had opted for pretty much the entire BDS&M menu.

     “Don’t be judgmental.  I want to experience new things,” she said.     

      I’d completely nixed the fetish list for enemas, water sports and scat.  Playing in somebody else’s shit or even mine did not strike me as something I was up for.   Rubber, latex, and infantilism were also on my no list.  Then I came back to one I’d skipped because I wanted to discuss it with Corrine.

      “Cross dressing, what do you think,” I asked?

      “I checked it. But I doubt there is female Master who wants a diesel dyke slave.  But you never know,” said Corrine giving me a knowing look.  “Or maybe one of the Masters likes to have a white woman dressed as a man do him with a strapon.”

      “What does it mean if I check it,” I asked?

      “It means a Master could expect you to show up dressed as a girl or dress you as a girl himself.  There’s also Forced Feminization under the fetish category,” said Corrine looking at my form.  “You might want to check that also.”

      “You okay with it,” I asked wondering how Corrine would react to me in drag?  I’d never admitted it to her or anyone but occasionally dressing in her underwear and clothes was a major turn on.  Unfortunately, she didn’t have much I could wear.  I’m not a big man but Corrine is a Size 6. 

      “Sure, I’ll even help you find something to wear, Thomasina,” said Corrine calling me by the feminine form of my name.

      “It might be something I want to try,” I said mentally wrestling with the thought I was out of control sexually.

      “If you check it and the Master specifies it, you won’t have a choice when we’re on booty call,” said Corrine.

      “We’ll be on booty call,” I asked?  That was a possibility I hadn’t heard before.

      “Only for one weekend every three months,” said Corrine.  “The Club gives us a pager.   If a Master couple pages us, we have to go.”

      “Sounds interesting,” I said.  Being summoned to a black couple’s house for sex struck me as erotic.  And arriving dressed as a woman made my cock immediately hard. 

     Corrine carefully checked our forms then faxed them to what we assumed was the Club’s headquarters.  Anxious to start, she picked the first Saturday available.

     We arrived on time at the designated Longwood motel room where we were met by the club co-presidents, Dan and April.  Apparently, the office of club president always consisted of a man and wife.

     They were another good-looking black couple.  As I found out later, appearance was an important factor in member selection.  April was the taller of the two.  She was well over six feet with a willowy figure and extremely long legs I immediately pictured wrapped around my waist as I thrust into her.  Her short skirt showed them off.  Dan was my height and also slender.  It turned out they were both runners who had just returned from competing in the Boston Marathon.  Months later, at one of the monthly parities, I learned April was dominant and Dan submissive.

      After a brief check of our driver’ license to confirm our identity, we got down to business. 

      “Undress and put your clothes in these,” said Dan handing us two shopping bags for our clothes.

     Once we were nude, our indoctrination began.   We had to sign a form relieving the club of any responsibility if we were injured or contracted an STD.  There was also a pledge of secrecy for us to sign.

     “I see you’re both into strapon sex,” said April after glancing at the completed profile forms we’d handed her.  April got busy entering our profiles with her laptop while Dan used his to access the Web site to create our login and password.

     “All the rules of slavery are in the slaves pages of the Web site,” said Dan showing us how to select the Slave’s’ Rulebook.  There was a Master’s Rulebook but it was only accessible to users with a Master’s login. 

      As slaves, we were expected to attend at least nine of the next twelve monthly meetings.  Our membership would be suspended if we missed more than three meetings in twelve.  However, if we had a really good reason such as illness or business, we could appeal.

    One weekend every three months we were on booty call from six Friday evening until six Sunday evening.  We were expected to respond to any master who paged us.

      “You can expect forty eight hours of sexual slavery,” commented April.

      “A key requirement is that you perform consistent with your profile.  If you checked No to being whipped, you can refuse to be whipped.  But if you checked Yes and refuse, the Master can file a complaint and your membership could be suspended,” said Dan.

      “Suppose you agree to a No just this once,” I asked?

      “That’s okay.  Sometimes we all like to try new things,” said Dan.

      There were a host of other rules about personal hygiene and maintaining an attractive appearance.  One way to get kicked out of the club was to gain weight.

      “What if I decide to get pregnant and go off birth control,” asked Corrine?

      “That depends on whether you want to have Tom’s baby or let one of the Masters impregnate you,” said Dan looking sly.

      “Don’t be an ass, Dan,” said April.  “You can suspend your membership until you are pregnant.  And later, you can become inactive when you get close to your date.”

      “Some of the Masters have a real thing for pregnant white women.  I know I do,” said Dan exercising the keyboard then turning the laptop screen toward us.  “Here, take a look at Slave Denise.”

     Denise was a diminutive brunette with large brown eyes and a slim figure except for her abdomen.  Denise’s husband was kneeling beside her with his hand draped over her belly.  They were both nude.  ‘Inactive’ was printed at the bottom of the image.

     “That was taken about a month ago,” said April.  “She and Roger had a son last week, Samuel Elliot.”

     “One of the Masters is the baby’s father,” said Dan changing the laptop image to that of an infant.  “We’re all trying to figure out who he looks like.”

      “Denise chose to let the Masters impregnate her,” said April.  “That’s not common but Denise and Roger have a strong commitment to the club.” 

      I kept my mouth shut but I had no intention of allowing anyone besides me to knock up Corrine.  That was my job.

     Questions answered, we posed for our Web pictures.  It was very basic and to my professional’s way of thinking, lacking, but I suppose it served the purpose.  A bed sheet was taped to the wall in front of a tripod mounted digital camera.

    We posed for frontal, side and rear then we were done.

     “Always remember the cardinal rule,” said Dan ending our orientation.  “You are the slave and must do as you are told.”

      “And as slaves, you should expect hard treatment from some masters,” said April.

      “But hopefully, they will respect your limits as stated in your profile,” said Dan.

      “These are the rooms you will spend the next four hours,” said April handing us a printed list of the four Master couples we would be serving that afternoon.  I wasn’t surprised to see Scott and Nadine Reynolds were our first appointment.  Corrine had said it was traditional our first Masters were our sponsors.  Dan used his cell phone to confirm they were nearby and waiting.

      I started to pick up the shopping bag expecting to redress for the short trip from Room No. 118 to Room No. 325.  The Longwood was an older motel with three floors and the rooms opened to the outside.

      “You’re not allowed to dress.  Your clothes will be waiting for you at your last appointment,” said Dan taking the shopping bag from my hand.

      “How do we get there,” I asked not realizing what was expected?

      “Go out the door and turn left.  There’s a stairwell at the end,” said Dan smiling.

      “Or you can take the elevator,” said April. 

      “Come on,” said Corrine before I could protest.

Chapter 18 Marathon Afternoon

     We almost made it to our first couple without being seen.  However, when the elevator door opened on the third floor, there was a family of four waiting: mother, father, son, and daughter.  That was embarrassing especially since my prescription had taken effect and I had eight inches of good wood sustained by a cock ring.  From their facial expressions I could tell both mother and teen-age daughter were impressed. 

     Their son asked, “What was that black thing around his thing?” as we rushed past them toward Room No. 325.  I would have loved to stay and see how Mom and Dad answered that one.

     Scott took his sweet time opening the door.   Traveling between rooms nude turned out to be SOP for the remainder of the afternoon.  I was surprised someone didn’t call the police or complain to the manager since we passed other guests on three of our four dashes between rooms.   The Longwood was located on a busy street and several passing motorists sounded their horn and waved at the naked white couple moving quickly down the outdoor walkway.

     Later when we had a chance to discuss the day’s events, Corrine and I discovered we both considered walking nude between rooms a turn on.   There was a streak of exhibitionism buried within us that being a sex slave brought out.  As a result, we were both ready for action when Scott stood aside so we could pass.

      “Down on your knees, Slaves,” said Scott in a serious tone reminding me once again slaves should expect harsh treatment.

      As I fell to the carpet, I saw a black woman I assumed was his wife, Nadine, standing nearby wearing an oversized strapon.  It was my first look at Scott’s wife and she was an imposing woman, tall and muscular.  She’d gone to college on an athletic scholarship in track and field.  The web of nylon straps securing the dildo to her crotch made her all the more impressive.

      “I’m Nadine, welcome to Black Masters and White Slaves, Tom.  I’ve already met you wife.  Now, suck my black dick and make be believe you love doing it.”

     Nadine had taken a position towering over me.  The dildo was bobbing up and down.  The head looked bigger than my mouth.  However, I wanted to make a good first impression so I maxed open my jaw hinge and wrapped my lips around the head.

      I enthusiastically sucked Nadine’s fake dick for several minutes while Corrine worked on Scott’s real one.  There was no need for me to fake anything.  I was turned on in every way possible.  Nadine’s vagina was releasing pheromones my olfactory nerves were transforming into lust as quickly as they arrived.  

      After a few minutes of mouth worshipping her artificial penis, Scott and Nadine switched slaves.  I formed my lips over Scott’s penis; conscious its generous saliva coating came from my wife.

      It turned out I was having it easy compared to Corrine.  I heard her choke and gag as she attempted to play sword swallower with Nadine’s fake dick.  “Try again, Cory.  Show me how much you want to please your Mistress,” said Nadine.

     My peripheral vision revealed she had hold of Corrine’s head and was forcing the dildo down her throat.  Over our many encounters with Master couples I noticed a tendency for the black female to be brutal with the white female.   I suppose they had their reasons.  Corrine never complained; in fact she got off on it.

     “That’s a good boy, Tom.  Corrine said you loved sucking licorice sticks and I can see she’s right,” said Scott as I did my utmost to please him orally.  If he’d reviewed all the evidence I gave him, he’d watched me suck Morgan’s cock multiple times.   Scott was a shrewd lawyer and astute judge of human nature.  He knew what I was all about.

      As for me, I was making serious mouth love to his sex organ.  He had a beautiful cock with an impressive pair of balls I enjoyed taking in my mouth one at a time and sucking.  The dark chocolate shaft ended in a classic reddish brown mushroom head who’s under lip was perfect for locking your lips around while you tongue washed the tip and diddled the piss hole.  It was the kind of perfect Afro American cock a white slave like me could temporarily fall in love with.

      “I said take it all, white bitch,” demanded Nadine angrily who was standing over Corrine aiming her strapon almost straight down in her throat.  Nadine had one hand embedded in Corrine’s hair forcing her head back while the other had a grip on her lower jaw pulling her mouth open.  Although the width and length of the strapon made it seem unlikely it would fit in Corrine’s throat, I could see it was halfway home.   Unfortunately, that was as much as Corrine could take on that try and Nadine was forced to pull out.

       I was surprised by the sound of someone being slapped.  When I glanced over I could see the side of Corrine’s face was red.   That was when I recalled Corrine had checked yes to Forced Oral on her profile form.

       “Sorry, Mistress Nadine,” said my usually proud wife in her most humble and contrite voice. 

       “You better take it all this time, bitch,” said Nadine once again taking hold of Corrine’s hair and jaw to force her mouth open.

       I provided Scott my best effort while I listened to the sound of Corrine gagging.  It took several more attempts punctuated by loud slaps before finally, Nadine announced, “Look everyone.  The stupid white whore’s swallowed it.”  

      I saw something amazing when I glanced in their direction.  Ever watched one of those nature shows where the python opens its mouth to swallow something that appears impossible?  That was how Corrine looked with Nadine’s strapon fully inserted in her obviously swollen throat.  I had to hand it to Corrine.  I could never have done it.

     Where I’d only been required to lick and suck on the dildo’s mushroom head, Nadine had forced it all the way down Corrine’s gullet.  The sight of that large black column of faux cock with its realistic veins embedded deep in her throat looked truly bizarre.  My wife’s mouth was opened to the max allowed by her jaw hinges.  Her crotch was pressed against Corrine’s chin.

     “Hold her still, baby,” said Scott grabbing a small digital camera off the bed table.  The subject of personal photography had never come up but since I was a slave I wasn’t in a position to object.  Besides I couldn’t talk with Scott’s dick in my mouth.  Nadine smiled at the camera as Scott clicked through several frames. 

     Images captured, Nadine pulled the dildo out of Corrine’s throat allowing her to collapse to the floor gasping for air.

     “Water break,” announced Scott reaching in a small cooler for bottles of cold Evian water.

     They allowed us to drink some water and catch our breath before going on to the next act.

     “This is terrific.  Isn’t it?” whispered Corrine as we shared a cool drink.

      “Yes, its fantastic,” I replied and I meant it.  If someone had asked me pre Al Quarles if I thought Corrine and I would get off on being badly abused sex slaves for a domineering black couple, I would have thought they were crazy for asking.  But after we stared in Morgan’s abyss, it stared right back into us and we had both changed big time. 

      “Break over, assume the position of submission,” announced Scott enjoying the way the phrase rolled off his tongue.

      Somehow I intuited he meant Slave Sodomy.  I leaned forward putting the side of my face on the carpet facing Corrine as I raised my bottom toward the ceiling.  I dutifully reached back to pull my butt cheeks apart offering my hole to Master Scott.

     During my previous experience with Slave Sodomy, I’d been too distracted by the competitiveness of the examination to truly appreciate the utter humiliation of having another person’s bare foot on your face while he or she was sodimising you.  It speaks directly to your helplessness and degradation.  Maybe it was a practice handed down from ante-bellum Southern slave owners.  It makes you wonder how any cotton ever got picked.

     I felt something wet land on my sphincter then being smeared about by Scott’s cockhead.  Unlike my examination when my anus had been prepared for invasion, Scott placed his manhood at the center of my spit covered opening, grabbed my hips and pushed hard.  My rectum screamed in pain as it was forced to accept the length of his penis in a split second.

     I exhaled in an attempt to control the spasms associated with having a sizeable black cock thrust deep into my ass with an absolute minimum of preparation.  I begged my body to relax as my lower abdomen suffered muscle wrenching spasmodic contractions.  But the body has an amazing ability to adapt.  Months later, after attending several club meetings, I could take the biggest cock without feeling anything but pleasure.

     Corrine grimaced as Nadine forced an even large column into her rectum.  Disregarding my profile’s prohibition against pain, Scott delivered a painful swat to my flank.  As he began thrusting away, he followed up with several more than left my bottom on fire.

      “You like that, Tom,” asked Scott after his open palm landed hard enough I wanted to scream?  Somehow checking No by Spanking didn’t deter having my ass turned red during sodomy. 

      “Yes, Master Scott,” I said following proper protocol for addressing your club betters. 

      Corrine was enduring the same treatment from Nadine.  She was hitting so hard Corrine was whimpering.

      My lower GI tract finally relaxed allowing my grunts and whimpers to turn to moans.  Just as I was feeling real pleasure and starting to groan each time he plumbed my depths, Scott’s hand grasped the base of my balls and gave them a not too gentle squeeze causing me to cry out in pain. 

      “I didn’t tell you to enjoy having my cock in your ass,” said Scott pulling and twisting my testicles.

      “Yes, Master Scott,” I said struggling not to scream.  I was starting to realize how correct April was when she said we slaves should expect brutality as the norm.

      After a rash of pounding thrusts in which he mashed my face flat with his foot and manhandled my testicles, Scott released my balls and pulled out of butt.  I felt movement behind me.  I was about to learn Master couples shared ass fucking duties.

     “Oh yes, Master Scott, fuck my ass,” moaned Corrine as Scott’s foot landed on the side of her face.  Her tongue popped out the side of her mouth and began eagerly licking his sole.  Almost simultaneously, Nadine’s foot landed on my face.  The toes were wrapped around the top of my head and the heel was on my neck.  She had big feet.  I managed to windshield wipe the tip of my tongue along her insole.

     Her very long and thick faux penis forced its way past my anal ring and didn’t stop until I felt the base smack against my nuts.  My lower GI tract agonized over the new invasion.  The head was somewhere inside my large intestine straightening out what used to be a ninety-degree angle.   She signaled her satisfaction at fully penetrating my rear with an open palmed slap to my backside that made her husband’s seem like a love tap.

      “That hurt, Mistress Nadine,” I whimpered once I recovered enough to speak.  I’d screamed so loud I wondered how soundproof were the motel room’s walls.  Apparently, guests at the Longwood minded their own business even if someone next door was screaming their lungs out.

      “Good, it’s supposed to,” said Nadine smiling as she drew back her strapon manhood to where only the tip was inside me before plunging downward.  Displaying a gift for coordinating her activity she delivered a second painful blow to my backside just as the base of the dildo slammed into my balls.  I was hurting in multiple places so I screamed even louder.

     “Tom’s a good screamer,” said Nadine delivering an unwelcome complement.

      After a half dozen more bowel straightening thrusts synchronized with butt numbing open palm slap and a brutal pounding of my balls, she relented and established a nice smooth stroke.  Nadine even had the decency to reach down and begin stroking my cock.  In a state of considerable pleasure, I busied myself licking the sole of her foot as she fucked me in the ass.  I was in white slave heaven as she worked my body.

    At some point, the sodomy session ended.  Nadine removed her strapon and we were invited onto the bed to orally serve our masters.   And true to her word after I got her off, Nadine pulled me on top her, reached down to unsnap my cock ring then guided me inside her very wet and incredibly warm vagina.  Corrine eased herself on Scott, guided his manhood into her hole and went for a ride. 

      Nadine and I engaged in some serious kissing as I ground my pubic bone against her clit.  Her vagina performed on the same level as Corrine’s.  Its strong muscular walls hugged my pecker demanding sperm.  I happily fucked away until I ejaculated a considerable volume of semen in her hole as she climaxed. 

     Corrine was the recipient of Scott’s bounty at almost the same time.  I thought we were done but not quite.

     Nadine pushed me off her then rose up to a kneeling position. “Climb under me Cory and clean out Tom’s spunk.”

      Corrine obediently rolled on her back and scooted under the V formed by Nadine’s legs.  Once she determined her vagina and Corrine’s mouth were in alignment, Nadine took hold of her labia between thumb and forefinger and spread them apart opening her hole.  I marveled as gobs of my sperm flowed out of Nadine into my wife’s eager mouth.  Corrine had just eaten her first cream pie a la Tom.

     Once the flow ended, she inserted her tongue in Nadine’s opening and began a noisy extraction of the dregs of my essence.

     I found myself hungrily eyeing Corrine’s well-fucked pussy.  There was a thin trickle of Scott’s fluid seeping out. 

     “Go ahead Tom.  We know what you want,” said Scott gesturing toward Corrine’s sex.  Given he had watched a evidence box of video discs showing me sucking Morgan’s spunk out of my wife’s vagina, I had to agree.

     I also did not have to be told twice.  After all, it was what got me started on the path to being a bisexual sex slave for black couples.  I pressed my face to Corrine’s vagina and feasted.  For me, this was what it was all about.  Pressing my mouth over her just fucked cunt and using my tongue to transfer the recently deposited contents.  I was in an advanced state of sexual ecstasy.

     The hour was almost over when I looked up from Corrine’s now empty pussy.

      “Vera and Paul are next, Room No 246,” said Nadine consulting her copy of our agenda.  “You better get moving.”

      We met a guy on the way there and the bastard had the balls to grab one of Corrine’s tits as we passed. She slapped his hand away, grabbed my hand and we ran to Room No. 246.

     Vera and Paul turned out to be older.  I’d guess later forties, maybe early fifties.  Our hour with them turned out to be a kinder and gentler experience than we had with Scott and Nadine.  They were both short in stature with compact lean bodies.  Later I learned, Paul was a dentist and Vera worked in the same office as his dental hygienist.

      The fact Paul was wearing hose, garter belt, and a thong panty struck me as odd as did the fact, he took me in his arms and kissed me as soon as we got in the room.

     “Call me Mistress Pauline when you make love to me,” he whispered in my ear as he ended the kiss.  Corrine and I spent an easy hour having homosexual sex with the pair.  I never touched Vera and Corrine never laid a hand on Paul AKA Pauline.

     Vera produced a double-ended dildo for them to share.  With a little squirming and pulling, the two managed to bring their sexes into contact while being impaled on half of the fake cock.  The sounds of two well-lubricated vulvas slapping against one another filled the room.

     I surprised myself with the ease with which I accepted my role as Pauline’s male lover.  He provided me oral gratification after a prolonged bout of kissing and stroking.  Pauline was a gifted cocksucker and rimmer.  Without my cock ring I would have blown my load down his sweet little throat.

     That evolved to me taking him anally while he squealed and cooed in a bad imitation of a female in heat.  He implored me to tell him how pretty he was and how much he turned me on.  Like a good slave, I smothered his mouth with kisses as I said what he wanted to hear.

      I sodomised him in multiple positions beginning with missionary then dog style then cowgirl (or is it cowboy) before we finished in missionary.  We took it slow and by the time he took off my cock ring with his teeth, I was ready to explode.

      After bending him double with his calves resting on my shoulders, I deposited a substantial load of fresh jism in his butthole or man pussy, as he liked to call it.  After another water break, it was time for appointment number three.  

     We scurried off to Room No. 106 encountering a young couple on the elevator.  The guy asked if we wanted to party with them but we respectively declined.   He said he had some blow and was willing to share.

     “Sorry, but we have places to go and people to fuck,” said Corrine hurrying toward our destination.

      Marvin and Eileen were straight.  Marvin owned an institutional food supplier and Eileen was a registered nurse.  The lack of exotic sex was all right with me since Eileen was gorgeous, a black version of Corrine.  And she had Corrine’s passionate nature and hold nothing back attitude when it came to sex.  We coupled like a pair of jungle cats while big Marvin impaled Corrine on the largest dick she’d had since Kelso.

     Marvin was NFL lineman large and his cock was in proportion to the rest of him.  Still, Tom, the lapper of black pussy, did more than all right in bring Eileen to a screaming orgasm.

      “Shit, fuck, eat my cunt, you white bastard,” was a small sample of the filth that poured out of Eileen’s mouth when I was using my mouth to get her off the first time. 

     All the while, Corrine was being treated like a rag doll as Marvin moved her through a dozen different positions like she was made of silly putty.  He ended by bending her double as he crouched over her and plunged into her ass.  Ever so often, he would pull out to admire the insides of her rectum.  A view afforded by the fact, his huge cock was stretching her hole past the point it could snap closed immediately.  During these poignant moments, he would release a gob of spit into the opening.  

    Barely over a half hour had transpired before I released a load in Eileen’s smoldering cunt and Marvin filled Corrine’s ass. 

     “Both cream pies are yours, Tom.  I don’t do that kind of shit,” said Marvin standing by the bed wiping his cock with a hand towel.  Obviously Marvin had read my profile.

     Technically, sucking jism out of your wife’s ass (or anybody’s) is not eating a cream pie but felching.  However, it wasn’t my place to correct a Master especially one Marvin’s size.

     “Lay on your back, Tom, and let your head hang off the bed,” said Eileen climbing off the bed.  Corrine stood up also. “You go first, Cory.  Don’t swallow until I say so, Tom.” 

     Corrine straddled my face as she crouched down to where her butthole was close enough for me to cover her sphincter with my mouth.  She contracted her abdomen and Marvin’s semen filled my mouth.  Eileen quickly took Cory’s place and my essence joined Marvin’s.

     “That’s called a vanilla and chocolate Sunday,” said Eileen proving to me there is always something new and delightful to learn.

     I held the jism combo for a few seconds waiting for Mistress Eileen to issue her command.

     “Now swap it back and forth with Cory,” said Eileen.

     “That’s disgusting, Eileen,” said Marvin who had taken a seat close by.

     “Shut up, Marvin.  Tom’s into cream pies and I want him to have something special on his first day at the club,” said Eileen.    

     Corrine quickly knelt down and placed her mouth on mine.  I collapsed my cheeks sending most of my oral cocktail her way.  After taking a few seconds to savor the jism cocktail, she spit it back. 

      “You can both swallow now,” said Eileen.   “Move over, Cory.  I’ve got enough juice for a second helping.”

      We repeated the previous three steps and while the volume was not as great, it was still enough to enjoy.

    With twenty minutes left, we had something of a get acquainted chat with Marvin and Eileen.  They’d been members for five years.  They learned about the club from Eileen’s older sister, Marilyn, who Eileen assured me I would get to fuck soon.

     In our rest period, Eileen and Corrine stroked me back to hardness as Marvin located the Cubs game on television.  Corrine massaged my prostate as Eileen circled my cock and balls with the cock ring and snapped it tight.  Once more, we prepared to dash outside to Room No. 301 and our tryst with Lenny and Gale.

     Our next appointment turned out to be the big surprise.  It was not just Lenny and Gale.  I claim there was ten couples in that room but Corrine says it was only eight.  The room was so full it was impossible to count accurately. 

     Regardless, the room was packed when Lenny opened the door.  If everyone hadn’t been naked and black, I would have assumed we had the wrong room.

     We were grabbed as soon as we entered and placed faces down bent over what we later learned were called Love Benches. Constructed of four inch aluminum tubing with a padded adjustable top that ran the length of your torso, they were the first of many club furnishings designed for Masters to sexually enjoy their slaves.  Lenny constructed these particular benches at his metal fabrication company.  Months later, I purchased one from a Web site for our home use.

     I later learned it was a tradition the last of the four sessions was always a brutal slave gangbang.  I grunted as they wish boned my legs spreading them painfully wide then strapped my ankles to the side of the bench.  Someone removed my cock ring.  A length of surgical tubing was looped around my balls and tightened.  I groaned as they attached one end to the base of the bench then allowed the tubing to stretch like a rubber band.  Some sadist plucked the tubing like a guitar string.  My scream provided the accompanying note.

      My swollen nuts protested as they were stretched toward the floor.  Someone wrapped something around the head of my cock and it joined my balls in being painfully stretched.  Corrine later told me it was a piece of fishing line attached to a bag of weights. 

     I couldn’t see Corrine since she was behind me but I knew she was restrained over her own bench.  Later she described how they placed surgical tubing around the base of her breasts then secured it to the base of her bench.  Her breasts swelled up and turned red then blue.  And to increase her discomfort, they tied fishing line around the base of her nipples and attached lead sinkers.

     “I thought my tits were going to rip off,” said Corrine when we were comparing notes on the drive home.

     Someone made an adjustment to the padded support raising my chin and I found myself looking straight ahead as a large black cock approached my mouth.  At the same time, I felt my sphincter being smeared with lubricant.  A half second later, I had a cock in my ass and one in my mouth.

     I believe all the men present sodomised me, although I can’t be sure.  Several of the women were wearing strapon dildos and they took a turn in my rear.  No one was gentle about it.  It was a hard slamming, butt-bruising ass fuck punctuated by vicious open palm slaps.  It was three days before I could sit down without wincing. 

     I’m reasonably sure I went down on all the females present since different ones kept appearing at my face for oral service.  I ate pussy until my lips and tongue were raw. 

     I could hear Corrine grunting as they slammed into her.  Each session was supposed to last an hour but we were in that room almost two hours.  

     “Ever been fisted,” asked Lenny when a lull in the action occurred.

      The guy had to take his cock out of my mouth so I could answer.  “No, I haven’t, Master.”

      “Then you’re in for a treat,” said Lenny.  “Listen to Cory, she can take a fist.”

      I listened to my wife’s loud moans as I felt something very large force it way past my sphincter and enter my rectum.   It turned out after being sodomised numerous times by large cocks and even larger dildos; I could take a fist.

     There was a camera flash informing me someone was capturing an image of me with an arm up my butt.  That set off a round of picture taking that only ended when everyone had taken advantage of the opportunity afforded by my relaxed butthole.

     “These will be on the Web site tomorrow,” said Lenny showing me the two-inch square display of his wife Gale smiling at the camera.  Her arm was in my ass to the elbow.

     “Let’s put them side by side so I can do both at the same time,” said one of the women.

     Furniture was shoved aside and so they could move Corrine to my left side.  Her face and hair were streaked with semen and she had this wild look in her eye.  That was when I realized she was getting off on what was happening.  I suppose I was too.  My prostate had been rubbed so often, semen was dripping out the tip of my dick. 

    “Time to sign our work,” said Gale handing out several felt tip pens.  Supposedly everyone present signed their names on our butts.  Some wrote just their names while others wrote things like, “Welcome to BM&WS.”

     Once we had been fully autographed, the men took turns jerking off on our faces.  That occasioned another round of photographs.

    Some kind Mistress with a taste for semen unbound my cock and serviced me orally.  When I climaxed, I thought I would never stop coming as I pumped all my stored up semen on her tongue.  She proved to be not as sympathetic as I thought.  After she drained me, she came around to my front and spit come all over my face.

     “Smile, Tom,” said Lenny taking the final photo of the day.

     Everyone dressed quickly and left except for Lenny and Gale.  They stayed along enough to untie us then disappeared but not before handing us the bags containing our clothes.

      We drug ourselves to the bathroom where we showered before getting dressed and driving home.

      “I don’t think I have ever felt so thoroughly fucked in my entire life,” I said as I drove onto the interstate.

      “Me neither, my pussy and my ass will be sore tomorrow,” said Corrine.  “They fisted me in both holes.” 

      Lucky me, I only got one orifice.  My throat’s raw,” I said reaching in the console for a bag of cough drops.  I handed the package to Corrine who unwrapped a couple of lozenges then gave us both one.

      “So did you enjoy it,” asked Corrine?

      “Yes, some things more than others but on the whole, definitely yes,” I said.  “How about you?”

      “Yes for me, too.  I really got off on the gangbang.  It reminded me of my days as a fluffer,” said Corrine wistfully.

      “What’s next on the agenda,” I asked?

      “Nothing until the third Saturday of next month.  We just missed this month’s party,” said Corrine.

      I slept in Sunday morning.  When I woke, Corrine’s side of the bed was empty.  I found her in the home office looking at the club’s Web site as she held a vibrator against her clit.

      Someone must have updated it over night.  The Event’s page included a link to a Slaves Initiation Albums.  Our album was the most recent.  Corrine had selected the Slide Show format.  I stood beside her jerking my cock as the screen displayed images of us undergoing the finale gangbang.

     When our album finished, Corrine selected the album of Ted and Jean, the couple who had been with us when we passed the club’s examination. 

     I moved closer to Corrine so she could suck my cock as we watched.  I massaged one of her boobs as we multitasked our way to a climax.     



Chapter 19 Monthly Party

     I looked around in the gloom of the basement of the Murtaugh Estate.  I’d been there once years before, not the basement but the estate.  It was an eighth-grade field trip.  My teacher’s name was Ms. Cameron and her tits were huge.  She favored tight knit sweaters and on cold days, her headlights were on high beam.  My mother didn’t approve and suggested my father contact the school board and complain.  Dad, a tit man himself, told Mom to mind her own business.

     Ernest Murtaugh was what one could call a Horatio Alger story except he was black.  I couldn’t recall all the facts.  He was the son or grandson of freed slaves who had migrated to Indianapolis after the Civil War.   Ernest was something of a mechanical genius and he invented things for automobiles and washing machines that made them work better.  I can’t remember what.  Only that he was smart enough to patent his inventions and make a fortune. 

     Ernest became very wealthy.  He left half his wealth to his children and the other half to a charitable trust.  The Murtaugh Foundation annually handed out several million dollars to worthy causes associated with Afro-Americans.

      The Murtaugh Estate consisted of an enormous sandstone mansion, several smaller buildings, and over two hundred acres of nature reserve.   The foundation’s charter mandated the estate be properly maintained and used for the good of the Afro-American community.

     During the week, school picnics and other public functions were held on the grounds.  If you were a black couple, you could be married in the formal garden and hold your reception in the great hall.  That was free except for a nominal charge to clean the place after the wedding.

     I remember being totally wide eyed at the magnificence of the mansion when we eight graders were taken on a brief tour.  You could put my parent’s three bedroom house is a corner of the great hall. 

     I can also recall being even more wide eyed when Mary Joe Wiley let me and my best friend Toby Frazer both see and feel her boobs behind the six car garage.  That was the very first time my hands felt a girl’s tit and I can still get a hardon remembering how soft and warm Mary Joe’s felt.  Childhood memories are wonderful things.

     So, I had been somewhat surprised when Corrine informed me the Club’s monthly party was normally held on the Murtaugh Estate.  What I didn’t know was that Hazel Tomlinson, a descendant of Ernest, and the President of the Murtaugh Foundation was a member of the club.

      Two uniformed Afro-American security guards stationed at the entrance carefully checked our identification.  There was a sign posted over the gate saying the estate was closed for the day.

      “Look toward me,” said the guard after he keyed our names into his laptop. 

      “What are you doing,” asked my too curious wife?

      “Making sure you’re the Meade’s,” said the guard turning the screen to where we could see our photos that appeared on the Club’s Web site.  The guard had a big grin on his face as he held the screen close to the car window for Corrine to view.

      “Oh,” was all Corrine could respond.  I suppose she felt a little odd he was looking at full frontal nude pictures of her.

      When our car approached the main building, another guard took one look at our white faces and directed us toward a side parking lot near what I took to be the servant’s entrances.   Other slave couples had already arrived and were standing by their cars undressing.

     From somewhere I’d gotten the idea you could judge a group by the cars they drove.  The slaves parking lot contained mainly up market vehicles, high end German and Japanese models.  The odd thing was the Masters lot was similar. I concluded a slice of Indianapolis’s upper middle class was getting together to engage in some rather outlandish sexual behavior.

     As it turned out, I learned over time I was correct.  Both Masters and Slaves were mainly professionals and small business owners.  The club contained more than its share of lawyers and doctors.

     I thanked God the weather was mild for April in Indianapolis as I got out of the car and pulled my sweater over my head.  Seconds before, I had taken a pill guaranteeing my capability to acquire repeated erections over the next twelve hours. 

     According to the ever-present rules, we had to undress in the parking lot except for our shoes and leave our clothes in the car.  We were allowed to bring one small bag inside containing our car keys and valuables.

     It was a good-looking group.  No one seemed too bothered by nudity.  Once inside, we waited in line as once more our identification and images were checked.  “Quiet,” was printed in large letters on a sign behind the security desk.  I assumed it applied to us slaves because the black staff was chattering among themselves.

     When it came our turn, the identification check was repeated.  Then our bag and shoes were taken away and stored in a locker.   We weren’t allowed watches or jewelry.  My wedding ring was at home on my dresser.   I was naked as the day I arrived in this world.

     Check in completed, I was ordered to stand with my hands on top my head while one of the female staff used a small brush and a can of white paint to emblazon the number twenty-two on my belly and back.  Corrine was number twenty-three.  I made a mental note it was almost noon and for the next twelve hours I was a sex slave who would be tasked to perform any number of sex acts with handsome black couples.   I can’t deny it was a cock hardening thought.

      You had to be there by noon or you didn’t get in.   We milled quietly about as we waited for the last minute arrivals to be processed.  Thirty was painted on the final person in line.   I noticed a pair of Afro-Americans dressed in black slacks and turtlenecks standing nearby watching us. I gathered that was the uniform of our minders.  More ominously, there was a coiled whip and stun guns hanging from their belts.

     One of the late arrivals whispered something to his wife.  I didn’t hear what it was but the guards were on them in a minute. 

      “Can’t you read, you stupid ass white motherfuckers,” demanded the guards throwing the pair to the floor.  I noted they were numbered twenty-five and twenty-six.

      “I just asked if she turned off the cell phone,” said the man who looked scared shitless. 

      “Assume the position,” said the guard.

      I hadn’t read anything about the position in the club’s online rulebook.  Corrine later identified the position as child pose in yoga.  To me it looked like what the Chinese call kowtow.  You start out by kneeling then bend forward until your forehead rests on the floor.  You reach back and grab your ankles.  In China, it signifies subservience.  It also exposes your back and ass to seriously nasty punishment.

     “Please no, we’re sorry,” said the woman who had to be in her early twenties.  Her husband looked older, late thirties to early forties.  He must have spent his time at the gym because he was in good shape.  She was definitely a looker.  They made a handsome couple.  I guess correctly as it turned out she was a second wife.  Later, Corrine referred to her with a slight tone of disdain as a trophy wife.

    Still, it was a good thing I learned what was expected when a guard ordered you to assume the position.  It wouldn’t be long before I had to apply my knowledge.    

     “If you’re not in position in five seconds, we’ll put you on the rail,” said the guard.

     “Please, not that,” said the man hurriedly dropping to his knees.  His wife followed him.

     “How many,” asked the guard looking toward the person who had been checking identification?

     “Five for disobeying and two more for arguing,” said Mr. ID Checker.  “One hour on the rail if they give us any more trouble.”

      The whips came down simultaneously and hard leaving a red whelp.  Both man and wife proved they could scream.  Somehow they managed to hold their position for the next blow.  Whatever the rail was, it must be pure hell for them to struggle so hard to avoid it.  I’d have been flopping all over the floor begging them to stop.

     As for we onlookers, our reaction was not what you would expect.  Normally, a crowd of middle class white people watching a couple being whipped would be aghast and looking for the nearest exit.  But this particular group had gone to great effort and was paying good money to witness and participate in just that kind of treatment. 

     Before the count reached seven, nipples had hardened and cocks had grown erect and a few hands had strayed to their owner’s crotch.  Corrine was squeezing my hand so hard it hurt.  I noticed that when the poor bastard who’d been whipped got to his feet, he had a hard on.

     Punishment over, we were admonished to remain quiet unless we wanted the same. 

     When everyone’s identification had been checked and body painted, they ushered us through a hallway and down a flight of dimly lit stairs into a place that based on the dank odor was a basement with a cold concrete floor.  There were a number of wooden benches along the walls.

     It was a small space and we were crowded together.  Corrine and I took a seat along with everyone else.  The guards turned out the light leaving us in the almost pitch black.   The clang of the heavy metal door at the top of the stairs being shut and locked had an ominous sound. 

     “What happens next,” I whispered to Corrine?

     “You wait until your number is called.  They usually make us wait at least an hour,” said a female voice at my side.  Our hips were touching.   “Everyone’s number gets called at least once.  That a rule.”

      “So what happens then,” I asked?

      “You rush upstairs to one of Overseers and they take you to the Masters who selected your number.  Once you get to the Master you work your ass off to make them happy or they tell the Overseer you displeased them.”

     “And if you don’t please them,” asked Corrine?

     “They got a dozen ways to make you wish you had,” said a nearby male voice.

     “I’ve experienced most of them and believe me, they make you try harder the next time,” said the female who was pressing her leg against mine.

     “We’re newbies,” said Corrine by way of explanation. “I hope the couple who were punished are all right.”

     The husband and wife AKA twenty-five and twenty-six were seated across from us.  We could hear the wife sobbing and the husband trying to comfort her.

     “Althea and Ron, those two love that kind of shit,” said a man’s voice from past the woman.  I assumed it was her husband.  “They always give the guards a reason to whip their butts raw.”

      “Little too rough for me but exciting to watch,” said the woman placing her hand on my thigh.

      I’d never thought much about what we slaves would do when left to our own devices but sex seemed the obvious choice.  There seemed to be shadowy movement all around us.

      “Althea’s a real pain slut although you’d never know it from the way she acts. Ron goes along to please her.  He’s pussy whipped like the rest of us,” said the man good-naturedly.

      “Couples should be supportive of one another,” said Corrine.

      “Why were we put down here in the basement,” I asked the couple.  My eyes had adjusted to the gloom.  My interest in them was piqued by the fact her hand was less than an inch from my penis.  I could see she was an attractive brunette with a good body.  At least it appeared that way in the semi-darkness. Her husband was still in the shadows.

      “I suppose it has something to do with the way Negroes were brought to the country in slave ships.  They were kept in a dark hold throughout the voyage except for an occasional walk on the main deck.  Periodically, the women were summoned to sexually serve the crew.  That’s only a guess by the way. We’re not allowed to ask questions.  My name’s Steve and the little minx whose about to feel your cock is my true and faithful wife, Anita,” said the man.

      “I’m Tom and this is Corrine,” I said.  Anita took that as an invitation to put her hand on my cock and begin to slowly stroke it.

      “Cory, call me Cory,” said Corrine who for some reason was rather intent on going by her slave name.  I’d even noticed the other day at work; she’d signed a note as Cory.

      “But this is a basement not the hold of a slave ship,” I said arguing the obvious.

      “True, like I said.  It’s just a guess on my part.  But if you have to take a piss, there’s a bucket in the corner and this place can get pretty rank by dinner time,” said Steve.

      “There’s no restroom,” asked Corrine?

      “Just a bucket,” said Steve.

      “Do we stay down here the entire time,” asked Corrine?

      “No, they should start calling our numbers soon.  Then you go upstairs and serve the Masters who selected your number.  When the Masters are done, they send you back.  But at dinner time, we all go upstairs, take a shower, eat, and participate in whatever activities, the Master’s devise,” said Steve.

      “Don’t worry, Cory, you’ll get enough black cock to last you until next month,” said Anita who had begun to jerk me off.

      “We just wait until we’re selected,” said Corrine sounding a little disappointed.

      “Why don’t you come over here and sit by me, Cory.  We’ll find a way to pass the time,” said Steve.

      “Sure, why not,” said Corrine starting to rise. 

      I’d noticed a growing level of activity in our basement prison. From somewhere in the darkness, a female voice whispered, “Eat me, Billy.  Eat my cunt.”

     I decided it was only logical we slaves would warm up for sexual servitude by engaging in mutual foreplay.  I relaxed back against the wall while reaching out to feel Anita’s breast.

     Corrine proved willing to get it on with Steve and I had developed a liking for the way Anita’s hot hand was stroking my cock.  But before Corrine could take the few steps to Steve, someone intervened.

      “You’re new,” said an enormous male body blocking Corrine’s path.  His powerful arm wrapped around her waist pulling her against him.

      “Yes, we’re new.  I’m Cory and this is my husband Tom,” said Corrine in her make new friends voice.

      “My friends and I get to go first with the new girls,” said the man.  “I’m called Danny Boy and these dudes are Ken and Irish Mike.”

      Everyone we’d met had seemed so nice at Club BM&WS until now.  I’d noticed Danny Boy when we were waiting in line.  He was hard not to notice.  He had to be six feet six and weigh over three hundred pounds.  And they weren’t three hundred fat pounds either.  The bastard was ripped.  The two men at his side were I assumed Ken and Irish Mike.  They weren’t exactly small either.

      I’m average height and weight on a good day.  That means Danny Boy is almost a foot taller and over a hundred pounds heavier.  Still I felt the need to speak up.

      “Cory is with me,” I said.  Actually, she was in the process of going to have sex with Steve while I messed around with his wife.

      “Don’t worry.  You’ll get her back when we’re done with her,” said Danny Boy placing his enormous paw on my chest and giving me a slight push that caused me to sit down.

      “Don’t you push me,” I said starting to pop back up and commit suicide by attacking Danny Boy.  Luckily, Steve and Anita grabbed me keeping me seated.

      Keep in mind, I could see my hand in front of my face but that was about all I could see.  I could tell Corrine was struggling with Danny Boy’s companions.   Ken had her arms twisted behind her back and Irish Mike whose hair turned out to be red had some kind of death grip on her nipples.  Corrine was sobbing, begging them to stop hurting her.  But there was something in her voice that made me think she didn’t quite mean it.

      That was when I noticed Corrine between tearful pleas for surcease from pain was passionately kissing the two of them.  When I asked her about it later, she responded it was half real and half role-play.  “Yes, they were hurting me but it was making my pussy wet.  And my begging them to stop made them want to keep hurting me while they screwed me.”

     It didn’t exactly make sense to me but it did to her.  And it was her nipples being twisted like a corkscrew.

      “All right, Danny, take it easy, no need to get physical,” said Steve holding on to me.

      “Give it up, Tom,” whispered Anita in my ear as she held me tight.  One arm was around my waist and the other had a firm grip on my dick.  “They won’t really hurt Cory.  They’ll just fuck her mean-like.”

      I must have decided to give it up because I stayed seated as they took my struggling wife to the bench on the opposite wall.  It couldn’t have been more than eight or ten feet away.  I heard them telling the occupants to move aside. 

      “I should have stopped them,” I said dejectedly.  Now, I found myself playing a role.  The idea of the three of them sexually abusing my wife increased my lust but I kept acting the concerned husband.  In reality, I hoped they fucked the shit out of Corrine and from the sounds coming from across the basement, they were.

      “Not going to happen unless you got a gun up your ass.  Danny Boy is a man mountain.  The last guy who stood up to him had his nuts permanently flattened.  So unless you aspire to be a eunuch, let the bastard do what he wants,” said Steve.  “Cory’s a slave so she should expect that kind of treatment and be able to get off on it.  She’ll get worse upstairs.”

      I couldn’t fully make out what was happening to Corrine even though she was maybe six feet away.  They’d put her down on the floor on a thin mattress.  I heard her choke and gag a few times.  She was being forced to deep throat Danny Boy’s super sized cock.

        “Danny Boy and his buddies do that to all the new female members,” said Anita resignedly.  “They did me my first time.  They’re pretty brutal but a slave should expect harsh treatment even from her fellow slaves.”

     “I’m surprised the club lets him get away with it,” I said maintaining my role.   “Hasn’t anyone complained?”

      “Slaves aren’t allowed to complain.  Down here in the slave hold, he can do what he pleases.  You might as well relax and enjoy yourself,” said Steve placing his hand under my balls and giving them a gentle squeeze.

      “Steve got turned on listening to Danny Boy and his buddies fucking me.  The more pain they caused me the harder his cock grew,” said Anita while kneeling down between my legs to lick my penis in her mouth.  “I bet you can get off listening.  Steve did.  Just close your eyes.  We’ll both take care of you.”

      The fact I couldn’t see exactly what they were doing to Corrine made my imagination run wild.  Steve and Anita were on the floor between my legs sharing cock-sucking duties.  One of them slipped a wet finger up my ass and located my prostate.

     I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds surrounding me.  Everyone seemed to be engaged in some form of sexual activity.  I recognized Corrine’s characteristic grunt as they hammered their cocks in her.  Ever so often she whimpered in pain.  The crack of an open palm landing hard on soft flesh emerged periodically from her side of the room. 

    I noticed Corrine wasn’t the only woman or man being abused.  Whimpers, sobs, and pleas for mercy sounded from every corner of the slave hold.   The thought slaves should expect no better from one another than they receive from their master struck me as true.  Perhaps, we would treat each other worse.

     The cliché about everything that comes around goes around also came to mind as I grabbed Anita’s head and forced it down on my erect penis.  I took a firm grip on her hair to insure my control.  I found the eroticism in pushing my cockhead into the narrow opening of her throat.  Her struggle to control her gag reflex and continue breathing increased my lust. 

      When her entire body began to tremble, I relented.  The sounds of her gagging and coughing as she refilled her lungs encouraged me to replace her with Steve who’d dedicated his efforts to sucking my nipples while I abused his wife.  I sensed he was eager to be manhandled.

     I held his head forcing my penis in his throat until he couldn’t take it anymore before I pulled out.  Anita was sucking my nipples and rubbing my balls.  Every so often I showed my appreciation for her efforts by flattening her puffy nipple between my thumb and forefinger.  She hissed in pain when it was the same thickness as a sheet of paper but she didn’t ask me to stop.

     Later, I had to acknowledge I’d discovered a new facet of my sexual persona.  Causing other’s pain while having sex with them turned me on.  I held off as long as I could; but a couple who were masters of fellatio was servicing me.  The surge of semen proved irresistible as it made the short trip from testicles to piss hole.      

     Just as I finished pumping a full load of come in Steve’s eager mouth, I heard the iron door at the top of the steps open and someone shout, “Twenty two.”

      “Better hurry, Tom, or they’ll whip your ass bloody,” said Steve before turning to share his reward with Anita. 

      I ran toward the stairwell passing by the three men who were making sure my wife’s first sex act at the club’s monthly meeting was an exceedingly painful one.  

     “Please don’t,” she pleaded with one of them in a voice seemingly filled with urgency.  My cock twitched as her plea was answered with a slap causing her to cry out.

Chapter 20 My Number Gets Called

     At the top of the basement stairs, I was met by one of the female security staff.  For an Overseer, she was damn good looking.

     “Spread your legs apart hip distance, Twenty-two.  Stand still and don’t move,” she curtly ordered as she knelt down in front of me holding a complicated appearing leather harness.

      “Yes, Mistress,” I said compliantly.  She was definitely pretty and young, college age possibly.  That set me to wondering if Slaves and Security every got together for fun and games after the Masters had retired for the evening.

      A tough looking older male staffer stood nearby watching us.  He looked ready to rush in and back her up if I caused any trouble.  I didn’t plan to do anything but cooperate.

     She circled my waist with a two-inch wide belt that buckled in front.  There was a triangular piece covering my crotch with a hole in the center she threaded my penis through.  Her hands were soft and warm and my penis approved of her touch.  Two narrow straps were attached at the bottom point of the triangle.

      Once my manhood was proudly sticking straight out its portal, she issued another command, “Turn around and bend over.  Spread your cheeks.”

     “Yes, Mistress,” I said finding something erotic about exposing my anus to an attractive female who I’d never met before.  I pulled hard on my buttocks so she had an unobstructed view.

      “Use a medium, Charmaine,” said the male guard.

      “Planning to, Ray,” said the female.  When I looked through my legs, I saw she’d removed a butt plug from a small plastic box and was applying a clear jell. 

     “Eyes straight ahead,” she barked when she noticed I was watching.

      I gave a little start when she shoved something cold and slick up my ass.  It was a ram it home motion not a leisurely work it comfortably inside move.  The plug wasn’t overly thick but it was long and thin.  The tip was somewhere in my large intestine.

     Later I learned it was a hollowed out butt plug that could be opened at the top.  Playful Masters could insert a vibrator or fill your butt with ice water.  There was also something more interesting they could do and I would soon find out what it was.

      She passed the narrow straps through my legs up my butt crack through a ring on the plug before attaching them to the back of the waist belt.  There was no way I couldn’t expel the plug no matter how hard the muscles lining my rectum pushed.

      “Stand up straight and turn around,” she ordered when she was done. 

       She ran her hand over the spiny rubber nodules mounted on the triangle right above my cock.  Their only possible purpose could be stimulating somebody’s clit.  I hoped the somebody would be the femme at my knees.  My penis and I were in complete agreement on that point.

      I fantasized her underneath me squirming and begging me to stop pressing the spines into her tender flesh.  Her pitiful pleas for mercy would be sandwiched between earnest requests for me to fuck her harder and make her bleed.  My fantasies are neither logical nor consistent but whose are.

     I was maximum erect and the way she kept touching me made me want to throw her to the ground, rip her clothes off, and fuck the shit our of her.  Of course, any attempt on my part would immediately bring Ray and his stun gun to her rescue.

   Up to that point, the harness was only mildly confining.  She attached another set of leather straps to the point of the triangle then looped them around my testicles separating them and forcing each to the far reaches of my scrotum.  At that point, she tightened everything and I thought my nuts were going to explode out of my sack.  I fought a wave of dizziness and nausea shifting from foot to foot.

      “Too tight,” she asked in a concerned voice?

      “Yes, Mistress,” I replied.

      She unbuckled the ball straps then gave a sharp tug tightening them more.  My cock and balls were stunned.  Both testicles were being crushed. 

      “How’s that,” she asked cheerfully?

      “Fine,” I managed to croak.  I’m a fast learner.

      She attached a short leash to a ring at the bottom of the harness where it wrapped around my scrotum then took off walking at a rapid pace.  She was leading me by the nuts.  I was too busy trying to deal with the pressure coming from my privates to follow quickly.  The end result was that after a few steps she practically ripped my balls off.

     “Keep up,” she said looking my way and smiling.  She may be pretty, young, and innocent looking as a new born babe I told myself but that doesn’t mean she’s not a world class sadist.

     I suppressed the urge to ask her if she was a member or employee of the club.  She was a beautiful young woman with a terrific body under her tight fitting black slacks and turtleneck.  Rather ominously I noted the presence of a Taser on one hip and a short nasty looking whip on the other.

     After the initial painful jerk I worked hard to keep up.  It wasn’t easy.  I was forced to walk with my legs straddled.  The leash wasn’t long and when we went past one of the downstairs rooms I was so distracted by the sound of a man screaming in pain, I stumbled into my guardian’s backside almost knocking her to the floor.  Whatever was happening to the poor bastard, it must hurt.

     “Sorry, Mistress,” I said reaching to steady her and keep her from falling.  That turned out to be a mistake.

     “You touched me, Slave.  That’s forbidden,” yelled Charmaine yanking hard on my leash as she kicked my feet out from under me.  I sprawled on the floor clutching my aching privates.

     “Assume the position,” she said reaching for the whip on her belt.  Ray AKA Mr. Mean was watching us intently, ready to spring into action.

     I obeyed at once.  “Yes, Mistress,” I said as scared shitless I knelt down, placed my forehead on the floor and reached back to grab my ankles.  Somehow I managed to stay in that position for the three blows she landed.  The first turned my mid back into a fiery inferno.  The next did the same for my lower back and the third created a whelp across my butt that was visible for days afterward.  There were tears in my eyes when she ordered me to stand.

    I followed her carefully to the second floor. My escort knocked at one of the doors.  We only had to wait a few minutes before Nancy Whitman opened the door and stood aside for us to enter a large bedroom. 

     “Kneel, Slave,” said my guard as she handed my leash to Nancy who was fetchingly dressed in a white corset that squeezed her waist to what seemed an impossibly narrow state while at the same time causing her breasts to gather gloriously at the top and spill out.  White pumps, hose and lace panty completed her attire making a striking contrast with her ebony complexion.  Suspenders attached to the bottom of the corset held the hose in place.  I decided I was a very lucky slave as I made a mental note to suggest Corrine consider purchasing a corset.

     “Did he give you any trouble, Charmaine,” asked Nancy noting the whelps on my backside?

     “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” said Charmaine as she drew Nancy into her arms.  “You look beautiful.  Doesn’t she Greg?”

       A muffled sound I assumed was yes came from the man strapped to a chair beside the bed.  I’d been so enthralled by Nancy’s appearance I hadn’t noticed the black man who I assumed was her husband Greg.  He was strapped into an odd looking contraption that looked to be a cross between a chair and a doctor’s examination table.

     It turned out to be another furnishing specifically created for the club.  It was also manufactured by Lenny’s company and available on the Internet for two hundred ninety nine dollars plus shipping.  Called the Love Seat and composed primarily of molded plastic, its enjoyed many advantages over an ordinary chair when it came to BDS&M play.

     The occupant’s privates including anus were readily available as were the male or female breasts.   I could see Greg’s cock and balls hanging free, ready for whatever his wife had planned.  Nylon straps with Velcro fasteners held Greg firmly in place.

     Movable struts permitted the placement of limbs in exposed or painful positions or both.  One could, for instance, raise the subject’s arms straight up exposing the armpit, one of the areas on the human body most sensitive to pain.  Or one could simply place the occupant in incredibly uncomfortable positions and leave for a leisurely lunch.

     The seat positions were as adjustable as those of a late model Mercedes.  Plus the chair was stain resistant and washable.  Before the afternoon was over, I became intimately familiar with the Love’s Seat’s many features.

     At the moment, Greg’s arms and legs were secured to the chair in what would call a normal sitting position.  However, his face was formed into a grimace by a stainless steel device holding his mouth open.  I later learned this nifty piece of medical equipment was called a Whitehead Mouth Spreader Gag.  Developed by dentists for patients under anesthesia, the BDS&M crowd adopted it as both a gag and a way to maintain an open mouth in case anything needed to be poured inside or something awful done to the tongue.

     “How long before you and Dwayne finish your internship,” asked Nancy maintaining their embrace?

     “Only two months,” said Charmaine brushing her lips across Nancy’s.

     It seems everybody has an intern program these days.  One of the deans of a local business college had recently visited Meade Media to pitch his school’s internship program.  I’d agree to participate on a trial basis.      

     “Not that long,” said Nancy kissing Charmaine again.

     I watched as Nancy and Charmaine did some serious snogging.  My cock wanted to join them but my butt vetoed the idea.

     “I better get back before I’m missed,” said Charmaine breaking the embrace.

     “Drop by later if you get a chance.  I heard from Nadine that Slave Tom is an excellent rug muncher,” said Nancy.

     “Most white boys are.  I’ll try but Ray watches all the female interns just waiting for us to screw up.  Last month, he caught Tricia and me smoking a joint behind the building.  We had to agree to meet him and five of his army buddies at the Longwood to keep him from informing on us,” said Charmaine before heading toward the door.  “Bye Greg,” yelled Charmaine before leaving.

     Greg made a muffled sound I assumed was, “Goodbye Charmaine, have a nice day.” 

      “What do you know about electrical torture, Tom,” asked Nancy as soon as the door closed?

Chapter 21 Nancy Knows Her Electro

      Like everything else on the BDS&M portion of my profile, I had agreed to provide but not accept electrical torture.  That didn’t mean I wasn’t concerned my balls would soon be subjected to high voltage.  Nancy could be was one of those Masters who didn’t think rules applied to her.

       Still I had only a vague idea what electro involved other than I had seen it used in the movies to interrogate prisoners.  I was honest in my answer.  “I’m afraid not much, Mistress.”

      “Then this afternoon will be a learning experience.  Have you met my husband Greg?”

      “No, Mistress, I haven’t had the pleasure,” I said.  “Hello Master Greg, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

      Greg babbled something unintelligible back.  I’d noticed the bed was still made and there were electrical wires and other paraphernalia neatly arranged on the bed cover.  There was also a control box on the nightstand.  The top contained several dials and switches along with a row of buttons.  Along the back there were places to connect electrical leads.  It didn’t take an electricians license to know what the box was for.

     Introductions over, Nancy got down to business pointed toward a chair on the far wall as she spoke.  “Tom, bring that chair over here.”

     “Yes, Mistress.” I quickly moved the heavy wooden armchair to where she pointed.

     With an eye to Greg’s position, she modified the chair’s position slightly.  “Can you see from there, baby,” asked Nancy speaking to Greg who shook his head yes?  Her voice had a definite taunting tone.  I could tell she was pissed about something.  As for Greg, he had a certain forlorn look in his eyes.  He knew he was in for something very unpleasant.

      “Good, we’re all set.  Tom, you can eat my pussy while I describe what’s expected of you,” said Nancy pulling the crotch of her panty aside to expose her bare snatch.  She plopped down in the chair throwing her legs over the arms as she scooted her bottom to the front edge of the seat.

     I knelt down in front of her, used my thumbs to gently open her up and traced my tongue from slightly above her anus up to her vagina pausing to lick around the circumference before moving to her clit.  She was already moist and the aroma was unmistakable.  Nancy was in heat.  I tongue-walked around her vulva familiarizing my mouth with its contours.

      “I can tell you’re an excellent cunt lapper,” said Nancy.  “Nadine said you were talented.  What do you think, Greg?”

      I heard a storm of angry words I couldn’t recognize from Greg’s direction.

     I took excellent cunt lapper as a complement regardless of Greg’s opinion.  “Thank you, Mistress.”

     “What you are going to experience today, Tom, is something very unusual for a slave.  You are going to help me punish Greg for being a faithless bastard who behind my back has been sleeping with my mother and baby sister.”

      I decided to play the empathy card, “How terrible for you, Mistress.”

      “Damn right, it is,” said Nancy.  “We agreed before we married that we would always play together.  It’s not like I haven’t been willing to accommodate his sexual needs.  Whose idea do you think it was to join this sex club so he could fuck every white woman in the place?”

     I released her labia before I spoke, “It was Greg’s idea, Mistress?”  I returned to working her cunt lips with my lips, gently tugging them with my teeth then sucking gently on the loose folds of tissue.  I was working hard to live up to my reputation.

     “Completely, it’s not like I ever refused him anything.  When he was up for promotion at the bank, didn’t I agree to spend a weekend at his boss’s condo fucking the old bastard’s brains out?  You wouldn’t believe what a disgusting creep he was and half the time I had to practically kill myself to get him up.”

      “You did all that for him.  You’ve been a good wife,” I said after gently pressing my tongue against her sphincter to see if she was anal friendly.  She was.  Her anus puckered at my touch and she reached down to pull her cheeks further apart.  

       “And to pay me back, he’s been sneaking over to my parent’s house when Daddy’s at work and banging my mother.  Christ, she’s fifty two years old,” said Nancy.

      “How disrespectful,” I said.  “But if your mother’s anything like you, she must still be a beautiful woman.”

      “Thanks, Tom.  You’re sweet.  Work my hole while I jack my clit,” said Nancy before sticking two fingers in her mouth to wet them.  As I tongued her vagina, she forked her first two fingers over her love button, captured it in the webbing and masturbated.  Her other hand seized her breast and brought the nipple to her mouth.  There is something very satisfying about watching a woman suck her own tit especially if she attacks it like a horny bitch.

      “And after I caught him humping my Mom, she confessed the bastard has been doing her and Denise since before we married.  My own Mother was keeping it a secret from me.  They’d even done threesomes,” she said with her eyes closed.  “I knew Mom had a problem with sex but I didn’t know she was that out of control.”

      “Incest is a terrible thing,” I said working hard on the ring of nerve endings sounding the opening to her vagina.

      “Stupid little me, I didn’t know a thing about it.  I’m such an idiot,” said Nancy starting to cry.

      “You shouldn’t blame yourself.  He’s the one who’s been unfaithful,” I said.  I was alternately blowing in her hole, expanding it, and then sucking hard to create a vacuum.  It was a technique guaranteed to rock her world.

      “Oh God, that’s good, Tom.  Greg, when it comes to pleasing a woman with your mouth, you’re not in Tom’s league,” said Nancy.

     That occasioned more disagreeable babbling from Greg.  However, the thought occurred to me that Greg must be doing something right to be sleeping with a mother and her two attractive daughters.  However, I kept my observations conversational.  “Denise is your younger sister?”

      “Two years younger and the biggest slut in the state, maybe the Midwest.  There were so many times I’ve covered for her when we were growing up.  If Papa had known half the things she did in high school, he would have kicked her out of the house.  I just hope Papa doesn’t find out Greg’s been screwing his wife,” said Nancy who seemed about to climax proving a woman could orgasm while crying her eyes out.

      “Do you think you’ll ever forgive Denise for what she did,” I asked as I slipped a saliva-coated finger up Nancy’s asshole?  Her rectum gave it a welcoming hug.

      “I just don’t know.  We had a terrible fight and I slapped her and she fell down the steps.  Thank God she didn’t break anything.  The next day, the vindictive whore had to nerve to email me how Greg and she got it on at our wedding.  She went into details.  She even bragged about how his sperm was dripping down her leg when she walked down the aisle as my maid of honor.  At the reception, Greg did her in the coatroom while I was dancing with Papa.”

      “You must feel betrayed by those you love,” I said.

      “Oh fuck yes, I’m going to come,” said Nancy her legs kicking wildly over the chair arms.

      I’d taken her up to the top of the roller coaster and allowed her to careen down to the bottom on her own.  Nancy called on the Goddess of Orgasms and she answered.  My rectum and vagina embedded fingers felt the strong rhythmic contractions of her muscles as she screamed for Greg to watch how she climaxed for a real man not a mother and sister fucking slime ball like him.

      I waited until she had recovered to speak.  “Please pardon my asking, Mistress Nancy, but what are your plans to punish Greg for his adultery.” I reasoned I’d earned one pertinent question.

      “I have a plan and it is based on two simple facts.  Fact one is that Greg is a complete homophobe.  He can’t stand the idea of being touched by another man.  In all our time at the club, he’s never touched a male slave.  That’s where you come in.  The second is that’s he’s a wuss, a big baby.  He can’t stand pain of any kind.”

       “The electrical equipment is for Greg,” I asked?

       “Yes,” said Nancy looking quite relaxed and satisfied after hitting the Big O.

       I looked over the electrical wires and devices neatly arranged on the bed spread.  “It looks complicated,” I said relieved I wouldn’t be the one on the receiving end of the control box.

       “It’s not really.  When I went to law school in Chicago, I lived with this guy who was into electrical torture.  He taught me how to use it so I could torture him and his friends,” she said.  “We used to have electro parties on weekends.  You wouldn’t believe the amps some of them could take.  Sometimes, I let him amp me.”

       “And you want me to learn, too,” I asked?

       “Yes, April thinks having a slave who’s knowledgeable would be useful.  It would improve the diversity of the club’s offerings.  Next month, Masters can reserve your time if they want you to torture someone” said Nancy. 

      “Who would I torture, Mistress?” I asked?

      “Could be anyone, another slave or a Master or Mistress or both, up to them.  You’ve got a lot to learn.  So let’s get started.”

       “I don’t mean to be forward but could I ask one further question?”  I was hoping my curiosity didn’t cause her to bring Charmaine in for another ass whipping.

      “Go ahead, I guess you’ve earned it,” said Nancy indicating her patience was about to be exhausted.

      “Why did Greg agree to this, Mistress Nancy,” I asked trying to sound extra polite and subservient?

      “I told him that unless he underwent an afternoon of punishment at the next meeting, I would divorce his sorry black ass, take everything he had, and tell the world what a cheating prick he is.  A scandal would finish his precious career at the bank,” said Nancy getting up from her chair leaving a large wet spot on the seat.

     “Thank you for telling me,” I said feeling I had missed a bullet.

      “Of course, he had no idea what I had planned.  That’s why I strapped him in the Love Seat before you arrived.”

      “That was clever of you, Mistress,” I said as I traced my fingers over the wet spot.  Nancy appeared to be in Connie The Juicer’s class when it came to self-lubrication.  I’d noticed my female Afro-American partners excelled in the production of glandular secretions.  I made a note to ask Corrine if she agreed.

      “Yes, and now you and I are going to give my faithless piece of shit husband an afternoon he will never forget as long as he lives,” said Nancy as she walked over to Greg took hold of a nipple and gave it a vicious pinch. He cringed in pain as she pulled it out an inch and rotated her wrist.”

      “Look what I got, baby,” said Nancy holding up an alligator clamp she had concealed in her hand.  Greg unleashed a torrent of babble as Nancy opened the clamp, positioned it around the base of the nipple she had in her fingers and allowed it to snap shut.

     My nipple twitched in sympathy as Greg struggled to control the pain. 

     “That’s for screwing Denise,” said Nancy adding pressure to the clamp causing a tiny row of red drops to appear along the jagged teeth.  From somewhere, she produced a second clip as she prepared his other nipple by stretching it out before twisting it.   Nancy taunted Greg as she allowed the other clamp to snap shut.  “And this is for my mother, you shit.”

     Nancy gave both clamps a squeeze causing Greg to make the largest noise thus far gag or not.  

     “Am I being too cruel, Tom,” asked Nancy?

     “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” I said not really sure the quote applied.  However, I suppose fucking your wife’s mother and sister is a form of scorn.  Nancy didn’t object.

     “How true,” said Nancy placing her face an inch or so from Greg’s as she spoke.  “Come over here, Tom and help me position Greg for his butt fucking.  You’re going to take his anal virginity.”

     As I approached, Greg looked at me wild eyed.  Then he was distracted as his wife repeated his nipple torture working on both at once.  The fact his nipples were bleeding didn’t seem to bother Nancy in the least.

     “He’s going to rape you, Greg.  Tom’s going to put his big cock in your ass and rape you,” taunted Nancy as she did awful things to his chest.

      My approach set off a round of mumbling protests from Greg who struggled haplessly against the nylon straps.  The thought occurred to me buggering him would not be consensual.  My libido moved into a higher gear at the prospect of my first homosexual rape.      

       Lenny’s Love Seat proved amazing well designed.  Nancy showed me how to release the break then rotate Greg to where his rear end was available. 

       “Tom’s going to fuck you in the butt, Greg,” said Nancy as she took a firm grip on his buttocks separating them for me. He had a nice hairless butthole that if Nancy was to be believed was virgin territory.

       Greg continued to protest.  I’m no sure why he bothered.  The Whitehead Gag reduced his words to either screeches or mumbles.  Still, you could tell he wasn’t happy at the prospect of having eight inches of hard white cock in his black ass.

      Payback time I thought as I got into position for sodomy.  I focused my mind on the times Morgan had humiliated and degraded me with Corrine.  That would be my inspiration to fuck the shit out of Gregg’s ass.

      “Just the tinniest bit so you can get it in,” said Nancy squeezing a mere drop of lubricant on the pad of her forefinger before applying it to Greg’s sphincter.  His butt was tightly clinched, determined to resist an invasion.  “Greg has never let me do anything anal to him. But he loves to fuck me in the ass.”

      He was not a big man.  I took hold of his hipbones after placing the tip of my dick on his brownie.

      “Make it hurt, Tom.  Make it hurt as bad as I did when I caught him in bed with my mother,” said Nancy in a voice devoid of pity.

      I pressed my penis against the opening.  There was a brief resistance.  Greg’s entire body tensed as he started to scream.  I felt the opening give.  My momentum carried me forward to where I had all eight inches in his bowel and my balls met his.

      “Now, show the bastard no mercy,” said Nancy reaching between my legs to grab his balls and give them a crushing squeeze.

      It’s a good thing Lenny’s Love Seat is sturdily made because Greg went crazy.  I worried he would have a stroke or a heart attack as he strained to free himself.  Women have no idea how much it hurts to have your testicles squeezed. 

      Luckily for Greg, Nancy gave up crushing his nuts after a minute or two.  She found another way to amuse herself.  

      “Fuck him harder,” said Nancy as she opened a drawer and removed a video camera.  It was a consumer model that wrote to a mini-disc.

      “Smile, Greg,” said Nancy as she took a facial close up before stepping back to video the two of us.   “I’m going to email a copy to Mom and Denise so she knows what a faggot you are.”

     Greg was grunting loudly each time I drove my prick into his bowels.  Raping Greg was proving to be quite enjoyable.  

      “Come in his ass, Tom,” said Nancy.  “I want to film your sperm dripping out his butthole.”

      “You’ll have to remove the straps around my testicles, Mistress,” I said.  My sperm were trapped below deck but it was anxious to explore Greg’s bowels.

      Nancy bent down and released my gonads from their leather prison. 

      I said, “Thank you, Mistress,” as a wave of relief passed throughout my groin.  I was deeply appreciative of what she had done.  I was even more thankful when she gave my nuts a gentle rub and pressed the pad of her wet thumb on my sphincter.  She pressed herself against my back.  I could feel the tits on my back as her thumb slowly worked it way past my sphincter.

      Nancy worked my prostate until she decided to give Greg some more grief by filming his homosexual ravishment.

      “Look, Tom. Greg’s got a hardon.  He’s a queer faggot after all,” said Nancy focusing the camera between my legs to capture the evidence that strictly hetero Greg could get an erection while being sodomised by a white man.

      Greg had passed the pain stage and was groaning and moaning as I slammed into him.  Nancy had set the camera aside, climbed under Greg and was sucking his cock.  That seemed a little odd since she intended to punish him.  On the other hand, wouldn’t climaxing during sodomy reinforce his feelings of humiliation?  I decided Nancy knew what she was doing.

      “I’m going to come, Mistress,” I said increasing my pace.

      “Do it, Tom.  Blow your white man’s jism deep in his black butt,” said Nancy taking his cock out of her mouth to answer.

      Greg and I came down off the mountain at the same time.  I pumped a full load in his bowels as he dumped in his wife’s mouth.  I was breathing heavy and covered in sweat when I finished.  I stuck out my chest and stood proudly at the thought I had just raped my first man.  Actually it was my first rape ever not counting the time in college my date got drunk and passed out and I took advantage of her.  Up till now, I’d been a gentle soul.

      Nancy, she puffed out cheeks filled with semen walked around to Greg’s front and spit on his face.  She resumed her role as videographer taking close-ups of semen dripping off the tip of his nose before returning to my end to film his violated rear.

     My jism was oozing out his anus.  At her direction, I used my cockhead to smear the fairy water over his sphincter while she filmed.

      “Now put your dirty slimy dick in his mouth, Tom,” said Nancy continuing to create her visual account of her husband’s sodomy.  She just couldn’t humiliate and degrade him enough.  I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.  What I didn’t know was he had much worse to come.

     I walked around to his front and carefully guided my slimy prick past the Whitehead’s jaws where it came to rest on Greg’s tongue.  He didn’t like it one little bit.  Nancy kept filming as his tongue fought to expel my penis.

     “That’s good, Greg, use your tongue to clean Tom’s prick,” said Nancy.

      Amateur porn complete, Nancy opened the camera and removed the mini-disc. She held the disc up for Greg as she spoke.  “Greg, sweetheart, this goes in my safety deposit box for now.  But if I ever again catch you with your prick in Denise or my mother, it gets mailed to your boss at Midwest, your parents, and the guys you play basketball with at the Y.”

      Midwest was my bank too.  I had met some of the management over the years, possibly Greg’s boss.  I wondered if he would recognize me fucking his subordinate. 

Chapter 22 Shocking Developments

       I was standing there looking at Nancy allowing my prescription to restore my hardon when she walked over to the bed and picked up a device that looked like a butt plug except it had two connections for electrical leads in the base.  It was the economy size designed to stretch out the walls of your rectum.  She selected a pair of red wires to attach to the solderless connections

      “This is the latest in anal electro,” said Nancy handing it to me.  ”It’s made of a conductive acrylic material.”

      It was transparent and you could see the leads were connected to two copper rods that ran along the length of the plug ending at the tip.  While I examined it, she connected the two wires to the control box.

     “Watch,” said Nancy turning a dial on the control box then toggling a switch. The plug moved from side to side in an undulating motion.  It felt like a vibrator.  My hand tingled slightly.

      “It’s not shocking me, Mistress,” I said.  I was holding it in my bare hand.  I could feel a light buzz.

      “No, it’s on the lowest power setting.  It’s a bipolar device so the current travels all around.  Here, let me have it,” she said. 

      “I thought electro caused pain, Mistress,” I said handing it over.

      “It does at higher settings.  But at very low ones, it can be a source of pleasure.  I’ll show you later.  Put it in Greg’s ass,” said Nancy flipping a switch to turn off the power then handing the plug to me.

      “It slipped right in, Mistress,” I said.  His semen-oozing anus took the plug with no problem.  His sphincter closed tightly around the narrow neck of the plug.   He sounded a babble of despair as the plug snuggled into his rectum.  I gave it a couple of twists to increase his terror.

     “This is just the beginning of your worst nightmare, husband dearest,” said Nancy pulling it out a couple of times then shoving it in hard.  Based on his reaction, Greg was not having as good a time as I was. 

      “Electro is simple but too expensive for the average kinkster.  That little anal toy is one hundred forty nine dollars.  But Lenny got the club a discount at a Web site that sells theses,” said Nancy turning the dial on the control box.  “Watch what happens when we go to quarter power.”

      I walked around to Greg’s front to witness the impact.  Greg started vibrating a little, making a little mewling sound.  Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

      “Does quarter power cause pain, Mistress,” I asked determined to learn all I could?   I wondered whether April’s plan called for me to perform electro on slaves or Masters.  As it turned out, the answer was both.

      “Yes, but not the kind that makes you scream.  You need half power for that,” said Nancy turning the dial to the right before toggling the switch.

      Greg face changed into grimace, as the power surged into his bowels.  A rather odd sounding screech came from somewhere deep in his throat.  

     “It’s hurting now, Mistress,” I observed.  Gregg’s face was becoming more distorted as Nancy increased the power.

     “Three quarters,” said Nancy twisting the dial causing Greg to produce a continuous wail of sound and a spray of spit.  His tongue was flailing around in his mouth.  I could only imagine what the plug was doing inside his rectum as it twisted around.

     “And just for a second, full strength,” said Nancy.

     Greg’s eyes bugged out.  He looked weird.  Nancy killed the juice and he collapsed.  I put my hand on his bottom.  It felt hot and was covered in sweat.

      “Amazing, Mistress Nancy, I’ve only seen electricity used in movies.  It was a war movie and this soldier was captured by the enemy,” I said.  “He screamed when they tortured him.”

      “Hitler’s Gestapo used electricity to interrogate members of the resistance.  It’s well documented the Argentinean military used it extensively in the so-called dirty war against communists and students.  And of course, it’s reported in detail by Amnesty International, that the Mexican Federal Police consider it the tool of choice for interrogating prisoners especially Americans,” said Nancy handing me the control box.

     “Why do the Mexican police use it on Americans,” I asked?

     “No bruises or contusions for the media to show the public.  You look all right when you’re released.  But, you’re afraid of the dark and hide every time you see a policeman,” said Nancy. “Now you take Greg through the same sequence I did.   Be careful, no full power.”

      It was amazingly how easy it was to bring Greg to where he was screaming his lungs out.  I gave him a few seconds at each setting of the dial before handing the box back to Nancy.  The thought occurred to me I had just tortured my first human being and my cock loved it, a phenomena that did not go unnoticed by my instructor.

      “I see April made a wise choice,” said Nancy reaching down to stroke my erect penis.  “Any further questions?”

     I replied immediately, “Not at this time, Mistress.”

      “Good, now help me electrify his cock and balls,” said Nancy.

      Thanks to the well thought out design of the Love Seat, Greg was easily rotated to a position where he was flat on his back with his legs spread wide.

      “This is called a Sparkler and it is not for the squeamish,” said Nancy holding up a flexible probe whipping it back and forth to demonstrate how limber it was.  The top of the probe consisted of an adjustable ring and a round disc.  There were two places to connect the control box to the Sparkler. 

      “The rod part is a quarter inch in diameter and eight inches long. Electro freaks consider it the ultimate,” said Nancy.  “After we use this, I don’t think Greg will be screwing anyone I don’t know about.”

      “How does it work, Mistress,” I asked.  Where I had immediately understood the butt plug, the Sparkler was a complete unknown.

      “You insert the probe in Greg’s piss hole and wrap the ring around the under lip of the cockhead.  It shocks the entire length of the penis from the tip to the bladder and the prostate.  Watch and learn.”

      I observed closely as she coated the probe’s shaft with a surgical lubricant.  I recalled my freshman year in college.  There was this weirdo who liked to stick pencils in his piss hole and walk around the dorm room.  We all thought he was nuts.  Nancy held a protesting Greg’s pecker in her sweet little hand as she guided the pointed tip of the probe into his pee hole. 

      “Never force it, let gravity do the work,” said Nancy twisting the probe gently then releasing it to allow it to move an inch or two deeper into Greg’s shaft.  Greg was not happy but there was nothing he could do but watch as inch by inch his penis swallowed the probe.

      From the one time I was in a hospital for an emergency appendectomy, I recalled being catherized.  A cranky old nurse had fed a clear tube down my piss hole.  It was not an experience I liked to recall.  I also remember the way she took it out causing me to want to fly off the bed and hang from the ceiling.

      Once the Sparker’s entry had reached the point, Greg penis tip was touching the disc Nancy pulled it out quickly causing him to shriek in pain.  Her idea of consoling him was to grab his balls and twist them causing him to scream louder as she spoke.  “Did that hurt, baby?  I bet it didn’t hurt half as much as when I walked in and found you with your cock in my mother.”  She handed me the Sparkler along with the lubricant.  “Here you try.”

      I took it slow and got the probe fully invested.  I have a pretty good touch for delicate work.

      “Excellent, April said you would be a good student,” said Nancy.  “Now put the ring around his cockhead and tighten it so it’s in contact with his flesh all the way around his peter.”

      Moments later, it was time to test our installation to insure it worked. 

      “Hold his cock while I go to low power,” said Nancy.  “I want you to feel the bounce back effect.”

      My arm tingled as I felt the current moving up and down the length of his shaft.  One of my dorm mates ran afoul of the Mexican police while on spring break.  He spent two days in a jail getting his privates electrified while catching a bad case of diarrhea.  When he got back, he wrote everyone an email warming us not to try to buy drugs at a certain club in Tijuana.  He’d mentioned having something shocking stuck up his piss hole.

     Now, lucky me was learning techniques qualifying me for an interrogator’s position with the Federales.  Plus my instructor was a sexy black woman who I had just eaten to orgasm.  Nancy continued my instruction as she kept Greg on quarter power.   

      “The tip of the probe is in his bladder, right up against his prostate.  On the other side of his prostate is the anal stimulator.  When they’re both on, they exchange energy especially if there are different levels of power,” said Nancy playing with the dials to cause Greg to alternately scream, grunt, and contract his abdomen like a madman. 

      After we tested the Sparker, we added a ring that circled the base of his cock and balls.  Next, we placed flexible rings around each testicle separating them and allowing for individual or group voltage.  Greg’s privates were electrified in six places.  It was a six-pack he wasn’t going to enjoy.

     “He’s ready,” said Nancy.

      “We didn’t use everything, Mistress,” I said looking at several devices on the bed.

      “Those are mainly for women.  This goes in the vagina.  It fits against the G-spot,” said Nancy inserting the oblong brass object in her pussy then removing it.  “And these are for the breasts.  Perhaps next month, you and I can work on Corrine.  I’d sure she’d love all the attention.”  She was referring to two busy looking clear cups the size of a juice glass.

      “That would be very kind of you,” I said picturing my wife in the Love Seat screaming her head off as I flipped switches and turned dials.

      “Now bend over, Tom, I have something for you,” said Nancy.

      With trepidation, I did as I was told.  I felt the top of my butt plug being opened and something slipped inside. When I stood up, there was a yellow wire hanging between my legs whose other end was being connected to the control box.

      “As I said before, electro stimulation is not necessarily painful. In fact, it can be highly pleasurable if you do it right.  Don’t worry.  I’ll keep the voltage low as long as you please me,” said Nancy in response to the concerned look on my face.

       At her direction, I’d returned Greg to a normal seated position.  Nancy placed the control box on top of his thighs then bent over to where her face was maybe an inch from his.  “Dog style to start, Tom.”

       I stepped carefully avoiding tripping over the wires and took a position at her rear.  She had a very appealing butt.  It was rounded and stuck out.  I’d jacked off to the picture of Nancy on her firm’s Web site.  Now, I was putting my cock in the real thing. I moved my tip up and down her valley a few times to get the lay of the land before I settled down with the head in her entrance.

      “Tom’s going to fuck me with his big white cock, Greg,” said Nancy using one hand to twist one of the dials before she flipped the switch sending current down to the loops circling his balls.  Whitehead Gag or not, she was going to make him scream.

      I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.  Greg was an exception to the generally held notion among white women that Afro-American males have oversized penises.  I would say he was average maybe less.   However, noting the fullness of his sex life, I reserved judgment about his prowess in the sack.  I’d never banged a mother and daughter duo let alone a mother and two daughters.  

      Greg started babbling through his dental spreader as I eased my cock in Nancy’s hole taking a few extra seconds to bottom out in her womb.  I placed the pad of my thumb on her rosebud and pressed lightly as I provided a short burst of hard dick that bounced off the inside of her cervix.  Her pussy showed its approval by squeezing my shaft as she wiggled her bottom.

     “Oh yeah, Tom, you’re so big.  Your cock has never been that deep in my pussy, Greg.  Tom really knows how to fuck a black woman,” said Nancy emphasizing her statement by flipping the switch for the anal stimulator.

     Her face was no more than two inches from his when she took hold of both nipple clamps and squeezed.  I would never have thought myself capable of having intercourse with a man’s wife while she tortured him to the point he was screaming his head off.  However, I was not only screwing Nancy I was having one of the best fucks of my life.

     Greg looked frantic as Nancy worked the dials back and forth.  I decided his lack of fun wasn’t my problem as I enjoyed the feeling of having my cock in Nancy’s cunt.  I concentrated on screwing his wife while she made him wish he were dead.

     “Work my nipples, Tom,” said Nancy reaching back to take one of my hands and bring it to her breast.  She moaned when I grabbed her bud and applied some pressure.  She kept fiddling with the dials and switches as I fucked her.  All of a sudden, I felt a buzz deep in my rectum.  It wasn’t painful.  I could feel my prostate drawing in the current

      “That’s a little something for you, Tom,” said Nancy twisting her head around to kiss me.  “And here’s something for you, husband dearest.”

     As we kissed, she activated the Sparkler sending voltage down the length of Greg’s penis.  I later learned from a Web site that sold electro devices, the Sparkler’s bounce back feature could be unbelievably painful at anything approaching high voltage.  The electrode on each end was bouncing the current back and forth causing Greg to bounce with it.   Each time she toggled the switch, his pecker involuntarily jumped up and down.

       Nancy returned to taunting Greg as I pounded away. “Denise said you did her at our wedding.  She told me how she screwed you in the church right before I walked down the aisle.  She was not only my sister but also my maid of honor.  She sent me a long email describing how you two snuck into the coatroom for a quickie at the reception.”

       Nancy’s fingers were busily working the switches and dials as she talked.  Greg’s eyes were full of tears and he was doing his best to scream in spite of the gag.

      “Stop a minute, Tom,” ordered Nancy.  “Greg wants to lick your cock.”

      Greg definitely did not want to lick my cock.  However a few turns of dials on the control box quickly changed his mind.   He eagerly passed the tip of his pink tongue over my pecker after Nancy demonstrated how maximum voltage felt bouncing between the Sparkler’s poles.

      “Now I want you to fuck my ass, Tom,” said Nancy deciding Tom had licked my dick a sufficient number of times.  She surprised me by picking up the electrified vagina dildo and inserting it in her pussy.

      “I’ve changed my mind.  I could use a little electro myself,” said Nancy grunting as she forced it deep inside her then connected it to the control box.  When she turned a dial I could feel a hum coming from deep in her pussy.

     “I bet you never fucked a girl’s ass while she was taking volts in her pussy,” said Nancy pushing back against my cock burying it deep in her ass.

     “No, Mistress, but it is an incredible experience,” I said savoring the feeling.

     “Oh shit, why not, I bet you didn’t know I’m a painslut,” said Nancy reaching for two odd appearing plastic cups. She handed them to me along with a tube of surgical lubricant.  “Put a thin layer of gel all around the edge so the suction will hold.”

     The cups appeared to be clear acrylic like the butt plug.  Two circles of copper were incased in the material.  There was an air valve at the top and a place to connect the electro.

      “Ever pumped a breast, Tom,” asked Nancy showing me a small hand pump.

      “No, Mistress,” I said.  My experience in pumps was limited to that same pencil-inserting weirdo in my dorm who also had a penis pumps that made his cock larger.   I thought pumps were some kind of aid for men with small cocks.

      “You have a lot to learn then.  April wants you to learn all about them.  Hold the cup over the end of my breast while I create a vacuum,” said Nancy.

      I should mention that all the time this was happening I was slowly pumping my cock into her ass.  I leaned over and around to watch her attached the pump to the air valve then give the pump handle several squeezes drawing the end of her breast into the cut.  The sight of her boob slowly filling the cup was a thing of beauty. 

      “Oh fuck that hurts,” said Nancy taking a short break before giving the pump a final flurry of rapid presses to finish the job.  I held the cup to the other breast as she attached the pump.

      “Here, you do it,” she said handing me the pump.

      I squeezed the handle enjoying the hiss of air and the little cries of pain Nancy made as her boob was deformed. 

      “Corrine’s going to love this,” said Nancy when both her breasts filled the cups.   As it turned out, she did love it when I suctioned her boobs; but that’s another story.

     Nancy attached bright blue wires to the copper posts on the end of the cups then secured the other end to the control box.  “That is such a fucking rush,” said Nancy fiddling with the dials to determine the maximum amount of voltage she could stand. 

     She put her vagina and boobs on quarter power and left them their as she kept at least one and usually two of Greg’s devices at half power or better.  The bastard was really suffering.            

      As for me, I was having a wonderful time.  Nancy had a tight butthole and the inside was just as tight.  She contracted her muscles each time my balls slapped against her electrified pussy.   The juice in my butt plug trickled out to find my prostate increasing its interest in the proceedings.

      Nancy, like Corrine, she was capable of serious multiple tasking.  While maintaining a steady rhythm of butt fucking, she taunted and tortured her poor bastard of a husband as I drove up and down her Hershey Highway.  After a couple of passes she turned up the power and my ass became electrified.

      I could feel the current passing between our bodies.  Voltage that began in my rectum passed through my penis into her asshole and down to her vagina then returned. 

      “This is fucking incredible, Mistress,” I said as I felt the current.

      “Come in my ass, Tom,” said Nancy as I began to increase the pace and build up pressure.  All the while, she was gradually turning the dial increasing the current.  At some point I started screaming but not as loud as Greg.  Nancy made it a three-way scream as she sent a powerful charge into her cunt and tits.

     I had been fighting the urge to climax for several minutes so when permission came, so did I.  My semen felt like a stream of electrons as it charged out of my penis into her bowel drawn by her clever management of the levels of power.  I collapsed across her sweat covered back after I squirted for the fifth and last time.  She powered everything off as we finished climaxing.  After a couple of breaths, the sex got nasty.

      “Felch me but don’t swallow,” said Nancy bending over to grab her ankles.

      Don’t think, slave, just do it I told myself as I emptied her butthole.  Corrine, the psyche major, told me people acting in groups would go to extremes they would never perform otherwise.  I’m not sure that’s a good explanation why I eagerly placed my mouth over her well-fucked asshole and sucked for all I was worth.   I did things at Club BM&WS I would never have considered before I joined.  And so did my wife.

      While I emptied her rectum, Nancy kept verbally taunting Greg about her mother and Denise all the while turning dials and torturing the poor bastard out of his mind.  The dials were all close to the maximum as she shocked him in two or more places simultaneously.  I was becoming concerned she was going to kill him when all of a sudden she stopped. 

      I stood looking like a squirrel with a winter’s load of nuts while she tilted Greg’s head back to where his face looked toward the ceiling.  She pointed to his wide-open mouth.  “Spit it in there.”

      I don’t think Greg liked the idea of swallowing a mouthful of semen even though it had marinated in his own wife’s rectum.  But he didn’t have a choice.

     I thought we were done but Nancy had other ideas.  After a water break, she had me turn Greg’s chair so it faced the bed. We spent the next several hours fucking in every position possible.  Occasionally she used the control box to make sure he continued to suffer.  The poor bastard looked half dead by the time we finished.

     I deposited multiple loads in all three orifices.  In spite of my chemical aids I was fucked out when Charmaine showed up to take me back to the basement.

Chapter 23 Charmaine Goes On Break

     After I helped Nancy release Greg from the Love Seat, The two cuddled up in bed while I rested at the foot of the bed with their feet on my back.  Did you know in the old South house slaves slept at the foot of the bed to keep their Master’s feet warm?

     I found the club’s resurrection of customs used by the owners of their ancestors a bit weird at times.  There I was curled up in a ball with the soles of four feet touching my backside while the couple settled their differences.

     I was stuck there until an Overseer arrived to escort me back to the basement.

     A completely broken and exhausted Greg was sobbing in his wife’s arms promising he would never screw anyone behind her back again especially her friends and relatives.  He would confine his lust to situations where she was fully informed and approved.  Corrine and I had the identical arrangement; however I was reasonably certain she was pulling a Greg and screwing around behind my back.

     While I waited for my escort, their conversation took an unexpected turn when Nancy offered him a one time get out of electro free card if he confessed to carnal knowledge of anyone else.

      “Shaynana, Kimberly and Shelly, and Lenore, but only once with Lenore,” said a tearful Greg his face pressed against his wife’s luscious breasts that I might add were coated with the dried saliva of yours truly.  During the course of the afternoon, I’d discovered she liked having her quarter-sized dugs sucked and sucked hard and I had eagerly obliged.  They had reached impressive proportions due to the powerful vacuum I created.

      “Lenore, you fucked that nasty whore,” said Nancy in an angry voice that made me wonder if I should unpack the electro equipment for another round of playing sparky with his nuts.  Under Nancy’s supervision, I had carefully stored the equipment in a nylon sports bag emblazoned with the logo of the Indianapolis Colts.  An interesting coincidence since Corrine and my collection of marital aids was stored in an identical bag in our closet at home.

     I also wondered how Shaynana, Kimberly and Shelly got a pass but Lenore was a no fuck.   Obviously, Greg Watkins was knocking down more than his share of pussy.

       “Baby, it was only once.  And it was all her doing.   I didn’t want to fuck her; but she got me going and I couldn’t stop.  I love you, baby and only you.”

      “Where did you and that slut get it on,” asked Nancy pressing her heels against my lower back?

      “It was at Melvin’s,” said Greg.

      “Melvin Lockeridge,” asked Nancy in an incredulous voice?   “That brother’s dead.”

      “Yes, baby, it was at his wake.  I was so upset at how poor Melvin looked in his casket; she caught me at a weak moment.”

      “You bastard that was only two weeks, ago.  What exactly did you and Lenore do,” asked Nancy getting angrier by the minute.

     “I got to Malcolm’s early.  You were supposed to be there but you were late.  Lenore was having trouble dealing with Melvin’s death.  They were good friends, you know,” said Greg.  “She suggested we go somewhere quiet where she could grieve.”

      Malcolm’s Funeral Home was a local chain catering to the black community.   I made a mental note to attend an Afro-American wake at my next opportunity.  Apparently, death makes black women horny.

      “If by friends, you mean screwing him while his wife was pregnant,” said Nancy disgustedly.  “So where did you and that trashy whore get it on?”

      “We did it in the room where they sell the caskets.  It was the only place we could find,” said Greg. 

      “You fucked her in a casket,” asked Nancy?

      I would have loved to join the conversation but I wisely kept my mouth shut and my back warm.

      “It was the only place we could find, baby,” repeated Greg.  “It was big, like the one they buried Earl’s daddy in.  It was no big deal, just a quick suck and fuck.”

       My overhearing of this delightful exchange was interrupted by the arrival of Charmaine who reattached my leash and quietly lead me out leaving the two lovebirds to complete their reconciliation.

      As I left their bedroom, I made a note to closely observe Greg Watkins.  He was an unimpressive looking bank employee with an average cock who was apparently irresistible to women, at least black women.  I was intrigued enough to suggest Corrine check out Greg.  At a subsequent monthly meeting, she managed to catch his eye leading to an afternoon of one on one sex.   I reckon Nancy was engaged elsewhere, perhaps sending voltage up and down the peter of a white slave while he screamed his head off.

       “He was unbelievable.  I must have come fifteen times,” was her evaluation of Greg’s performance as we were driving home.  She actually reached down and rubbed her well-fucked crotch at the memory of her afternoon.

       “How?  What did he do that was so great?” I asked mystified.

       “It’s hard to explain.  But Greg Watkins can fuck me anytime and any where he wants,” said Corrine almost purring as she mentioned his name.

       I never solved the mystery of Greg Watkins.  I hypothesized he was a black Casanova whose source of attraction is an unknown like the creation of the universe.  I recalled reading the real Casanova was an unattractive man with an average penis.

       I followed Charmaine downstairs. I stepped carefully finding it difficult to take my eyes of her bottom that looked sensational in tight slacks.

      I’m surprised I didn’t screw up and get my ass whipped again.  The hallway was full of interesting sounds.  Some poor bastard was screaming out a number immediately after you heard the sound of leather cracking down on flesh.  When we reached the first floor, I heard the sound of two women screaming.  One sounded like Corrine but I couldn’t be sure.

     We were almost to the entrance when Charmaine took a look at her watch then spoke to Ray who was standing guard at the basement door.  “I haven’t had a break all day.  Is it all right if I take it now and use twenty two?”

     It took a moment to realize she was referring to me.

     “Have him back by six,” said Ray looking at his watch.  At that moment, a buzzer sounded.  Ray grabbed a pager off his belt, took a look at it and announced, “Got a pickup,” before hurrying off.

     “This way,” said Charmaine leading me away from the basement entrance into the enormous kitchen.

     Charmaine took a key out of her pocket to open what turned out to be the pantry door.  It was a pantry with a difference.  There was an air mattress on the floor.  The shelves contained institutional sized containers of sugar, flour, and other kitchen supplies.  I assumed the air mattress was a recent and temporary addition.

       “Overseers aren’t supposed to get it on with slaves so you keep your mouth shut about this to the Masters,” said Charmaine.

     “Yes, Mistress, I don’t want to cause any trouble,” I said working hard to control my excitement at the prospect of screwing my second black beauty of the day.

      “It’s a stupid rule.  Fortunately, Ray looks the other way as long as we let him get his,” said Charmaine taking hold of my cock and stroking it.  “How bad do want me, Tom?”

       “Yes, Mistress, very much, you’re very beautiful,” I said taking her in my arms and kissing her.  She appeared open to the romantic approach.

       “You sure you can do this after screwing Nancy all afternoon,” asked Charmaine?  “She’s the kind of slut who can take away a guy’s fast ball.”

       It seemed a foolish question, given she had my very hard cock in her hand but I maintained my slave demeanor.  “Yes, Mistress, I will do everything I can to make you enjoy sex with me.”     

       “Tom, I think you are going to be a very popular slave with the Mistresses.  And just between us, there’s no lack of Masters who’ll want you too.  Nancy’s Greg is one of the few hetero male members.”

      “Thank you, Mistress, that’s good to know,” I said.

      “Let’s take this off.  My pussy’s a little tender,” said Charmaine kneeling down to unbuckle the harness.  She ran her hand over the spiny nodules of the clit stimulator that a half hour before had brought Nancy Watkins to a raging final orgasm as it scored her sex leaving it raw.  “I’m not into pain unless I’m causing it.”

       I stood quietly as she unbuckled the straps around my balls.  I never learned what caused her tender clit although I was almost curious enough to ask.  While she was still kneeling, she pulled the turtleneck over her head, revealing a lacy black brassiere holding two luscious looking chocolate titties.   With typical female flexibility, she reached behind her back and unsnapped the garment allowing it to fall.  My cock nodded its approval especially when she gave them a lift and rub, as women are prone to do when they unholster their mammaries.  I’ve watched Corrine do it a thousand times and it still turns me on.

      “I just need a good straight fuck, Tom, nothing kinky,” said Charmaine taking my shaft in one hand as she placed the head in her mouth.

      I was eager to oblige.  Spending an afternoon fucking Nancy while she reduced her husband to a sobbing nobody had satisfied my craving for bizarre sex.  “Yes, Mistress, I will do my very best.”    

     She took me out of her mouth, pausing a moment to flick her tongue over my piss hole before speaking.  “You better or I’ll turn your ass cherry red every third Saturday of the month for the next year.”

    The prospect of pain is a powerful incentive.  Add that to the fact, Charmaine was very attractive with an outstanding body and I had absolutely no problem in focusing on the task at hand.

    She raised her hand to me and I took it to help her stand.  Kneel down and take my pants off, Tom.  Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

     Anxious to begin, I untied her shoes.  She rested her hand on my shoulder as I slipped the clunky uniform shoes off her very pretty feet.  Her toes were just about perfect.  If I ever develop a fetish it will be for the female foot.  I gave her insoles a quick kiss.

     “Naughty slave, I didn’t tell you to do that,” she said in a way that indicated she wasn’t offended.

     “Sorry, Mistress, but they’re so beautiful I couldn’t resist,” I said hurrying to unbuckle her belt.  Next I unzipped her fly and pushed the trousers down so she could step out of them.  Finally, I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her black lace panty then pulled them down her legs.  When she stepped out I brought them to my face.  I couldn’t resist pressing my nose into the damp material of the crotch material inhaling her scent.

     “What’s your real name, Twenty-two,” asked Charmaine placing the rest of her clothes on a shelf filled with half gallon sized cans of crushed tomatoes?  

     “Thomas, Mistress,” I said.  Her panty was clutched tightly in my hand.

     “So, you were born with a slave’s name.  Well, Tom, you a sensualist and we could use more of them at the club.  Too many of the men of both races are just here to blow their load in a hot twat and move to the next one,” said Charmaine reaching down to stroke her sex.

     I had never thought of Thomas as a slave’s name.  I was named after my mother’s brother who was also my godfather.  In site of my being his namesake and godson, he never so much as sent me a card on my birthday, the cheap bastard. 

     “Thank you, Mistress, I have always found the scent of the female sex very appealing,” I said.  “That’s a very interesting tattoo.”     

     There was a spider web tattoo above her pubic region.  Her complexion was light enough for the tattoo to work.  I’d never seen the point of skin art on dark complexion Afro Americans.  Some of Jerome’s crew had tattoos that looked like ink blots until you examined them from an inch away in bright light.

     “Thank you.  I got blown away one weekend at college and decided I just had to have it.  Go ahead and smell them again.  I like to watch you.”

     Charmaine was turning out to be something of a sensualist herself.  I brought her warm panty to my nose and inhaled her scent.  Is there any better aroma on this earth than warm pussy you are about to fuck?  My super hard cock shouted agreement by bobbing up and down.

      “Here, stick your nose in the source,” said Charmaine placing her hands on the back of my head to press my face into her crotch.

      “Yes, Mistress,” I said breathing deeply through my nose that was nestled between her labia.  The aroma went directly to my brain, racing between synapses screaming, “Hallelujah.”

      “You’re the first man I’ve fucked today.  Other than a blowjob for Ray, I’m a Saturday cherry.”

      The concept of Saturday cherry eluded me.  My brain was under the control of my olfactory nerves as I took several deep inhales of her musk.

      “You want to eat my pussy, Thomas,” asked Charmaine in her little girl voice?  She sounded so sweet and innocent.

      “Yes, Mistress, very much so,” I said reaching around to grab her buttocks easing the tips of my fingers into her butt crack.  I used them as leverage to push my face into her vulva circling her opening with my tongue.  I detected an immediate out pouring of natural lubricant.  The taste was heavenly and the aroma was the planet’s most erotic perfume.

      “I’ve been on my feet all day so I’m going to lie down and let you do the work,” said Charmaine.

      Charmaine used my shoulders to brace herself as she lowered herself to the air mattress.   When she reached the floor, she rolled on to her back and spread her legs.   She didn’t say a word as I leaned forward to bring my mouth to her sex.  But once my tongue passed upward bisecting her labia, she became a potty mouth.  The woman sure knew her expletives.

      “Eat my nasty twat, Tom. I’m a pig whore.   Suck my cunt juice out, you white motherfucker,” whispered Charmaine taking hold of her nipples and twisting them.

      I marveled at the steady stream of filth she spouted as I ate her from clit to asshole.  I brought my fingers into play, invading her anus and vagina, causing her to twist and turn as I located her G-spot and stroked it with the pad of my forefinger.  The intensity and variety of her profanity grew as I fingered her.  The way she was working her buds made me doubt her earlier comment that she wasn’t into pain.

      “That’s right. Finger fuck my shithole, give me two, then three, make me feel it.  Stretch my shitter, you lousy bastard,” she demanded in a whisper.  When she wasn’t working her tits, she wrapped her hand around the back of my head to press it harder against her sex.

     Her feet were flat on the floor giving her greater leverage.  As she swiped her wet cunt over my face, I felt the muscles and tendons of her inner thighs squeezing the sides of my head.

      I caught her knee pits in the crook of my arms lifting her legs giving me better access to her anus.  Her dancer’s calves rested on my shoulders as I earned the right to stick my cock in her beautiful pussy.  I could have used another set of hands and a second tongue.

     I could tell she was getting closer to orgasm; however, she was on a long steady climb to the top of the mountain.  I intensified my efforts as I detected the walls of her rectum commencing a rhythmic contraction.  The lining of her vagina joined in and I knew she was closing on the Big O.

     But not as close as one would have thought.  I would have loved to time her orgasm.  The contractions slowly increased, the stream of invectives became even more profane (if that was possible) and her torso began to twist from side to side.  When I glanced up, I could see flecks of spit coming from her mouth and her belly button was being sucked in to where it rested on her backbone before rising to where she looked pregnant.  The conclusion was obvious.  Charmaine liked to fuck. 

      “Four finger my slut pussy, you piece of slimy shit,” screamed Charmaine as she planted her feet flat on her floor lifting her body.  It felt like the three fingers in her ass were being squeezed in a vise.  I had four fingers in her vagina and my thumb was windshield wiping her clit.  She totally lost control as she orgasmed.  Corrine could sometimes raise the roof when she got off but Charmaine was in a class by herself.

      “Fuck my hole and fuck it hard,” said Charmaine as soon as she got enough breath back to speak.  She had the wild look of a woman operating under the control of her hormones.

       I leaned forward cock in hand, located the target and burrowed into her snatch.  My feet were braced against the baseboard as I pressed my crotch down on her clit and moved it back and forth grinding the little man in the boat against my pubic bone.

       “That’s right, Tom.  I’m a slut.  Screw me like one,” said Charmaine.  “Suck my tits, bite them.”

       Charmaine was multi-orgasmic. We would fuck for a few strokes in one position.  She would climax. Then we would slightly change positions for another round and she would climax again.

       She and I were both wearing down when I heard the door open. 

       A deep male asked, “Charmaine, you in here?”

       “Yes, Dwayne, I’m on break,” said Charmaine.

       “Can we join you,” asked Dwayne?  “I brought my own poontang.”

       “Sure, come in,” said Charmaine.

       From somewhere I recalled Charmaine mentioning to Nancy her husband was named Dwayne.  The pantry is a small narrow room.  When I glanced to my side, I saw four legs.  Dwayne’s turtleneck fell to the floor as his partner undressed him

       “Who you got there, Dwayne,” asked Charmaine?

       “Twenty three, this is her first day here.  Who’s that?” said Dwayne.

       Charmaine continued to pump against my cock as she conversed with her husband.  Her hands were around my butt pulling me into her.  “Twenty two, her husband, now isn’t that a hoot.  What’s your name, twenty three?”

       “Cory, Mistress,” said Corrine.

       “Down on your knees, Cory,” said Dwayne.  “Show me how much you love sucking my black dick.”

       “How long you two been married,” asked Charmaine as we fucked?

       The sounds of Corrine making mouth love to Dwayne’s manhood blended with Charmaine’s grunts and the slapping noise of my balls smacking her butt as I pounded away.

       “Six years in May,” I answered for us.  Corrine’s mouth was full of Dwayne’s cock.”

       “That’s great.  Dwayne and I met in law school.  We lived together for the last two years of college.  Our first anniversary is next week,” said Charmaine as she began another of her almost endless orgasms.

       “Congratulations, Master Dwayne and Mistress Charmaine,” said Corrine taking Dwayne’s penis out of her mouth to speak.

       “Thank you,” said Charmaine.  “How’s she doing, Dwayne?”

       “She’s good.  You can always tell the good white cocksuckers.  They get that hungry look when they see black dick,” said Dwayne.  “Cory just finished a ride on the rail.  Ray told me to bring her in here and fuck her sore pussy.”

     “Shit, that’s going to hurt.  I’m surprised Ray isn’t doing her himself.  The bastard loves it when they scream with his dick in them,” said Charmaine who was building toward another climax. 

     “He’s somewhere fucking her riding partner,” said Dwayne.

     “It’s almost six,” said Charmaine glancing at her watch.

     “I know.  Better hurry. Get on your back, Twenty-three.  I haven’t fucked anyone today and I need to blow my load,” said Dwayne.

      Corrine and Charmaine were now shoulder to shoulder as were Dwayne and me.   The air mattress was barely wide enough for the four of us.   When I glanced over I saw Corrine looked the worse for wear.  There were red blotches on her breasts.  Her eyes were red. 

     “My Johnson is going to set that sore cunt of yours on fire,” said Dwayne as he used his cock head to part Corrine’s labia. 

     A loud hiss escaped Corrine’s lips as Dwayne sunk his cock in her.  That was followed by a whimper as Dwayne pulled out then slammed in her.

      “Painful, isn’t it, Cory,” asked Charmaine?  “But fucking a slave right after she’s left the rail is a tradition.”

      “Yes, Mistress, I understand,” said Corrine working hard to respond to Dwayne’s thrusting by planting her feet firmly on the mattress and forcing her hips upward to meet him.

      “Kiss your wife, Tom,” said Charmaine.  “She’s going to need a little help to get off under the circumstances.”

      “Yes, Mistress,” I said leaning over to plant a kiss on Corrine’s lips.  I had to slip under Dwayne’s chest to reach her.  I could feel his powerful body on my back.  Corrine’s legs were wrapped around Dwayne pulling him into her.   It was anything but a romantic kiss. It was hungry and demanding.

     There is something incredibly erotic about kissing your spouse while her vagina is filled with another man’s penis.  The fact he was hurting her sore pussy added to the eroticism I was experiencing.        Charmaine was wrong about Corrine needing help to get off.

       Corrine was finding her own erotic bliss in the sharp painful stabs into her tortured sex.  I could tell from the expression on her beautiful face and the way she was clinging to Dwayne forcing her pussy up to meet his manhood, she was experiencing a new paradigm.  My wife was transforming pain into pleasure as only a true masochist can.

       I have to say it was one of the hottest couple fucks I’d ever experienced.  Lying alongside the husband with his body touching yours from shoulder to ankle while fucking his wife and he’s screwing yours is a powerful sexual scenario.  Most men only get to fantasize about what I was actually doing.

      “Now kiss me, Dwayne, and suck my titty,” said Charmaine.

      Dwayne complied then started alternating between Corrine and Charmaine’s breasts.  When he finished, Charmaine ordered me to replace him.

     Dwayne and I kept it up until everyone was more than ready to get off.

      “It’s almost six, time to blow your load,” said Charmaine glancing at her wristwatch.

      I’d been ready for the last ten minutes.  I issued the release order to my testicles and once more Tom’s mighty sperm army charged forth to rape and fertilize any egg they encountered.

     Dwayne managed to release at the same time.  Simultaneous powerful orgasms left the four of us out of breath and covered in sweat.

     “You two are hot for a while couple,” said Charmaine reaching for her underpants.

     “Thank you, Mistress,” said Corrine.

     I murmured my thanks as I handed Charmaine her bra that somehow had gotten under me.

     “Dwayne, when our internship is over, we’ll have to choose Cory and Tom for a play session in the dungeon.

     That was the first I’ve heard the Murtaugh Estate had a dungeon.

Chapter 24 Getting Cleaned Up

     The slaves were filing out of the basement door when Corrine and I returned.  We joined them as the Overseers escorted us down a long hall to the back of the mansion where we entered a shower room that reminded me of the one in the boy’s gym at my high school.   Slaves who knew the drill better than Corrine and I quickly turned on the showers so the water would get warm.

     Thirty slaves was a crowd so we shared a shower with Steve and Anita.

      “Let me wash your dick, Tom,” said Anita playfully reaching for my cock.  Women who’ve just had a good fuck are normally in a good mood.  And apparently Anita was one of them having spent the afternoon servicing a black couple who made full use of her predilection for combining a hard spanking with a hard fuck. 

            Having never refused an offer from an attractive female to wash my privates, it didn’t seem like the time to start.  I thrust out my Johnson to indicate I was agreeable.  Corrine took hold of Steve’s and began lathering his balls with a motel-sized bar of soap whose paper wrapper read Longwood Motor Court.

     “How does my tush look,” asked Anita turning around to show me her reddened bottom?

     “Like someone warmed it up,” I answered getting into the group’s playful spirit.

     “I’ll say.  Paul and Denise love to spank their white slave girl,” said Anita trying to look over her shoulder at her rear.

     “You sound like you enjoyed it,” I said putting my arms around her covering her boobs.  She wiggled her bottom against my soapy crotch that welcomed the sensation.  Anita reminded me of a girl I used to date who loved sex in the shower.  My skin except for my cock would wrinkle up on our dates.

      “How was your first day, Tom? Fuck anybody interesting?” asked Anita turning and taking my cock in her soapy hands and working up and down the shaft?

      “Yes, interesting, highly erotic, exciting, and even educational,” I said while soaping up Anita’s thighs.  Around us, the practice of washing each other’s sexual organs was being universally followed.  It wasn’t serious sex just play.  Everyone had gotten enough slave sex to feel satisfied.   I thought of it as a warm up period for what was to come.  We still six hours to midnight.

     Nearby a petite blonde was washing Danny Boy’s cock that looked even bigger in the bright lights of the shower room.  Ken was standing face forward toward the shower room wall while a red head gingerly washed his red-stripped rear.  Masters unknown had whipped his backside to an almost purple hue.  Irish Mike turned around to reveal a rear end in similar condition.  Before he turned, I noticed his nipples looked the worse for wear.  I couldn’t say I was sorry.

     Their bruised butts encouraged me to look around and observe a good portion of the slaves had bruises or red welts on their backsides, me included.  Several of the women had red splotches on their breasts.  Corrine’s nipples looked like a company of Marines just back from a six-month tour in a combat zone had manhandled them.

     “And how was your day, Cory,” asked Steve?

     “Pretty much the same as Tom’s but I would have to add the word, painful,” said Corrine giving the base of his balls a gentle squeeze as she lathered up the shaft.

     Apparently, Danny Boy overheard our conversation.  He grabbed Corrine by the wrist and pulled her toward him as he placed his hand between her legs almost lifting her off the ground.  “What’s the matter, Cory?  How’d you like your ride on the rail?  Make your pussy sore?”

      Corrine winced as his hand explored her vulva.  “Leave her alone,” I said placing my hand on his bicep that was the size of my thigh.

      “Don’t Tom,” said Corrine putting her arm around Danny Boy’s neck to pull her face close enough to kiss his lips. “It’ll be all right.  Dan just likes to play with his pussy before he eats it.  He knows I get off on it.”

      “Better do as Cory says or I might come looking for you in the maze,” said Danny Boy releasing Corrine.   Danny Boy fisted his oversized cock in my direction.  “Think you can take something this big in that skinny ass of yours, Tom?”

      “I’ve taken bigger,” I lied.

      “Then tonight shouldn’t be a problem,” said Danny Boy.  “Kay, baby, come over here and help Joanne wash my prick.”  Kay ceased washing the back of a man I assumed was her husband and rushed to Danny Boy.  He took her in his arms for a kiss then put his hand on her shoulders forcing her to kneel beside Joanne.  The two kneeling females applied themselves to soaping Danny Boy’s privates as he leaned back against the shower wall with his eyes closed.

      “They put you on the rail?  You poor thing,” said Anita putting her arm around Corrine.

      “The worst thirty minutes of my life,” said Corrine placing her hand on her sex to show where it hurt.  “It was hell.”

      “I did a half hour once.  For the last ten minutes I begged them to kill me,” said Steve.

      “What’s the rail,” I asked.  “I’ve heard about it all day.”

      “Ever heard the old expression, tarred and feathered and ridden on a rail,” asked Steve?

      It sounded vaguely familiar but I didn’t recall from where.  “No, what does it mean?”

      Steve turned out to be a history buff.  “Back in Colonial America when jails were rare and prisons non-existent, it was a frequent punishment for lesser crimes than murder and rape.  They hanged you for those.”

      “They did it to both men and women,” said Anita. “There are accounts of church women forming a mob of the righteous to invade the local brothel to tar and feather the prostitutes then ride them out of town on the rail.”

    “What did it involve,” I asked?

     “First, the criminal was stripped naked in front of the townspeople.  In those more modest times, that was an act of extreme humiliation.  In some cases the next step was to be strung up and horse whipped until you confessed your crimes.”

      “That sound like enough punishment,” I said.

      “They didn’t think it was.  Next, they poured hot tar or pitchblende over the head completely covering the body causing second-degree burns.  A coating of chicken feathers was applied to the tar,” said Steve gently lathering my wife’s reddened vulva.  “It was extremely difficult to remove without taking off a layer of skin.”

      “I don’t see any feathers or tar on Cory,” I said using her slave name. 

      “No, the Club couldn’t very well get away with that.  Turning your butt cherry red is one thing; but burning your skin off would be too much; although I’ve see slaves with some nasty burns from candle wax,” said Steve.

      “I’ve had wax dripped on my boobs by a Master and Mistress who are into burning flesh for fun,” added Anita with a wistful look in her eye.  “It hurt like hell but it was a good hurt.  She dildo fucked my pussy and ass while she sucked my clit like it was a cock.  I sucked his prick while he dripped molten beeswax on my areola.  They used clothespins on my armpits, nipples and clit to make them more sensitive; so the wax really stung.  I screamed my head off; but I climaxed.  Their names are Reggie and Simone and hot wax is their thing.”

     “You loved it.  You couldn’t wait to show me the burn marks,” said Steve who was facing the wall while Corrine washed his butt crack.

      I found comfort in the thought I had checked No to Candle Wax when I filled out my profile.

      “I suppose it wasn’t so bad.  They made me come five times,” admitted Anita as I washed her boobs.  When I looked close, I could see her areola were discolored.

      “So what happened to the criminals next,” I asked?

      “After the miscreant was coated in tar and feathers, he or she was placed on a fence rail and carried through the town for all to see.  Usually, a sign with his name and crime was placed around his neck to emphasize the town’s scorn and their humiliation,” said Steve.  “The pain of having very sensitive body parts resting on a coarse wooden fence rail was the worst part of the punishment.  The wood feels like it is cutting you in two.  Every slave here, regardless of how serious a masochist they are, is scared shitless of the rail.”

      I asked, “How did the punishment end?”

      “Usually, the town fathers took them to the city limits and left them with a warning not to ever come back or they’d get more of the same,” said Steve.

      “What does any of that have to do with the club,” I asked.

      Corrine decided it was time to describe her experience.  “There’s a wooden rail in the library, like the kind you would find in and old rail fence on a farm.  The wood is very rough.  It’s maybe six feet long, waist high and supported on the end by two metal stanchions.”

     “The top cut into me like a knife.  I thought I would lose my mind,” said Anita.  “You kind of go crazy with the pain.”

     “There was another girl, Megan, on the rail with me.  She’s the tall brunette over there with Phil, her husband,” said Corrine pointing across the room.

     Megan could only be described as exceedingly beautiful.  I rated her on the same level as Corrine.  She was not only very tall but had a very nice figure.  Her legs seemed to go on forever.  Phil and she were busily washing themselves and each other.

     “There were two of you.  How does that work,” I asked?

     “Ray and his helper, Dwayne, put us on the rail back to back then they tied my hands behind my back and around her waist.  Then tied hers around me,” said Corrine.

      I didn’t understand.  “Show me.”

      Corrine stepped to where she and Anita were standing back to back.  Then she stretched her arms behind her wrapping them around Anita’s waist.  “Like this.”

     Anita reached behind her to illustrate how it was done.  It struck me as something I would have loved to see in person.  “I get it.  You were both seated straddle of the rail, back to back with your arms tied around each other.”

      “That wasn’t all.  Ray put leather collar around both our necks and connected them so the back of our heads were pressed together,” said Corrine.  “If one of us moved, it caused the other to move too.  Any motion caused the sharp wood to dig deeper into your flesh.  Every second the pain gets worse until you can’t stand it and you’re screaming for them to take you off.”

      “All your body weight rests here,” said Anita using her finger to trace a line between the base of your balls and my anus.  Her soapy finger lingered on my sphincter pressing against the opening.

     I recalled, once when I was a dumb ass kid, trying to skateboard down a handrail.   I wound up landing hard on the place where Anita’s finger had been.  I spent the next fifteen minutes writhing on the ground praying for the pain to go away.

     Steve had a question.  “Did he put weights on your ankles, Cory?”

     “A ten kilogram plate on each of ankle,” said Corrine.  “The pain was excruciating.”

     “Ouch,” said Anita.

     “Why did you get punished, Cory,” I asked?

     “When they called my number to come upstairs I was being tripled penetrated by Danny Boy and his helpers.  They didn’t let me go until they all climaxed.  Ray was furious I didn’t respond immediately.  And the fact my hair was splattered with semen made it worse.

     “They probably did it on purpose.  They may have been in cahoots with Ray,” said Anita.

     “After I finished with the Carlson’s he took me to the Library for in his words, to teach me to come more promptly when my number is called.”

      “Since Ray took over as Head Overseer, the rail has been used more than under the previous regime,” said Steve.  “Still, Ray’s been much more creative about the punishments.  He’s kept thing interesting.”

     “But mainly for women, did he stand there and watch you two suffer,” asked Anita?

     “Yes, he kept jiggling the rail to make it worse,” said Corrine.

     “The bastard,” said Anita.  “But that kind of brutality is what makes the club real instead of just a pretend thing.  Most clubs never get more creative than the flogger.  I heard a rumor they’re going to introduce electrical torture.”

     I kept quiet.  Sometimes it’s best to keep what you know to yourself.  I did picture Anita with her breasts sucked into the electro cups attempting to scream through the Whitehead Gag.  The image caused my cock to stir.    

     “I hope you’re right.  I’ve always wanted to try electro,” said Steve.

     “I’ve heard the rumor also.  So you think creativity is a big part of the club’s appeal,” I asked?

     “Definitely, without genuine pain delivered in creative fashion this place wouldn’t last,” said Steve.  “It would just be another interracial swinger’s club.”

     “How did you and Megan handle it,” I asked Cory?

     “We didn’t.  We kept begging Ray to take us down.  We offered to do anything he wanted,” said Corrine.

      “That’s only normal, dear.  I pleaded with Lloyd, the previous Head Overseer, to take me off.  I even offered him my younger sister, Mandy fro a three some, but the bastard just laughed and let me suffer,” said Anita.

     Steve leaned close and whispered in my ear.  “Bullshit, she talked Mandy into meeting Lloyd with her.  The two of them spent the afternoon fucking the bastard.  Mum’s the word.  She doesn’t know Mandy told me all about it.”

     I had no idea why Steve chose to share family secrets with me.  I suppose you feel a certain rapport with a man who is having his balls washed by your wife.  

     “Steve, getting back to your historical account of the punishment, I don’t see any connection to slavery,” I said after thinking about all I’d heard.  I know a little American History myself.

      “It’s simple.  Up until the Emancipation Proclamation freed the slaves, slave owners and their bounty hunters punished abolitionists and runaway slaves with prolonged and exceedingly brutal rides on the rail after they were covered in tar and rolled in feathers.  They did other things too.  But they made frequent use of tar, feathers, and a sharp wooden rail to strike fear in the heart of abolitionists.

     Slaves were economically important to the plantations, so killing them for running away was not financially smart but putting them up on a fence rail so other slaves could listen to them scream was not only punishment but deterrent to keep others from escaping to freedom.  Slaves were placed on the rail with heavy weights attached to their ankles and left for hours.  Whites who helped slaves escape were treated even worse,” said Steve.

      “And the law didn’t stop them,” I asked?

      “The law in the Southern states was far more likely to help than hinder them,” said Steve.  “The abolitionists who ran the underground railway came in for truly awful punishment from slave owners.”

      “Interesting,” I said. 

      “I can only say it was the worst half hour of my life,” said Corrine. “Megan and I were screaming our lungs out by the time Ray took us off,” said Corrine.

      “So do you want to quit the club,” I whispered?

      “No, of course not, don’t be rediculous.  Like Steve said, it’s things like the rail that make the club what it is,” said Corrine giving me a look of extreme disapproval for even suggesting we quit.

      “All right, great,” I whispered back glad she was proving to be such a trooper. 

     At that moment, Charmaine pushed a small cart containing plastic bottles into the shower room and made an announcement.  “Douche time.”


Chapter 25 Presentation of New Members

     I felt squeaky clean by the time I dried and found a terry cloth robe that fit.  But I wasn’t done.  Anita insisted I allow her to douche out my rectum even though it hadn’t been occupied by anything other than an electrified dildo.

     “It’s a required procedure and we could all get in trouble if your butt hole doesn’t sparkle.  Bend over, Tom,” said Anita as she coated her fingers with lubricant.

     I moaned as her talented fingers found my prostate.  Semen dripped off the tip of my penis.

     “Don’t get excited, Tom.  Save your load for the masters,” cautioned Anita.

     There was a special shower stall all the guys had to pass through.  I bent over and spread your cheeks so Anita could stick a nozzle up my ass.  I filled up pretty quick after she cranked the handle.  It was like someone stuck a garden hose up your butt and turned it on full force.  Cramps racked my abdomen bending me over as I stumbled out of the stall.

     Right outside the stall were two free standing commodes.  There was no privacy. You had to hold it until a commode was free.  The stench was hard to take as guys emptied their bowels.  Another slave, whose backside looked like she had really pissed someone off, inspected the result.  If it wasn’t clear, you got to repeat the process.

     Anita told me that if one of the male or female slaves got shit on a master or mistress, there would be hell to pay.  “We’ll all get rail time,” said Anita.

     “Your turn to clean me out,” said Anita ending over and offering me her ass hole. 

     In spite of the smell and the explosion of shit filled water, there is something erotic about giving each other an enema. It was a chaotic nasty process that somehow made my cock hard.

     Vaginas had it better.  Anita taught me to empty the foil packet of powder into the disposable plastic bottle, fill with water to the line, and give it a good shake.  She sat on a shower stool and spread her legs so I could clean out her cavity for another batch of male essence.   There was a certain Roman orgy quality to the act that surprised me.

     I slipped the nozzle into her quim and squeezed.  I watched as she held it for a few seconds before spraying on the shower floor splattering my legs. Dried semen, spit, lubricant both artificial and man made and God knows what colored the liquid. 

     I had a moment to reflect on the normally very private nature of what I was doing.  Although I knew Corrine kept a supply of douche powder and empty plastic squeeze bottle on the bottom shelf of her vanity I had never seen her use one.  Somehow, under those circumstances, she considered it too private and personal for me to view but there she was holding her labia apart so Steve, a man she met less than eight hours ago could fit the nozzle in her vagina. 

      Did being considered a slave change us that much?  Did it almost overnight liberate us from the behavioral norms we developed over decades of growing up into an adult?  I, who once considerer myself something of a homophobe, had been eying Danny Boy’s oversized member hoping his threat to sodomize me wasn’t just an empty boast.  And as for Corrine, she transformed her sexual norms from that of a monogamous middle class suburban female into something bordering on nymphomania. 

     I felt like a lab rat whose environment had undergone a radical change engendering a similar change in me.  Ray called for us to hurry and finish, interrupting my train of thought. 

     “Ready for some soul food,” asked Steve as they lead us back toward the center of the mansion.

     “Sure,” I replied although I had only a vague idea of what he was talking about.

      There was a buffet set up in what I guessed was the Billiards Room since the food trays were placed on a covered pool table.   Steve and Anita had already informed us there was a two hour break in which we slaves were allowed to clean up and eat while the Masters held a dinner meeting to go over club business.

      “Great, it’s from Redbones,” said Anita looking over the spread.

      As I got in line for helpings of fried chicken, pork barbecue, mashed potatoes, baked apples, white beans, and something called collard greens, I realized how hungry I was.  There was even beer and boxed wine.  The beer was malt liquor packaged in forty ounce bottles, according to Steve, the drink of choice for Indianapolis’s lower income black population. 

     “The Masters are probably eating fillet mignon with truffle sauce and drinking vintage cabernet,” said Steve taking a bite out of a small round disc of something I later learned was called a ho cake.  Corrine informed me it was a type of bread made from white cornmeal fried in bacon grease.  

     If this was what slaves in the pre Civil War south ate, I would characterize it as extremely tasty and down right unhealthy.  Corrine pointed out the backbreaking manual labor performed by slaves probably canceled out the ill effects of their diet where a sedentary office worker like me would be digging his grave with his teeth on a steady diet of soul food.  It was delicious, however, and I made a pig of myself.

      I was just finishing a dish of watermelon ice cream when Ray called my number along with that of Corrine and the other couple who had joined the club with us, Jean and Ted.

      “New members are presented to the Masters at this time, nothing to worry about,” said Anita noting the look of consternation on my face.

      We followed Ray to the foyer stopping in front of two enormous closed doors I recalled were the entrance to the great hall.

      “Robes off,” said Ray before making a call on the cell phone.  He told whoever answered, “They standing right outside the door.”

      “You’re first, Cory,” said Ray patting my wife on her fanny as he cracked the door to listen.  “Hold you head high, stick your tits out and smile.”

      I heard Dan the co-President announce new member Cory.  Ray opened the door enough to push Cory through then turned his back to the door facing the three of us.  

     “Jean, suck the guys hard so they make a good impression,” said Ray.

      I gathered it had been a long time since anyone had to ask Jean twice for a blowjob.  She dropped to her knees reaching for Ted and my soft penises.  We melded together so Jean could work her magic.  She massaged our balls while she licked and sucked our cockheads.  Her mouth proved wide enough to get both tips just inside for tongue work.

     “Ted, do you want to kiss Tom,” asked Ray deciding to have some fun with us?

     “Yes,” said Ted taking the question as permission to lean forward for a very wet kiss.  I responded like a good slave with no will of my own other than to do my master’s bidding.  Tom’s fingers pinched my nipples as we kissed while his wife sucked our dicks.  He reached down to put a finger on my brown eye and I returned the favor.  The three of us were wrapped together as close as possible.  Both our peckers slowly came to full attention.

      “You’re up, Jean,” said Ray breaking up our three way.  Once more, he listened until a certain moment then opened the door and shoved her through.

      “You two keep at it.  I don’t want anyone to lose his wood,” said Ray turning his back to the door.

     Ted and I kissed and worked each other’s nips as we jacked off.  The thought occurred to me I was acting as Ted’s fluffer and he mine.  We kept at it until Ray announced it was Ted’s turn.  Ted was none too gently shoved through the door.

     “Come here, Tom,” said Ray putting his hand on my shoulder and reaching for my cock after Ted had made his entrance.

     He surprised my by turning me around so my back was pressed against his front.  He leaned against the door as he reached his arm around to begin stroking my penis.  His position allowed him to listen to what was happening on the other side of the door while he masturbated me.  I was a little surprised.  He hadn’t struck me as the bisexual type.  His large tongue worked a circle in my ear.

      “If I didn’t know better, I’d say one of your ancestors visited the slave quarters,” said Ray stroking my hard on from testicles to tip.

      “Why do you say that, Master,” I asked, curious as to what the hell he was talking about?

      “You got a nigger dick on you, white boy,” said Ray squeezing my testicles to the point I wanted to scream.  His other hand was pulling out my nipples and twisting them.  It was a combination of pleasure and pain more suited to Corrine’s tastes than mine.

      “Thank you, Master,” I said thinking it was a complement at least from Ray’s perspective. 

      “That Charmaine’s a real hot piece.  I’ve tapped that several times,” said Ray.  “Bitch gets off like a rocket and keeps at it like the Energizer Bunny.”

       “Yes, she was amazing.  She has an incredible figure,” I said pushing my butt back against Ray’s crotch to see if his cock was hard.  It was.

       “Her husband’s something of a dick head I don’t care if he is a doctor.  Did you get to meet him?”

       “Yes, briefly, he screwed my wife, Cory, in the kitchen pantry while I was fucking Charmaine,” I said.

       “Your wife’s a real hot piece of tail.  I’m going to tap her pussy the first chance I get.  You don’t mind, do you?” asked Ray.

       I wiggled my butt against his crotch as I answered.  “No, Master, I’m sure she’d love it.”

      “And from what I’ve read in your profile, you’d love to suck my spunk out of her holes,” said Ray.   “What’s with you white guys anyway?”

     “What do you mean, Master?”

     “Always wanting to stick your tongue in a twat full of a black man’s jism.  You wouldn’t catch a black man doing that,” said Ray.  “If some prick dumped a load in Jacqueline’s coochie, the cunt would have to clean it out with Lysol before I’d stick my dick in it.  That is after I beat the shit out of the unfaithful whore.” 

      “Who’s Jacqueline, Master,” I asked wishing Ray would unzip his pants and put his cock in my ass?

      “Wife, married ten years this past March,” said Ray once again pinching my nipples to the width of a sheet of paper.  It hurt like hell but I didn’t want him to stop.

      “Is she here,” I asked?  “I could service you both.”

      “Fuck no, she’s not a member.  For that matter, neither am I.  This is just a weekend job.  The pay’s shit but the perks are great,” said Ray grinding his cock against my ass.

      “How long have you been the Head Overseer,” I asked?  There were many things about the club I didn’t know.  Corrine says I am too curious for my own good.  I should just accept things as they come and quit trying to figure things out.

      “Three months, I’m in charge of security and the only professional.  My staff is made up of interns.  If a black couple wants to join the club, they have to serve six months internship.  The club’s pretty choosy about who joins.  Dan told me there was a three year waiting list for Masters.”

     “And slaves,” I asked?

     “Different deal, you have to be recommended by a Master couple.  Who were your sponsors?”

     “Scott and Nadine Reynolds,” I said.

     “Indianapolis’s answer to Johnny Cochran, he keep you out of jail?”

     “Not exactly, I thought I was in trouble related to my business but it didn’t materialize thank God,” I said.

     “Did Attorney Reynolds screw your wife,” asked Ray who must have heard about my lawyer?  “Did you develop your taste for sucking black jism out of Cory’s cunt from Scott?”

     “Yes, he screwed her but I didn’t know about it at the time,” I said before adding, “And I liked eating pussies with cream before we met Scott.”

     “I figured he nailed her from what I’ve heard about him.  He’d got a thing for white pussy.  Hey, your turn, Tom,” said Ray moving quickly to push me through the door.   

Chapter 26 My Debut

     The light blinded me as I stepped through the door.  Someone had focused a spotlight on my entrance.  The rest of the room was dark.  I heard laughter.  I couldn’t see shit beyond the small circle of light.  Later, Corrine told me it was a classic ‘deer in the headlight’ moment.

      In the gloom I managed to determine the Masters and Mistresses were seat at three long tables formed into a U.  The table at the end facing me contained the club’s officers.  It was raised off the floor.

      “Masters and Mistresses, I give you, Slave Tom,” said Dan from the raised table at the bottom of the U.  It turned out Dan and April were not only the club’s co-presidents but also the emcees charged to introduce and humiliate the new Slaves.

     There was a polite round of applause.  Ray had distracted me so I didn’t expect the obvious.  I was totally nude with erect nipples and thanks to Ray, sporting a full erection.  I was in the middle of an enormous room with God knows how many people watching.  Thank God, I resisted the urge to put my hands over my cock.

     Dan spoke through the PA system.  “Slave Tom, step forward and stand in the circle.”

     My eyes had adjusted enough I was able to locate a white circle painted in the middle of the parquet floor.  When I reached it, Charmaine stepped to my side, gave me a stinging slap on the butt, and placed a headset on my head containing a wireless microphone.

      “Say testing one two three,” said Charmaine and I did as she asked.  My voice boomed through the room.

      “Say I love to eat pussy filled with black jism,” said Charmaine.  Once again I did as I was told.  The room erupted in laughter.  What’s the point of having a slave if you can’t have fun with him?

      All of a sudden, a version of my profile was projected on a wall-sized screen at one end of the room.  My eyes had begun to adjust.  I finally located Corrine and the other two.  I didn’t find their state encouraging.  They were stretched like starfish within a frame that turned out to be made of metal tubing.  The frame was mounted on rolling carts.  Someone had rolled the carts off to the side so I could have center stage.  Flashbulbs were firing from all sides; so much for Corrine’s statement our club membership would be discreet.

     “Slave Tom is bisexual, loves to suck and fuck black Masters and Mistresses.   He has a deep seated love for eating his wife’s pussy after she’s pumped full of beautiful black semen,” said April.  “As you can see, he loves the one he’s with.”

     I heard a click and a video of me and another man appeared on screen.  I remembered the couple’s name from our Initiation at the Longwood.  They were Paul and Vera.  I didn’t recall a video camera so it must have been hidden. 

     On the wall sized display, Paul, who insisted I call him Pauline, was wearing pink lingerie, make-up, and a blonde wig. He looked almost passable except for the contrast of black complexion with Nordic blonde hair.  He was kneeling in front of me noisily sucking my cock while I told him how pretty he looked.  

     “Go Pauline,” yelled someone causing general laughter.

     “Slave Tom has expressed an interest in cross dressing so we may soon find Pauline and Thomasina on a double date,” said April.  Once again the audience laughed as I kept a smile glued on my face.  Rather surprisingly, standing naked in a room being humiliated by strangers was not making my cock soft.  I was hard as a rock.  

      The video changed to show me banging Paul AKA Pauline’s butt while in the background Corrine was going down on Vera.  If I do say so myself, I was fucking the shit out of Paul who was taking it like the girl he wanted to be.

      “Slave Tom has the gift of versatility,” said Dan as the scene changed to me mounted on Eileen who I recalled were the third couple we’d been paired with during our Initiation.  I was slamming it home in Eileen’s cunt while the hidden video showed Corrine on the other side of the bed getting similar treatment from Eileen’s husband, Marvin.  I had Eileen bent double, her knees pinned to the bed beside her ears.  Eileen had a high-pitched squeal and the audio consisted of her loud cries followed by demands for me to fuck her harder.

      The third video showed me with Scott and Nadine.  It was edited to display me rapidly moving from sucking Scott to eating Nadine then back to being bent over for a good ass reaming by Scott ending with me plunging my cock into Nadine.  The obvious conclusion from the audience’s perspective was that Slave Tom pursed sex in a highly gender neutral fashion.  I’d screw anything human.

      “For those Masters, who have expressed an interest in Japanese rope bondage, Slave Tom can be a resource.  Here’s his wife Cory enjoying his talent,” said April.

     I was surprised to see the video I made of Corrine standing on one leg tied in one of the classic balancing positions.  She looked hot as hell with her knockers ballooned out by coils of red rope.  The camera slowly trailed down to her crotch where the thick blue rope’s knots were grinding against her three points of sensation as she struggled to maintain her balance.

     It turned out Cory had agreed at April’s request to give her a copy of the video as a surprise.

     “So if anyone wants to experience Japanese Rope Bondage, select Tom’s number at our next meeting,” said April.

      I heard a man’s voice ask, “You interested in that?”  And a female voice answered, “Sure, you know me.  I’ll try anything once.”

     “Charmaine and Dwayne, please do the honors,” said Dan.

     The interns quickly rolled out an empty frame similar to the one Corrine and the others occupied.  My arms were bound and stretched to each corner then my legs.  Once I was restrained in what Corrine called the starfish position, they tightened the nylon ropes until I felt my joints scream.  My arms were stretched overhead at a forty-five degree angle.  My ankles were attached to the bottom corners of the rectangular frame.

      “A little something to occupy your mind,” said Charmaine kneeling down in front of me.

      I felt something wrap around the base of my testicles.  Charmaine tightened the thin blue nylon chord squeezing my nuts into the bottom of my ball sack.  I was almost foolish enough to protest when Dwayne attached a sizeable iron weight to the other end of the chord.  I closed my eyes as he let it drop.  It fall ended with a jerk and a bounce that hurt like hell.  I managed not to cry out limiting my audible reaction to a grunt.

     Ten pounds of bar bell weight, purloined from some health club was swinging free, painfully elongating my ball sack.

      Dwayne and Charmaine promptly wheeled me out of the spotlight over to the side with the other three new members.  They quickly wheeled Corrine into the center of the room.  Someone turned up the lights and killed the spotlight.

     That was when I saw that while Slave Ted and I were subjected to a serious case of sack stretching, Cory and Jean had both nipples caught in a very nasty looking pair of alligator clamps.  Weights attached to the clamps pulled their breasts toward the earth.

     “Slave Cory spent the afternoon serving Travis and Belinda Carlson.  Let’s hear how she did,” said Dan.

      A couple I assumed was Travis and Belinda stood up to make their report.

      “Not well at all, we were quite upset,” said Travis.  “Slave Cory arrived fifteen minutes late.”

      “Her appearance was not attractive.  There was semen in her hair and she had obviously been recently fucked in all three holes,” said Belinda.

      “Her breath reeked of filthy slave cock,” said Travis. 

     “We insisted she take a shower and clean up first.  That caused a further delay,” said Belinda.  “We like to start off fresh and clean.  We realize that as the afternoon progresses things get a little nasty and we expect that but not right at the start.

      “So how did matters progress after Slave Cory took a shower,” asked April?

      “We were disappointed in her lack of experience in role play.  Her profile stated role play was acceptable but when we asked her to dress like a cheer leader and act like she was being raped, she just did not get it,” said Travis.

      “What didn’t she get,” asked Dan?

      “She was too eager to screw my husband, who was playing the role of Coach Bennett, our high school football coach who along with Travis raped me when we were students,” said Belinda.  “It’s a scenario we both like to replay for obvious reasons.”

      “She was too eager to fuck us,” said Travis.  “Cory reminded me of the Thai hookers we found on our last trip to Bangkok.”

       “Slave Cory, do you have anything to say before we pass sentence,” asked Dan?

       “Yes, Masters and Mistresses, I would like to apologize to the Carlsons.    My role-play was inexcusably bad.  I promise to work hard to improve it.  And I will do my very best to arrive on time and properly prepared next time,” said Corrine.

     I must say my wife looked magnificent and staring at her made my cock twitch.  Her nipples and areola had a reddish hue no doubt from the punishment they had endured.  The way the weights lengthened her nipples as gravity drew her breasts toward the floor was most erotic.

     Her labia were almost crimson and badly swollen from her ride on the rail.  A large bright pink clitoris was visible, poking out between the puffy lips of her sex.  I didn’t doubt there wasn’t a master or mistress in the room who hoped to fuck her.

      “Excellent response, Slave Cory, however, I have no choice other than to sentence you to thirty lashes and to spend the rest of the evening in the sling,” said Dan.  “Dwayne, please proceed.”

     Dwayne quickly stepped forward with a whip in his right hand and without hesitating a second brought it around in an arc aiming it across Corrine’s shoulder blades.  It made a cracking sound when it landed.  The force and surprise of the blow caused Corrine to extend violently forward in her bonds before sounding a very loud scream.  From my angle, I could see the weights attached to the nipple clamps jumping up and down.  A bright red whelp immediately appeared on her clavicles as she writhed against the restraints.  I immediately began to worry if I had pleased Nancy and Greg enough to avoid punishment.

     Dwayne waited until Corrine calmed down before delivering the next blow.  It landed slightly lower in her back.  I was amazed at how the weights danced in air pulling her beautiful breasts down then allowing them to spring up as she contorted her body in reaction to what must have been hellish pain based on the decibel level of her scream.

      I was very close to the side table.  Several of the Masters stood up to unbuckle their belts allowing their pants to slide down to their knees.   Apparently, masturbating while a slave was whipped was considered good form.

     Dwayne placed the third blow right across Corrine’s buttocks.  His whip arm was loosening up because the cracking sound was louder and sharper than its predecessors.  Her reaction rose to meet the added force of the lash.

     I resisted the urge to feel compassion for Corrine.  She was the one who found Club BM&WS and suggested we join.  I didn’t doubt that screwing Scott Reynolds behind my back was instrumental in our being invited to join.  There was something rather satisfying about watching Dwayne wrench screams out of her like he was wringing water out of a dishtowel.  I love my wife but that didn’t mean watching Dwayne whip her butt failed to turn me on.  I would have blown my load right then and there if my nuts were free.

      By the time Dwayne finished she was hanging by her wrists unable to stand.  Loud whimpers and groans were her only vocal response to the final five lashes. 

     Immediately, Ray appeared to wheel her over to the door where he proceeded to unbuckle her wrists and ankles.  Once she was free, he placed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her off.  I noted he had not detached the nipple clamps and the weights hung down on his back as he stepped through the door.

      Slave Jean had taken Corrine’s place in the middle of the room.  Bruce and Lucile rated her performance average.  They had performed various perverted acts on her person that involved pain for Jean and fun for the couple.

     Once again, there was the suggestion that a lack of feigned reluctance was the problem.  I made a note Masters expected slaves to beg and plead not to be punished or raped.  The problem with Jean and Corrine’s performance was too much willingness to endure such travails. 

     Jean was sentenced to twenty lashes.  Once again, Dwayne wielded the whip without a shred of mercy.  I’d never considered myself a violent person.  I don’t like movies filled with violence.

      However, there was something incredibly erotic about watching Dwayne whip first my wife then Ted’s.  The fact I had fucked Jean several times during our club tryout added to my lust.  I watched her reactions with a surprising degree of intensity taking enormous visual pleasure from the way her body responded to the force and pain of the blow.  If my testicles hadn’t been tied off and painfully stretched, I believe I could have auto-orgasmed from the scene I was witnessing.  When I glanced over at Ted, I could tell his reaction was the same as mine.

     I could only conclude my membership in the club was adding to my state of depravity.

     Poor Jean was babbling when Dwayne announced he was done.  Drool had covered her chin and chest. Once again, Ray saw to her removal.  She had also been sentenced to send the remainder of the evening in the sling whatever that was.

      Ted was up next.  He had serviced Bill and Denise who declared his performance acceptable.  Ted had assisted Bill in applying a heavy dose of S&M to Denise who was in Bill’s words a world-class pain slut.

     Later during our time in the Maze, Ted and I swapped accounts of our afternoon He described how he and Bill had applied enough clothespins to Denise’s tender flesh to hang out the wash for a sizeable apartment building.  Once Denise was being painfully pinched in several hundred sensitive places, Bill took a seat and masturbated while Ted whipped the soles of her feet.  Listening to his wife scream brought him enormous pleasure while Ted worked up a sweat swinging a leather strap across her insteps.  The finale consisted of Bill jacking off on his wire’s writhing body as Ted jerked strings of clothespins from her tortured flesh.

     For Ted’s superior rating, he was subjected to ten lashes by Charmaine that though painful were nowhere near as agonizing as those of Dwayne.  He was also sentenced to spend an hour over the barrel.  Once again, I had no idea what the barrel involved although I was to find out.

      As Ray removed Ted, I was placed in the center of the room.

     “Tom spent the afternoon with Greg and Nancy,” said Dan. 

       I watched as the spotlight moved to the side table illuminating the couple that waved to the audience.  Nancy looked extremely fresh and attractive where Greg showed serious signs of fatigue.  Not surprising in view of what he had gone through.  I’d have been half dead.

       Charmaine handed Nancy a cordless microphone.   “Slave Tom spent the afternoon helping Greg and I resolve some marital issues.  He was very sensitive and helped me get through a difficult situation.”

      Christ, what a way to spin the idea Greg had fucked her mother and sister and she was pissed.  She had grown to great lengths to sexually humiliate him with another man then subject him to a prolonged session of electrical torture.   Greg had been hit with so much voltage I was surprised he had any brain cells that still functioned.

      “Let me interject that one of Nancy’s parallel goals was to train Slave Tom in the use of electrical torture.  Members have repeatedly expressed the desire for new and interesting methods for causing pain.  Fortunately, Nancy has a background in electro gained from her college days,” said Dan.

      “Glad you didn’t spend all your time fucking white boys,” said one of the Masters causing everyone to laugh.

      Dan ignored the laugher and plowed on.  “Properly applied, electrical torture is safe, scalable, and fun.  It’s the first of a family of new methodologies April and I want to introduce.  That said, Nancy, was Slave Tom a good student?”

     “Yes, he was excellent.  He learned quickly.  He was able to work on his own after a few minutes of instruction,” said Nancy.

     “At our next meeting, you can request Slave Tom bring either his electro kit or his Japanese rope bondage paraphernalia.  Instructions on how to request Slave Tom for either an electrical torture or a Japanese rope bondage session will be posted on our Web site,” said April.

     “Do you have anything to add, Greg,” asked Dan?

     “Not really, Slave Tom took my anal cherry when Nancy ordered him to sodomize me.  That made it special,” said Greg offering one of the strangest comments of a very strange day. 

     I was sentenced to five lashes and an hour over the barrel.  I suppose the idea was no one leaves unmarked.  Charmaine spaced the five evenly from the middle of my shoulder blades to the bottom of my butt. 

     I wasn’t stoical about the pain either.  My sense was the Masters wanted to hear me scream and I didn’t disappoint them.  That was why most of them were there.  I howled in pain at each of the five blows.  It was over quickly.  I felt such a sense of relief as Charmaine freed my balls; I forgot about my burning backside.                

Chapter 27 Over The Barrel

     “Looks, like they started without you, Tom,” said Ray as he escorted me into the large room I recalled as the Reception Hall.  I congratulated myself for remembering the room’s correct name from my eight-grade field trip. 

     The Reception Hall was almost as large as the Great Hall but not as grandly decorated.  At the moment, the Slaves were crowded around in the room’s center. A quick glance showed one side of the room was filled with large chaise lounges.  The other side contained a variety of furnishing I would come to know as the Club’s instruments of torture.  I didn’t see Corrine or Jean in the crowd.  It turned out the Pain Sling was located elsewhere.

     I started to ask what had started without me but wisely decided to be more circumspect.  “Pardon me, Master Ray but where are Cory and Jean?”  I was learning quickly how to avoid getting my ass whipped.

      “They’re in the Conservatory,” said Ray pointing toward a door in the sidewall of the Reception Hall.

      “The music room,” I asked?  My mind somehow associated Conservatory with music from the days I played Clue as a child.

      “Yes, although the only instrument your wife will be playing is the skin flute.  A few hours in the Pain Sling and she’ll be a whole new woman,” said Ray before ordering the Slaves to step aside.

     When we reached the center, I saw Ted strapped face down and butt up over what I assumed was the Barrel.  Barrel was not a particularly descriptive term for the apparatus other than a rounded part supported Ted’s mid section.  I suppose you could call it a virtual barrel.  At the moment, a fellow slave was sodimising Ted with surprising vigor given all the sexual activity of the day. 

      I was developing a deep admiration for the club’s attention to the design of modern sado-masochistic furnishing.   I later learned the Master named Lenny, a mechanical engineer by education and trade, who owned a small fabrication plant on the outskirts of Indianapolis, was the genius behind them.  I vaguely recalled Lenny and his wife, Gale, as one of the couples who participated in the finale of our initiation.  So many couples had fucked me since I joined the club I’d lost count nor was I good at remembering names.

     That brought to mind the time I spent on Lenny’s Love Bench being sodomised by numerous Masters while I ate their Mistress’s pussy.  At the finale, Lenny had proved Corrine and my well-fucked anuses could take a fist albeit at the price of inordinate levels of pain as my rectum walls expanded to accommodate his closed hand.  Corrine and I rationalized initiations were supposed to be difficult and even painful.  I’d never been so thoroughly fucked out in my life.

     The particular device confronting me at the moment was sold under the not particularly descriptive name Sodomy Barrel for a cost of three hundred ninety nine dollars.  Its design provided an improved version over the Love Bench.

     The designers paid attention to ergonomics.  Height and angle of entry were adjustable.  The footholds could be raised or lowered so a tall male such as Danny Boy could easily match his penis height to an average male’s butthole.  Danny Boy had a clear, comfortable path to my asshole.  Adjustable handholds permitted Danny Boy to propel himself against my rear with a ferocity that left my bottom bruised.  The next day my buttocks were the same color as an eggplant.

     Constructed of lightweight materials, it weighed less than thirty-five pounds but was remarkably stabile.  Even with Danny Boy and me aboard, it hardly moved when he reared back and slammed his thick nine inches into my needy hole. 

     It could also be folded up and packed away in the closet so the children wouldn’t learn Daddy had a yin for taking cock up his ass. 

      Ted was spread face down with his rear pointed almost toward the ceiling.  His ankles and wrists were encased in cuffs attached to nylon ropes connected to a system of pulleys.  His legs were stretched wide providing unmatched access to his anus for the Slave mounted over his back.

      According to the Web site, the Sodomy Barrel maximized access to the subject’s anus although in the case of a female subject, the vagina was also available. In actual practice, I never saw a female stretched across the barrel.

      “Ride him, Steve.  Fuck that ass hard,” shouted Anita enthusiastically from underneath the barrel where she was engaged in a combination oral and manual assault on Ted’s cock.  Ted grunted loudly each time Steve slammed into his butt.  Steve was fucking his ass with enormous enthusiasm while Anita did unpleasant things to his cock.  

     There was a tradition that the Mistress played handball with the Slave’s cock while the Master pounded his ass.  It turned out the Club had numerous traditions such as new members try out the Sodomy Barrel and the Pain Sling first.  

      Steve was mounted on Ted’s posterior alternating hard thrusts of his cock with loud open palm slaps to his reddened flanks.  Ted might have been able to protest more vocally were it not for the presence of a large cock in his mouth.  A Slave I had not met had hold of Ted’s ears and was using them as handles to drive his fully erect manhood down his throat.  Ted had a long skinny neck and you could see it expand as the cockhead traveled down his gullet.  It was an awesome sight I found impressive.

      “Hope you enjoy double penetration combined with cock and ball torture,” said Ray gesturing for me to lie down across a barrel immediately to Ted’s right.  There did not seem to be much use in pointing out I had checked No by CBT on my profile.

      Other slaves rushed to assist Master Ray in restraining me.  Apparently, Slaves could make free use of their equals until the business meeting of the Master’s ended and they joined the Slaves in the Reception Hall.  From then on, the Slaves were strictly for the Master’ pleasure and not permitted to enjoy one another unless so directed by a Master.

      Ray adjusted the tension in the ropes until I felt my shoulder and hip joints were on the verge of dislocation.  A mechanism balanced the tension so each joint hurt equally.  Think of a starfish being ripped apart.

      “By the way, your hour of barrel time does not begin until the Master’s arrive,” whispered Ray as he took my left nipple in his fingers and crushed it causing me to cry out.   It was his way of wishing me good luck I suppose.  After making a final check of my restraints, Ray informed the crowd I was all theirs and left.       

     He had barely turned to go before I felt an ominous presence at my rear.

     “Ready to take the big one,” asked Danny Boy leaning over to whisper in my ear?  He punctuated his question by slipping his tongue in the canal then licking around the surface.  Two large hands separated my buttocks.  Next, I felt the tip of a large finger probing my anus.

     Underneath me, a mouth I correctly guessed was female was sucking my cock as her hands worked my testicles.  It turned out the mouth and hands belonged to Adele, Danny Boy’s wife.  She was a pint-sized hellion who loved both giving and getting pain.  Her role was to make sure I didn’t enjoy having Danny Boy’s cock in my ass.

     I answered with greater defiance than I truly felt.  I was anxious to establish a reputation as a player.  “Take your best shot.  Fuck me long and deep.”

    “Adele, Tom just said something to hurt my feeling,” said Danny Boy speaking in a voice indicating he was wounded emotionally.

     “Be nice to my husband or I’ll make you regret it,” said Adele. 

     I screamed as Adele flattened by balls in her delicate little hand then executed a simultaneous twist and pull action that made me see stars.  I honestly thought she was going to rip my testicles off.

     “Adele is very protective.  She knows how sensitive I am so be careful,” said Danny Boy as Adele resumed sucking me off with an amazing burst of energy.

     I smartened up when I caught my breath.  “Please, Adele, don’t hurt me.  Danny can do anything he wants to me.  I really love the big guy.  Just don’t do that again, please.  I’m begging you.”

     “That’s more like it, Tom,” said Danny Boy wiggling his finger around inside my rectum then taking it out to stick it in my mouth. 

     I felt relieved when Adele once more wrapped her lips around my pecker head and probed my piss hole.  I grunted as a large finger coated with lubricant slip deep inside my anus.  Taking Danny’s finger in my ass was the equivalent of a six-inch cock.  I moaned, “Oh yeah, that’s great,” because it felt good and I wanted Danny to know I appreciated his efforts.   And I didn’t want to give Adele a reason to flatten my nuts.   

     There was no question I had become an enthusiastic sodomite.  I was versatile though.  I hadn’t hesitated when it was time to drive my eight inches down a protesting Greg’s Hershey Highway.  I could pitch as well as catch. The fact he was supposedly an anal virgin and hated being sodomized added greatly to my enjoyment.  It was at this point Danny Boy added some comments on his own sexual orientation reflecting his strong family values.   

     “There’s something very gratifying about ass fucking both man and wife in a single day.  You’ve got a tight hole just like that raunchy slut you’re married to,” said Danny Boy using two fingers to stretch my anal ring as he squeezed lubricant in my cavern.  “My anal experience includes both twin brothers and twin sisters.  Have you ever approached sodomy from the standpoint of climbing the family tree?”

     “No, I haven’t had a wide range of sodomy experiences,” I answered.  “In fact, the Club has taught me how much I was missing.”

     “I’ve also butt fucked, father and son and mother and daughter of the same family, a truly unique experience.  I’d like to include three generations before my peter quits on me.  A grandfather, father and son would be nice,” said Danny Boy working the lube around inside my rectum stretching out the interior.  “Is your dad still living?  Do you and that whore have any children?”

     “My dad is very straight and Cory and I haven’t started our family,” I said imaging how my Dad would react to the idea of father and son sodomy.    He would have never spoken to me again for mentioning it.

      “Your experience seems pretty limited,” said Danny Boy as Adele proved beyond a shadow of a doubt she could handle eight inches.  Her lips were moving from my tip to the base in long smooth strokes that ended with my cockhead being squeezed into her throat opening.  Adele had talent.

     “True, although I once screwed this girl’s mother I was dating.  It wasn’t anal though.  She actually seduced me,” I said recalling the time in college I went home for Thanksgiving with Margaret Lansdowne and her drunken mother took advantage of me in the laundry room.

     “Well, you’re still young.  Who knows what opportunities you may have.  This is going to hurt.  Enjoy,” said Danny Boy placing his manhood dead center of my sphincter as he took a firm grip on the Barrel’s handholds.

     “Cory and I are honored you chose us to butt fuck.  We will carve your notch high on our bed post tonight,” I said struggling to push back to get him inside me.  I’d completely given in to the idea I enjoyed being screwed in the ass by men with big cocks.

     “Speaking of Cory the slut, I heard she had a very tough day.  Not only did Ray make her ride the rail for fucking up, the Masters gave her the full thirty plus she gets to spend the evening in Lenny’s Pain Sling,” said Danny Boy shifting his body so his cock was pressing against my sphincter. Danny Boy was taking his time and I was impatient to get his manhood inside my needy hole.  “She is going to be one fucked out whore by midnight.”

     “Yes, thanks to you.  You made her late for her first session, a brilliant move on your part,” I said taking a deep breath to relax.  His cockhead was pushing hard against my backdoor.    I felt my anal ring begin to expand.  A loud groan escaped my lips as I experienced the joy of anal penetration.

     “A pain slut like Cory loves being punished especially when there is an audience.  I could tell that immediately.  She was probably disappointed they only gave her thirty.  How many did you get?”

      I answered five as I felt his cock head push inside my anal ring stretching it.  I tried to picture how it looked as the thin ring of muscle stretched around the tip of his family-sized cock.   I moaned when it slipped in me.  I slowly exhaled hoping to relax my rectum as he powered his way stretching out the walls of my rectum.

     “Oh Jesus Christ, that feels good,” I hissed as a wave of half pain and half pleasure welled-up from my abdomen.  What’s the phrase?  It feels so good it hurts.

      “Five, you must be somebody’s favorite.  Who did you service this afternoon?” said Danny Boy as his penis began its decent.  Underneath me, Adele was proving Danny Boy wasn’t the only family member who enjoyed mixing pain and pleasure.

     She had one of my balls in her mouth while her hand stroked my well-lubricated shaft.  Her technique was maddening.  Her mouth applied enough pressure to almost flatten my nuts as her fingers snapped together when her stroke slipped of the tip of my cock.  Corrine later showed me on the Internet there was such a thing as an S&M blowjob that combined pain and pleasure in equal measure until the recipient was almost out of their mind.   

      Maintaining the conversation under those conditions wasn’t easy.  “Nancy and Greg Watkins, we did some serious electro,” I answered trying desperately to control the pain I experienced in my rectum as it expanded to accommodate his oversized cock.  It felt like someone was shoving a log up my ass. 

      But I was determined to show Danny Boy I wasn’t just another pusillanimous white slave unable to handle serious anal.  “Fuck me harder, you big motherfucker,” I whispered as his cock maxed out somewhere in my large intestine.

     “Put something in his mouth, Mike.  He’s starting to bore me,” said Danny Boy to one of his two minions who were standing close by.

     “Open up, Tom, and take your medicine,” said Irish Mike placing his semen dripping cock against my lips as he hooked two fingers in my nostrils and pulled hard toward the ceiling.

     I licked off the drops forming around his piss hole then opened my mouth wide, greedily sucking hard as the column of hard male flesh slid over my tongue reaching my throat entrance.  There was a moment’s hesitation before the spongy head compressed enough to move an inch into my gullet.

     It wasn’t until the next day; I had a chance to reflect on the depths I had sunk to when it came to sex.  A year before I had been straight heterosexual committed to a monogamous marriage with a beautiful and faithful wife.  At the time, I rated my sex life as excellent.  I had every reason to believe Corrine viewed matters identically.

     Now I was stretched like a rubber band over a concave surface.  A man the size of an NFL lineman was pounding his cock in my ass while his wife provided oral sex that oscillated between pain and pleasure to a maddening degree while another man’s cock was buried in my windpipe.  At the same time, my wife was elsewhere engaged in an extreme form of sado masochism that had become a normal and expected part of her sexual repertoire.

     I was thoroughly enjoying what was happening to me.  But there were times I worried about it.

      It wasn’t long before Danny Boy reared up and pounded my ass with sufficient violence to leave it bruised and sore for a number of days.  After a flurry of brutal strokes he squirted a large volume of jism deep inside my gastro-intestinal tract. 

      It was at that point I learned another Club tradition.  The moment Danny Boy’s cock slipped out of my ass, Adele covered my still open hole with her mouth and hoovered out the contents.  The amount of suction was quite impressive, causing the walls of my rectum to pop back into their normal position.  I could feel the suction draw in my navel.  In spite of her diminutive stature, she was one powerful fellatrice.

      “Tasty,” was Adele’s comment as she savored body fluids imbibed only by the hardest of the extreme hardcore.  She embraced her husband and they kissed allowing her to share the treasure she had just extracted.

      When Adele finished, Danny Boy’s other running mate, Ken, replaced her so quickly; my sphincter didn’t have time to close.  Ken’s wife slipped beneath the Barrel to take the blowjob position.  Irish Mike continued to face fuck me until he orgasmed then another Slave assumed his position.

     And so it went until I sensed a commotion that turned out to be the arrival of the Masters. Their entry was announced by the cracking of whips across bare flesh.  The Masters whipped their way into the room sending the slaves screaming to the floor clutching their wounded flesh.

     I had a moment’s respite as Slaves were either bound over various Lenny designed furnishings for punishment or ordered to perform any of the many acts we address under the umbrella of sexual intercourse or perversion.

    I was pleased to watch Danny Boy and Adele tied to a nearby whipping frame.  In a matter of moments, a very nasty looking bullwhip landed on his broad back eliciting a loud cry of pain.  He wasn’t faking it either.  One of the Masters whipped him until he broke down and tearfully begged him to stop.  When the Master loosened his restraints, big powerful Danny Boy fell to the floor kissing the Master’s feet.

    The scene with Danny Boy made me recall a film where the white master whips a much larger black man until the black man breaks down and prostrates himself before his white master begging his forgiveness.  Were those fantasies buried deep in all our psyches? 

     Obviously, there was something embedded in Corrine’s that being forced to fluff for Morgan and company had surfaced. I asked her about it and after thinking for a minute she said she couldn’t recall anything remotely like fluffing from her childhood.

     I’d fruitlessly searched my memory for anything that made me desire to stick my tongue in her vagina and delight in the taste of Morgan’s jism.  I couldn’t recall a thing.  

     My cock twitched as a similar whip made a red stripe across Adele’s breasts sending her into paroxysms of agony as she sounded a scream surprising in its volume for one of small stature.  She was desperate to grab and comfort her wounded mammaries but prevented by the nylon straps stretching her arms upward to the top of the whipping frame.  One of the Mistresses worked on Adele’s breasts with a short whip called a tawse until the little lady boobs looked like over inflated red balloons.

     I later learned they had asked to be the first couple to be whipped.  Danny Boy and Adele had to be first, regardless.

     The sound of a paddle landing on a bare bottom followed by a bellow of pain drew my eyes to a nearby spanking bench where one of the Masters was gracing Irish Mike’s bottom with a leather paddle.  As one of the Masters pulled my butt cheeks apart to expose my sphincter to his cock, the room filled with the sound of leather smacking into flesh.  Corrine later pointed out the Club WEB site had an audio file of the whippings you could download and jerk off to.

     I said, “Thank you, Master,” as a large cock entered my ass heading for my large intestine while his Mistress went to work on my penis by raking her nails across my scrotum. 

     Ray released Ted and I at precisely one hour.  We joined the general orgy where I employed my skill at cunnilingus and analingus to bring an uncounted number of Mistresses to a glorious climax.

     It was a scene in which Nero or Caligula would have felt at home.  Almost a hundred naked bodies filled the Reception Hall.  The background music consisted of leather landing on bare flesh accentuated by loud screams of agony.  There was a line of slaves eagerly waiting their turn to be whipped.   I stayed out of that queue devoting my efforts to coursing my mouth and tongue over the female parts of any Mistress who crooked her little finger at me.

    At some point, a loud gong sounded.  I looked up from the luscious pair of thighs cradling my head.

    “Finish me,” said Mistress Katherine putting her hand on the back of my head to push it down on her outstandingly succulent snatch.  “You’ve got ten minutes.  Make it awesome or you’ll pay next time.”

     As the Masters and Mistresses prepared to leave, Ray informed me I was on clean up detail.     

Chapter 28 The Conservatory


     Come with me,” said Ray as soon as we finished placing the club’s equipment in storage on the first floor.  Everything had to be wiped down with an anti-bacterial cleanser then carefully stowed away in a locked closet.

     “Where to, Master Ray,” I asked sitting the whipping post down I’d retrieved from a third floor bedroom?  I had dutifully noted the drops of blood staining the pedestal.  That wasn’t surprising given that whipping Slaves was a primary activity for the Masters.  Ted grabbed the bottle of sanitizer and sprayed the pedestal then wiped it down with a paper towel.  We were exhausted and eager to finish.

     “We’re done here, except for the two Pain Slings in the Conservatory.  Charmaine said they were still being used so she skipped them.  Let’s go check,” said Ray after consulting his clipboard.

     It was amazing how many whipping posts and frames along with punishment benches and the odd apparatus like the barrel were spread throughout the mansion.  It was the Slave’s job, of course, to locate and retrieve everything.  Fortunately, most of the equipment could be folded up and carried by a single individual.

     That was fortuitous since we Slaves felt as tired as we looked.  It had been a long and eventful day.  Still, it was a good tired.   There is no better way on earth to exhaust the body and relax the mind than a full day of sexual intercourse with multiple partners of both sexes.

     All the equipment had to be carefully tallied to insure nothing remained out for the public to find.  It wouldn’t do if a wedding party discovered Lenny’s Sodomy Barrel standing in the Reception Hall covered in dried semen.

    Ted and I followed the big man through the door of the Conservatory.  The scene that greeted us was far out on the bizarre scale.

     The Conservatory was obviously set up for a classical performance like a string quartet.  There were about thirty chairs lined up in front of a small stage.  The motif was definitely musical.  The décor included musical notes hand carved in the crown molding.  Musical instruments were painted on the ceiling. 

     A grand piano had been shoved to the back to allow the Pain Slings to appear center stage.  Charmaine had been correct.  Jean and Corrine were both experiencing multiple penetrations.  A half dozen Masters were fucking the shit out of the pair while their wives stood by masturbating or reaching in to add to their pain.

     “Take a seat.  We need to wait until they’re done,” said Ray guiding Ted and I to the last row of chairs.

     I quickly plopped down, anxious to rest my legs.  We were no more than fifteen feet from the stage.  I could hear Corrine and Jean’s labored breath as they experienced the type of sex Corrine would later inform me is edge play.

     Japanese Rope Bondage had provided me some understanding of the bondage experience.  Personally, it worked to a limited extent.  I’d spent almost two hours restrained over the Sodomy Barrel.  The sodomy was great but the fact I was stretched to the point my joints ached, only marginally added to the experience.  Honestly, I would have preferred the sodomy occur when I was free to move, trying different positions.

     Later, when my barrel time was finished, I worked the room performing orally for any male or female who wanted to use my body. Burying my head between a Mistress’s wet thighs licking fluids out of her hot hole while the Master rammed his dick in my ass was in my opinion the best sex possible.  I didn’t feel the need to be restrained.

     But to Corrine, bondage greatly enhanced the experience.  And at the moment, she was encased in a device so fiendish I marveled at its construction.  It was truly a sling in that it hung from hooks in the ceiling.  It was also amazingly thorough in terms of restraint.

     My first thought was that Lenny was the Albert Einstein of modern torture equipment and should be nominated for a Nobel Prize in pain if there was one.  I later learned Lenny was only the manufacturer not the designer.  Restraints Unlimited, a west coast design house had designed the Pain Sling.  According to the write-up on the WEB site, Restraints Unlimited had designed bondage and torture equipment not only for the elite of Hollywood but Middle Eastern potentates.  It made me wonder what kind of fun things the Sultan of Brunei or the Emir of the UAE did when it was too hot to leave the palace.

     The girl’s legs were bent at the knee.  The soles of their feet rested tightly against their buttocks.  Some kind of webbing stretched her toes in different directions.

      Arms were bound beyond their back so the elbows touched.  I’d tied Corrine’s arms with rope but her arms were inside a laced sleeve that had been tightened so her elbows touched.   Her shoulders were rotated toward her back thrusting out her boobs, offering them for punishment.  

     The Pain Sling didn’t leave out any major body part.  Their boobs were incased in a cone of concentric rings.  The smallest ring captured the nipple stretching it out a good inch.

     I had noted earlier both male and female Slaves had unusually prominent nipples.  When I glanced down at mine, I saw they protruded more than I remembered.  Corrine’s buds never shrank back to their pre-club days.  Her new nips are more fun to suck.  God knows what our doctor’s think.

     Each of the circles made a deep impression in the breast flesh.  The result was the tallest and oddest-looking tits I had ever seen. 

    Their heads were incased in a harness consisting of leather straps.  Hooks in their nostrils pulled their nose toward their forehead.  A built in Whitehead gag held their mouth wide open   Pads covered their eyes and a knob at the back of the head tightened the entire harness until their face was horribly distorted.  A ring at the very top pulled their head down until the crown was pointed toward the floor.

     What I could not see was the gag included a tongue crusher that allowed unimpeded access to the subject’s throat.  In summary, the Pain Sling placed its occupant in an agonizing position in which they could be easily penetrated in all orifices.

     A second gong sounded indicating it was definitely time to leave.  Several of the Masters took a few extra seconds to achieve a climax, dumping a final load into an overworked hole before heading off to dress and return home.

      Ray led us to the slings as soon as the last Master left.  Everything was eerily quiet except for the whimpering sounds Jean and Cory were making.

      “You guys want a piece for the road,” whispered Ray unzipping his trousers and taking a position at Jean’s mouth?  Obviously, Ray intended to have one.

      Ted nodded his head yes as he placed his hand on Cory’s sex.  Which I might add fit the term ravaged perfectly.  Her labia were red and looked like they had been bee stung they were so swollen.  Her clit was bright red and hanging out, a victim of too much oral attention.  Swelling had made it larger than I had ever seen it.

      Jean’s cunt seemed to be in even worse shape.  Her large outer labia looked a cabbage leaves that had been stepped on.  There was a dribble of milky fluid flowing out the bottom landing in a puddle on the floor.

     “Sure, why not,” said Ted,  “I got one good fuck left in me and Tom’s whore of a wife is going to get it.  Watch me, Tom.”  Ted stepped between Corrine’s bent legs and mounted her. 

     I followed suit with Jean.  Ted and I maintained eye contact as we fucked each other’s wives.   It wasn’t long before I filled Jean’s cunt with my last load of the night.  Ted and I finished at the same time.

      “Go ahead you too, clean them out,” said Ray who at the moment was fucking Corrine’ throat as he played with a lever that decreased the circumference of the rings encircling her breasts.  In spite of the cock in her mouth, she whimpered each time he pressed the lever. 

    Ted and I swapped positions.  I placed my mouth on Corrine’s vagina and forced my tongue inside.  It was a mother lode of semen.  I explored the walls of her cunt as my mouth filled with the dregs of the many fucks my wife had experienced.  For men who get off eating their wife’s cream pies, it was a good as it gets.

     I managed to jerk off as I sucked her pussy.

     “Time to clean up and get the hell out,” announced Ray when we finished.

     We quietly lowered the slings to the ground.  That was when Ray proved himself to be something of a sadist.  First he removed the head harness and the gag for both girls.  They told the bastard thank you.  Next he rolled Jean over and loosened the buckle holding her leg bent.

     “This is the fun part,” said Ray.  With a big grin on his face, he grabbed the leg and unbent it.  Jean proved that even after all she had been through, she could still scream like a banshee when limbs that had been restrained for hours were forced to straighten.

    “You two do the others,” said Ray standing back to watch.  He was, apparently, something of a voyeur

   Corrine proved she could scream even louder when we straightened both her arms and legs.  Neither woman could stand.  Ray helped us carry them to the cars.   By the time we got home, Corrine was able to walk into the house with my help.  She didn’t get out of bed until late the following day.

     Toward noon when I fixed her some tea, I asked her whether she enjoyed the club and wanted to return next month. 

     She smiled and gave me a hug, then said, “Very much so, I can’t wait until next month.”

Chapter 29 Cory Comes Clean

      It was almost a month before Corrine confessed Megan and she reduced their rail time from an hour to thirty minutes by agreeing to meet Ray, the Head Overseer, at the Longwood Motel later the following week.  We were at dinner in our favorite restaurant when she confessed.  I was surprised my usually honest wife had not told me about it.

     We’d both consumed three martinis after an excellent meal and were feeling pretty mellow.  The coming Saturday was to be our second attendance at Club BM&WS and we were looking forward to it.   The topic of conversation got around to how much we enjoyed the club and how it had filled the void in our sex life left by the death of Al Quarles.  Corrine decided to get something off her conscience after I provided a segway.

     “I just hope neither of us has to ride the rail this time,” I said laughingly.  I felt guilty about the amount of pain Corrine experienced compared to me.  Except for a couple of brief interludes, I’d experienced anything but pain.  Left unspoken was how much Corrine’s masochistic side loved the pain, at least most of it.

     “There’s something I need to tell you about when Megan and I took our ride,” said Corrine after polishing off her third vodka martini straight up.

     “You told me all about it when we were in the shower with Steve and Anita.  Remember,” I said picturing her and Megan on top the rail screaming their lungs out.  In spite of the booze, my cock twitched at the mental image.

     “I told you Ray made us ride the rail thirty minutes,” said Corrine.

      The martinis made me attempt to be witty.  “Yes, you and Megan, together, back to back, butt to butt, a cock hardening sight even though I feel your pain.  I’d love to have the whole episode on video to whack off to.”

     “He originally told us we’d ride for an hour,” said Corrine sounding very serious.

     “Well, I’m glad he changed his mind,” I said switching my voice and demeanor to concerned.  I’ve learned to be more sensitive as I’ve gotten older.  Knowing when to flip from witty and teasing to concerned and sympathetic is the key to a successful marriage and a winning strategy for avoiding arguments.

     “He didn’t change his mind.  He offered to take us off after thirty minutes if we agreed to meet him the following Wednesday at the Longwood,” said Corrine.

     “Oh,” I said.   Isn’t Wednesday the day you normally visit your Mom?  Normally, Wednesday afternoon, Corrine goes to the assisted living home where her mother lives.

     “That was a lie.  Megan and I spent the afternoon servicing Ray and members of his National Guard Military Police unit,” said Corrine.

      “You weren’t at the eldercare home,” I asked more than a little surprised.  As I’ve said before, Corrine was usually a relentlessly honest person.  However, post Al Quarles, I realized things had changed.  I kept waiting for her to tell me about Scott and Nadine Reynolds but the subject never came up.  Even though I knew having sex with the two of them was the precursor to our joining Club BM&WS. 

     “No, say you forgive me for lying.  I feel terrible about it.  I promise I will never lie again,” said Corrine.

      She’d asked my forgiveness and I graciously issued one full measure of absolution with a minor qualification.

      “Of course I forgive you, but in the future we need to keep each other informed,” I said.   “In case of emergency I need to be able to get in touch with you.” 

     The ethics of the situation were not exactly straightforward.  I could fault Corrine for not telling me about it but not for participating.  When we first joined Club BM&WS, we promised we would not have secrets about our sex lives.  We both realized the likelihood we would be asked to meet other members outside the monthly meetings.  We’d decided the two of us had to agree even if only one was involved. 

        On the other hand, I couldn’t fault her for having sex with Ray and his unit since it resulted from our joining the club.  Club BM&WS was an outgrowth of our porn-making roles for Al Quarles that in turn sprang from my losing my shirt to gamblers.  I was the root cause of what happened to Corrine. 

     My wife had become a fluffer at my urgent request.  She’d sacrificed her morals to save my balls.  I’d agreed never to criticize her for what that made her.  I had stared into the abyss and the abyss had paid me back by turning my wife into a whore with an insatiable desire for Afro-American dick accompanied by sadistic treatment.

       I reconciled myself to the situation by finding consolation in banging all the hot black couples who happened my way.  That was turning out to a large number and I was having a great time.  Corrine wasn’t the only one who paid dues to Nietzsche.  I’d changed from a normal heterosexual into a bisexual tyro with a taste for domination and kinky sex.

     “So how was it,” I asked after emphasizing how important it was we be totally honest with one another in the future?

      “They were almost all black so Megan and I managed to get off on it in spite of the smell of cigars and cheap beer,” said Corrine.

     “How many were there,” I asked?  I should confess I had developed quite a taste for listening to my wife describe having sex with others.

      “A least a dozen, I heard him tell one of the other sergeants he made over six hundred dollars,” said Corrine.

      “He charged them money,” I asked feeling my cock stir at the thought of my wife servicing black men for money?  That was a new twist.  I recalled Megan’s good looks and that added to my lust.

      “Fifty each, Megan said it made us both prostitutes since he pimped us,” said Corrine looking a little upset at being considered a pro.  For some reason, I sensed it was an act.  She didn’t mind Ray selling her ass. 

      “So why didn’t you tell me earlier,” I asked.  “I would have understood.  I’d screw Ray and his buddies to stay off the rail.”  I was being honest.  From everything I’d heard, the rail was to be avoided at all costs. 

     “I was so embarrassed I couldn’t withstand the whole hour on the rail.  I felt like such a wuss,” said Corrine.  “But Megan was talking about killing herself and how she couldn’t stand another minute.  You wouldn’t believe how loud she can scream.  So when Ray asked if we wanted a parole for a little quid pro quo, she jumped at the chance and I went along.”

     “So tell me all about it,” I said while signaling our waiter for another round.  Three was normally our limit.  At the moment, I couldn’t imagine anything I wanted to hear more.

     “That Wednesday I met Megan in the Wal-Mart parking lot around eleven.  She drove.  We got there right at lunchtime.  At first, it was just Ray and his buddy Don.  They’re both Master Sergeants.”

     “Were they in uniform,” I asked?  Somehow that mattered.

     “Yes, they had just come from a parade formation so they were dressed in full uniform as MPs.  They looked very martial.  They both saw action in the Middle East and have a chest full of medals.”

     I asked, “Did that turn you on?”

     “Yes, very much so.  I took one look at those two black warriors in full mufti and my pussy got wet,” said Corrine accepting the idea I wanted to know everything because it made my dick hard and that meant she would get fucked when we got home.  I felt something press against my crotch.  When I looked down, there was her stocking clad toe nuzzling my cock.

     “What were you wearing,” I asked slipping my foot out of my loafer.  Fortunately, the restaurant wasn’t crowded and no one was seated nearby.  My toes found a home in her panty-covered crotch where they detected warmth and moisture.  Corrine slipped down to increase the contact.

     “Ray insisted we look slutty so it was one of my fluffer outfits: hose, thong, garter belt, and a demi bra.  It was the blue one Morgan liked.”

     She’d bought it a local outlet store and it screamed poor white trailer trash.  The crotch of the thong rested between her labia providing a teal blue strip barely covering her opening.  It was the style of thong you see in porn films where the actress pulls it aside when the sex gets serious. 

     “Well, look at that, Tom,” said Morgan showing me how Corrine had wet the crotch of her panty after she had greeted him by throwing herself into his arm for some serious face sucking.  He slipped his fingers under the material coating them with her secretions then held them up for me to see.     

     There was also the memory of a wild almost out of control Corrine straddling Morgan with his cock buried in her pussy.  I remember her taking his wet penis out of her vagina and holding it toward me, saying, “Suck it, Tom.  Show Morgan how much you love the taste of black dick.”  And I did love sucking it.  I can still recall the way he tasted.

     At the mention of Morgan’s name, my penis perked its ears up and threw in a question.  “What was Megan wearing?”

     “Green bustier that really showed off her breasts.  Her hose were stay ups and she had on a thong to start.  She is such a beautiful girl and so sensual.   I love the way she kisses.”

     “So how did things get started,” I asked?

     “They watched us make out as we undressed one another.  After we were down to our underwear, they told us to get on the bed and eat each other’s pussy.  Megan is very bi and we got each other off in practically no time.”

     “What were Ray and Don doing?”

     “Jerking their cocks, they’re both hung.  Don has one of those rings in his cockhead.  I’d never seen that before.”

     “A Prince Albert,” I asked?

     “I don’t know what he calls it.  It goes through the pee hole and out the bottom and there are two round balls on each end.  It felt great inside me,” said Corrine pressing her toes against my crotch as Mario delivered our drinks.

     “Thanks Mario,” I said pushing my big toe into her opening.  I waited until he left before I spoke.  “Keep talking.  I love listening to you describing your adventures.”

     “After we girls climaxed, they made us undress them.  I took Ray’s uniform off while Megan undressed Don.  They’re both ripped.  I traced the veins in Ray’s arms with my tongue,” said Corrine.

     “I bet you sucked their cocks next.”

     “Yes, and that part was a little different.  Picture Ray’s head at the top of the bed and Don’s at the foot.  They’re lying in their backs scooted together so their balls were touching, literally butt to butt.  I guess barracks life gets you use to being close,” said Corrine.

      “So you could hold both cocks in one hand,” I said placing my hand on Corrine’s as I pictured two black penises wrapped in her fingers.

     “If you had a large hand with very long fingers.  Megan and I got on opposite sides and starting giving them head.  Our faces were side by side.  Ever so often, we’d stop and kiss.  Or we’d switch.  I got off kissing her because I could taste and smell cock on her lips,” said Corrine.

     “So it was hot,” I asked?

     “Oh God, yes, we started talking about how great it was on the ride back and we got so worked up, we stopped by her house and made love.  She has a new model strapon I want you to buy me for my birthday.”

     “Ray and Don liked the way you were sucking them,” I asked?

     “Yes, they began to finger fuck us.  Don stuck two fingers in my cunt and his thumb in my ass.  I couldn’t stop coming.”

      “And Megan,” I asked?

      “Definitely multi-orgasmic.  They put us on top facing each other so we could kiss and play with each other’s titties while we rode their cocks,” said Corrine.

      “Where did Ray deposit his load,” I asked.

      “In my hot wet pussy, that was overjoyed to accept it.  That’s when the other MPs showed up.”

      “How many,” I asked?

      “Twelve, no fourteen, two came later,” said Corrine.  “Every one except two, black and beautiful.”

      “And you fucked them all,” I asked?

      “Like a bitch in heat, I did singles, double, and triples. Some of them wanted anal.”

      “Did Megan do anal?”  It was a dumb question; but I wanted to hear the answer.   White women do weren’t into having their rectum filled didn’t make it in the club’s back door.

      “God yes, she loves to be fucked in the ass.  She said she would screw you Saturday if she gets a chance.  I’m going to do Phil again,” said Corrine.  “We might go out to dinner with them if we can’t get together Saturday.  That is if you don’t mind.”

     “Dinner would be fine.  Does Megan work,” I asked?

     “Yes, Network Administrator, but she works only three days a week,” said Corrine.

     “So what was it like,” I asked?

     “Intense, busy, rough, you know how black men can get with white women, especially housewives from the burbs with big homes and husbands who make more in a month than an MP makes in a year,” said Corrine.  “They took out their racial frustrations on us and we loved it.” 

     “I know but tell me about it.”

     “After they’d fucked us once, they played games with us,” said Corrine working my cock with her toes.

     “What kind of games,” I asked fucking her pussy with my big toe?

     “They called it smurfing.  It means forcing your cock down a white female’s throat until she turns blue.  It never really got that far but we would be gasping for air and spitting up saliva when they pulled out.  My throat was raw when it was over.  They kept spitting in our mouths.”

     “Lots of titty play?’

     “Oh yeah, especially when the guy was smurfing you.  My nipples were sore as boils the next day,” said Corrine.

     “Did you get off on it,” I asked.  I was certainly getting off hearing about it.

     “Yeah, it was great.  You know what a masochist I’ve become.  I kept challenging them to fuck me harder,” said Corrine.  “There’s one more thing I should mention.”

     “What’s that,” I asked pulsing my big toe into her pussy.

     “After everyone left, Ray told us we were paying for the room by screwing the desk clerk.”

     “So he pimped you again.  What was the room clerk like?”

     “Skinny white college boy with long stringy hair and pimples,” said Corrine.  “He had to be twenty at best.”

     “A turn off,” I said.

     “Not really, he had a nice cock and was sort of in awe of us.  He kept calling us Ma’am.  We attacked him like two whores in heat which is what I suppose we were or are.”

     “He must have been thrilled out of his mind,” I said.

     “He said I was the first woman to stick my finger in his asshole and massage his prostate.  I took his anal virginity.”

     “What else did you do to him?”

     “What didn’t we do would be more accurate?  We sucked him, ate his ass, made him eat our pussy, and fuck us.  We got him to come three times.  He practically crawled out of the room when we finished.”

     “So how many times did they come inside you,” I asked realizing I had missed out on a spectacular crème pie opportunity?

     “Some guys twice, other’s three,” said Corrine.  “I took a couple of facials, too.”

     “So you walked away with over twenty loads of black jism in your holes,” I said.

     “Megan and I were leaking when it was over.  We decided to skip showering at the motel and drive back the way we were.”

     “In your undies,” I asked?

     “Yeah, Megan is an exhibitionist.  So is Phil her husband.  They like to drive around the city naked flashing the respectable folks.”

     “So did anyone see you two driving back,” I asked?

     “Just a couple of truckers, it was getting dark,” said Corrine.

     “Was there a finale?”

     “Yes, sort of, we took a shower together at her place.  While we were getting it on, Phil came in from work and joined us.  He fucked me while Megan jerked off,” said Corrine.

     “Sounds like you had a very busy day.”

     “And I should have shared it with you.  That won’t happen again.  I promise. Next time, I’ll come straight home so you can do your thing,” said Corrine.

     “Oh, there’s going to be a next time,” I asked realizing I had reached the point Corrine was driving at from the beginning.

     “They’re having a retirement part for Don next month.  His twenty are up.   I want your permission to go,” said Corrine.

     “At the Longwood,” I asked not wanting to make things too easy?

     “No, at the NCO club at Fort Riggins.”

     “Will Megan be there,” I asked?

     “Yes, and so will Phil.  Ray said there will be some reservists present who are ‘don’t ask and don’t tell’ soldiers.  He said you and Phil could come and service them.  Gay solders use the back room and there will be some bisexual couples present.  He guarantees you won’t be spending any time on the rail if you do.”

    “Count me in,” I said signaling the waiter for the check. 


Chapter 30 Historical Research


     After listening to my wife’s confession and taking her home for an over the knee spanking followed by a punishing fuck, all of which she both needed and adored, I found my curiosity piqued by the club’s use of the rail as a form of punishment.  I googled the terms, ‘Riding the rail,’ and “Tarred and feathered and ridden on a rail’.  I found some interesting accounts written by those who had suffered through the experience.

      The Wikipedia Web site provided a reasonably complete history of the practice.  It actually began in Europe centuries before where the application of molten pitchblende often resulted in the death of the victim.  On the American side, there was a horrifying 1771 tale by a custom’s official in Boston whose dedication to collecting the correct tariff led to a mob of sailors and traders performing the ritual on him in Boston Commons.   Apparently, not only criminals were subjected to the punishment.

      However, the most intriguing document was located on the Web site of Mouth Holyoke College in South Hadley, Massachusetts.  Written in 1857 by Amanda Witherspoon, a local girl from abolitionist stock whose mother was one of the founders of the girl’s college.  Her tale combined historical value with pornographic impact.  Amanda, the daughter of ardent opponents of slavery, journeyed south in 1855 to establish a way station on the Underground Railway outside a small town named Webster Springs in what is now the state of West Virginia but was still part of Virginia in those pre Civil War days.

      The article included an old black and white photograph of a serious but pretty girl staring straight at the camera without smiling.  In those days, camera exposures required minutes not microseconds like today.  You can’t hold a smile for that long.  That’s why no one is smiling in those old pictures, an interesting factoid from one whose expertise is photography and imaging.

    Amanda purchased a run down farm with funds provided by the abolitionist’s movement known in historical parlance as the Underground Railway.  The movement was highly successful in spiriting slaves north to Canada and freedom.  It was much despised by slaveholders and they were ferocious in their efforts to wipe it of the map.

      Amanda was barely eighteen when she made the purchase.  I can’t imagine why her parents allowed her to undertake such a mission.  Somehow the idea of an eighteen-year-old girl buying and operating a farm strikes me as ludicrous but those were different times.  Women married at fourteen and died before they reached fifty.

      In Amanda’s brave words, she intended, “to help the Negroes walk as free men on God’s earth even if it cost her everything including her life.”  Based on what followed, it cost her dearly.

     While recovering at her parent’s home, Amanda wrote a detailed account of her ordeal at the hands of those she referred to as ‘godless holders with human slavery’.  The local abolitionist’s group who planned to publish it to show the cruelty and brutality of slavery encouraged her to tell her story.  Unfortunately, her account was considered too salacious for the Puritan tastes of the New England public although a sanitized version appeared in the local press.  It is a grim tale.

     Amanda’s farm had been functioning as a station on the Underground Railway for some months when disaster struck.  One warm July evening at dusk, a party of twenty heavily armed men appeared unexpectedly at the farm.  They were part slave owners and part slave bounty hunters who had been informed about Amanda’s station from a runaway caught several miles north of her station. 

     The runaway, Sarah Collingswood, had revealed everything after her backside had been horse whipped to the point the flesh was shredded and the bones were visible.  Apparently, Sarah was a tough one.  I would have given up Amanda at the mere sight of a mean looking Southerner with a horsewhip.

     The leader of the party was Captain Reginald Early Bellman, the owner of a large South Carolina sugar plantation.  I guess not everyone grew cotton.  A search quickly located two runaway sisters in the hidden room underneath the root cellar. 

     Amanda goes into surprising detail for that time about how Bellman ordered his men to strip her naked during which their rude hands repeatedly violated her person inserting their fingers inside her secret and vulnerable parts.  In other words, they finger fucked her.

     The two slave girls were also stripped and the three females tied to beds in the farmhouse.  Since I found this part cock hardening, I’ll reproduce an excerpt from Amanda’s story.  Rape and torture stories are always best when the victim provides her first hand account.


     Captain Bellman looked down on my nakedness without a speck of God’s mercy in his eyes.  I pleaded with him to respect my person and to treat me as a Christian woman.  He sneered at my claim to be a follower of Christ, saying I was a Godless whore who conjugated with Negroes.  He accused me of being worse than any Jezebel saying I had pleasured myself with the runaways who in his view were less than human.

     “You are the worst sort of whore, one who breeds with nigras like a dirty animal,” spat the Captain before delivering a slap to the side of my face that made my ears ring.

     I denied his horrid accusations saying I was an unmarried lady of sound virtue who attended the Holiness Church located right on the town square in the center of Webster Springs.

     “You’re nothing but a fucking whore who sleeps with niggers,” said the Captain employing the profane language of those who hold with the ownership of their fellow human beings.  “So what my men and I do to you should mean nothing.”

     At the Captain’s command, his ruffians bound my wrists with crude hemp they secured to the bedposts.  They stretched my arms most cruelly until I cried out in pain.  Ignoring my protests, they passed their callused hands over my bosom, touching my most private places.   

     The Captain instructed his brutish sons, Wyche and Tillman to hold my ankles, separating them most cruelly.  I cried out for mercy as the Captain exposed his manhood, holding it in his fist and taunting me with names such as strumpet, slut, and woman of easy virtue.  I denied his taunts as he took position I had hoped none but my future husband would occupy.

    I screamed as I felt him press into me.  Nearby I heard the pitiful cries of Kathy and Lee Anne as the Captain’s men ravaged their honor.  Those poor unfortunate Africans who I hoped to transport to a life of freedom were suffering the same horrible fate as myself.

    The agony of the Captain’s entry caused me near to faint; however, his brutish hands crushed my womanly bosom bringing me to full awareness of my pitiful state.  Anxious to increase my agony, his powerful fingers grasped my teats and lifted me by that flesh intended by the Lord to succor my offspring.

     My struggles were fruitless and my tears of no avail as he repeatedly pummeled my sex.  Finally, he reared up, his face a mask of lust, as he filled me with his horrible seed.

     When he withdrew, I lay weeping for the shame of the wrong done to my person.   My violated sex was covered in the product of his manhood.  I had been shamed and could never again consider myself an honest woman able to hold her head high in God’s house.

     But my sorry was quickly interrupted when Wyche, the youngest of his brood, a brawny lad, who much resembled his father, took his place and entered my sex with as much brutality as he could muster.   His animal cries joined with those raping those two unfortunate girls filling the room with the sounds of lust and rapine.  I cried out to the Lord to save me from their depravity.  I can only believe his failure to come to my assistance was the result of some horrible sin of omission on my part.

     That night I experienced the total depravity of those who hold with slavery.  After Wyche seeded me, Tillman replaced his brother.  When he had finished my rape, the Captain invited the others to add to my shame.

     And thus it continued throughout the night.  Whiskey and snuff were shared among the Captain’s men adding to their already bestial nature.  They untied my arms, forced me to assume the position favored by the beasts of the field and took their pleasure as if I were a dog or a cow.   Their lust knew no satisfaction as each one of these savage men sought to prove his appetite for my flesh greater than the one before.

     While my rape progressed, Captain Bellman under the influence of Satan’s whiskey and the foul smelling cheroot clenched in his teeth enjoyed a game of whist with his men.  At some point, this purveyor of evil announced he was going to use me in the fashion preferred by Negroes when they lay with white women.

    “Tillman, you and your brother hold the whore’s butt apart so I can fuck her nigger loving ass,” bellowed the Captain as he drunkenly staggered to the side of my bed.

     I had thought it impossible to add to my disgrace; but, as I lay helpless in his sons’ grasp, the Captain applied swine fat to my nether region invading my most private place with his fingers.  I recoiled in horror at the thought men reared in a God fearing nation would use me thus.   I screamed in agony as his blunt fingers entered me in an act of depravity worthy of Satan himself.

     Wyche and Tillman held me for their father as he took position over my posterior.  The Captain laughed at my desperate pleas to avoid the sin of sodomy.  He announced to his men who had gathered to watch my utter humiliation that after tonight, I would be the same as the whores who work in the fancy houses in Charleston where all the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah are practiced.

     I had thought the agony of my earlier travails couldn’t be surpassed.  However, the insertion of his manhood in an orifice intended only for the elimination of excrement more than overmatched my earlier experience.  Screams of sheer agony were wrenched from my body as his evil manhood entered my bowels.

      “I don’t think any of her nigger lovers have plowed the cunt’s ass,” said Captain Bellman as he savagely thrust in me.

      The assemblage’s laughter joined my screams as the Captain mounted on my posterior performed this unnatural act of intercourse.   The sons followed the father in his perversion of my body; then the others took their turn.

     My two Colored sisters and I were repeatedly assaulted over that seemingly endless night.  I had hoped the morn would bring me respite but the Captain had other plans.

    He approached my bed where I lay hurting in my person and sobbing in shame.  He was holding my hair shears.  Without a word, he straddled my chest and began to cut off my hair.  Too exhausted to struggle or even protest, I lay quietly as he shorn me of that which marked me as a woman.   Tillman, at his father’s direction, scraped my scalp with a razor until I resembled a newborn.

    My punishment deemed insufficient, Captain Bellman and his evil progeny pinned me to my bed.

    “I’m going to mark you for life,” said the Captain holding a skinning knife. 

    My struggles were useless as they pressed the side of my face into the mattress.  I felt a sharp pain and then wetness as blood flowed from my wound.

    “Turn her so I can cut the other ear off,” said the Captain to his progeny.  

    An agonizing moment later, I was disfigured for life.

    “I’ll keep these as a souvenir,” said the Captain showing me my severed flesh.  

    I was loaded, bleeding, bound and naked, into the back of a wagon.  Bounty hunters took Kathy and Lee Anne away.  I was never to see them again or learn their fate.  Doubtlessly, they were returned to their owners who may well have punished them further.

     The Captain instructed his men to set fire to my farm.  I wept at the sight of my home being consumed in flame.   As we traveled toward town, I pleaded with the Captain saying I had already suffered horribly and as a Christian he should show me mercy.

     However, Captain Bellman was a cold heartless man as are all slavers.  The ownership of slaves turns man into a beast.  He was in no way finished with the horrible depredation of my person.

     When we reached the center of Webster Springs, Captain Bellman sent his men to ring the church bell drawing the townspeople to witness my punishment. 

     A crowd gathered quickly at the sound of the unexpected tocsin.  I saw Sherif Turner and cried out for him to help me but he just looked away.  The townspeople of Webster Springs lacked the courage to come to my aid as I was tied naked and bleeding to the wheel of my wagon.  My state was such it was several minutes before people who I had attended Sunday services with for almost a year recognized me.

     When Captain Bellman deemed the crowd was sufficient, he made a speech I will do my best to recall.

     “Webster Springs has become a haven for those who aid the escape of runaway slaves.  This woman, Miss Amanda Witherspoon, is an abolitionist.  She is an adulteress who fornicated with the Negroes she gave food and rest at her farm before they were spirited north to escape their owners.  She bestowed her favors not only on the male slaves but also the female in what the Bible declares the worst sin possible.  My men and I will meet out just punishment for such wickedness.  But I warn the good people of Webster Springs to be more vigilant about those who steal the property of others.   Next time, the entire town may suffer for harboring such malefactors.”

     After the Captain spoke his filthy lies, Tillman proceeded to deliver thirty lashes to my backside, the scars of which I will carry to my grave.  Each lash opened my flesh.  By the time I had received the last blow, the white of my bones was visible.

     None of the citizens made entreaty to end my misery.  In fact, several of the men encouraged Tillman to lay it harder onto the nigger-loving whore.  They called me horrible names as I was whipped insensible.  Each time I fainted, I was revived with a bucket of water drawn from a nearby horse trough.

     As I hung in my bonds in abject misery, my blood dripping on the earth at my feet, I felt the presence of some awful compound burning the ravaged flesh of my back.  The burning escalated into the most horrible pain imaginable and I began once more to scream.

     The Captain had seen fit to purchase a container of sea salt from Mr. McCray’s Emporium and ordered Wyche to apply it to my open wounds.  Mrs. Emma Tisdale, the Minister’s wife said my screams could be heard throughout the town and she felt her heart almost break at my agonized cries.  The crystals burrowed into my lesions scaring me for life. 

         I had collapsed hanging by my wrists when I felt the presence of something hot on my newly exposed scalp.  I lay helpless as Bellman’s men covered me in hot pitch.  I screamed as the odious substance burned my flesh blinding me.  When there was not an inch of skin free from tar, they dumped a sack of feathers over me.  I was rolled in the dirt causing the feathers to form a thick coating on my person.

     I begged for the Lord to come and take me, such was my pain.  The tar covering my eyes prevented me from seeing the men who carried me to a nearby fence and placed me astride the top rail.  Ropes held me in place as pieces of iron taken from the blacksmith were secured to my legs.  The Captain made an announcement that I was to remain there until the town hall clock struck noon.  He threatened to burn down Webster Springs if I was removed before my sentence ended.  He and his men departed leaving me to my suffering.

     According to the kind people who helped me, it was barely ten when Captain Bellman and his men rode off.  Such was the fear of the populace, no one moved until my sentence was fully served. 

     The pain associated with the sharp edge cutting into my most tender flesh was unbearable almost from the start.  After the night’s deprivations, my womanly parts were agonizingly painful without the application of the sharp wood.  My muffled cries for mercy were ignored by the town folk. 

     I screamed until I could scream no more.  Many of the onlookers could not bear to listen and covered their ears or moved out of hearing.  The agony was like no other.   It increased each minute until it consumed my entire being.  I tried to sing my favorite hymn but could not recall the words.  I called fruitlessly on the Lord to take me to his bosom.

     Finally, the town hall clock struck noon.  Some of the churchwomen removed me from that horrible railing and took me to a nearby house where I hovered between life and death for a week.  It was two months before I recovered enough strength to journey north to my parent’s home.

     There was an odd twist to the story.  The Web site included a folder of information gathered by a graduate research assistant in 1979.   The researcher had collected data about Amanda’s life after she returned to South Hadley. Perhaps the assistant intended to publish her biography.  However, no biography was ever published that I could find in the Library of Congress catalog.

     The folder contained any number of documents including newspaper accounts of Amanda’s rather uneventful later life and that of her friends and relatives.  She remained active in the abolitionist’s movement until the Emancipation Proclamation then transferred her political allegiance to the suffragist cause.  She eventually married a pharmacist and bore him two sons.

     But I did find something very interesting.  Apparently, Amanda gave birth to an infant son seven months after her ordeal.  The birth certificate, reproduced on a Web page, contained the phrase, Bastard Child of Rape, where the name of the father was supposed to be.    I suppose folks in those days were not inclined to cut a rape victim a break and just write Unknown.   The boy was named Alvin Taylor Witherspoon.  He grew up to attend Harvard and become a prominent Boston physician.

      As I looked through the Web pages, I came upon several pictures of Alvin who lived to the age of sixty-eight succumbing to influenza in 1924.  He had decidedly Negro features.   In fact, he looked more Afro-American than Caucasian.

     Amanda’s writing did not indicate her encounter with Captain Bellman and his sons resulted in a baby.  Nor was it probable, Bellman’s posse included any one who was not one hundred percent a red neck white man.  Further, and this is the kicker, the baby was born seven months after she took her ride on the rail which means she was already two months pregnant with a black man’s baby.

     So when Captain Bellman claimed Amanda was providing more than food and shelter to fleeing slaves, he was right.  Perhaps that was the reason the graduate researcher decided not to write her biography.

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