I’ve never been to Haiti, know diddlysquat
about the place & I know even less about computers. Like zero!
My level of competence approximates that of a sixth grader still trying to
figure out the Command Key on his first iMac. I’m just a guy with some
time to spare and a vivid imagination. So don’t blame me if the facts
don’t jive - Peace, brothers.
This story contains sexual encounters between men and boys. Some sex is
consensual, some not. I don't condone it. I'm not advocating
it. I may or may not even like it. It's simply a fantasy, a product
of my imagination, and thus, completely fictitious.
you read it, please note the following:
* If you are under eighteen, do not read this story!
* If you have a hard time separating fantasy from reality, do not read this
* If it's illegal in your jurisdiction to read nonconsensual sex stories, don't
read this story!
Nifty: If you can afford to cough up a few bucks, the good folks who make this
all happen would be much obliged.
embraced the black magic like she flaunted the tattoo she wore on her tit.
And just the thought of that brought on a contemptuous sneer to his
lips. “The Slag! She’ll learn, and as sure
as shit happens, l’wha will get what he is due!”
, Brooklyn, New
beam of light cut through the darkness as the intruder worked his way toward
the desk and the access point he sought.It had taken him less than 30 seconds to pick the office door lock, and
if all went true to form, within 20 minutes he'd be retracing his steps back
out the door with a much fatter wallet, courtesy of the unwitting pigeons he
was about to pluck.
the desktop he located a spot to set his laptop and booted up his tunneling
script.Then setting aside his penlight,
he reached for the office phone to deal the dedicated line number the local
Tele Company provided their technicians.Upon hearing the tone, he linked up his modem and quickly punched in the
15 digit code found on a spec sheet he had pilfered from a technician’s parked
sedan just hours before.
He sat and
watched as the sequence of ESN-WTF pairs scrolled down the laptop screen until
the process stopped on a highlighted pairing.He typed in the router path provided followed by the line number he
wanted access to.He hit return and
waited for his code to worm its way through his targets line of defenses and
until a new screen appeared.The top
line now read Emirates Lt. Limo, Dubai, and again the cursor awaiting his
He was in.
It had all
worked like a charm, from the slick bit of social engineering that landed him
the access code, to the nifty little program that had just bumped the lock on
his target’s front door.Now all he need
do is launch the capture script and wait for the intercept to execute.
seconds later, the word "retrieving" flashed on the upper left corner
of the screen, followed by the data gathered.
he muttered, through a grin that would have lit up the room had he been plugged
into that circuitry as well.
successfully intercepted the customers method of payment to the company’s data
base, only now with his code attached giving him full administrative
rights.Once established, he immediately
began to search for what he had come to find.
189 accounts that paid with Platinum cards or higher - all surefire keepers -
while the remaining accounts were destined to be sold online.However, from that pool of 189 he did one additional
the five digit code used by the card company universally known to represent the
crème de la crème.He quickly asked for
a blessing from the Lwa*, and the instant after pressing return, nine names
were listed.On top of that list was
Fariz El-Amin, a man who lived in the exclusive Hakim Towers complex in
downtown Dubai; His method of payment, an Ultra Black Business card.The fucker even had the Arabic title
"Rais” added to his name.
say he was wearing a hefty smile after finding that particular card
number.It looked pretty damn sweet, so
as a precaution against any unexpected foul-ups, he plugged in a thumb drive
and saved a second copy.
doubt, it had been a very successful session.Perhaps not his best ever, but he had found the big fish he had been
looking for.Nevertheless, it had taken
up more of his time than expected, and now with only six minutes to spare, he
quickly shut down the intercept script and initiated the transfer processes.
he launched the code that initiated the long sequential chain through dozens of
proxy nodes that crisscrossed the world.A minute later and the screen flashed “Done,”telling him he’d successfully deposited the
30,000.00 dirham limit from each of the 189 Platinum accounts into his off
shore account.He then reset the
register and entered the sizable amount Mr. El-Amin would be contributing to
his bottom line.
Not bad for
a night's work, but on the whole, it was just one of many he had executed
within a five-day span of time.But
that's the way it worked.He did his
research, planned his attack, then like the hit-and-run train robbers of
yesteryear, he'd packed up and headed back to his secret "hole-in-the
wall" - that untouchable place where even if they somehow managed to track
him down, he remained out of their reach.
looked down at his watch and lit up with a smile.Right on time!Quickly he cut the connection, packed up and
with penlight back in hand retraced his steps, exiting the way he had entered
just as the second hand hit the 20 minute mark.
or Loa, the spirits, the Mysteries and the Invisibles.
night the following day Ishmael Duprè was somewhere high above the Atlantic
coast aboard a red-eye flight.Lying
back in his seat, he was listening to Rickie Lee's "Easy Money” and it
never sounded better.Fariz El-Amin turned
out to be a much bigger fish that he could have possibly imagined.Once more, it all went down without a
hitch.It was just as he had come to
expect.The bigger the fish, the bigger
the fight, but in the end they are just as likely to make the evening’s meal.
through the 4 hour flight, he was awakened by the passing of the steward
walking down the aisle.Looking up he
quickly scanned the darkened cabin and saw a dozen businessmen.Other than himself, only one other passenger
was awake.“Typical for a late night flight,” he thought.“Come
on the red-eye, the place quietly becomes a pickpocket’s paradise.”
need to stretch his legs, he got up to walk the length of the first class
cabin.As he approached the passenger
who was still awake, a hand holding a can of pop swung out across the aisle
colliding with his leg drenching his expensive slacks.
down and saw a rather smart-looking young man wearing a black bowtie and rose
colored dress shirt that matched his complexion.Just the way he liked them.
“Huh!You’ve ruined my slacks, boy!” he said, his
voice low and rough with a slight Creole accent.
the boy gazed up at of the imposing black figure standing in the aisle.Looming over him like a stormy black cloud,
the gentleman looked angry and not at all the negotiable type.
he acknowledged.He was apologetic but
not put off in the least.
be more careful,” Ishmael followed trying to curb his anger.
“It was an
accident,” the boy lashed out, “I said I was sorry.Perhaps if you hadn’t snuck up . . .”
mouth, moun sòt!In anger Ishmael had
inadvertently let slip a word in his native tongue.
sòt?Who, me?" the boy scoffed."No, I'm not!" he added, decidedly
shit.”Ishmael was seething, but quickly
checked his anger when it dawned on him the boy had not only heard the word
before, but had repeated it as if he were a native speaker.
means ‘idiot’!As in, fucking
idiot!But then you already knew that,
didn’t you . . . boy!” he punctuated with a glare.
the boy gave a shit.No matter who the man was, or thought he was, he felt no more
responsible for the mishap than the irate gentleman and was just as determined
to hold his ground - a right he was quite prepared to exercise when he took
notice of the amulet the man wore about his neck.
of boar tusk, the amulet had an inlay of green pearl in the image of the
serpent spirit, the Lwa.Given the
artistry and the painstaking craftsmanship that went into creating the piece,
the boy could tell it was a venerable symbol that, like the imposing stormy
black cloud looming above him, needed to be respected.
of lashing out, the boy simple murmured, “Yes,” then lowered his eyes and
It was a
distinctly different posture than the one seen just moments before, but then
that was the effect Ishmael Duprè had on people.He was a very imposing man.Tall and seemingly cut from a slab of black
marble, he looked as hard as he did dark, and had a temperament no less
severe.And if that didn’t set the table
even before he opened his mouth, then any tool in his box-of-tricks was fair
game to make him appear approachable, and listened to, much like the subdued
young man he called "boy" - the boy who didn't shout "fuck
off," rather lowered his eyes and blanched.What more did he need to know about the boy?
Hum, better, he thought, after reassessing the
boy.“I haven’t run into many ignorant
little shits riding on the red-eye.Even
fewer who can speak Haitian Creole.What’s your name, boy?”
Beckett, sir.” The boy replied.He had
even added the word 'sir', now sounding more the contrite young man than the
it?” Ishmael sized him up, only now getting a true look at the young man.Or was it better said to call him a boy?It was hard to tell.
height and build, he appeared to have crossed that bridge already.He showed relatively good definition, clearly
a notch above that of a boy, and he obviously had some spine.But that face . . .oh, merciful heavens, was it sweet.Eyes blue, his lips ripe and full, with light
brown hair and a smooth, clean complexion that looked more apt to be nicked
playing stickball than with a razor.
He looked a
10+ by anyone’s measure, and though still young, he showed all the promise of
becoming quite the man’s man.But on the
whole he was a hard one to tag.Man-boy,
gay-straight or wherever he fell on the spectrum, there was much more to young
Alex than just a pretty face.
Alex, you know what you’ve done, huh?These are Clement Brothers slacks.Custom tailored and 500 bucks a pair.You got 500 greenbacks, boy?”
he shook his head.
your daddy.” Ishmael pushed on, a tad more adamant.
he’s not here,” Alex replied, his voice wavering a bit.
can’t.She’s not here either.I'm traveling back home now."
traveling alone then?"Ishmael asked,
and then looked off beyond the boy to see who else might be listening.
looked back in the direction Ishmael was looking then back around."No need, sir.I’m old enough," he replied, though
again, without a hint of the former would-be tough guy.
so you’re a big boy," Ishmael chuckled."No more short pants."
of course not, sir," the boy held firm, but not so firm as to say it while
his eyes were scouring the floor beneath his feet.
“Damn!”Ishmael thought, finding himself taken by the boy.“This kid is like chum to a shark!”Quite honestly, he didn’t know whether he
should be romancing the boy or eating him for lunch.
inhaling deeply, the intoxicating mix of flowery soap and untouched boy flesh
that filled his nostrils lured him in still further.He found him ripe and enticing, as did his
partner in crime who had just picked up on the scent of the boy as well.And now awakened, that deadly black snake
began to slither down the length of his pant leg in search of his prey.
predators and both dangerous, especially if you’re a great looking kid with a
I suppose we’ve got to find some way to rectify this matter ourselves, huh,
boy.” he said, his voice guardedly tempered.While below, he felt the rising bloat of that black beast stretching the
fabric down his thigh, the sight of which drew a fleeting glance from the boy.
Alex softly murmured, then just as quickly looked off, his cheeks flushed,
staring ahead into the faint cabin light as if wishing he could disappear in
was what he said, “gotcha!” was what
he thought after catching him looking at the rising bloat beneath his pants. “.
. . Play coy all you want, boy,”he though, savoring the prospects. “. .
. It only makes the game all the sweeter.”
question left for Ishmael to consider was now best to proceed.Romance the sumptuous little chicken or skip
the foreplay and fuck the shit out of him now.It was a tough choice, but in the end, one that only took a moment to
“Romance him, definitely!That's
just what a sweet thing like this need,” he surmised. “Besides . . .,” he toyed
with the thought. “As ever wolf knows, if you want a clean
snatch, don't frighten the chickens before you enter the coop.”
much that could be said about Ishmael.He was a thief, a hustler, an unscrupulous predator without an empathic
bone in his body, but uncouth he was not.There where rules to the games he played, the things that separated him
from the wild.Like civility, manners
and the romance in the dance between predator and prey; a dance that always
made his conquest all the sweeter.Whether fleecing a dumb fuck like Fariz El-Amin or enjoying Alex
Beckett's sweet young ass, it was the intimate dance with his pray that got him
off, and that was what Alex was about to get in spades!
like I said, I need fair reparation for my ruined slacks, and since we can't
negotiate here, I suppose you'd better come with me so we can figure this out.”
Ishmael urged while pointing the way toward his seat.
Alex stood up and followed him through the darkened cabin to row 2, where he
promptly sat his sweet young ass down in the seat beside the window.Ishmael sat beside him then looked at the
boy.Even in the dimmest of light, his
smooth, polished face shined with a luster that made him look all the more the
white porcelain doll.
boy, you look a picture.But I’m afraid
if we’re to negotiate I need look you in the eye, man to man so to speak, and
I’m afraid the lighting is a bit too dim for that.So I think we’ll need to nose up a bit.That way we can keep it personal and not
disturb the sleeping gents back there.”He nodded toward the rear of the cabin.
on for a long moment, then without asking, reached up to turn on the overhead
dome light, only to have his arm slapped away before reaching the button.It wasn’t a gentle slap neither, but a
resounding, backhanded blow that sent Alex reeling back down in his seat looking
stunned, his eyes widened, his mouth caught gasping as he rubbed his forearm.
boy!” Ishmael abruptly sounded off.“You
bone up like a man you get slapped like a man.There are folks trying to sleep and pay good money not to be bothered by
a snot nose yahoo like you.You hear me
. . . boy!” he glared with a menacing face, while inside, he reveled in the
sight of the agonized boy struggling to hold back the tears.
the tears, the capitulation to power - all part of the romance in the dance
with his pray!
heard you,” Alex managed with a nod after catching his breath.
”Good!Then let’s try this again.Since you’ve no interest in buddying up, why
don’t you just come sit on my lap,” he said as he
leaned back and pat his knee, taking yet another step in the furtive dance . .
taken aback.But no matter his state of
unease, he didn’t pull away.Nor tell
him to “fuck-off” and then hit the road running.Yes, he remained cautious, but acquitted
himself as though it was nothing he hadn’t heard before, knew what to expect,
and wasn’t threatened by an imposing black Haitian demanding he subjugate
himself to his control.
boy.I was trying to go easy on you, but
$500 bucks is $500 bucks, and if you have no interested in discussing it, fine,
then I can put you over my knee and take my 500 out on
your ass.You understand, boy?” this
he responded with eyes lowered.
what will it be?Either man-up and sit
on my lap or lay across it like a boy,” he stated bluntly, holding up the flat
of his hand.
himself without a voice to respond.He
felt as though he was holding on to a live wire, one that held him in itsabiding grasp, and there was
nothing to be done about it but hope he survived the ride.Then too, there was that amulet.Even in the dim cabin light that
extraordinary piece had an unexplainable aura about it that drew just as
heavily upon him as did that live wire.All of which gave him reason for thought, and only after considering all
the forces in play did he stand up and come about to front his knees without
uttering a word.
that’s right, boy.Pull up your big boy
pants and saddle up,” Ishmael followed, patting his lap just south of that
long, thick bulge running its course down his pant leg, and clearly in his
Alex did just that, promptly, showing not a spark of fear as he straddled
Ishmael's knees.In fact, he did it with
an unexpected ease, obediently, almost as if expected. The intimacy between man and boy just part of
the natural order of things, and just considering the implications of that had
the wolf of Port-au-Prince licking his chops.
Pi bon" (Much Better)!Now we can come
to an equitable resolve to this matter, huh, boy?" Ishmael again spoke in
his native tongue, only this time with a purpose.
Alex replied, clearly demonstrating his full grasp of the language.
tell me, boy.Where did you learn to
speak Creole?” Alex really didn’t want to tell him more than he needed to
know.Then again, he knew Ishmael would
never let him be until he did.He was an
imposing man, an inescapable force that drew upon him in much the same way as
did that amulet - and yes, that amazing bulge beneath his pants looming just a
hair's breadth away from his own.
“I live in Haiti ,” he began, timidly at first and
then more boldly, “My mother and me.I
just went to visit my grandmother in Jersey City and now I’m going back home.When we land in Miami I’m supposed to switch to flight
412 to Haiti.”
“Huh!What a coincidence,” Ishmael grunted.“I’m booked on the same fight.”
going there too?”Alex expressed his
course, I’m Haitian.I live in
where I live too,” he managed to cough up, and then with eyes fixed on that
amulet, he pointed and asked the question that was on his mind.“Does that mean you’re a . . . a . . .
Houngan?" (a priest)
me?No, no!Just a Hunsi, a believer, not unlike you I suspect," Ishmael
replied, feeling confident there was something more behind that look in his
eyes other than mere fascination.That
there was something about the 'mystery' and the power of the 'Invisibles' that
held sway over him as well."Although, it was given to me by a Mambo Asogwe (a high priestess)
who speaks to the Gate Keeper, Papa Legba,” he quickly followed.“You’ve seen one before, huh, kid?”
I have, but not one like that.I mean,
it's . . . it's . . . it's so . . . oh I don’t know,” he paused, mulling it
over, “different, I guess.It kind of
makes my head spin,” he grinned an unsettled grin that he quickly shirked off
with a shrug, not knowing how else to describe the jumbled mass of feelings
racing around in his head.
yes.It is meant to make you think.How long have lived in Haiti?” Ishmael asked.
years,” he said, suddenly more at ease.“My mother was a stewardess until the company she worked for stopped
flying there.Now she just books flights
for a Haitian company which is okay, I guess, because she’s home a lot
more.We live on Rue Delmas 43,
Saint-Georges, not far from the Ayisyen-AmerikenSchool I go to in Port-au-Prince.”
Delmas 43, good, good, I know it well.The civilized rubble, where the savages shit in toilets,” Ishmael
chuckled, and then thinking it time up the ante, he took yet another step in
the dance between himself and his prey.Reaching out, he ran his open palm across the boy’s cheek.
smooth and stubble free, just as advertised,” he though, while savoring the feel.And more surprising yet, Alex was gently
leaning into his palm, not pushing away.Affectionately, like a puss rubbing up against his leg, absent only the
It marked quite
a change in the would-be tough guy.From
putting on a front to his abandonment of the barricade, Alex’s response to the
touch of his hand did nothing if not give him all the more reason to push still
furtherSo, while still palming his
cheek, he traced the boy’s lips with his thumb without a sign of complaint.
along and around them until, almost reflexively, or by habit, his lips pursed
as if to invite the tip of his thumb in.Whether intended or not, it was a gotcha moment for Ishmael to savor,
and the fact that Alex had given it up so easily was proof positive he was on
the right track.So .
boy," he continued on with his rant."How a tasty white snack like you has managed to survive the swarm
of sharks lurking in that scum infested Delmas swamp you live in is beyond
me.Unless, of course, you got yourself
a hook-up.Huh, boy, is that what you
got?A black friend, someone to fend off
all them sharks?"
didn’t answer, but to Ishmael his beckoning lips spoke volumes.“A black friend from school, perhaps?” he
followed while pressing the tip of his thumb in even so slightly.
a boy on the street,” he carried on, “A boy who stopped you on your way home
from school asking for 20 centimes to buy a bottle of Couronne (soda).”It was just a shot in the dark.A story concocted in the heat of the moment
to see how the boy would respond.So no
one was more surprised than Ishmael when he saw Alex wince and shut his eyes as
if to hide a secret.
sighed, "A boy on the street.A
street rat, a thug, a piece of shit with a cock!" he scowled, upping his
tempo while his thumb gently combed along the length of his fleshy pink tongue
until striking a nerve, his lips closed up like a Venus Flytrap around the
partially embedded digit pressed half-in . . . then slightly out, then pushed
back in still further with a smooth even glide, while the unrelenting verbal
assault went on unabated.
that's the way it works, right?"You, a sweet little bite-sized white cracker, and him, the
streetwise lout," he continued his harangue as his thumb pressed in to the
knuckle, causing Alex hack and again, open his eyes.“I’m sure he gave you a pat on the back, and
told you he liked you.Black boys love
white boys, and not just for their money.Huh, boy?” he winked.
have even said you were pretty, which would have been true.You’re no doubt a knocked-off for your
mother,” he appraised.“Your lips, eyes,
hollowed cheeks, I’m sure you’re daddy told you that, huh, boy?”
Alex let loose of his finger and looked away, leaving Ishmael to wonder where
he'd gone wrong.Had he been too abrupt,
pressed too hard or . . .?"And
then it dawned on him.Daddy!He had no daddy."Is that right, boy?You got no daddy?" he asked, then smiled
when Alex affirmed with a nod.
boy,” Ishmael quickly came to his aid."All that bonding with daddy shit is way overrated.Unless, of course, you like your
self-righteous sanctimony served up with a shit-load of hypocrisy."
at him curiously for as long as it took for his words to sink in, and when
finally he had managed to unravel that amazingly complex puzzle of words did he
light up with a smile of his own.Responding as he did without a sliver of fear in his eyes, as
comfortable with him as he was sitting on a strangers lap in that darkened
cabin long after .And not just
any stranger, but a man carbon black sized like a heavyweight.A menacing looking one at that!
which was good news for the wolf of Port-au-Prince, providing him with all the
high-octane fuel he needed to step up the pace of that sordid dance between
predator and prey.Wrapping his arm
half-round the boy, he drew him close in.Close enough to feel the pounding of his heart, his labored breath
rushing past his ear.
snuggle up and hold tight.I’m going to
teach you how a man and his boy are supposed to communicate,” he spoke quietly
and in a carefully modulated tone, wanting foremost to sooth the boy's unease
as he began to run his hand down the length of his back.While below, that slithering, drooling, black
Haitian snake butted up against the boy’s thigh, looking for a way to get
between the crack in his ass.That plump lily-white ass Ishmael could see
bulging half out his belt-less pants.
“Mmm!” Ishmael breathed in, “Sweet!” he
quietly murmured as the boy nuzzled close in, his lips fronting his ear,
seemingly quite eager to communicate the way a “man and his boy are supposed
Oh yeah, Ishmael waxed euphoric, this kid is a pederast wet-dream.He’s got it all.Killer looks, a sweet disposition and a
dimpled ass that could win him a seat on a Carnival float, his bare ass sitting
upon the Zulu King’s lap.Not only that,
but he understood Haitian Creole too.
felt as though the kid had been on a collision course his entire life destine to run into him.
boy," he carried on, playing the boy who he knew was as queer as a fruit
flavored M&M, strumming his chords with soppy sweet affections while his
eyes remained fixed on that lovely hairless crack running down the length of
that lily-white ass.
finding it too irresistible to resist any longer, he slipped his hand down his
slackened pants, pushing them down yet further to grab himself of a
handful.He cradled, then squeezed that
plumb fleshy melon while softly, quietly, he encouraged the boy, “Go on boy, go
on!Tell me more about that black Haitian street boy you befriended.The boy you followed into the alley.”
“Ooh . . .”
the Alex sighed, as if lost in a swoon, feeling Ishmael's hand wringing out his
cheeks like a round billowy sponge.Ishmael’s aggressive move on his ass had definitely struck a chord,
disrupting the boy’s thoughts and causing him to stir, anxiously.
that boy, huh?” he toyed with the boy, playing up his response, and then
encouraged him to, “Go on, boy.Pay my
finger no mind.”
sir . . .” Alex stammered.
boy.Go on.What was his name?”He continued to push.
“Oh!I ah, I ah, Alex struggled to find his voice,
until, from out of no where, he suddenly burst out in a high-pitched squeal . .
is Toussaint,” he quickly followed, then for some unexplainable reason he
straightened back up and shrugged.It
was the kind of thing you might see when a cop asked a criminal why he did it,
and the robber would say, “Don’t know,” and then with a shrug, “Shit just
the arresting officer would know it was just a cop-out, and Ishmael saw Alex’s
response much in the same light.He knew
what he was doing then, just like he knew what he was doing now.Shit like that doesn’t just happen!
fuck you?” Ishmael suddenly felt embolden to ask, looking him dead in the
eye.“Huh, boy?” he followed, to which
young Alex simply shook his head, no.
suck his cock behind the pile of trash in the alley?” he continued to prod, and
this time Alex affirmed with a nod.
good!” he said, again wrapping an arm around the boy to draw him back in.
out and found yourself a straight talking daddy.Someone to tell you what to do, and like a
good boy you did what was expected of you,” he spoke softly, but firmly, as he
ran his hand down his back and again, stuffed his hand down his pants to clutch
began to squeeze them, knead them, and then feeling emboldened, he wormed a
finger down the crack of this ass, finding his target.Applying pressure, he squeezed a fingertip
inside the boy’s ass.Nothing overly indulgent,
but just enough to know his Haitian brothers were going to be lining up once
they got a whiff of his sweet ass.
and squirmed, anxiously, while Ishmael . . . Well, Ishmael just pushed in a bit
more, slowly, steadily, until feeling no resistance, shoving his long black
finger up that lily-white ass an inch . . . two . . . three inches up until,
“Ahhh!Owie, owie,” the boy squealed
when he thrust up to the knuckle.
Ishmael rubbed his daylong stubble against the boys flushed cheek.His finger finding and then gently stoking
that sweet spot, that special spot he could feel beneath the tip of his finger
that made the boy struggle just to catch his breath.
changing his tact, he began to stroke up and down.Slowly at first, then quicker, harder, until
he stopped and pulled his finger out altogether, holding it up to his
nose.Inhaling the musky scent caused
his black snake to kick and leak a taste of man-nut, and him to purr.
the meter that measured his patience bobbing on empty, he had no choice but to
give up on the toying and bring that sordid dance between predator and prey to
an end.The gloves simply had to come
off.So he untied them.
hold of the Alex's hand and pulled it down to his lap atop his cock.
boy?Huh?” he smirked, looking every bit
the man who found his boy.A beautiful
kid, but more importantly, he was a boy who preferred his gentleman friend’s
black and in charge.Once more, it was
built into his guidance system, like an autopilot he followed simply as a
matter of course, and now, thanks to Toussaint, owned his soul.
Alex murmured though panting breath, now running his fingers alone the length
of that long bulge showing not a hint of hesitation, and with well practiced
“Oh yes, I
see Toussaint taught you well, and now it’s my turn, boy!”He followed, his voice biting, his eyes
cutting through him like a blade.
boy off his lap, he stood up and stepped out into the aisle, extending his hand
for the boy to take.“Come on, boy.Come with me.”
can’t . . . ,” young Alex stammered, his eyes watery, on the verge of tears.
can, boy.”Ishmael responded, now
feeling embolden to take it up a notch.“Stop playing the pouty little boy.You own me $500 greenbacks for these custom tailored slacks and you’re
going to pay the bill.Now pull up your
big boy pants and come with me, or I will tell your mama what you don’t want
her to hear when she meets you at the airport.”
Ouch!That one upped his anxiety!To the point of again stoking his fear of his
being found out, his mother learning he like boys.That he had engaged in some shameful acts he
didn't want known, and need keep from being known regardless the cost.So instead of screaming out, "Fuck
you," Alex stood up and followed alone to where the restrooms in the first
class section were located.
boy," Ishmael said, offering no hint of concession.
and Ishmael squeezed in, shutting the door behind.It was a tight fit with the boy boxed in, and
then hemmed in still tighter when Ishmael leaned back and sat on the toilet.
now, see what you've done boy?"He
asked, pointing to the stain.Only it
wasn’t the soda stain, but a new stain, the pre-cum that lie alongside the
bulge topping his thigh.The size, the
shape, the pulse of the throbbing beast beneath his trousers robbed the boy of
“But . . .
but, sir!I didn't do that. . ."
don't want to hear it, boy.You can't
deny it. You did it with your own hands,
and now you're obliged to pay the bill.”
"Pay. . .?You mean . . .?" he murmured, while his eyes remained glued to that
bulge beneath his slacks.
there’s no way around it.It's a hands
n' knees job.Understand, boy?" He
asked, but not for approval.He didn’t
need it.Not from a fag who could no
more escape the pull of his cock than he could a black hole.It was simply his to serve it and obey him,
just as you did with Toussaint’s cock, and just like he was going to do now.
your knees, boy!” He snapped impatiently, and obediently, Alex did just
that.Not only because he feared his
mother learning the truth about him, but more importantly he did it for
himself, simply because it was within him to do!What he needed to do to make him whole – full
boy,” he urged.“My cock grows
impatient,” he added, while Alex hurriedly squeezed into that tight space
between Ishmael’s out stretched legs until his lips hovered above that stain drenched
bulge, lying in that ever increasing viscous pre-cum pool.
strong, heady smell to its sheer expanse he found it spellbinding, and for a
long moment, it was as if nothing else existed in this world.The spell broken only when he felt Ishmael
lean down to pick something up off the floor.Looking up, he saw Ishmael smiling and waving about his wallet.While nestling in between his legs it had
somehow managed to slip out of his back pocket.
I found, baby boy,” he quickly opened it up.
here we go,” he said, smirking as he opened it up and then pulled out an ID
card.“It says here, Alex Beckett of no#
28 Rue Delmas 45, Cite Saint-Georges, Pò-au-Prens, born Jersey City on December 18, 02.”
he repeated, mumbling to himself.“That
makes you . . . hum, Well, let’s just say that makes you full of promise.Huh, boy?” he nudged Alex then lit up with a
smile.A smile that grew even brighter
when he found a picture of his mother, Rosemary Beckett, stashed behind the ID
ex-stewardess, she was man-trap in heels and still quite young.No more
than 35-36 tops, he thought, and just as expected, Alex was made in her
image.His eyes, lips, nose, the very
contour of his face would have made him a perfect match on a photo lineup.
what he found most interesting of all were the marking he saw peeking out just
above the plunging neckline of the halter top she wore.A tattoo!A centipede and serpentine stamp that adorned the top of a bulging tit
he had not only seen before, but knew to be that of the Serpent Spirit,
Damballah.Once more, it was the kind of
symbol only worn by those who wished to converse with the Lwa.
though.Just like her son, there seemed to be much more to Rosemary
than just a pretty face.And the
multitude of possibilities that thought conjured up set the wheels spinning in
that flock of sitting ducks he'd plucked from that Dubai Limo Service pool the
previous night looked small potatoes.But first he had work to do.
what do you say we clean up this mess,” he bid, telling not asking.
nodded, and then reached for the toilet paper only to have his hand slapped
away yet again."Not with that,
boy.Uh-uh.I need reparations, not a bigger mess.First I want a 200 dollar blow job and then
in payment for the rest, I’ll going to make you my bitch.”
sir, please, people will . . . “, he decried, looking back toward the bathroom
I give a fuck, boy?” Ishmael teed off; quite sure the boy was just playing him.
to me boy before I slap you silly.Don’t
play the little boy with me when I know who you are.You’re a fag.You had a taste of Toussaint’s man-nut, and now you’re going to taste
mine.Then, of course, I’m going to fuck
you.That’s what I want in reparations,
and it is simply yours to serve my cock and obey me.”
boy?” he snarled, gritting his teeth as if trying to suppress an urgent
need.Then as if summoned by the
urgency, he quickly unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers and lifted
himself up off the seat to lower his trousers down to his ankles.
when he straightened back up so did his cock, slapping the boy across the
face.Like a chub of Meaty-Boy Salami,
the thing swung across like a bludgeon, and with a wet sounding thud struck the
boy on the face.
hell!Sorry about that boy.When ol' black snake gets hungry he's got a
mind of his own."
sent Alex reeling, but not from the shock of the blow.Rather, it was from his first look at that
uncut black beast in the raw.Thick,
long and heavy as a 2lb porterhouse, it rose up like a column of gnarly black
marble.Topped with an equally fearsome
plum-sized head, it reeked a strong heady odor and
beneath hung a huge set of low hanging balls ringed by a billowing thicket of
coarse kinky hair.
it's a man sized job," Ishmael chuckled, after grabbing hold of his cock
and waving it to and fro at the end of his nose, its gaping maw gulping
hungrily."So, what do you say boy,
ready to suck my cock?Like you did for
Toussaint, and no doubt his buddy’s, huh, boy?” he asked, his brows arched as
if trying to assess how close he’d come to the truth.
stiffened up, though not fully understanding why.Ishmael, Toussaint, Bernardo, Puma, what they
wanted was all the same.All of it
relegated to dark corners between men and boys, between him and Toussaint, his
friends.Wanted by them, but needed by
So how was
this any different?Both Toussaint and Ishmael
were Haitian and both treated him like gum stuck to their shoe; whether in a
bathroom aboard a plane, or standing amidst the rubble in a tin shack not far
from his home.The squalid place where
Puma and Bernardo would take him to steal his money, then laughing and calling
him names, they would knock him about while Toussaint stood back looking on.
the rough up, Toussaint would throw a conciliatory arm around his shoulder and
walk him over to a nearby wooden crate.Where he’d sit and have Alex kneel so he could wipe away his tears,
bring order to his disheveled hair and fastidiously dust off the dirt from the
falls.The soothing, the preening and
the coddling, and then while wearing all the concern of one who cared, he'd
slap him.Hard!And then again after wiping away his tears,
he'd again begin to sooth, preen and coddle him until, like a bolt of
lightening from out of nowhere, whack!He’d slap him still harder.
And so it
would go, always the same.The preening,
the coddling, the mocked concern followed up by a wicked slap, until he’d
unbuckle his pants and force his "ma'sisi" (fag-boy's) head down atop
his bloated cock.
mwen tenten, Ma'sisi!“ (Eat my Junk, fag-boy!),
he'd say, and then when done, he'd press a thumb to the side of his nose to
blow out what clotted his nostrils into Alex's cum impregnated mouth.“Now, ma'sisi!You eat Puma's n' Bernardo's Junk too!"
again, round-robin, there was nothing loving or caring about any of it.They were hard and tough, more men than boys,
who’s only kindness was not to impair the cocksucking white boy in effort to
keep the dope money coming.Otherwise
they could give a shit.He’d always come
back for the abuse, that much they knew.Once more, he’d come with money in his wallet.And so, “Hey Bernardo," Toussaint would
call out."You got to piss bad as me?”
characters?You bet!From Toussaint's inane theatrics followed by a vicious slap, to
Ishmael's lording over him for his attention like a thug, it was that
cold-hearted side of them that left him trembling in fear.But making it all the worse was the fact that
both his fear of them and his longing for them had become so entwined in his
head they seemed to him one and the same.
The yin and
the yang - The fear and his longings - The pleasure and the pain:The two contrary, yet interconnected forces
that pulled upon him with equal gravity.Whether they kicked his ass or popped a load up his ass, it all occupied
the same place in his head.A place that
both stoked his fear, and by equal measure, it was also a place he wanted to be
- needed to be - to make him feel whole.Full stop!
surely, Alex leaned in and then tentatively swiped his tongue over the drooling
maw that topped Ishmael's cock.And as
he did, that black Haitian cock kicked up and spat a blob of pre-cum that ran
up his nose.
back and blew to clear his nostrils, and in the process, a blob of mucus
dripped back down into his mouth causing him to pucker up and grimace.
boy,” Ishmael chuckled.“Shit
happens.But don’t worry.Snot, man-nut, and a bit of grime here and
there, it all comes with the territory.It's an acquired taste, a man's taste, like fine tobacco.At first you cough, gag and sputter, but
there soon comes a time when you can't live without it."
get to it, boy,” he barked, and Alex did, stretching his jaw impossibly wide to
swallow up that great purplish plum, his lips stretched tight over the crown.
gason bon! (good
boy)," Ishmael softly droned while squeezing the length of his
cock, which in turn increased the flow down the boy's gullet.Alex's eyes watered and his throat bobbed
with the swallow, stopping only for a moment to pluck a long strand of kinky
black hair pasted to his lips.
in ecstasy, savoring the joys of his success.It couldn’t have gone any better.Once more, that might soon include snaring the boy's mother.That tattooed white bitch who thought it hip
to flaunt the spirit of Lwa.Embracing
the black magic as though it was just a fashion statement you wore on your
tit.And just the thought of that
brought on a contemptuous sneer to his lips.What little she knew, he
thought . . . and all she is yet to learn!
it was still just supposition, one he had yet to explore, but as things stood
he felt pretty damn confident.In fact,
the way he had if figured the only thing needed to tie up the remaining loose
ends was a picture.
A Picture!Of course! He thought to
himself, remembering the cell phone he had tucked away inside the pocket of his
trousers.All he need do is discreetly
reach down and then without warning, snap the shutter.
boy, say cheeeese!"
the phone and realizing what had just happened looked toward Ishmael, his face
a mess.From his nose to his chin, his
face was covered with a pasty wet sheen, and hanging from his lower lip hung a
long unbroken strand still tied to the tip of Ishmael’s cock.
did vu do vhat (Why did you do that)?" he managed to spit out.
Ishmael followed up."Well, let's
call it a gift for your nasty mama of yours, sweet boy.Trust me; the tart is going to love it."
no, please, don't send the picture.Please, she’ll find out.She'll
know and hate me!"
out?Find out what, boy, your little
secret, huh?" Ishmael chuckled.“It’s too late for that, boy.You’ve got faggot written all over you.”
enough!It’s time we get down to
business.Business I know you’re going
to love, thanks to Toussaint,” he chuckle.“I’ve got to hand it to that bad ass 'n-word'.He knew how to spot‘m.”
whatcha say, boy?You ready to honor the
Lwa and love, honor and obey your man, huh?”
mention of the Lwa, Alex again looked at the amulet.Then again at the phone – that picture – his
secret shame.Both reason enough for him
to lower his eyes and then, trembling with excitement and fear all balled up as
one, he nodded his head, “yes.”
boy.Now let's get you naked.”
he stammered, his teeth near clattering.“In here?”
yes, of course.What good is a cunt if
kept hided in your pants?And since
you're not wearing a skirt . . .”, he said without restraint, clearly wanting
Alex to know exactly what it meant to be called his "boy."
leaned back on the toilet seat and nodded encouragingly as Alex stood up and
began to unbuckle his pants, thinking about other boys he'd broken, and where
Alex stood on the continuum.And, what
better way to find out than to ask.
me, boy.How was it?" he asked,
while Alex was undoing his pants.
he asked, the mix of fear and excitement causing his chattering teeth to pound
out a rhythm.
play coy, boy.Sucking my cock, that's
what!Where you got what you've got
between your cheek and gums still trying to impregnate your teeth."
his mouth with the back of his hand, and then looked down upon the moist trail
of dribble that stained his bow tie and down the front of his shirt.He ran his fingers across the stains as if he
wished he could undo them, but only now realizing what was done, was done.For the good or the bad, he would forever
more wear that stain.
need, boy.I know it takes awhile, but
trust me; you're going to love it.You’re a natural kid; a cocksucker, a fuck-face faggot.You just wait.Soon you'll be shaking my snake as good as
any bitch.With your cunt too, huh,
boy," he winked with a grin.
straightened back up.His pants, shirt,
undies now gone, Ishmael got his first look at his new boy.He was perfect!Fallow chest, dime-sized nips, he was soft,
splintery, an eggshell with a soft rosy hue, and only the one small tuft to
mark where in the scope of things he stood.
boy.You are fine!” he murmured, as he
combed his fingers along his thigh, so fresh, so soft, while the air emanating
from his loins still smelt milk-fed.
indeed found his new boy.He was soft
and pretty and liked his black.But more
importantly, he was subservient to black rule.Something he accepted simply as a matter of course, and now owned his
soul.And if he didn’t already know that
by now, sure as shit happens, his new boy was about to find it out.
reached down and pulled a bottle from dress suit pocket, and then stood up to
take possession of his new boy.He held
the bottle under young Alex’s nose for as long as it took for him to inhale a
lung full, sending the boy into orbit.With his heading spinning and eyes glassed over, Ishmael cradling his
face in the palms of his hands and lowered his lips to kiss him.
differences between them were enormous, as different as day is to night.Yet when Ishmael’s tongue pierced the boy's
lips and savored his taste like a fine wine, suddenly the big and the small,
the black and the white meld together as sweetly as an ice cream sandwich.
and Ishmael, like the wolf, squeezed young Alex’s jaw open and hawked up a
quantity of phlegm and spit in his mouth.“Ah, yes, boy, that’s what boys do, as a rule to relieve a black man of
his junk.Cum, piss, no matter, you’re
my boy now.Not Toussaint’s, but mine to
rut, to love or treat you like gum on my shoe. You got that boy?”
sir,” he managed through the fog of nitrites that laden his brain.
boy!Now hold tight, boy, because I’m about to
fuck you like a Rue Santara whore,” he menaced, and then rose back up and again
peered down to size up his captured prey he now owned.
around boy and bend over!"There
was no tint of concession in his voice now.In Ishmael’s eyes, Alex was no longer just a boy with promise who'd one
day have the world calling at his door.No, not any longer!He was simply
a boy for him to use.
that was foremost on his mind when he reached down between Alex's thighs and
latched on to his balls.Then clenching
his fist, he yanked them down and back causing the boy to moan and the well of
his back to recede yet further below the rise of his ass.
kitty, kitty!" he beckoned to that perfectly posed pink puckered asshole
with a crook of a finger, his eyes fixed on that defenseless little gateway to
up, up, push back, that-a-boy.Wide
open!Just the way I like them." he
contemptuously wheedled, like a wolf playing with his prey, positioning the boy
just as he wanted him.
the way a man wants to see his cunt, boy, all eager and ready, reaching out to
smooch a man's cock, begging him to fuck your ass!Your cunt!"Your sweet boy pussy!Ishmael cajoled and ranted while the boy
moaned, his head still buzzing through space as Ishmael traced circles around
the puckered rim with a finger.
sweet!The way she puckers up to kiss my finger and
the sound of her purr.My, my, she's
such needy little bitch," he chuckled while pressing his finger up his ass
to the knuckle, causing Alex to whimper and then bellow mournfully when Ishmael
finally managed to squeeze in a second, then a third finger alongside.Three balled-up fat fingers pumping, digging,
twisting and stretching out that lovely hole to made way for what was coming.
taking no prisoners now.He quickly
grabbed hold of his cock letting it slap down atop the boy's up thrust
ass.Jutting out over the small of his
back, a steady stream of thick viscous drool cascaded down upon his hollowed
deep thrust, boy.Just one and you're
going to be seeing stars and cumin’.With no hands!No more!Just the clit in your ass!Oh yes," he moaned, "like a sweet
little bitch in heat."
were anymore amped he would be sailing the astral plane.But to insure the edge he wanted, he again
pulled out that bottle of Amyl and inhaled, doing the same to the boy, causing
him to gasp and his head to waver as if lost in the spin.
you hear her, boy?" He followed, “Can you hear her hungry, needy, purr?”
he spoke with breath labored, while his hips pumped rhythmically, the
underbelly of his cock gliding along the crack of the boy's ass.
boy, can you?"He asked again, his
breathing deeper, his sigh more guttural, and what of Alex?
was still caught in a struggle with himself.Between the Yin and the Yang, those two contrary forces that occupied
the same place in his head - The place he both feared but wanted to be - needed
to be - to make him feel whole.Full
“Talk to me
boy,” he continued to rant.“Is she
hungry?Is she needy?Does she want to be fed?"
Alex struggled to find the words, his voice low and tremulous between panting
breath, sounding as if on the verge of tears.
boy, speak up!DOSE SHE WANT TO BE
FED?”He angrily vented his frustration,
punctuating his words with a swift, hard, painful slap on his ass.
Y-y-y-y-yes!" Alex cried out, finally giving
voice to his fear, and by equal measure, the yearning he felt welling up
within.. . . The Yin!
you what?” Ishmael managed on the inhale. "BOY," on the exhale.
don't . . . , I don't . . .”
you know, boy.She needs me to feed her
my cock, to fuck her like the fucking boy cunt you are.Isn't that right, BOY?"
don't, I don't . . . I mean, oooh, oooh, yessssssssss, yesyesyesyes!" He
wailed above his tears.. . . And the
needed to hear no more.A moment more and
he had his black Haitian cock lined up and ready to carve out a tunnel down to
his tonsils.Centering the tip in the
unyielding ring, he started to lean-in, savoring the feeling of that portal
slowly begin to give way.Centimeter by
centimeter until reaching the apex of the crown he could wait no more.He grabbed hold of the boy’s hips for
leverage he set himself to drive in to the hilt.
in, and then on the exhale . . .
knock, he heard a knock upon the cabin door.
but will you be much longer?There are
others who require the use of the facilities as well."
Ishmael uttered in a low, guttural growl, "Bloody!Fucking!Hell!”
Pre International boys Academy
looking out the window as the twin turbo prop began its descent.To the right, he saw the largely depleted
landscape of sun baked clay peppered with a scattering of rust and green
reaching out far into the horizon.Below, the city of Pò-au-prens and its surrounding urban sprawl of
shantytowns fanning out to the foothills, beyond which the vanquished terrain
again re-emerged and continued on as far as the eye
sat Alex enjoying his morning juice and buttered croissant.He looks rather relaxed and comfortable as
well as thoroughly prepared for Ishmael’s upcoming meeting with his mother.
after first leaning of Ishmael’s intend to speak with her Alex looked fit to be
martyred.His mind full of all the
horrors associated with her learning he was gay.But his apprehension soon faded once Ishmael
assured him he wished only to speak with her about an opportunity available to
him at a school he had extensive ties to.
pointed out, the change would not only afford him the opportunity to study
under the finest professors and among the most gifted students in all of Haiti,
but would also abate the bullying he endured at his current school.In all, it sounded an offer to good to pass
up, and Alex agreed.In fact, the idea
so excited him that he was looking forward to his winning over his mother to
his way of thinking.
things go with Ishmael, the master of deception was at a high point in his game
when it came to telling the whole truth about the school, or the reason why whites
were being sought to integrate into an otherwise all-black school that followed
the teaching of its founder, Baptiste du Pre.
he or his mother known what those teaching were about, perhaps things might
have turned out differently.After all,
Baptiste du Pre’s ideological bent with regard to social class and the division
of labor tended to be a bit to the right of extreme.One in which whites were essentially
relegation to subsistence level employment opportunities for which they were best
qualified, while advancing blacks to the ruling class for which their superior
intellect and strength made them eminently qualified.
a deal stopper one would think, or at the very lease, give her second
thoughts.Then again, perhaps not!
it was highly motivated young Alex Beckett who soon after arrival embraced his
mother at the gate.In fact, he was so
full of excitement that his mother simply couldn’t wait to sit down with
Ishmael to hear his carefully crafted offer no mother could possibly say no to.
with his mother at her Rue Delmas 45, Saint-Georges, flat had added a day to
his already tight schedule.Though in
sum, it proved to be time well spent.Not only had he found Alex's mother receptive to him, but after hearing
her son’s enthusiasm, she was surprisingly quick to sign her son over to the
school.Especially when first hearing of
the “bullying” he apparently had been subject to, something she said she knew
told nothing of Toussaint and his pals, of course, but after hearing of all the
possible perils facing a “special” boy like Alex in public school she was quite
anxious to hear more.Especially after
gulping down her second glass of cheap Haitian Clairin (aka kleren) she seemed
special,” she admittedly confirmed after inhaling her third shot of that
volatile rotgut shit.Even going so far
as privately conveying to Ishmael what a close friend of hers had told her
about something he’d seen.About the
almost “flirtatious” manner he conducted himself around the street boys that
hung out close to his place of work.“Selvandieu,” she had called him, a local shop owner and a gentleman
friend whose Rasta colored scarf conspicuously hung upon the clothes tree
standing beside the front door.
“Wi (yes), madam, I believe I’ve noticed it myself.I boyish fascination perhaps,” Ishmael was
happy to volunteer.
implications were quite clear, but it didn’t upset her as you might think.If anything, she seemed resigned to what was
said, and indicated as much when she replied with her words slightly slurred,
“That’s just his w-way.Some boys fight
and some . . .” she paused, mid-sentence, “Well, whatever you think b-best, Mr.
Duprè .” she deferred to his best judgment.
the big fish will always attack the little fish that swims the bowl in the
went on to tell how the school only sought to bring out the full potential of
every student, and did so in a secure, cloistered environment.Delivering his sales pitch in the well
practiced way you’d expect of a con like Ishmael, and when done, she was all
too ready to sign the papers.
he st-start?” she slurred, with her fourth glass of the rotgut Clairin still in
hand, and that Damballah tattoo all but spilling out her crop top, replete with
the tit that bore the stamp.
It was a
nice piece of work, but on the whole, the outcome was not all that
surprising.The tools at Ishmael's
disposal had already been in use for years prior.From the beautifully illustrated promotional
literature showing the multicultural, multiracial faces of boys actively
pursuing their educational pursuits, to the promotional video’s and
registration materials all done to the standards of comparable academies in America.
website he showed her was new, or at least in terms of the length of time the
scam had been in use prior to the internet age.The marketplace was now open worldwide, giving anyone with a computer
access to all the promotional materials and admission forms at the click of the
mouse.That included Ishmael and the
thoroughly soused, Rosemary, who bought into beautifully illustrated web pages it as if it were gospel.
further, the Baptiste du Pre International boys Academy actually did
exist.Though not highly publicized, it
was a small privately funded general arts school providing for the underserved
Black Haitian community, committed to the principal beliefs of Baptiste du Pre,
noted Haitian educator and author who wrote extensively on bridging the
cultural divide.Specifically, the scope
of multi-cultural programs in the learning environment, and the problems
associated with adolescent male multicultural populations where conflict, rather
than the assimilation of “sharing strategies” more often than not tends to be
It was his
belief that the solution lies "not" in narrowing the scope of such
multicultural variance, but the opposite should be considered:That, "only truly diversity which
includes the totality of the human experiences teaches students the importance
"pod" system was created, where white and Asian populations from
throughout the world are integrated into traditionally all black Haitian groupings
to broaden the cultural diversity.
whites integrated into those traditionally all black groupings were referred to
as “PodBoys,” and the boys representing the greater Black Haiti communities
were simply referred to as “Tops” by the faculty.
school houses 10 "pod" communities representing the 10 regional
départements (districts) across the broader Haiti.Ayizan Lords, Zulu Kings,, Rasta Bosses, Obeah, Ogun Pound, Black
Snakes, Gangsta Rappers, Baron’s Crypt, and two from Port-au-Prince, Papa Legba
and Ghetto Blades.All named by the boys
themselves, and within each, a creamy white podboy puff has been added to
"broaden cultural diversity."
So far, it
has worked pretty darn well. The sense of community within the various groupings
has never been stronger.As well, when
they return to their homes they take with them all they've learned about the
value of fellowship within the broader community.
given that the turnover ratio among the integrated pod whites due to overuse
was quite high, there was a constant need for new recruits.Something Ishmael had in mind when he met
young Alex Beckett.First fuck him, and
then put him to work helping to bridge the cultural divide as only his sweet
white ass can do.
neither Alex nor his mother was told anything about that.There were no beautiful illustrated pamphlets
or 8x10 glosses showing some sweet young lad amidst of group of Ghetto Blade
bucks fucking his ass.Nor did Ishmael
trouble himself to explain the type of study Podboys were expected to
excel.They just heard what they wanted
to hear and Ishmael was happy to oblige.
all it wouldn't have matter even if he had.Recruits were not sought from a pool of the unwilling.Given Haiti’s exotic subtropical local and its
proximity to the land of opportunity (the US), boy’s worldwide expressed an
interest in attending the school.Then
when you add in those boys suffering the pangs of family and/or societal
estrangement, the pool not only expanded exponentially, but afforded them the
ability to choose the candidate that best fit their needs.
that’s assuming they even had families who even gave a shit, which happened to
be the case more often than not.Then if
you were to include the families who saw it simply as a means to unload the
queen duck in their litter and you have a very large pool of prospective
said, no matter the whys or the how Alex’s mother came to sign the admission
form, it was a fine catch nonetheless.A
head worth mounting on his office wall, and when coupled with the looting of
Fariz El-Amin’s account the pervious night, Ishmael had good reason to savor
the fruits of his labor.Still in all,
it was good to be back under the safe umbrella of home.
leaving the Beckett residence later that evening, Ishmael ran into Selvandieu
coming up the steps.A black
Rastafarian, he had matted dreads down to his nipples and was covered limb to
limb in cult tattoo.Come to find out,
he ran the tattoo shop just a half block down.
bare-chested, wearing only a pair of haggard belt-less jeans that hung down low
enough to see a sprinkling of pubic hair, he completed the picture of Rosemary
Beckett.The lady apparently in waiting,
now lying flat on her back stewed to the gills on that cheap, one Gourde
(dollar) a liter Clairin.
Brotha,” Ishmael greeted him as he breezed pass.
brudda man!(Hey dud !) Se femèl chen la andedan? (Is the bitch inside?),” he
asked rubbing his crotch and wearing a toothy grin that stretched ear to
(Damn right), Rasta-man,” Ishmael replied as he continued on his
way, then stopped and turned back around.“Hey, Rasta-man!” he called back, “Where’s Toussaint?”
turned back wearing that same pompous smile and says, “pita
li vini guete!” (later he come to
turned to leave smiling.His only regret
was not having asked Rasta-man if Toussaint was coming to fuck Rosemary or
Alex.Or, perhaps, both!
Not that it
mattered.Not when in sight of an hour
he'd be home hooked up to the balls in the sweet French ass of Rene Leclerc,
the newest, freshest, most delicious podboy “recruited” by the academy.
yes.Fuck yes!It was good to be home again . . .
Fine Art or
a Matter of more Natural Mechanics
sedan rolled up the sun baked clay road toward the main entrance of Baptistedu PreAcademy.Set on a hillside on the outskirts of Pétion, the complex was modern
though rather unique in design.Made to
blend in with the landscape, it was constructed using the same sun baked clay
that permeated the landscape, and suffered the same tortured look beneath that
searing Haitian sun.
old yellow ford pulled up in front of the school Commons, Ishmael paid the
driver his fee and then found his way to Cézar office.
Roché, the headmaster of the academy was a very influential man.His brother, Osahar, was a prominent
governmental figure who was himself an avid supporter of the Baptiste du Pre
approach to bridging the cultural divide.As well, he was a stanch advocate of the "pod" system that was
used by the school as the primary vehicle of change.
also insured that no matter how bad Ishmael screwed up, or whatever happened
behind these sun-baked terracotta walls, Ishmael was guaranteed a safe harbor -
his hideaway, his private hole-in-the-wall, where even if they could track him
down he remained out of their reach.
didn't knock, nor would he have, even if he had too.Finding Cézar out of his office he decided to
wait out on the balcony for his return.Off in the distance he could see all the way from Pétionville to Delmas
and its ghetto like sprawl leading up to the foot of the hillside.While below where he stood, he saw the
the Commons by pathway, the pods branched out around the perimeter of the
building like spokes attacked to the hub of a wheel.
the railing, he saw a group of Rasta Bosses from the département (District) of
Sub-Est outside their pod caught up in a warrior’s game of sparring about in
mock combat.At first glance it looked
like just a lot of boyish horseplay.That is, until one of the boys standing about moved off, clearing just
enough space for him to see young Liam Callahan centermost among the crowd.
all that jousting about took on a different slant.More like posturing than horseplay, much like
you'd expect to see of a buck challenging for the heart of a prospective mate.
brought a smile to Ishmael’s face.Especially when he saw the lanky, red haired boy bent over with hands
dangling down to his toes, and his ass held up in the grasp of one of those
bucks ferociously pummeling his bleach-white Irish ass.
He showed no
mercy, no let up, and for however long it lasted, when done,
the rutting buck simply uncorked with a yank and handed that lily-white ass
over to the next buck in wait.His ass
passed on, like a gym class medicine ball handed over for the next buck to use!
"Ishmael!Welcome back, my friend," Cézar bellowed
as he walked in.A large man himself, he
was also rather rotund, to the point that his gait resembled more a waddle than
a stride.He wore an amulet in the form
of a skull, a black tunic and top-hat with a vulture feather symbolizing his
ability to tap into the Lwa.It wasn’t
his usual school attire, but he wasn’t above flaunting that skull and vulture
feather either.Sort of as a reminder
that it’s never a good time to fuck with the Lwa.
his friend then standing off at arms length, leaned down to see which of the
pods in view Ishmael was looking at; and he hadn't to look far.Below where they stood on the balcony, he saw
a boy from Sub-Est staging a performance so explosive that by rights it should
have set off the fire alarm.
he exhaled.Then with a shrug,
"Well, what can I say?Boys will
"Play?" Ishmael quipped."He looks like he’s boring down to the
depths for oil!”
yes, well, that's Xavier," he replied, turning to face Ishmael once
again."Don't be so hard on the
boy.I mean, you know the story.He was a soldier in the rebel army and
already on his way to becoming a barbarian before he turned ten.All that violent ...” he shook his head,
“Well, you know, all the pent up anger and rage has got to go somewhere, no?”
offered a warm smile and extended a hand to his dear friend."I'm sorry my friend, but I think you
misunderstood.I wasn't speaking badly
of the boy.I've seen worse, and I
agree, learning how to channel those demons toward more acceptable modes of
destruction can only be a good thing.Besides, I've used that Irish boy's fine ass plenty and I know he's up
to it.No harm done."
Cézar grunted, “Acceptable modes of destruction. Bashing heads, bashing
assholes, you know, I never quite thought of it like that.Which reminds me,” he followed.“Now that we’re on the topic of bashing
assholes, how was the trip to New York?"
he answered while rubbing his fingers together in that universally recognized
sign for money.
a blow against the vices of dishonor and greed, huh?”
Hunsi Roché (devotee),” Papa Legba is smiling today,” Ishmael smirked as he
pulled out his wallet from his inside coat pocket and then a cashier’s check
which he held up in front of Cézar’s face.“Your 15%, I’m going to see Christof in the morning to give him his.”
yes!Praise the Lwa, a fine offering,
indeed.” He said while counting out the zeros.“Fact I can hear the gate opening up right now.” He followed up with an
appreciative smile and dollar signs in his eyes.
“So Tell me Ishmael,” Cézar then asked.“Out of curiosity, what is it you do with all
your illicit gains, huh?I mean, you
don’t own a Mercedes or live in beachside Villa, and you don’t own a golden boy
to drain your wallet.”
draped an arm around his friends shoulder then leaned in close and personal,
fronting his ear.“Cézar,” he quietly
spoke.“Your grandmother still lives in
the same house where you grew up, right?” he asked, and Cézar affirmed with a
nod, while Ishmael leaned in still closer.
still spends her days rocking in the same old chair she did way back when,
hum?” Cézar again acknowledges with a nod, now thoroughly engrossed as Ishmael
steps away out on the street the bandits and hoodlums steal and wreak havoc on
everything in their wake, yet no one has ever troubled her.Not just because she’s old, smelly and
decrepit, or that she lives the same poor life, but because they know if they
harm her the Lwa would cast his wrath down upon them.Isn’t that right?”Cézar nods repeatedly, and vigorously to show
unanimity of that particular point.
then, now picture her sitting there in that old rocking chair wearing the same
pair of old lady shoes she’s worn for years, only now, imagine them with a
hollowed out heal, and inside, a diamond worth more than a rich man’s
he lit up, and Ishmael confirmed his assent with a
nod.“I know a man with
connections.He’s solid as the Bank of
England, guarantees delivery too.”
“So if you
were to buy such diamonds and you were me, that is
where you’d hide them?”
Ishmael bellowed out.“Think I’m
crazy?That’s the stupidest fucking idea
I've ever heard,” he laughed.
said . . .”
Cézar, only what you wanted to hear.And
if your fell for that one, good fucking luck keeping them from taking her feet
along with those shoes.”
reminds me,” he then followed, lightening up a tad.“Something else came of my trip to New York too.”
pulled out his cell phone and showed Cézar the picture of Alex sucking his
cock.Then pulled out a folder from his
case, he handed over Alex's application for admission to Cézar for his records.
Cézar returned the smile.“A new
recruit?" he then asked while opening the folder and began to peruse the
perfect, nice, nice,” he mumbled under his breath as he read on and until he
found the flaw in that un-refundable black marketed diamond he had just bought
to protect his retirement.“Oh, shit!”
he bellowed.The kid lives in Delmas!”
well, I know.But trust me, this one is
worth it.Have a look,” he again pointed
to the picture.
Ishmael, bad,” he shook his head, “Budapest, Singapore, Miami, wherever, but never from Haiti.That's the rule you know that.No
fuck-bunnies from Haiti.On that particular point houngan asogwe (high priest) La Menfo has been
quite clear.It's honor the Lwa or
suffer the consequences."
sure, but what better offering can you make than something of such beauty?” he
pleaded, trying to find a way around all the Vodou shit. “Trust me, once Papa Legba breaths in the
scent of this boy he is going to be opening up that gate as wide as the English Channel.”
Cézar grumbled, then after giving it though, “That is true.He is a treasure.Under normal circumstances such a fine
looking ass to fuck would make a great gift to the Lwa.And the boys . . .well, I know they’ll be busting out of the
pants to make the offering.But . . .”
Cézar,” Ishmael abruptly cut in, “He isn’t even Haitian.He’s from fucking New Jersey.The form his mother signed says as much.A Houngan's edict or no houngans edict, he can’t be seen as anything but
a young white American fuck-face faggot.In other words, he’s the prefect offering!”
light suddenly beaming down from above, Cézar shook off the jitters and lit up
with a smile.“Yes, of course.He’s an American!Impure and rife with all the vices of
dishonor and greed, something that above all the Lwa loathes.Oh yes, you are right.A gluttonous, decadent American!He’ll make the ideal offering." Cézar
smirked, grabbing his crotch.
his mother the usual package and inform her that Alex can begin on the first of
the month.That should do it.” He
beamed, obviously quite pleased to have found a rationale satisfactory to all.
he then added, “I’ll need a copy of this photo so Bon Mambo Serafine and myself
can begin to construct the wanga (spell) to um . . .to um, well, shall we say, set him upon the
path to explore the Mysteries and meet the Invisibles,” he chuckled.
Roché,” he returned the smile.“I have
his mother’s photo as well.A perfect
pairing that should serve as one.”
of course,” Cézar reassured him.“Twice
the mischief I think.Papa Legba will be
shared glass or two of fine Irish Scotch, Ishmael bid farewell to his friend
and returned to the hut he had been given to use.The place to do his research, strategize and
plan before again heading out to execute his plan of attack.
His hut was
located off the Commons building but close enough to the pod housing the Delmas
Blades that he could afford to shut his eyes at night.A luxury few could afford in his line of
work.Even as good as security was,
there was always the potential some highly motivated thieves from the
Pétionville slum could find their way up the hill.And in that regard, the Delmas Blades were
nothing if not as fierce as a pack of wolves.
other hand, the Blades were an extremely fun loving group as well.Truly!They could find reason to rejoice in catching a bad case of the
flu.Just give them reason and they
could dance the night away while putting away insane portions of ganja and
Clairin and still fuck all the other pods under the table.
enjoyed their company a lot whenever he was home and he'd never regretted it
once.Just as he thought to do again
today, and that was when he heard the ruckus coming from their pod.Curiosity getting the better of him, he
followed his nose until reaching their hut he saw Ezili, one of the many
security agents who patrolled the grounds.He was shaking his head and looked rather flustered.
Ezili, what's going on?"Ishmael
asked, pointing to the hut.
there a moment without speaking, looking as if debating himself over how best
to respond.Ezili was a man of few
words, something Ishmael liked about him.
celebrating."He finally said,
albeit with a disdainful look.
they need a reason?" he followed, only now behind pinched brows.
guess not," something Ishmael knew to be true.The Delmas Blades didn't need an excuse to do
anything.Once they had their mind made
up, they did it.Again, something
Ishmael liked about them.
sure does sound like they're having a good time though.Is that what brought you down here?"
"No.You know me.I like a little boy tail as much as anyone, I suppose.But I'm not much into that sort of
sort of thing?" Ishmael queried.
answer.He only turned his head and
nodded toward the hut.A moment more and
Ishmael was heading for the door to see what "sort of thing" would
turn Ezili away from the "boy tail" he so enjoyed.
stepped inside finding the boys in the center most room lounging about watching
as the last of the many who had recently fucked the podboy just finishing
up.Slumped over a makeshift wooden
trestle, the boy showed all the signs of excessive wear.
nothing unusual it that.The pod whites
were there to help bridge the cultural divide, a duty this boy seemed to be
glance the boy looked to be the Swedish boy, Lucas.He had the same build, same light ivory tone,
same nicely hung set of balls hanging beneath a donut shaped pussy with a
permanently stretched hole.Swollen,
enflamed and raw from use, it drained like an open pipe from which a long,
unbroken tendril of viscous white cum cascaded down onto the hard red clay.
looked back around at Ezili, wondering what it was he found so unsettling in
such a beautiful sight.
Ezili," he shrugged."What
didn't answer, but the young Delmas cocks-man did.Now that he was done fucking Lucas, he turned
around and answered in the form of a greeting, and then began cutting some
moves that would have put a Bronx rapper to shame.He shuffled and moved to the groove while his
cock flung thigh to thigh half way down to his knees like a long fat length of
fire hose - still leaking!
more and the whole room broke out in a chaotic choir of boys who'd taken up the
chant.Then a moment later, they began
stepping out to the hop-hop vibes of Shaggy's “Hot Shot” screaming out from an
old school 8-tack boom box. Enacting a scene that looked as much an expression
of teenaged angst as it did some sort of eons old victory dance, celebrating
the pillaging of that fine white boy ass.
In all the
bedlam that ensued, Ishmael scarcely took notice as Ezili walked over to the
slumped over Podboy.He reached around
to pull the boy up, and then turned him around toward Ishmael.
he said, stating his case.
Ishmael looked, as did the roomful of boys.Only the boys where laughing and cheering while Ishmael just stared,
seemingly caught up on the wonder of it all.
eyes, it was nothing less than fine art.Not only in the artistic sense, but the craftsmanship showed all the
signs of a tradition passed on by their ancestors.No question it was a thing of beauty.And Ishmael couldn't help but feel, in some
strange way, that it added to the natural beauty of the boy as well.
what was it exactly?"Ishmael
wondered.He didn't know as yet, though
he felt certain the answer lie in its making.From what he could see, it looked to be composed of some sort of fibrous
twine.Or, tendril perhaps; an offshoot
of a root or plant still found beneath the forest canopy, a secret of theirs
they have used for a century.It was
wound tight on one end and millimeter by millimeter grew increasingly wider
along its estimated 5 centimeter (2 inch) length until it reached the base,
where it flared out to conform to the contour of the chest.
In a way,
he though it resembled the shape of a traffic cone.But instead of the traditional orange and white
coloring, it had a hard lustrous lacquered shell on top on which they had
painted the cult symbols importance to the Vodou culture.
why was it done?" he asked himself.Perhaps they had followed the tradition of their ancestor’s.Those who painted symbolic pictorials that
depict the Veve, or a symbol of the Lwa, like Papa Legba, asking him to open
it was simply the meeting of science and art where such things as the natural
elasticity of the skin come into play.Knowing where and how to apply the right kind of bindings and materials
to use that will allow the skin to continue to thrive, while adding just the
right amount of tug to encourage the flesh to grow in the form you wish it to.
Ezili couldn't see any of that; Not the beauty, not the artistry, not the
craftsmanship.All he could see was the
length of those two wrapped nipples drooping down his chest.Like two beautifully ornamented fingers;
Index finger on the left; ring finger on the right.
To which Ezili
then added a third finger:His middle
finger, which he held up as he cursed in response."The way I see it, balls and a cock make
a man.A pussy and tits, makes a
girl.Having both makes you . . . makes
you . . . aah, hell!He barked.“It makes you 'the sort of thing I'm not
least Ishmael now knew.A man of few
words, Ezili sure knew how to get his point across.
he?Ishmael wasn't so sure.One part of his brain kept telling him that
Ezili was right; that all this was simply mayhem and rapidly spinning out of
other side of his brain was telling him, "No, no, don't be so hasty.Perhaps it's simply a matter of more natural
mechanics."That the massive
quantity of blood needed to inflate those elephantine cocks had deprived the
brain of sufficient oxygen, thus rendering them a bit to the right of
stupid.A sort of temporary insanity, if
you will, and there was no more to it.
better or worse, in terms of creativity alone the body art would have
definitely earned them an A+ had Ishmael taught the class.“It does show initiative,” Ishmael felt quite
certain.Likewise, he felt certain that
if they could create that much havoc with just a bit of twine and some pigment,
lord knows the mayhem they could create with a doll (the gris-gris) and a
straight pin( used to evoke the spirit)."
“A red pin
in each nipple,” now there’s a frightening though, huh?
Fractured, Impure Place
made his way toward the waiting taxi.The driver stepped out and came about to open the rear door for Ishmael
with umbrella in hand and a broad smile.
you go mist'a, sir," beamed the cab driver, holding the umbrella overhead
as Ishmael stepped in, placing his briefcase on the seat beside him.
nan Kapital (The Capital Building),” Ishmael said, then pulled a
hanky from his breast pocket to wipe the droplets from his brow.
It was the
beginning of the rainy season, and the first storm was upon them.The hard clay slow baked over the long
blistering summer months had turned the roadway into a silty stream of slipper
red clay that followed the course of the road.Ishmael felt the tread-worn tires spin until gaining traction they slowly
made their way down the hillside toward Port-au-Prince.
mist'a, sir." the cabby tried to reassure him."We make good time, no
problem."Ishmael certainly hoped
so, but more importantly, that he got there in one piece.The snarled, stop and go traffic that
extended the entire 30 miles distance to the Federal District in Port-au-Prince had turned the typical 35 minute
commute into a three hour stint though hell.The two lane road was strewn with stalled vehicles, and around the
margins, toppled fruit carts and venders struggled in vein to recoup their
goods and oxen beneath the down pour.
world disorder exacerbated by the weather slowed the pace of life down to a
crawl.Needless to say it was a
painfully aggravating commute, but on the whole, not all that different from
the "morning commute on the Long Island expressway," Ishmael mused, even as he remained
pensive and alert throughout the perilous junket to Christof Eichel's office.
Christof toiling over the data he had compiled after the most recent hostile
attempt to breach the government’s network.A German expatriate, Christof Eichel was a network security expert for
hire.Top of the class, he was as much a
genius in keeping prying eyes out of their network as he was in creating his
own schemes to circumvent the efforts of others to keep him out of
quite the innovator as well.He had not
only created the programs Ishmael used in his work, but was a principle
architect in the creation of the pod system.Something he felt strongly about, and excluding his love of money, the
chief reason we find him laboring over the reams of data in faraway Haiti.It also explains his connection with Ishmael, and why he immediately
stopped what he was doing to greet his friend warmly as he entered.
"Mr. Duprè , you look well."He extended his hand, his face drawn with a dour look Ishmael had never
seen him without."Much
success in New York, no?"
my friend, the program executed beautiful.No traces as far as I can tell," he replied while pulling out a
check from his billfold and set it atop the desk.
surmise, otherwise you would not be here talking to me," he said in his
usual curt, very German sort of way.And
then after glancing down at the check, “What-da-fuck am
I do with this?” he scoffed, straight-faced.
me, go buy yourself a Mercedes or something.”
already got one and another one back home in Germany,” he followed, his expression
with a trailer hitch attached,” Ishmael scoffed.“To haul away all that Nazi gold you’ve still
got buried, huh, Commandant?” he winked with a snide grin.
there my uppity black brother.The ears
have walls,” he broke a smile.“That
reminds me.I've made some changes to
the scanner.I speeded up the sorting
sequence a tad.So, if I am to keep you
one step a head of those who want yours, I need to install the new
configuration as soon as possible."
Herr Commandant," Ishmael said in jest, clicking his heels together as he
did.Something he wouldn't dare risk if
he hadn't long since proven his trust.It sort of came with the territory between good friends.He may well have been one of the smartest
people in the world when it came to cryptography and data science, but he was
foremost a friend.
cracked a grin and then mocked a salute, "Ja, Ja, heil Hitler and all that
fucking Nazi shit!Just leave the gear
with me and it'll be ready tomorrow."
I'll be here by ,
hopefully!The rain . . . you know . .
need.I'll be visiting the school
"Oh?You’ve business with Cézar Roche?"
he abrupt said, loud enough to be heard in the adjoining suite."Harry, get in here, boy!"
adjoining suite was one used by Christof when he required a respite, or when he
had a guest.Like Harry, who soon after
opening the door walked over to Christof to give him a hug and a kiss on the
cheek, smiling at Ishmael as he did.
had the pleasure of Harry's company before, of course.A white kid from the Greenwich borough of London, he was the best pup in the litter
as far as he was concerned.He was a
favorite of Cézar’s as well, though not above using the boy's much used ass to
curry favor when needed.As to what that
favor might be he didn't know, but rest assured it was well within his nature
to find out.
ti gason dous (Hello, my sweet boy),”
Ishmael winked while returning his smile."Have you been keeping that fine young puss of yours purring for my
ol' friend Christof here, huh?" he added with an eye toward Christof who
had his arms wrapped around Harry, his hands latched on to his ass, wringing
out those firm fleshy melons like a sponge.
leaned down and met Harry's parted lips with his own, filling his mouth with
his tongue and then licked the length of his face with his long fat tongue as
if savoring a vanilla ice cream cone.
yes, an eager bitch she has been too." he replied, while devouring the boy
with his eyes, cutting down through to a place only he know.A place he now felt the need to visit again.
not always," Christof then added, wanted to set the record right."She still ices up on occasion, and when
she does, I thaw her ass out with a good taste of my belt.Isn't that right, boy?" he nudge Harry,
prodding him for an answer.
on, boy.Go on,
tell Ishmael how my Tap-tap tapping on your ass-pussy lights you up.”
looked toward Ishmael and answered, with eyes as downcast as his voice,
is that, fag?" Christof asked tauntingly, as if to diminish him yet
further down a rung or two.
. . .” was all he could say, now dangling from the last rung, below which there
surely was a hell.
. . .because why boy, because only my
belt can reach that special place that gets your juices flowing?
he then sought to explain. “It seems young Harry had himself a rather sadistic
daddy.A twisted, fucked up, closeted
fag who liked to use his belt before feeding him his cock.Like daily, sometimes even with his
like-minded pals cheering him on.
he didn’t like it, but apparently it fractured something inside and now he
needs someone, anyone with a belt to beat that nasty, fractured place to get
his girly asshole to open up wide and say ‘ahhh.’Isn’t that right boy?”He again nudged Harry, only now, apparently,
just for the pleasure of watching the boy squirm.
his look, his words were heating up.“And when I do it just right, his puss will simply screams out to me,
‘Daddy, daddy, feed me daddy’.”
“So I do,
and the more I tap on that fag ass cunt of his, the more it glows red hot and
opens all the wider for my cock.Isn’t
that right . . . boy?he
continued on with his harangue while he stuffed his hand down Harry’s white
briefs and stuck a couple of fingers up his ass, Harry rising up on his toes as
oh," Harry squealed like a stuck girly bitch with her cunt on fire.
say it, you faggot cunt, am I right?"Christof was running at a fevered pitch, while Harry squirmed about
balancing on the tips of his toes.
thought Harry never looked better, or prettier, responding as he was to every move
of that twisting, turning hand trying to work its was up his ass.Flailing about at the end of Christof's hand,
it was an image he felt somehow suited the boy.He was one hell of a great looking kid, but to Ishmael, it was his
unparalleled thirst for abuse that made him shine.
Christof saw him as well.He was a boy
with a flaw in an otherwise perfect 5 carat diamond.That flaw - that fractured ‘impure’ place
deep inside Harry was a place Christof knew about and had touched.A place Harry needed someone to touch
regardless the suffering he need endure just to make him feel whole.Still, despite all the ugliness that lived
within him, nothing could detract from the beauty you saw.And you only need see him to know how true
and winsome with a head full of wavy blond hair, he was a scrumptious piece of
eye candy who had a certain ineffable quality about
him that made you wonder what universe he belonged.Be it in the world of men's fashions, or
perhaps, women's.If not, then he
certainly came wrapped in the same package.From the way he looked to his flag waving, heel to toe gait, he was as
lovely as he was faggishly ostentatious.And that's what Ishmael liked about the boy.He looked as he fucked, and he came when you
fucked him.No hands!
all, he was an odd duck, a swish with a limp stick.Not the sort he liked to see attached to the
end of his cock when he woke up in the morning.There simply wasn't enough man in him to suit his tastes.Least not like Alex, a boy who showed all the
promise of becoming quite the beef cake, whereas Harry seemed to have missed
that train altogether.
matters all the worse, Christof had dolled him up.The silk halter and bikini-briefs were a far
cry from the everyday podboy tighty-whities by a degree to the right of
pathetic.Plus, he had bunched up a
handful of his untamed, wavy hair and tied it off into a fucking ponytail.Sheesh!Not exactly his cup of tea.
oh, p-p-pleeeze, sir," Harry continued to plead, sounding all the more
panicked with each thrust of his hand that was now on the cusp of disappearing
entirely between the cheeks of his ass.Ass cheeks he couldn't lift up high enough on the tips of his toes, and
even that small grace denied him when driven up off his feet he was left to
endure that final thrust that buried that hand to the wrist.
Ahh-Eee . . ." he moaned.
Christof sweet talked the boy, running his other hand along his flanks to
soothe and settle him as he would a restless horse.
It was a
time-worn scene that never grew old.Ishmael had busted many a fine young ass in his time, and seen countless
others.It was his favorite sport and
enjoyed the game immensely.As did that
black snake slithering down his leg following the scent of the boy.
he muttered, once he'd spotted the rapidly spreading stain half way down the
length of his thigh.
looked up grinning.Kneeling upon one
knee, he was shoving as much of his fist up the boy's ass as would fit.Then with the other hand, he grabbed hold of
Harry's balls and tugged.With a yank,
he pulled Harry's balls back between his legs causing him to double over and
screamed out in pain.“Aaagh!"
now, cowgirl, don’t go getting your petticoats in no uproar." he said,
taking on the guise of a cowboy, albeit with a thick German accent.With the boy's ass now raised up high,
Christof was now free to straighten back up, effectively turning the boy into a
sock puppet, his every move subjugated to the whims of his arm.
owie," Harry again squealed, as would anyone with a fist the size of a Texas grapefruit stuck up your ass.
seemed to have escaped Christof however.Instead, he simply chuckled, paying Harry no mind as he grabbed hold of his
new ponytail to steer, and with the other hand, punched in his fist causing
Harry to fumble forward a step just to keep upright.
can't, I can't, its tooooo big!"
"Whoa!Easy there girl, easy!You can do it.Just take one step at a time.Now, come on, girl.Giddy-up!The watering hole is just over yonder."He cajoled, prodded and poked his ass as he
pulled on the reins (aka ponytail) and guided Harry toward the "watering
hole just over yonder" - in a slow waddle, one bowlegged step at a time;
one fumbling foot to the left, "Owie!" one struggling foot to the
right, "Ooooh, Aaagh, eeee!"
laughing is ass off.He found Christof’s
impersonation of a cowboy with a German accent ludicrous to the extreme, yet
somehow, hilariously funny.
girl," Christof sounded off when his pony finally nosed up to the trough -
girl," he pat her flanks."Now, drink up girl while I open up a
can of whoop-ass to feed your cunt."
Ishmael laughed, hardly able to contain himself."I get it!But tell me, brother.What's with the silky feminine shit?"
named him Princess," Christof winked, grinning snidely."Well, actually Osahar chose the name,
and well, the Khaki Boy Scout look would hardly be fitting, now would it."
no not at all, my friend," he sighed, now relieved to learn that his
friend hadn't gone bonkers after all.That the tough, jack-booted Germany pederast he knew and loved was
still alive and well, only now, dressed in a hilarious spaghetti western guise.
tell me," Ishmael managed to get out above the laughter, “When not knee
deep in governmental affairs, Osahar plays your bronco riding sidekick."
yes," he beamed, "he wears a cowboy hat too." Ishmael was
laughing so hard it took him three tried just to unbuckle his pants.
amusement didn’t last long.A moment
more and he had his long black cock in hand and pressed up against Harry’s
nose."Dinner time, boy,"
Ishmael hissed, now heated to the boiling point.
latched onto the ponytail to yank his head down, and then wrapped his fingers
around the boy's throat to follow the course of that long black snake sliding
down the passage.All the way down for
the long plunge then back up the neck-straining 29cm the boy needed to again
take a breath before going for the deep plunge again.
The pace of
the gagging, sloshing, gurgling mouth fuck matched that of Christof's pumping
fisted hand, which he did on occasion quite robustly.Especially when he punched a bit too hard and
Ishmael had to suffer a worrisome amount of Harry’s teeth.Not always, but increasing more each time
Christof drove down to the elbow, causing the boy to gurgle and tighten
up.Alarming moments for Ishmael, and he
wondered if he could get his friend to ease up a tad.
know, my brother, if you keep that up that cunt of his is going to be hanging
down to his knees."
That's what I want, low and swaying with the breeze.That way I can affix little bells on his
pussy lips to invite all cumers."It’d make his closeted fag daddy proud.Right, cowgirl?" he sneered and then tightened the muscles in his
forearm to expand its girth, and along with it, Harry’s pussy stretched
threadbare around his arm like a furrowed sleeve a size to small.
gulped and moaned, the contractions reverberating along the length of Ishmael’s
cock."Oooh," Ishmael sighted,
as the contractions squeezed out his junk, now flowing in copious amounts down
the boys gullet.
felt himself in a dream state.Especially
on the up swing then the sludge dredged up by his shaft dripped out Harry’s
nose in long pearly strands.The whole
scene sort of reminded him of Lucas's night in the Delmas Blades pod.
know why the thought came to him at that moment, but somehow the mental link
between Lucas's new, artfully craft nipples, and Harry's ponyboy cunt seemed to
fall under the same subheading.And for
equally unknown reasons he thought to share his thought with Christof.
you seemed Lucas lately?" he managed to get out between the hissing
"Oooo's" and the "ah's."
Christof asked, while his hand shuffled about inside Harry’s boy-cunt as if
searching for something inside a lady's purse.
"No!I follow the Judeo-Christian ethic:One horse and one rider at a time!"Christof looked over grinning.
going there tomorrow, right?" he asked, followed with a hissing,
Harry has his monthly checkup with the wacho Gynecologist, Doc Dutillet.The pervert!You know what that man does to those boy pusses?"
no!I've not heard." he sighted, feeling the
bob of Harry's throat, caressing his cock’s sensitive underbelly.
got this long needle he fills with some exotic plant extraction and sticks it
in the prostate.He said it makes it
swell up, and when you touch it with your cock, the boy feels the same orgasmic
joy as a bitch in heat."
Ishmael sounded off, ". . . and that's bad?”
no!The plumper the better far as I'm
concerned.And that's the hitch.Now when I fuck him, he cums like a
sex-starved bitch serving a stint in Sing-Sing, but . . . but, when you pinch a
nipple – Nothing, as in zero, nil, nada!"
they harden up like little missiles, but when you tweak'm, jerk'm, pull'm,
bite'm till he screams, he still ain't go'in to cum,
leastwise not without a fat schlong stiffed up his ass.That makes him a bloody liar to me.”
you expecting,” Ishmael asked, “that you’d just tweak a nip to get him off?”
yeah.Something along the lines of that
red button you push to set off a hellfire missile.Only instead of causing a fiery inferno of
death and destruction, you get a fiery inferno of molten cum.”
again tighten up and again Ishmael felt the peril as a Harry's rather shape
incisors scraped along his gnarly shaft."Yikes!I know you're hungry
boy, but ease up on those fucking teeth."
chuckled.“See how he gets.Just the thought of owning a pair of nips
that could set his world ablaze gets him excited.”
ahhh,” Ishmael sighed, “I don’t know, my friend.Sounds more like a nightmare to me.Can he do it?”
yet, not after three tries."
that's why I mention Lucas.The Delmas
Blades wanted bigger nips, and guess what?" he asks, and followed with a
moaning, "Oooo, nice, that's it, boy."
Tell me, what happened?" he peered in, apparently with quite an interest.
got 'em!" Ishmael grunted, then moaned, "Oh, ah, eee-gads."
joke!They got him bigger nips?How?"
Ishmael grit his teeth.Feeling the surge rise up from his balls he hadn't the wherewithal to
respond, or do anything else but brace himself as that convulsing monster he
had embedded to the root down the boy's throat bucked and kicked and added a
deluge to the swamp pooled in this belly.
watched and waited for Ishmael’s engine to cool, then coast back into the
physical realm before continuing.
you think they could . . . ah, you know?Help?” he gestured with a nod toward Harry.
know," Ishmael finally spoke through labored breath."But if you can get an ol' pederast like
me to dig swishy ponyboys, brother, anything is possible!"
Christof beamed, and then with a yank, splosh and a ploop, pulled his hand out
of Harry's ass.
he peered in and examined the results of his handy work.After giving it much consideration, his grin
turned into a self-congratulatory smirk, then said to Harry, "Sweet!”
not done yet, Princess.Nope, not by a long
shot.Right now I've got to run me a
little errand, but when I get back, my belt is going to work on that sloppy
bitch cunt of yours just the way you like it!"
and began to walk out, only to stop mid-way.“Which would you prefer, chaps or a cowboy hat?” He asked Ishmael.
wasn’t listening."Come on boy,
lick it clean, and don’t miss a smudge!"Ishmael spat, too preoccupied to pay much mind to Christof’s ramblings.
hat," Christof answered himself as he turned about and continued out the
Christof now gone, Ishmael looked down at Harry.With spittle still drooling out of his month,
he reached down and lifted his chin to look him in the eyes.
boy, did you like it, huh?" he asked, with a gaze cutting through to that
fractured, "impure" place deep inside him Christof knew and had
you like the ass-kicking?Do you like
eyes, Harry lowered his head and whispered, "Yesss, sir, I liked it!"
it to cum, don’t you . . . daddy’s boy!” he sneered, deriding the boy, wanting
to make it clear that he now knew about that deep, dark impure place as well.
sneered.“Next time I’ll be sure to wear
a belt with a whole lot of fucking bite.”
the Cultural Divide
later:Budapest. HTK TeleKom, the Dunaharaszte
into his grave yard shift, Dominik Tamas pulled up in front of terminal
substation no#23 in his UAZ Russian made van. The unpainted, concrete block
building sat behind a gated cyclone fence topped with barbed wire, and lit up
with flood lamps that illuminated the otherwise moonless night beyond the
perimeter to the tree line 20 yards beyond.
out of his van and retrieved a spool of keys to find the one needed to open the
padlock attached to the chain securing the gate.Once inside the yard, he found the key from
the same spool to open the door to the building.He entered and flicked on the vast array of
interior lights before walking down the rows of racked switches until he found
section 42-C, the row he was looking for.
He found box 5582 on the top, far out of reach.So setting down his tools and the 3-ring
binder containing the tech spec sheet, he left to locate the ladder.Upon his return, he aligned the ladder with
the box 5582 and then climbed up and pulled out
the drawer containing the unit he sought.He then reached into the box to clip the leads from the headset to the
terminal to run a check, and as he did, a large Hobo spider crawled out.
he exclaimed as he swatted it off with the headset.
ugly fucking bug!" he cursed, watching the spider scurry off down the
aisle.After regaining his composure he
again reached in to clip the leads to the terminal and punched in his number.
Tamas, 1165," he gave his name and number to the technician on the other
end of the line.
yes, working fine, no problem.
yeah I'm fucking sure."
it was a bug."
no, not that kind of bug, a spider, a big one, the damn thing was the size of a
be back around .”
fucking way.You want the damn bug then you
get a hammer and a body bag and come get the fucking thing yourself."
yes, bye then."
stepped down and took the ladder when had found it, then returned for his tools
and his binder.Completely unaware that
he spec sheet for that particular job was no longer there.
minutes later, he was again locking the front gate to head back to the main
office.As he departed, so did Ishmael,
with the tech sheet in hand.He tossed
the jar that had contained the Hobo spider in the trash, then once again picked
the gate lock and just as he had entered, disappeared back into the dark.
morning he was boarding a flight at FanzLisztInternationalAirport in Budapest.The flight was destined for Lisbon where he was to connect to a flight
that would take him home.He was in line
for boarding when two officers approached him.
morning, sir.Can we see your passport
officers wore the badge carried by Customs officers, so he promptly retrieved
it from his inside coat pocket and handed it over.
already passed through Customs, officer." Ishmael thought to remind him.
sir, I know you have.However, you are
still in Hungary and are subject to our laws."
course, officer, I understand."He
name is Ra Ebrahim, and you are an Egyptian national?" he asked, after
examining the document.
you speak Hungarian?" he asked with brows creased.
ahhoz, hogy a. (enough to get by)"
then, you are an Egyptian," the officer continued to quiz him, prodding
around the edges to see how all the pieces fit together."And you have a clear grasp on English
and you have a passing knowledge of Hungarian.Am I to understand that right?"
than most, don't you think?" the other officer cut in after giving it
yes," his partner agreed after giving him yet another go over."A blue black, much darker than other
Black Egyptians I've seen."
tailoring, too.French?" he asked
while fingering his lapel.
you've lived there then."
live in Cairo."
yes.Yes, of course, your records would
indicate as much."
ask how long was your stay, Mr. Ebrahim?"
days," he coolly replied.
no," the other cut in, pointing to the passport he held in his hand."The stamp on your password says you
arrived yesterday afternoon, less than 24 hours ago.What was the nature of your business and can
you give the name of your contacts?"
of course.I had business with Milan
Jozsef Gosz, the Parliamentary official?He had business dealing with a black Egyptian?"The other asked with raised brows.
business then, huh?And I suppose a record of that meeting with
Mr. Gosz can be found on this laptop?" the Customs agent asked, while
opening up Ishmael’s briefcase for both he and the other Customs officer to
of course." He replied, his voice as cool and sharp as a blade.But then again, he had nothing to fear.10 minutes after the executing his attack on
the bank, he had installed a new standard OS drive, while the incriminating one
now lay destroyed on the bottom of the Danube.
Customs officers stood back and studied him, looking for some clue that might
help determine the truthfulness of his response.Then after a moments pause the one with
Ishmael's computer in hand took the other office aside and they entered into a
seemed a bit uncertain as to whether there was any merit to his claim, but upon
hearing the boarding call for the flight, they returned, giving him back his
computer and passport and simply said,"Yes, sir.Sorry sir, I
apologize for the inconvenience.Please,
I hope your business with Mr. Milan Gosz brings you back often."
boarded the plane, he rolled up his eyes as though he was looking up to the
heavens and whispered, "I owe you Mr. Ra Ebrahim."The recently deceased Egyptian who's identity
he had stolen and now appeared on his passport.
while later he was sitting next to the window in row 3 looking out and thinking
about the other name that had saved his skin.Jozsef Gosz, the name on an account he had hacked the night before.A name he remembered because he was the big
fish with a fat bank book and a "PM," attached to his name.
chuckled.The irony that the man whose
job it was to lock his ass up was the very person responsible for saving his
skin.Plus, he had coughed up 250 grand
of his money.
he couldn’t wait to leave Hungary, but he would be chuckling all the
way to the bank as he did.
following day . . .
few moments between meetings, Cézar Roche had finally found the time to stop by
the Commons canteen for his customary cup of coffee.It was late afternoon and with classroom
study now complete, the fotoball fields were teeming with activity, while
inside the eatery, Cézar found a group of Gangsta Rappers and Ayizan Lord fotoballers relaxing together after a competitive game.
be hard pressed to determine the winner.There was no self-congratulatory banter, no male ego-driven test of
wills gone amok.Instead, they relaxed
leisurely in the lounge enjoying a bottle of Couronne (soda) and snacking on
Papita (plantain) while participating in the school taught convention of Pataje
Kado (gift sharing).
etiquette fostered by the school, "gift sharing" builds bridges where
there previously were none.Providing an
opportunity for groups like the Gangsta Rappers and Ayizan Lords, long time
brothers-at-war, to rise above the animosity and find fellowship in a shared
sense of community.
could take many forms, of course.From
the familiar forms of verbal greetings to the sharing of things they most
valued.Art and narratives to name only
two, but the primary conveyor of the concept was the pod white who lived among
them.If not the most valued possession
they owned, the depository of all of their man-nut certainly had to be their
In truth, the
podboys helped relieve the burden of daily life in countless ways.Their tongues often used as soap and water
when too busy or too lazy to bath their pits and soiled feet of the accumulated
grime.Their sweet young asses often
used as a punching bag to pummel with their cocks to relieve the stress of
What better way to engender the
spirit of fellowship than allowing another to add his nut to the pool already
bottled-up inside your Podboy's cunt,
Cézar mused over the thought while sitting nearby enjoying his cup of java and
watching the boys enthusiastically engaged in the act of sharing their prized
young Colin McGill and Nils Bergman were facing one another bent over at the
waist and intimately entwined in a lip locking embrace.Colin with his spiked blond hair was getting
his much used Irish ass turned inside out, while young Nils was babbling some
half-crazed Nordic chant to some higher authority who might afford him relief from
to admire the boys for enduring as well as they did.But then again, they were exceptional
boys.That is why they were selected
above dozens of completing applicants.Not solely based on their physical beauty, but in addition, they had to
have a need for 'something' more.Something they can only find in their surrender to the suffering they
endure, and without which, fulfillment and release would be lost to them.
It takes a
discerning eye to see that dormant seed in a boy, but when gotten right, they
truly are a beautiful beast to behold.Whether surrendering to a passionate embrace or leaning over and
surrendering to an anal battering until gasping for air, they'd find their
release and cum like a blast out of a 20-millimeter cannon.
could be said of the Haitian Tops (students) who attended.Of course they were exquisite examples of
physical beauty.Of course they were
high achievers, represented the brightest of the bright.But it takes more than good looks and brains
to make a man.It requires the strength,
will and ruthless determination to dominate in all aspects of his life.Whether it is dominating his bitch with his
cock, or fucking his competitors in the corporate world.
the school taught them.The ruthless,
unyielding, no 'holes' barred domination over the competition.A concept masterfully illustrated by the
picture that hung on the wall behind Cézar’s desk.The one showing a ferocious black Doberman
with a bare-toothed snarl, and beneath him, a white male Toy Poodle suspected
mid-air at the end of the dobie's cock - On the
parquet flooring below them both, a puddle of cum and droplets of blood.
said all that need be said, but if he need explain it to an inquisitive
visitor, he’d simply point to the caption below that read:"Think I give a shit!"
the coffee, Cézar?" Professor Tebogo asked as he came up from behind.
hello, my dear friend, how were classes today?"Cézar replied, greeting his fellow Alum.
fine," he muttered while blowing on his steaming cup of coffee, and then
took up a seat alongside Cézar.
young Colin," he adds, taking note of his performance just a few yards
away."He's a fine bitch, but I
swear, the boy seems to be getting denser by the day."
he had a particularly bad day today?"Cézar asked between sips of his coffee.
no, he contributes as best he can.For
instance, this week his class is studying the relative speed and velocity of an
object in motion.30 minutes of lecture
followed by 30 minutes of lab work in which the students are required to design
their own models and measure the results."
the group in which Colin was a member chose to use a Photogate infra-red light
to start and stop a timer.The six
member team then had Colin kneel down on the lab table, set up the timer and
then struck a match under his puss.From
the time it took for the flame to be detected by the infra-red timer to the
moment he screamed out was then measured and compared to those of Mikel
Chastain's performance in the class before."
Colin's case the relative speed was 0.7, or approximating the speed and
velocity of a slug slithering along a horizontal plane.Whereas the relative speed of Mikel Chastain
was 3.82, or approximating that of a bullet.Understand what I mean?"
laughed and shook his head."Yes,
I'm seeing more and more of that in the boy too.Though I confess, his increasingly enfeebled
state of mind does nothing but add to the brilliance of his performance."
he said, with a nod toward Colin who was in the midst of being battered by a
monster of a cock while shooting his own load several feet beyond.
yes, I agree.Of all the Pod whites, I
find him one of the sweeter fucks.In
fact, he's been known to get me off a second time within the hour."
Professor Tebogo continued on with their chat for a time, covering both the
mundane as well as more important school matters.Then a short time later the 'gift sharing'
came to an end, and the boys now satiated, again turned their attentions back
to the great outdoors for yet another game of fotoball.As they linger out they left Colin and Nils
behind to clean up their pusses before again rejoining them on the sidelines to
lead the cheers.
on to the bathroom, Colin was called over to where Cézar and Professor Tebogo
hello, my dear sweet boy,” Cézar greeted him.“Did the 'Tops' feed you enough nut Pâté to satisfy that hungry cunt of
sashayed over with a long strain of that 'nut Pâté' seeping out of his ass,
leaving a slug-like trail in his wake.He leaned down and gave Cézar a kiss on the lips, then took hold of the
napkin Cézar held up for him to take."Clean up you puss, boy."
if you’ll excuse me, I've yet to prepare tomorrows assignments," Professor
Tebogo intruded, as he rose up and extended his hand preparing to depart.
of course, Professor." Cézar took up his hand, and when gone, he again
turned to Colin who was holding out the clothe napkin sopping with the viscous
it on the plate." he told Colin, pointing to an empty plate sitting atop
the table."I'll get you a spoon
and a cherry garnish to go with it soon enough, you hungry cunt.But first my balls are aching just from
watching you bridge the cultural divide with that sweet white Irish ass of
yours, boy.Come unzip my pants."
been slow in response to the flame that lit up his ass, but when it came to
freeing up Cézar's cock, he did it with all the speed of a half-starved
whore.5.2 seconds after being asked, he
had Cézar's cock swaying in mid-air and his pants pulled down to his knees.
fine, now, hop aboard, boy."He
beamed while slapping his bare thigh, his cock standing bolt upright dousing
his navel with pre-cum.
straddled his legs and climbed aboard, again kissing Cézar upon the lips while
lining up his puss to welcome his enflamed cock.
no, boy.Just sit back and do like
this." He took hold of his cock in one hand and Colin’s cock in the
other.Then positioning the boy as he wanted, he pressed their cocks together, belly to belly,
forming a handlebar for Colin to grip and masturbate both cocks as one.
that's one thing I like about you." he panted while pointing to Colin's
rather substantial cock.It was very
impressive, even for a boy of his considerable size."You've got yourself a man-size cock and
the abs that would do a gym-rat proud."
you, sir," Colin cooed, quite taken by the compliment.
well, you ought to be proud.You need be
proud of that nasty snatch of yours too.Never has a Rue Santara streetwalker owned a nastier one."
nodded silently, letting his hands speak for him as he began to stroke their
combined cocks using the pre-cum as lubricant.
yes.Fine, fine, boy, now we can get
comfy, buddy-up, talk man to boy.” he winked with a grin."So tell me, did those Gangsta Rappers
feed you enough 'nut Pâté' to satisfy your appetite?"
sir," he answered, hoping to placate the man just as he hoped to please
used him before, so he knew not to expect an easy ride.But that aside, anything would have been
better than the shellacking his cunt had just taken.Still seeping, swollen and throbbing with
pain, he felt a screw that’d been tightened to tight, and the last thing he
wanted was to rile Cézar.
you like it, boy?Did you like being
treated like shit?"Cézar hissed,
tauntingly, prodding the boy, wanting to tighten that screw still tighter.
Not at all
comfortable with Cézar's sudden change of tone, Colin remained tight
lipped.Instead he put a little extra
effort into soothing the beast.With
both thumbs together, he adjusted the glide path so that his gland was sure to
slide along the sensitive underbelly of Cézar's drooling purplish plum, making
Colin was an artisan when it came to pleasing a man.In fact, Cézar considered his skill set
comparable to the best of whores, man or woman, sauntering down the Rue
Santara.There was a lot to like about
the boy, but what he didn’t like was being played.
shit!Stop playing me, boy!Cézar barked, his face suddenly turned, now
plastered with disdain for the boy he felt was trying to waylay the inevitable.
asked you a fucking question, boy," he scowled, causing his jowls to
redden."You like being treated
like shit on a shoe?"
wavered a painfully long moment, still in struggle with himself.But the battle now long lost, he finally
found the means to gather himself up, and uttered, "I-I-I suppose,
It was a
painfully gut-wrenching admission.But
even as humiliating as it was to say, he know Cézar would never let him be
until he did.
suppose, what kind of fucking answer is that?Come on you fucking slug, cough it up.I know you like the abuse, so man-up, say it!"
"Yes!"He finally admitted, "Yes, I like
it boy. Embrace your Faggot.Like I do,
like your pod mates do, like your fucking daddy once did."
didn't," he wanted it known.
he barked incredulously."Your
daddy didn’t know you were a faggot?If
he didn’t, it was because he was either blind, or a dumber shit than you.”
he knew I was homosexual, but he said it disgusted him, he didn’t embrace
it.He said it was a bad thing and beat
me with a strap, especially after he found out about me and Barry."
finally the good stuff.Come, come,
boy.I want to hear it.Time to bear your soul! Who's Barry?"
was a friend from school.We had
sleepovers all the time.I think I was
9, almost 10, when we started playing around and my father found out."
beat you, boy?"
"Yes!A lot!Anytime he though I was 'acting homosexual'."
Cézar laughed.“What in the hell was that supposed to
mean?Making googly-eyes at some
don't know, but he said he was going to beat it out of me before his
parishioners found out and I bring his live to ruination.He was a pious, religious man.A pastor at Saint Agathus, so he'd beat me
kneeling on the pew with my mom looking on, because, like my father, she
thought homosexually was the gateway to hell.Then when he found out about Mr. Sullivan, I got beat ever worse."
tutor, the retired proctor my father had hired."
daddy was a smart man.He not only had
you tagged as a fag, but a dumb shit too."
not dumb.I got good grades.But my father believed getting good grades
just wasn't good enough for a pastor's son."
you like him, Mr. Sullivan?
There was a
pause. "No!He was mean and nasty
and made me want to vomit.I mean, his
face was cratered with pockmarks, and his nose hooked down like a beak.So, no, I didn't like him, but my father
did.Or at least he did until . .
what, boy, until your papa caught him sucking your cock?"
well, kinda.Actually he was fucking me
when my dad walked into the room."
was the man who took your virgin ass, huh?"
he again turned away."
isn’t it?A pretty boy like you wants to
save his virgin ass for his prince charming and you get busted by an ugly
fucking toad."Cézar chuckled."Did you vomit, spew all over his ugly
he uttered, still looking away.
boy, you learned early all that matters is a man’s cock and balls and not how
he looks.You must have liked him enough
though, because you didn't run off and turned you into a cock loving
he didn't!" he perked back up."Like I said, I always like boys.But with my father always preaching to me about the evils of
homosexually, I guess I was just too afraid to admit it.”
papa knew a homo when he saw one, huh?"
he said he did, but he didn't know Mr. Sullivan was a homosexual.He was a reputable man and I think he thought
Mr. Sullivan was just a retired teacher who was just too ugly to get
course my father told him about what had happened between me and Barry and said
if I didn't behaved or 'acted homosexual' he should punish me on the spot.He even gave him the belt he used on me,
giving him a free hard to use it how ever he wished."
used it too, viciously, for no reason whatsoever.I mean, if I did anything he thought was the least
bit 'fag-like', he'd make me lay naked on the bed with my head down and ass up
with butt cheeks spread so he could strap my anus."
cunt, boy," Cézar interrupted.
my cunt.He'd beat it hard too, telling
me he need beat it to cure my affliction, my homo . . .”
". . .
Your faggot, boy," Cézar again cut in.
my faggot-sexuality.He said he need
beat it out of me.To hurt me, plenty,
all the while telling me that was what faggots deserved.And if I didn't spread out my butt wide enough,
or let go, he'd start the beating all over again.
went on for awhile before he started to fuck me.From then on it was beatings and fucking,
fucking and beatings.'As punishment,'
he'd say.To hurt me because that was
what homosexually was all about.Reiterating my father’s words, that "homosexually only means pain
hurt, a lot, at least at first.But one
day all the pain just kinda just stopped hurting as much.You know, like it had seeped through my skin
and became a part of me.That's not to
say he eased up any.In fact, whenever
my screaming grew less frantic, or the more I came to accept the pain as part
of who I was, he'd beat me all the harder.Even still, I wanted it.Especially the fucking, and the more I wanted him to fuck me, the more
he tried to hurt me because that was what I deserved."
went on until I was almost 16.By then
of course, I couldn't even get hard or cum without his dick up my butt."
because he was fucking me everyday after school, I guess." he added with a
shrug.“Sometimes 2, 3 times a day,
which was okay, I guess, because he fucked me a lot, and I liked it.But the bad side of it was that I had come to
depend on him to make me hard and cum.”
he'd accommodate me, but sometimes he'd just pull out before I could cum.Not because he had lost interest in pummeling
my butt.He hadn't.He did it simply to hear me beg.To sneer at me with loathing, call me
disgusting and that I should be hurting, not enjoying myself.So if I wanted him to put it back in, I'd
first have to beg him to beat the faggot out of me.”
beg, and he'd blister my ass and like a desperately needy drug addict I'd take
it.No matter how hard the strapping I'd
embrace it.No matter how deep his
fisted arm or how big the bottle he managed to stuff up my butt I always got
hard and would cum.In fact, the day my
father walked in and found out about us he had one hand stuck up my ass while
strapping my balls with the other."
Damn boy!Cézar groaned as he bust a nut, his cock
shooting off like a geyser reaching up to coat Colin's face."Whoa!That was one hell of a story, boy," he panted and then sat back to
watch Colin clean his face and lick his hands clean.Colin was smiling, seemingly quite pleased
with himself, though true to form, he hadn’t cum.For that, he needed a cock in his ass and a
whole lot of hurt.
Cézar did like Colin.He was as pretty
boy with a big cock, and with his spiked hair and finely honed muscular frame
he looked a delightful young man-bitch as well.
enjoyed the telling of his story, though in all honesty, it was a story he'd
heard countless times before.In fact it
was a chorus song by all the podded white boys.A song they had learned to sing long before they landed on the Academy's
doorstep, and one of the principle reasons why they were chosen over other
application who wished to attend the school.
they are pretty as shit and love to be fucked too.But there is a difference between loving to
fuck and standing up to the shellacking the pod whites took.To do that requires a different sort of boy -
A boy who could only find the fulfillment in his surrender to the suffering.
what you will.Self-loathing, low
self-esteem or even penance, but whatever you call their gluttony for
punishment, it is the part of their make up that compels them to endure no
matter how severe the torment others dish out.
fault of idiotic parents and a whacked-out, intolerant society," Cézar
seemed to think."Their irrational
beliefs that spawned intolerance and denied them acceptance turning their gay
sons like Colin into punching bags.”
thankfully, not all," he took hold of that one beam of light."Most gays do find love and acceptance
from family and friends, but for the "Podboys" of this world, life
was a never ending cycle of embracing the punishment and the subsequent
suffering they come to associate with making love to another man.(Side note: Just one mans view, spoken by a
man who still carries the scars.)
thought he waved good-bye to Colin as the boy took his much used ass back out
to join the others in his pod, no doubt to be fucked many, many times more
before the day was done.
looked at his watch only then realizing that his next meeting was scheduled to
begin in 30 minutes.He returned his
empty cup to the kiosk, and after thanking the attendant with a handsome tip,
he left the student Commons as he had entered.
On his way
back to his office he was approached by Doctor Dutillet.In one hand he held some papers and in the
other, a jar.
I've been looking for you."He
cried out from a distance, his voice as sour as his manner.The gray haired and perpetually cranky old
man dressed in his lab coat, looked one part the caring doctor and 9 parts the
mad scientist two steps off the deep end.
yes, you have found me. What is it?"
transfer papers for Julian Desjardins." he said as he handed the papers
over and then held up the jar giving it a slight shake."And this is for Bon Mambo
leaned in to give the tightly sealed jar a closer look.“Yes, yes, I’ll see that she gets it,” he
said, then quickly turned back to the documents to account for there
accuracy.“And the paper work, it's
of course.What do you take me
for?" he sounded off."
sorry my friend, I didn't mean to imply . . ."
well, rest assured all the T's are crossed and I's dotted.In fact, young Julian is already on his way
this very moment, all comfy and snug as a bug."
Julian," Cézar smiled on reflection."Such a delectable French treat.I shall miss him."
well, it was his mother, Chloé Desjardins, who requested the transfer not me,”
the doctor responded testily as if in defense.“She said it was just a matter of convenience now that she has taken up
interim residence in Morocco.In Tangiers to be exact!Just a
short flight from her home in Toulouse, and as luck would have it, close enough
to the Ammar Aristide‘s Academy for Boys that its landmark sandstone turrets
can be seen from the villa she resides.”
indeed,” Cézar chuckled.“The cannons
and other munitions are long gone, thankfully, but the battlements themselves
still stand guard.As you know, the
Academy resides behind the very same walls that once housed the notorious El
Azib slave processing center.That
insufferable 17th Century voice from our slave era past that now,
ironically, serves to educate the 1st generation of African boys to
enjoy the privileges of black rule.”
the good doctor summed his thoughts, “from slave to slaver!”
I prefer to think of them as a new breed of Black youths.Boys who are valued more for the superiority
of their intellect and the strength of their character rather than the strength
of their backs!Boys who can be found
throughout the Dark
and to a one, prepared to meet the challenges of the 21st century.”
right, they are prepared thanks to the tools we arm them with,” the doctor
continued to parry. “That’s why we’re here.To Arm these new-world masters of the universe with all weapons they
need to win a seat at the table and always lie down the winning hand.”
course,” Cézar followed, “and to the victor go the spoils.Whether it’s fucking his competitors in the
corporate world, or dominating his bitch with his cock.”
they’re getting one fine bitch in Julian Desjardins, I can testify to
that.Speaking of whom,” the doctor then
thought to ask.“When can we expect his
replacement to arrive?”
moment,” Cézar said curtly.“In fact I’m
heading back to my office now, so if you'll excuse me doctor . . ."
turned to leave, but stopped mid-way to ask Doctor Dutillet something that had
just come to mind.
doc, I almost forgot.Christof Eichel
called me and said something about . . ."
Barber,” the doctor completed his words for him.“The piss ant!” he hissed bitterly, “That
kraut, Eichel, is a fucking madman.”
“Yes, but a
madman I need, complaints I don’t.You
will call him, no?” he asked, hoping to quell the passion.
yeah, but the next time he calls me a quack it’ll be his head in that jar and
not some asinine Vodou mumbo-jumbo!”Angrily the good doctor turned away and stormed off back to his clinic,
mumbling something about black magic and gris-gris as he did.
“Chaos!Fucking chaos,” Cézar muttered to himself before he too turned to leave.
his office and walked over to the brilliant mahogany and glass cabinet that
stood beside his desk.
several dozen jars identical to the one Doctor Dutillet had given him all
exquisitely showcased.Withdrawing a
small gold skeleton key from his coat pocket, he unlocked the cabinet door and
placed the jar alongside the another’s sitting on the
third shelf down.
He took a
moment to insure the label was aligned with the others, then
smiled as he noted the still unsettled, tick-tock sway of the article suspended
in the amber medium.
As he did,
he heard the sound of the vehicle he had sent to pick up Alex Beckett, the new
Podboy to be, coming up the road.He
hurried closed the cabinet door and stepped out onto the adjoining balcony to
watch the young man step out of the vehicle, while the driver collected his
bags before escorting him inside the building.
thought the boy looked every bit as sweet and lovely as the boy he saw attached
to Ishmael’s cock in the picture.Again
he smiled to himself.Then upon hearing
the approaching footsteps coming down the hall, he stepped back into his
office.His stride, hurried and heavy
caused the cabinet to rattle, while inside the cabinet, the disturbance caused
the rows of restless li'l bobs inside the neatly aligned jars to sway in unison
to the ticking of the office clock.
please come in," he called through the door.
clerk walked in.“The new boy has
arrived, Monsieur Roché.Should I send
him to the clothiers first?”
Pascal, the usual engagement attire, and send Fedji to see me as soon as
New Obeah Boy
was late for a meeting.He parked his
van in the space reserved for him outside the PEC Telecom building then
hurriedly dashed in the building still straightening his tie.
later a maintenance man dressed in coveralls and carrying a broom came up
alongside Dieter’s parked van.Slowly he
began to sweep around the vehicle while whistling a tone.Periodically he would pause, wipe his brow
and look about him as if to see who might be looking.Then standing alongside the passenger side
door, he pulled out a snap gun and bumped the lock, unlocking the door.
inside, he quickly did the same to the lock on the Red Box attached to the
floorboard.As the box popped open he
retrieved the folder stamped PEC Telecom Logistics Keys, and then slowly left
the scene, whistling, just as he had entered.
evening Ishmael sat at a desk in a closed Insurance office somewhere in Munich.In front of him sat his laptop, the modem plugged into the phone
line.On his screen the digits scrolled
passed for a short minute and then came to a stop, displaying the numbers he
sought on top of the screen.
was on the internet while typing a letter on the Word processor when Ishmael’s
program managed to weasel its way though his desktop firewalls to log into his
computer, all while the unsuspecting Mr. Gosz continued to type away.
It was a
crowded environment to be sure, but hardly a problem for an old hack like
Ishmael.Inside of five minutes he had
downloaded over a thousand documents from his computer without a hitch in his
giddy up.It took but a minute more to
scan the documents he had retrieved to find the one he wanted.Aptly named, “passwords,” ten accounts were
listed, including the password that would give him access to his Majosi Bank,
It was a
cold, grizzly night, the air heavy in advance of the coming autumn
snowfall.Standing outside the Oley
hotel, Ishmael was waving down a cab.“Munich International, bitte” he told the driver.Then as the black Mercedes’ cab sped off down
Babrielstube, he checked his watch.From
the moment he’d entered the Dasute Insurance agency to entering the cab, it had
taken him one hour to the minute to pocket over a two hundred and ninety grand.
at the Baptiste du Pre International boys Academy . . .
Roché, “Votre nouvelle tepette, (your new fag)!" Pascal
announced, and then swung open the door to make room for Alex to pass with
Fedji's hand attached to his ass.
ki tepette vle di?"
(What means tepette)” Alex whispered off to the side so Fedji
might hear.“Bèl dèyè (great ass),”
Fedji replied with a lie, only one wrapped around a smile as sugar sweet as the
boy in his grasp with the irresistible ass.
hardly still his heart, and for good reason.Fedji was nothing if not written into the definition of masculine
beauty.Tall, lean and agile as a
gazelle, the 19 year old coal black Haitian looked the perfectly honed
machine.Then give that machine a face
that gave meaning to, “drop dead gorgeous”, and you know why Alex felt taken,
lost to himself, unaware of everything outside the feel of Fedji’s hand putting
the squeeze on his ass.
until Fedji came to a stop and Alex again felt grounded and painfully aware of
Cézar’s eyes dressing him down and seemingly out of what little he wore.No swank black tie, no undies, just a the
pretense of a uniform comprised of a sleeveless khaki shirt sizes too small
that exposed his navel, and a pair of khaki shorts cut shorter yet.Cut so short the crotch seam crowded his
balls, and so high up his hips that half of his plump white ass hung out on
full public display.
of dress, or undress, left him feeling shamefully bare, near naked, and when he
came to stand in front of Cézar’s desk, he fidgeted anxiously, not knowing what
to do with his hands, or about the stiffened length of cock peeking out from
beneath those horrendously brief shorts.
your new pod-mate might like you, Fedji,” Cézar chuckled, glancing at that
little stiff prick, while Fedji, salivating like a half-starved wolf, again
took hold of Alex to pinch his ass hard, as if he were pinching a dug-in tick
off a dog.
“Ahh, shit!” Too hard, too hard,” Alex screeched, while undaunted,
Fedji reached down to pinch the other cheek as well.Then with an excruciating twist of his wrist,
Fedji’s dug-in nails pulled those cheeks far enough apart to unearth his sweet
virgin puss cozily nestled inside.
“Ummm!” Fedji inhaled a
he beamed, then licked his lips as if savoring his soon-to-be coming treat.
very sweet,” Cézarsmiled in kind, then
turned to the tearful boy who, in his anguish, was rubbing his bum where
Fedji’s hard pressed nails hadperforated
Cézar gave a fuck, and the odious smirk he wore said as much.In truth, he’d much rather be drinking a
cupful of his tears than pretending he cared one damn bit.But, there was a process and decorum he
needed to follow, elsewise this whole damn cockamamie social experiment under
his reign might come unglued.
"Gade!Sa a se
kèk coco byen. (Look! this is some fine pussy),” a thoroughly
aroused Fedji called out through the ruckus.
A, drenaj la pafè pou zozo mwen (class A, the perfect drainpipe for my
cock!)he chuckled and began to rhythmically
bump & grind against Alex’s half-bare ass as if to fuck it.
he likes you, Cézar smirked.He says
you’ll make a very good friend.Which is
quite good for you given he’s a head Top.But more importantly, he’s the head Top of the Obeah Pod in which you are to
be wed.His English is not so good, but
he’s a fine fellow and I'm told, quite the heartthrob,” he winked, smiling
asked, his brows gathered, looking bewildered.
in a manner of speaking.We are one big
happy family.You might think of Fedji
as the papa, your pod mates as you brothers.That would include the fellows who reside outside your pod as well.In other words, all two-hundred boys who
attend this school are your brothers.Understand?”
so.We’re a family!” Alex nodded,
following the logic, the tension in the air lessened a bit.
“Good!Now, as a member of our happy family it is
your job is to make sure everyone is satisfied with your contribution to the
group.In other words, no grumpy
faces!As the saying goes, 'A sad puss
makes bad juju,' something that pisses off the Lwa, and what you are here to
prevent.We call it, helping to bridge
the cultural divide.Papa Legba calls it
“How you do
that is quite simple.You do it by
sharing what you have to give.Reason
being, sharing builds bridges, and in return, your brothers will share with you
all they have to give in abundance.We
call that gift sharing.Papa Legba calls
that a repa kontan (a happy meal), and trust me, there’s nothing he likes
follow?” he asked and Alex acknowledged with a nod, though with a very
confounded look.His mind a mesh of
disconnected threads and worries over bad juju, happy meals and now he had Papa
Legba to worry about too.
“Good.Now, like in any household, there are always
rules you must obey.In your house there
are only 3.You must always love, honor
and obey your brothers.Simple!Follow the rules and you will not only avoid
conflict, but learn the value of fellowship within the broader community as
suppose,” he shrugged, more in the way of appeasement than understand a damn
word of it.
to worry, you’ll learn fast enough.If not,
don’t come crying to me.Every pod is
responsible for governing themselves.No
oversight, no intervention.Likewise,
you alone must meet the challenges using only the tools you have at your
nodded, though still not understanding and again feeling a tad restless he
ventured a quick look around taking note of a small, characterless doll, a djab
(a wild spirit) sitting beside a pin cushion atop his desk.It didn't take much to make the connection,
knowing as he did that in the hands of some, even a
tiny straight pin can be mightier than the sword.
“Huh!Well, just remember.Don’t come crying to me, or Papa Legba
neither, because sure as shit happens, some sèvitè (a servant) is going take
umbrage and stick a pin in your eye and another up your raggedy-doll ass,”he said with an icy glare while pointing at
you know what is expected.As for what
else to expect, Fedji will see to it you are branded with your Obeah tattoo
his eyes spiraled up in panic mode.
course, it's a symbol of group affiliation, a source of pride that unites them
together as brothers."
he then called out, "show Alex your Obeah tattoo!”Which Fedji promptly did, wearing that same
shit-eating grin as he stepped forward and rolled his sleeve up over the ball
of his shoulder.
penned in an array of colored inks, was a picture of a Cobra coiled around a
huge cock with a hefty set of balls hanging beneath.The snake's eyes glowed
a dark, piercing yellow, while his forked tongue danced among the droplets of
creamy white cum that rained down in an umbrella-like spray from above.
dumbstruck, his mouth gapping, noticeably disturbed by the sight of that
isn’t it?” Cézar looked on admiringly.As did Fedji, his face lit up with pride. It was as though wearing that
symbol of belonging to the Obeah brotherhood made him a part of something
bigger than himself.The logical side of
his brain couldn't grasp the importance of that to him.But to the boy still hiding in the closet in
fear of discovery, seeing Fedji's expression of pride in something so
demonstratively gay was nothing short of a transformative statement.A declaration to all that unlike him, Fedji
was not, and would never be a boy in hiding.
what he saw written on Fedji's face.Empowerment!That 'something
bigger' that gave him license to wear his pride on his sleeve.The free, liberated part of him that had
already captured Alex's heart, but now, made him impossible to say no to -
ghastly tattoo and all!
renmen (You like)?" Fedji smiled hungrily, while eyeing the
new boy, his boy, who was about to make the evening meal.Licking his lips, he immediately proceeded to
ball up his fist and then, leaning in, he began to flex his tattooed arm at a
rhythmic pace.And along with that
curling forearms rise and fall, his sleeve-busting,
tattooed bicep would rapidly swell and deflate, swell and deflate, and swell
yet again to the size of a newborns head.To Alex, the
stunning display of those fierce guns was nothing less than spellbinding.To Fedji, it was all just step one in a
head-game meant to impart his absolute dominance over his boy.
touché! (touch-touch)!Ou renmen (you like), Huh?" Fedji leaned closer in
and nudged Alex, encouraging him to feel the tightness of his bulging bicep.
yes, Fedji," Alex responded to the nudge and began to run his fingers over
top that massive ball of flesh as asked and thought he'd hate, but instead felt
an undeniable feeling of adoration.A
sort of hero worship, the kind that rendered him purblind to all but the beauty
he saw beneath that ghastly tattoo.Then
too, there was his smile.It was one of
those 'think-I-give-a fuck' smiles, a boastful, prideful smile, the kind that
said all that need be said about who, and what he was.The kind of smile Alex loved, and again, made
Fedji impossible to say no to.
big," he said of the massive bicep he felt beneath his fingertips, ".
. . and hard, and, and . . . beautiful!" He softly whispered.
it is beautiful," Cézar beamed, obviously quite pleased."That stamp means everything to your
Obeah brothers.It's the stamp that
binds them.Like a ring bonds husband to
wife.A leash bonds a pet to his
master.Now, if you wish to bond with
your Obeah brothers a simple yes will do to confirm your commitment."
“I – I -
I," Alex stammered, while he shuffled about uneasily after having just
come to the realization that his praise for that pumped up bicep had been
mistaken for his love for that tattoo, something he'd not intended.
pick up on the boy’s reluctance, Cézar, leaned in and gazed as if to warn.“I
wouldn’t go hem-hawing around too much.The tattoo worn by the Ogun Pound shows a dog fucking his bitch.Only this particular bitch has got a nice
pair of balls, and he’s fucking his bitch in his ass.Get the picture?”
gasped, the sound of his alarm muffled by his hands and, a moment later, cut
short by Cézar’s follow up to drive his point home.“Personally, I fine the Obeah Pod tattoo far
more pleasing to the eye.Something any
boy would find an honor to wear, don’t you?” he offered him an out from the
hole he’d dug for himself.
“Oh!Yes, yes I do,” he sighted in relief, more
than happy to avoid falling into a deeper pit.“I would love to wear it, err, well, I mean, if I must . . . I mean, if
Fedji wants . . . I guess,” he managed, this time without the dithering.
"Yes, Fedji wants," Cézar replied, pointedly."Of course you won’t be wearing your tat
on the ball of the shoulder like Fedji.That's his place of strength, his sweet spot, much valued by the
Gatekeeper, Papa Legba.But don’t you
worry.Your pod mates will find your
sweet spot.Am I right, Fedji?” he asked
with a conspiring wink and a nod.
“Wi mesye ,Mwen jwenn ”(Yes
sir, I find),” he beamed, grabbing his crotch, “ak zozo mwen (. .
. with my cock !)” he quickly followed in a voice ripe with
expectancy.His face lit up with
excitement for the feast he was about to enjoy.Then licking his lips he again latched on the Alex’s ass, only now with
both of his coal-black hands to knead those fleshy pink cheeks as a baker would
attack a large ball of dough.
Cézar sat back a moment to watch the love birds begin to explore the
perimeters of their budding relationship.It was a heartening sight, but when he saw Fedji press his thumbs down
deep into that ball of dough to broachhis sweetheart’s tight virgin puss, he thought
it best to re-establish control before losing it altogether.Especially when he saw those hard pressing
thumbs begin to stretch open that sweet puss full wide.
“Ahem!” he cleared his throat to gain their attention just as Alex’s
greatly expanded puss had reached its insufferable elastic limit.
“Ahem!”“Ahem!” he tried yet
again to get their attention, catching Fedji just as he spat a load of phlegm
down the chute to grease the skids.
“Ah-hem!” he sounded off annoyed.“Boys, boys, Please!Allow me to finish!”
On that note Fedji quickly unhooked his thumbs from his sweetheart’s
ass and Alex hurriedly tried to put his unraveled self back together.
“Good!”“Now then, have you any
Y-y-yes headmaster, sir," Alex muttered once put back in order, though
still suffering the pangs of a slackened puss.
"Wi, chica, what is it?”
"I ah, well, I was just wondering, you know,” He fidgeted and
continued to mutter.“Well, ah, I mean,
these shorts!They’re too short,” he
squirmed about, still tugging down on that frightening short length of fabric
that left more bare than it covered.“I mean, look,” he sighed out of
exasperation, pointing toward Fedji and the smart khaki uniform that made him
look quite the stunningly attractive Boy Scout.
Cézar heaved a
sigh of his own.“Fucking dimwit!” he
thought to himself, “The kid thinks we’ve dress him up like a trollop
because we wanted him style himself after Fedji?Dumb shit!”It’s as thought the boy hasn’t a clue as to
why he’s here.
Of course he
knew from all Ishmael had told him that Alex was a perfect fit.He was frustrated and tired of having to live
in secrecy and wanted to be free to express himself here.And, given his history with Toussaint,
Bernardo, Puma andSalvandieu
before them, he was a boy who needed to be here.But more importantly, he was a clever lad,
not at all like the dumb shit who was asking if he could dress like Fedji.In his mind, the pieces just didn’t fit
there he stood with his hands cupped over top of his little stiff prick to hide
from view what shamed him, while just millimeters away from his hands, a long
strand of Fedji’s spittle dangled down from out his puss like a wad of cum
seeping out a whores cunt.The contrast
between the two images was laughable, and him as clueless as he looked.
Dumb shit, Clueless, all apt descriptions as far a Cézar was concerned.But in the final analysis, it hardly
mattered.Pod whites weren’t sought
after for their smarts.They were here
to be fucked, as Alex was going to be whether dressed like the bitch with a
dick or a dumb shit who hadn’t a clue.From now on his mode of dress will be
determined by those who used him and how he was used, but dressed like
Fedji?Oh, No!That was but a dream.Perhaps, if lucky, he might be given enough
cover to impede the flies looking to feast on the nut juice leaking out from
his ass.Or, if he was really, really
lucky, he might be given something “a bit more imaginative to wear,” he
played with the thought.“Perhaps
something even more basic,” or conversely, “Something soft and flowy,
lacy and pink to match his complexion"
He was in
the midst of conjuring up one of the many forms that “something soft and
flowy” might take, when he heard Alex utter a soft cry.Refocusing his attention back on Fedji, he
saw the pinch-hold he had on Alex’s ball sac; a particular sensitive place that
had fallen from beneath the cover of Alex’s hands.With his dug-in nails, Fedji had pinched,
pulled and stretched his ball sac down until stretched threadbare, the room
light filtered through, highlighting the orbs within.
expected, Fedji was bubbling with glee, while Alex looked in excruciating pain,
and perhaps too, a bit taken by Fedji, that heartthrob in khaki who had put the
hurt of his puss and was now breaking his balls, but as yet, still his heart.
Alex’s response encouraging.Although it
wasn’t a definitive statement, it did speak well to his resignation and
acceptance of who and what he was, and why he was here.But to be sure, he felt it was his to probe a
bit further . . .
snorted.“You do know why you’re here,
sir, for school,” he tried his best to soldier-up even while Fedji was turning
his nuts to mush.
right boy, to be schooled, just like I told your mama.But, as I told her, turning a boy into
well-rounded man takes more than chalk on a blackboard.There’s a lot more to it, like character
building and helping a boy acquire a skill set that will garner respect from
his peers.Let’s take Fedji for
example.A boy destine to command
legends, he will not only learn tactical warfare, but how to inspire others
with his commanding presence, both on and off the battlefield.The smart uniform he is wearing reflects
that, and why they are required wear for all the Tops.”
you, a boy with a slightly less commanding presence, needs to be taught from a
slightly different playbook; one that teaches alternate approaches to conflict
on the battlefield.A situation in which
a more aggressive boy would charge into the fight fist flying, while you, in
your more servile manner will do what you must to placate the savage
beast.And just like Fedji, your uniform
reflects that, and why the light, airy, sweet confection you have on is
required wear for all you pod-boys.”
that’s not to say the rules are so etched in stone as to not allow certain
alterations.Not all boys sport the same
tastes.I recall one particular
modification that was approved to suit the Rasta Bosses, and indeed, the added
rear zipper to TomásRicci’s shorts did improve accessibility.The strategically placed zipper with its
easy pull slider has since become an approved modification for all.”
“Here,” he said
as he leaned down to reach into the bottom desk drawer to find a file. “I’ve a
picture of the arrangement to show you should you have an interest.”
had time to locate the file when Alex began to whimper.His voice, quavering and shrill, was enough
to alert him something of interest was a brew.Looking up, he could see that Fedji had managed to capture one of Alex’s
balls between his fingers, and now pinched off, the grossly extended ball
bulged out an angry red courtesy Fedji’s rapid fire blows with the palm of his
hand.With each wet sounding thud on
that protruding ball, Alex shrieked and shook in agony, while Fedji, all
smiles, lorded over his boy . . .
gen goumen kont li boy-bouzin.
((Don't fight it bitch boy), he chuckled, he swat, “Bam!”. . .and Alex, “Aieee!”
rann tèt nou ba a doulè, (Give in, surrender to the pain.)” he spat, he
whacked, “Pow!. . . and
pote ou plezi,” (It will bring you pleasure !!!) . . .”
It was a
brutally painful assault on the boy’s balls, one worth remembering.But it was the look on Alex’s face that truly
captured his attention.While his tears
flowed like rain and his lips trembled like jello, his smile, even as twisted
in agony as it was, never faltered.
yes, that’s it!”Cézar softly purred, “That’s the
boy Ishmael told me about.”It was
his first true look into the inner gears and levers that compelled the boy to
offer his ass up to Ishmael on that night flight to Miami.The boy who came to embrace the pleasures once he’d given in and
surrendered to the pain.
the boy Ishmael saw, and now he did as well.Aboy struggling to endure the
suffering, but in his unfaltering smile he saw a boy who was where he wanted to
be, needed to be, or the pleasure and ultimate release (thanks to Fedji’s cock)
would forever be lost to him.”
boy,”Cézaruttered, “Very good!,” he followed with a moan as he sat back to watch
Fedji spin his magic to win the boy over with his irresistible mix of masculine
beauty and all consuming power.The
power to bring on the sweet torture that boys like Alex would’ve walked over a
hot bed of coals just to offer their ass up to him.
Alex he hadn’t to suffer the blistering feet.Still in all, when you take into account Fedji’s merciless treatment of
his balls and the outflow of tears, you can see the distance he would have done
just to please Fedji.And given the
hardness of his little stiff prick due to the pain, or, despite the pain, Cézar felt certain the boy was
ready.Just as ready as he so sure that
the boy would’ve offered up his ass in a flash had he asked Fedji to fuck him
right here, right now.Once more, he
would have done so in his servile way, doing what ever he must to placate that
savage beast no matter the tears – no matter the pain!
“Well then, since you no further questions,” Cézar said, once sitting back upright
in his chair.“I think it’s time to bring
this chatter to and end.”
“But. . .” Alex tried to cop a
plea once Fedji had relinquished his hold of his tortured ball, now swollen,
blistered and throbbing in pain.
“Enough, boy,” he chided with a sudden change in his tone.“I’ve heard it, and I’ve told you, your
uniform is required ware.And since you
haven’t expressed an interest in the approved alternative we discussed, that
concludes our discussion.Besides, I see
no reason not to like them.Fedji surely
does as do I, and I know your pod mates will be all smiles once they see
them.So I think it’s past the time for
you to man-up and stop the sniveling!” he spat, airing hisexacerbation
with a swipe of his hand.His way of
telling the new Obeah pod cum-sop that his sweet ass was about to make his
brethren a very happy meal, easy
glide rear zipper or not!
called. “Se Grandè l 'pare?” (Is ‘His Greatness’ ready).
“Wi, Mesye (Yes sir),” Fedji buoyantly beamed
before stepping back to give himself room to pull down his shorts.Then, once done, Cézar immediately began to prompt
Alex to turn about so he could embrace the sight of ‘Se Grandè’
did, wearing the same fidgety smile he had worn throughout and until the moment his eyes met up with “Se
in disbelief.With his eyes spiraled up and
feet glued to the floor, he stared in awe at that monstrously long slab of
black meat. Thick as a wrist and bloated with a full pint of blood, the god-damn
monster lolled heavily
30 degrees to the vertical like a foot-long black snake - A deadly, merciless
black snake without a hint of mercy on his face.
“Bo, Bo (kiss, kiss),” Fedji spoke with an utterly
insistent voice, “Ak lang (with tongue),”
he followed through grit teeth, trying as he might to keep that black snake in
check.While Alex, compliant to a
degree, did as he was told.Lowering
his lips he kissed that colossal one-eyed Cyclops on the forehead.Then, extending his tongue outward, he did
for that restless beast just as he had for Ishmael, Toussaint, Bernardo, Puma
and Salvandieu before him - with lots of tongue!
“Good boy,” Cézar all but purred.“Meet your new master, boy.Kiss him!Lick him!Worship Se Grandè (His Greatness)!Your NEW GOD” !!!!
On that, Fedji pulled young Alex up and pressed in close.With his cock pressing up against his lover’s
sternum, he wrapped his arms around him and grabbed hold of his ass.Then, without so much as a hint of a warning,
he shoved three long, fat fingers straight up his ass driving him up atop his
“Ahh-Eee!” Alex squealed, while
Fedji, consumed by his hunger, lowered his head and devoured him with his
lips.His tongue probing deep, he
feasted on his new boy until getting his fill, he withdrew his tongue and began
licking the length of his face.From
lips to his brows in one long wet swipe, like a lion licking his cub.
breathless, like a kite caught by a breeze and lost in a spin.And when Fedji pulled him by the hand out the
door, it was as though the kite was sent windborne, blown down a path that led
to . . . that led to . . .“
Fedji!Where are we going?”Alex called out, winded, coming to a sudden
stop in route to the Obeah pod.
go?" he managed, struggling though his rudimentary grasp of
the language.“Go?Go pod!Bed!Come, come, U’s go!”
Fedji,” he felt himself pulled along again by that fierce wind that refused to
let go of his hand.Over the red clay
path etched between the barbed Catsclaw and Bloodberry, until . . .
. . .
Until, they approached the courtyard that fronted the hut where twenty black
Haitian boys from Grand ‘Anse stood waiting bare ass naked.Cheering and strutting around with bloated
cocks slightly curved up and swaying heavily like long leathery elephantine
tann, ou tann! (you wait, you wait !)”Fedji shouted at them, one hand waving wildly
above his head as he carved a path through toward that red clay hut, pulling
Alex along inside.With Alex in tow, he
raced across a sitting room, passed a study and into the billets lined with its
rows of beds.Behind them, a long line
of walking, talking, bloated cocks followed, waiting,
“Fedji!Is this where I sleep?”Alex
asked, his eyes wide, his mouth ajar, staring into what surely had to be his
worst imagining come true.
he asked, turning over the pages of the English text etched in his head.“Wi (yes), U’s sleep,” he said once he’d
found the word.“Aprè!
(After!),” he then thought to add, grinning.Then he wrapped Alex up and hoisted him up over a shoulder, carrying him
like a sack over to the closest bed, where upon he dropped him, belly down ass
“Ou rete (You
stay)," Fedji huffed, hurriedly removing his Khaki shorts while
the others gathered round and Alex, again blown by that fierce wind was set
adrift amidst a sea of bloated black Haitian cocks and the near riotous
shouting, back slapping, fist-bumps, et al.
One part of
him wanted to fight against that stiff breeze, get to his feet and run, run,
run.But there was another part of him
too.The part of him that had seen
Fedji's face when showing him that tattoo.The pride he felt in belonging to something bigger than himself.It was that pride that empowered him and what
Alex 'loved' about him - and again, why he couldn't say no to him then, just
like he couldn't say no to him now.
and fist bumps abound when Fedji stuffed a pillow under him to prop up his ass
and then spread his legs before hopping abound.He placed one hand on the small of Alex's back and with the other, he reached down and grabbed hold of the crotch seam
that ran between Alex's parted legs.With a tug, he pulled the fabric up and out, and then with a crazed
grin, he leaned down and ripped the fabric apart with his fucking teeth!In one ferocious chomp he had opened up an
expressway to his asshole.
huge gleaming white choppers of his weren’t done yet.The young lion had his prize, but now feeling
the need to taste him as well, he opened his mouth full-wide and bit down on a
meaty chunk of his ass.
Shit!!!What are you doing?What are you doing?” Alex wailed.His cheeks wet with his tears, his eyes
darting wildly around the room - Watching as those around cheered, and pointed
at to the red embossed imprint of all 32 teeth smiling back up of them.
“Do-ing?” Fedji asked as he ran though the
list of verbs running through his head.“I did-he does, I, ah, I . . . yes!I do!” he beamed.“I do fuck!Fedji fuck you butt g-o-o-o-o-d.” He beamed,
as he slapped his huge cock atop his ass.Then spreading his cheeks he again hawked up a wad and split on his
everyone is watching?” Alex screeched like a cat on fire, searching for
something, anything to escape the pain he knew was coming.
Naruto, he watch!” He called out the name, “Naruto he
fuck butt tou (too)!” he followed with a fist-bump and a chortle from the
slugger swing his long black, thick-vained bat against Alex’s ear.
“Naruto?” Alex cried, the anguish written in
his eyes.“No, no . . .”
“Wi, wi (Yes, yes), and Fidèle, Alphé, Najac”
he calls out the names of those standing close in, with a fist-bump and a “bro”
following each “. . . and Mathieu, and Olgues, and Jean-Claude, and Mookie . .
. tout (all) Top’s fuck podboy butt.U’s
like.U’s wait.”He giggled, as he busily aligned his cock up
with Alex's tight, unbroken hole, and then without so much as tease, he grit
his teeth and drove down with all his weight, slamming that hefty slab of meat
half way to the balls in one fell swoop.
“Ahhh!Ow, ow OOooo . . ”
“A perfectly honed machine!”That’s how Alex thought of him, and you only need see him in motion, in
beast mode, to know how true that was.
his ass, his thoroughly ripped back muscles were as exquisitely sculpted as any
Lachasie male form cut from black marble.Hard, smooth, sinuous, his long striated muscles uniformly swelled and
tightened the length of him as though one solid propulsion machine designed
with one purpose in mind.To provide the
torque and power to drive his cock up that sweet boy’s ass with all the
precision of a Porsche power train.Vroom!
him he did.Hard, unrelenting, 60 plus
RPM per minute, every fucking stroke balls deep, then back up that 78mm (3”)
wide bored out cylinder for 10 . . . 12 . . .15 minutes, a 3 mile sprint
without pause.Alex shrieked, sweat
flew, the bed rocked nonstop and until he roared like a god damn madman busting
Fidèle hoped aboard to continue where Fedji had left off, starting the instant
Fedji stepped around to have his cock licked clean.
no less relentless, no less fierce.With
his cauliflower ear and the face of a fourth rate boxer he wasn't exactly
someone to write home about, but man could the brute fuck.His huge low hanging balls bounced off his
ass like a cue ball off a cushion, while his massive thigh and gluteus muscles
rhythmically thumped – thumped - thumped like a tribal drumbeat.
hard, his manner as brutish as a rutting Doberman, and buried beneath him,
Alex.The small white poodle who
struggled just to hold on, and then as that breeding black bull bust his nut up
his lily white ass, he too came like a geyser venting a gusher of steam.
Then it was
Pascal’s turn to go for the deep plunge; followed by Mathieu, then Alphé and
then the lineup that followed until the break of dawn.The moment Ishmael walked in to see how young
Alex had fared.He found all of them
asleep, and in the middle was Alex with a cock still in his ass, one in each
hand and a puddle of nut-juice pooled on the floor.But more importantly, he found him as he knew
he would - With a contented look etched on his face!
and thought to come back later, and perhaps, if he was lucky, catch a piece of
his sweet ass before they served it up for dinner.
Fedji rang the bell.
way Brotha Tops.Succulent white podboy
ass with taters and peas . . .”
8:New Bride, Same Old Tricks
Weeks late . .
Cézar entered the AntonBolivarBuildingwith notebook in hand to
begin his daily stroll.In his administrative capacity it
was his job to observe and provide feedback to the professors on what he saw
that was working and what wasn’t.As he
entered he was immediate struck by the sounds of boys busily engaged in their
studies, and other than the occasional squeal coming from a overtaxed podboy,
everything was exactly as he’d come expect.He was also happy to see that the chairs placed outside each classroom door were their usually hub of
activity, with one podboy or another sitting atop the lap of a pod mate to
either empty his bloated balls or rid him of his piss.
As he looked down the hall he could see that all but 1 of the podboys were busily giving it their all to relieve their pod mates
of their load.And by the sound of the
grunts, groans and sights of relief, they looked to be performing their daily
duties quite well.
Down at the end of the hall he saw Jean Baptiste shaking his drained
dick over Markus Müller’s mouth, while upfront and immediately to his right he
saw BudrySelassie sitting outside the door to Professor Trumbo’s Physics
class.The head top of the Rasta Bosses, the burly black
Rastafarian was doing his best to pulverizeMateo
Conti’s ass.It was a brutal assault to
the tune of pounding flesh and the clank-clank-clanking of his long beaded
dreads slapping up against the wall behind.Each violent thrust of those massive thighs sent the 19 year Italian
flying right along with those long stains of colorful beads.
to admire Mateo for holding up as well as he did.But then again, that’s why he was here.Like all the pod-whites, he was an
exceptional boy.Not just because he was
as gorgeous a boy to ever grace the halls, but more importantly, because within
him lived a hunger for the sense of fulfillment he felt after a good dicking
and a rapturous cum.
The same could be said of Lucas Carpè who sat on the opposite side of
the hall outside Professor Bastien's door.On his knees, he was snorting out remnants of Rojé Pierre’s junk that
gummed up his nostrils all to the ire of the Ghetto Blades head top.
“Damn it, boy,” Rojé said with a huff, while busily toying with a
sticky mix of cum and snot that was ran like molasses from out his nose.“This mess belongs in your belly along with
the rest of the slop, not painting my nuts.”
Cézar felt a bit dishearted by the sight of the mess.But by the same token he could also see from
the sight of his bloated belly that he’d had a busy day.And while he was pleased to see the
belly-bump, he didn’t like finding him looking a shade of blue, a sure sign
oxygen deprivation resulting from the blotched throat fuck.
Needless to say Cézar felt a tad perturbed to find him off his game,
although it didn’t change his opinion of the boy.Lucas’s bungled throat fuck aside, he
remained one of his favorites.Obviously not so much for his oral skills as it was his nipples that
protruded out from his lean chest like two reddish-brown acorn caps.In that regard he was a wonder to behold and
thought about walking over to tweak one of those delectable girlish knobs when
he heard Fedji’s voice coming from further on down the hall.
Looking that way he saw Mookie (aka Cassius Bunja) with Alex in hand
and Fedji dancing around them throwing jabs like a boxer shadow boxing before a
looked as serious as a bull of the rampage, the fact that those jabs weren’t
landing and delivered one handed, made it quite evident that something else had
to be in the mix.A notion
further cemented in his mind by the fact that Fedji’s other hand was putting
the squeeze on his crutch as if needing to piss.
“Vin sou, frè.
Tanpri! (Come on, my brother.Please!!)Mwen gen yo Piss.
(I gotta Piss.Bad.)”
Of course, everyone knew there were toilets just down the hall for him
to use should he actually prefer a porcelain pot to pee in.Just as they felt quite certain Fedji, the
prankster, was simply putting on a show to either spoof the Professor or to
impress his mates.Either way it made
little difference to Mookie.It was his
turn to use their pod-white and wasn’t about to give him up.
“La med! (Fuck you!),” Mook growled back.
“Mballes mi yo plen epi Pete yon ekrou.” (my
balls are full n’ I got’ta pop me a nut, so get out of my face!)se
konsa jwenn soti nan figi m '!”
As the two would-be combatants looked all too ready to go at it, Cézar
hurriedly dashed off to front Fedji.Only by the time he had arrived Professor Gordo was already there
standing between them, looking rather angry and nose to nose with Fedji.
“Boy!” he said to him with a gaze that could punch nails through steel,
“You got to piss, then go use the porcelain pot!Otherwise get back to your studies!”
Getting the message, Fedji threw up his hands and with a sheepish grin
returned to his seat.While his
classmates, very much in tone with the prank he’d just tried to pull on Mookie,
were rolling on the floor in hysterics.
“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” Cézar chuckled, pointing toward Alex
dressed as he was in those abbreviated shorts that were now minus the seam that
ran down the crotch thanks to Fedji’s gleaming white choppers.“So what happened here, professor?”
“Ah, well, I apologize for that.”
“No, no, no apology necessary,” Cézar followed, taking note of the fact
that his balls, his dick, were now free to flap in the breeze.“It’s just his mother will be visiting and I
was just wondering whether we need the tailor craft him another pair.”
“Hum, well, for a visiting mother I suspect adequate covering would be
in order regardless, out of decency if nothing less.But with regard to the torn seam, I’m told we
have Fedji to blame for that.Apparently
during last night’s inaugural bedding he had some impulse control issues.”
“Oh?” Cézar query while surveying the damage, taking note of the
embossed impression of all 32 teeth midway up the swell staring back up at
him.“Well, professor, you know how he
gets once he has his mind set of something.”
“Of course, I deal with it everyday.He’s either mellow as a cello or as excitable as a kid stuffed with cake
demanding still more.Frankly, I just
wish there was a better way to quell the beast than just feeding him more red
meat,” he said, throwing up his arms in exasperation.“I mean, this is the third pod-white Fedji
has gone through since his arrival two years ago.”
Cézar chuckled, “Yes, well, Fedji isn’t the only occupant in the Obeah
pod to rut his ass you know.On that
account the queue is quite long.But
whatever the demand, he wouldn’t be out there if I didn’t think he was up for
it.He’s taller and far more robust than
his predecessor, Julian, and in my opinion, should hold up fare better over the
long run.Plus, Alex has alot to offer,
the least of which is a tasty prime cut American rump roast for his mates to
“But yes,” Cézar then thought to add, “I know how excitable Fedji can
get.I’m sure the unmanageability
quotient must be maddeningly off the charts.Nonetheless, to me, it’s in that madness where great things lie.I’m certain you can appreciate that,
“You’re expecting great things from a boy who still speaks English on a
primary level after two years of study?Your optimism is heartening.But
you are right about Alex.All I hear the
day long are the boys fighting amonst themselves like dogs in rut just to be
next in line to tie-up and bred him.And
who can blame them.He’s a beautiful
boy.The perfect example of a pure bred,
milk-fed, creamy white American Beauty,” he appraised as he spun Alex round by
the hand in one direction then back around the other as if he were admiring a
doll twirling around a spindle.
“See this,” he stopped the boy in mid-spin with a bowlers grip on his
ass.“His cheeks are as soft and smooth
as a fair ladies bosom.Hardly fitting a
boy, much less suited to handle a monster like that!.” he followed while point
toward Mookie who was now sprawled out on the chair, his cock bolt upright like
a column of black marble.With his ass
all but hanging off the seat, his powerful, thick thighs stretched out like an
airstrip for Alex to launch his amazing act.
As the gentleman continued on appraise Alex’s many charms, Mook was
busily finding his comfort zone now that he’d successfully managed to scoot his
ass over the edge of the seat to make enough room for Alex to work is
magic.And when feeling the time right,
he beckoned Alex to come closer so he could whisper in his ear.
“The stool, no hands!, Ok, boy?” Mook
whispered, then with a wide-eyed giddy face, he exuberantly began to nod “Yes,
Yes” repeatedly, encouraging Alex to agree in kind.
Not that Alex had a choice regardlessof how he felt about the butt busting maneuver.But even if he had, the same conflicting
push-pull that lives within us all in one form or another was aquagmire he could never escape.Should he risk exposing himself,
leaving his vulnerability hang out there for others to exploit?Or, in Alex speak:Should he endure the hurt to
get-along-to-cum-along, or run long and hard in the bargain lose the one thing
he desired most?
That was the conflict he now faced every day, every time a pod-mate
would force his head down until his forehead touched his knees to brutalize his
ass.Or when asked to kneel to relieve a
mate of his burden and then carry it within him until he was able to stand
before a porcelain pot to release his own.Their demands were hard and insufferable, and while he always feared
what might come next, he surrendered to them regardless, simply because his
overwhelming desire to be dicked wasn’t a bargain he was prepared to
make.His fear and his desire!The push, the pull; the conflicting mire he
could never escape.
So while what Mookie had asked him to do sent a streak of fear down his
spine, once he’d straightened back up, he somehow managed to brave a smile
before hopping aboard Mookie’s massive thighs.
Cézar asked, only to be shushed by the professor.“Watch, I’ve seen it before.You’ll not see better at Barnum &
Bailey’s.” He said in hushed breathy voice while his eyes remained riveted to
the sight of the oncoming train wreck.
Lying atop Mook’s parted thighs, Alex
cautiously tucked his knees up under him and then his elbows before pushing
himself up onto this hands and knees.Then after taking a moment to muster himself, he slowly position his
feet in effort to stand.Like a surfer
seeking to find the right footing and balance to stand upon his board, Alex
stretched out his arms wing-like as he unsteadily rose up upon his feet to ride
the crest atop his thighs.
It was remarkable feat, but on he face of it, almost laughable when you
calculate in the odds of his slipping off and cracking his nuts on Mookie’s
knee.The truth be told, it took the
elasticity of a rubber band and near Zen-like concentration just to fine and
then hold his balance.
Fortunately, that was something that our lanky, sandy haired rubber
band had abundance.The survival skills
he’d learned having served as Mook’s three legged stool before, and now used to
help him though the struggle to find his footing.And when at last he had, and was stable
enough to look down to align his puss over top Mookie’s cock, he took a deep
breath to steel himself for the hell he was about to unleash.Then with a sigh, he bit his lip and slowly
stooped down and sat back to grab hold of that great purple knob with the only
hand he was permitted to use - His gapping puss!
“God boy,” Mookie moaned when that soft, smooth, girlish ass was close
enough for that sweet puss to kiss his great purple plum atop his head.
Mookie looked on for a moment to appraise the match-up.His enormous mushroomed doom deeply cleaved
by the slit looked ready to widen the crack of his ass by a factor of two,
while just above, dangled the fluted rim of Alex’s protruding anus.Swollen and colored an angry red, the
distended rim was still soiled with the remnants of a prior fuck that had
coalesced into a single pearly strand.
Taking a moment,he sat back to
watch the thin, milky strand slowly seep down to see if it would come to fuse
with the pearly bubble of pre-cum that crowned his own.And when the two wads of man-junk did in fact
merger, and thus assuring perfect cock to puss alignment, he was about to tell
Alex to sit when he suddenly became aware of the prevailing silence that filled
Looking up, he saw professor Gordo, Cézar, the boys in the hall and
even Fedji and the others leaning out the classroom door waiting to see the
premiere event with bated breath.For a
boy who’d grown up in the squalor of the Cité Soleil slums, it was pretty heady
stuff to suddenly find himself in the limelight for
something other than hooliganism.At
first he didn’t know what to think about the instant stardom, but when he saw a
thoroughly pissed-off Fedji flipping him the finger, he knew it was something
he could grow to like.
But first he had a show to do.So as Alex was ready to turn his trick, he locked his hands behind his
head and then with a steely-eyed look of a man on a mission, he growled, “Sit,
And as asked, Alex did, slowing lowing himself down past that beer can
thick great purple plum and down along an equally fierce stem where the
mounting friction tugged, pulled and stretched his pink anal sheath to its
insufferable elastic limit.It was a
frightfully agonizing accommodation beyond anything nature could have prepared
a script to cope. Not so much due to the size of Mookie’s cock as it was the
due to the buckled position he had to assume.Sitting back, midair, upon unsure footing atop the Mookie’s thighs had
his every muscle and tendon in his body tied up in knots.Especially his ass that was buckled and
pinched so tight it would have pained him had Mook penetrated him with a fat
Needless to say, Mookie’s fat 9 inches was more that enough to fill him
to his core, forming a tie so tight that every pulse of his cock coursed
through his anal sheath and resonated through his own body as if the muscle
palpitations were his own.
All told, never had Alex felt so tied to another man.Not just physically, but like a symbiont
attached to his host, Mookie’s fat cock became the center of his world, the
axis around which all things were grounded.And that’s what made the “Stool” (Mookie’s specialty) standout above the
typical everyday fuck.Without hands in
play, neither Mook’s nor his own, he depended on that cock planted up his ass
as his sole source of stability.His
cock - that third leg of the stool - had become his anchor.The tie that grounded him,
and it did so as surely as did that immutable meld between them tied him to
Still, there was nothing Mookie could offer to mediate the pain he
endured while powering himself up and off that third leg of the stool.Nor help to steady him when once free of his
cock he was left to stand, swaying unsteadily on unsure feet riding the crest
of Mookie’s thighs.But far worse was
his having to suffer the far greater pangs of separation from his host!His cock!The source of the substance he needed, no matter the tears, no matter
And it only grew worse each time he sat back a gravity defying 5
degrees to the horizontal to embed his cock within the fluted rim of his
protruding anus before he could again slide down the stem and come to rest in
the vast web of pubic hair.
Up, down, up, down time and time again, and all the while pushing out
as if needing to shit to help lessen the friction that was on the cusp of
turning his ass inside out.He was
immersed in a fog of pain, his only lifeline, the sound of Mook’s impassioned
groans and the mule-kicking pulses from his cock that, like a great engine, was
increasingly building up stream.Faster
and all the more intense every go-around until, at last, those groans turned to
grunts and snorts as he shot his nut up his ass - A shot that came with another
ferocious kick and the crossover spark that triggered a blast of cum of his
“Look, Mesye, “The greedy bitch wants more,” Mook radiated his delight
as Alex, still seated on his cock, was affectionately cradled his balls with
his palms as tenderly as he might a newborns head.The torment and pain now gone, he sat and
radiated the glow of a boy awash in the pleasures that follows an excruciating
ordeal.His rectum still bloated with
his man’s warm seed, his fingers lovingly tracing over the fist-sized sac as if
wishing to coax out still more.
“Oh, yes, yes, Mookie . . . ,” he sighed an impassioned sigh while
facing away as if ashamed to own up to the admission, and the radiant glow that
lit up his face.
“Bravo, Mookie!” Cézar applauded. Had he a pair of tits you couldn’t
have done better by the boy.Once more,
wearing those open-air shorts proved to be convenient as an expressway.Access is unlimited and no need for hands by
either party.Should you boys bring the concept up
for consideration, I’ll gladly throw in my support.I might even suggest a few alternations of my
“No doubt something with a tad more flair I presume,” the good
professor added with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Indeed,” Cézar, promptly replied with a
professional demeanor.I see no reason
why boys fashion need always be so tight reined.A bit of leeway with regard to styles and
color can do as much for a sweet cupcake like Alex as the khaki does for a
trooper like Mookie.”
“That’s just my opinion of course, but a matter I hope to soon present
to the board.After all, how can it hurt
if the boys in one particular pod of another wish to sprinkle a bit more sugar
atop their cupcake to enhance his tastiness.Or, conversely, cut the trimmings down a modest amount to showcase the
voluptuous curves of his upturned girlish ass.”
“Agreed, professor?He asked,
looking for agreement, only to find the good profession shaking his head in
disbelief over what he’d just heard.
“Well just a thought.Now, if
you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I must depart,” Cézar abruptly concluded upon
looking at his watch.“As I’ve
mentioned, RosemaryBeckett will
be visiting this coming Monday for the week, and I told her I’d be calling this
afternoon to see if there is anything I can do to help in her preparations.”
“Alex’s Mother?” he asked with an eye toward Alex who was now licking
and mouthing Mookie’s balls as he might a candied apple.
“Yes, of course,” Cézar spoke a bit louder then the boys bidding to see
who’d do Alex next. “She’ll be staying in the visitor’s cottage, and as Alex
will also be staying in the attacked slave quarters he might be missing school,
though on that we’ll have to see.”
“Well give her my best and be sure to tell her Alex is real charmer and
his fellow mates can’t get enough of him.” He replied, only with brows raised
as he watched Alex pay homage to Mookie’s ass with his deeply embedded tongue.
“I will, professor.”
“Oh, yes,” professor Gordo followed, “. . . and don’t forget the
“For whom, professor?”
Cézar asked lightheartedly, “Rosemary or Alex?”
“Professor Gordo said nothing.He simply shook his head and walked out smiling.”
find her footing, Rosemary dragged herself up off the cough and slowly managed
her way toward the door.Her brain felt
like mush and her crinkled, slept-in dress and unpinned hair looked the train
wreck she felt.Upon reaching the front
door she stopped to quickly bring some semblance of order back to her
appearance before looking to see who was there.
morning, madam,” Cézar beamed with hat in hand.
please,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.“It’s early.Would you care for
lovely, Rosemary,” he replied, not wanting to tell her it was well past .
her through to the kitchen/dining area, and in passing he saw a blanket on the
couch where she had slept.Atop the
kitchen table, he saw a half depleted bottle of 100 proof
Clairin, another empty and still another unopened.He sat down at the table and waited as she
continued on into the kitchen to pour each a cup of warmed-over coffee she had
left in the coffeemaker from the night before.
cream,” she asked, taking a seat across from him.
thank you,” he said as he took a sip of his and watched as she topped off her
cup with what remained of that rotgut liquor before downing the cup.“Well, I hope you’re finding our guest-pod
accommodations pleasant.” He then asked as she sought to open the unopened
bottle of the Clairin.”
yes.It’s lovely, just lovely, thank
you.It’s spacious and that courtyard
with all the flowers,” she looked out through the sliding glass doors and onto
a yard that looked a sea of lush green perennials.Centering the yard was a table around which
three boys sat.
resting her chin on her hand pondering the beautiful array of colors when
another boy walked through the gate.He
stopped to chat with his seated pals for a moment, and then walked off toward a
small one room windowless hut located in the far end of the courtyard where
Alex slept separate and apart from his mother.
do wish our guests to feel comfortable,” he cut into her thoughts. “Although I can see you’ve been quite busy.”
He followed with a nod toward the boys sitting outside.Rosemarie sighed, and once again reached for
the bottle to refill her cup, only this time sans coffee.
all night long, the coming and going . . . and the noise right beneath my
window,” she managed before chugging down half the cup.“You see where I slept,” she nodded toward
unfortunate,” he commiserated.“The
noise from outside, disturbed your sleep?” he then asked while watching a
previously unseen boy emerge from Alex's hut still buttoning up his khaki
mumbled, “heavens yes.I know how they
love to play cards.At school, here,
wherever they gather, but honestly, I don't know what there is about a simple
game of cards that could account for such rambunctious behavior.I mean, the shouting, the hysteria, the
high-pitched shrieking, like kids being stung by a swarm of bees.It was almost as maddening as the incessant
pounding upon the furnishings and the thump, thump, thumping sound that
reverberated off the walls the night long.
Huh?” Cézar sighed, somewhat relieved.“Well, what can I say?Boys will
be boys.I know you are staying just for
the holiday, but still they need be more courteous.Perhaps I should speak with them.”
she sounded quite adamant.“I want his
friends to feel welcome, and I wish to give them the space to have fun.Besides, everyone gets along so nicely.”
“And Alex, how
is he holding up having all his friends around?”
I really don’t know.” Rosemary replied.“I’ve not spoken to him.But if I
know my son, I’m sure he enjoys being the center of attention and probably
can’t get enough of it.”
haven’t looked in on them?”Cézar
expressed his concern.
I have?” she asked.“I didn’t because I
want to afford them some privacy.Besides, I figured when they got hungry they’d come out and I’d get my
fill of them.”
said, creasing his brows.“Do you mind
my having a look to see how he’s doing?”
“No, not at
all, I’ll cook a little something should anyone care to come up for air to
trouble yourself, Rosemary.Let them
fend for themselves.”
breakfast for themselves?” she asked.
Rosemary, as a courtesy if nothing else,” he sought to clarify.
me?Oh my, what a lovely thought.I could only wish, Mr. Roché,” she said with
a sigh, and then stood up to go to the kitchen.
Rosemary,” he put the matter to rest, but not out of his thoughts where her
response continued to linger.“Yes, well
then, if you’ll give me a moment . . .” Cézar gathered himself up then stood
and stepped outside to make his way to Alex's hut.
door he peered inside and he saw several boys asleep on the floor and several
others sleeping in chairs around the card table.But most revealing of all was the sight of
Alex asleep upon the bed amidst a tangle web of body parts belonging to three
others.And centermost was Alex.His rutted asshole the focal point that
framed the picture, and above it, his new Obeah tattoo.
reached from the small of his back to the crack of his ass.Above the green cobra’s head it read “Obeah
Pussyboy,” while below it, there hung a hefty set of balls and a long red
forked tongue that slithered down to, and between, the crack of his ass.
It was a
fierce, nasty looking piece, more than enough to scare the shit out of his
mother, much less Alex had he been able to see it.Cézar on the other hand thought it was a
majestic piece.Certainly the depiction
of the serpent spirit was particularly noteworthy he thought, especially the
work that went into the creation of his long red forked tongue.They had placed it so whenever his ass cheeks
quivered the tongue would appear to wag about as if in the act of speaking.
He was also
rather impressed by its size.Clearly it
was bold enough to be seen beneath his clothes from some distance away had he
been wearing any, and most certainly by his mother had she ventured a look.
On one side
of Alex lay Fedji.His long, thick black
cock lay draped across Alex’s thigh like a long, sagging black sausage, and on
the other side of Alex lay Najac.His
trunk-like black cock was still butting up against his ass.Red, swollen, and half-open, it was still
leaking like a drain pipe.
But the big
surprise was seeing Jomo Cazelar leaning up against the headboard, his head
drooping down sound asleep.Alex lay
between his out stretched legs, his head lying upon his thigh and alongside his
cock that ran the length of his face.
the Head Top of the Zulu Kings and a member of a Delmar gang called the Rat
Army, a long time foe of the Danger Boys, the gang with whom Fedji had been
affiliated.It was good to see that in
this particular circumstance, harmony was the order of the day.Alex obviously had done his job well.
back into the kitchen he could hear fresh coffee percolating and the smell of
warmed-over gravy she had reheated to go with the leftover biscuits from the
night before.Rosemary was sitting at
the table nursing an injured hand she had accidentally burnt on the stove.
allow me to help, Rosemary,” he said as he came up alongside.Taking up a pat of butter from the butter
dish nearby, he began to spread the butter on the slight, superficial burn on
have settled down, yes?” she asks, her tattooed tit all but hanging out in open
are resting.” He smiled warmly as he gently tried to comfort her.“You know something, Rosemary?You truly you are gifted to have such a
special boy.The boys all love him.But I’m sure you know that already.”
said with a sigh, though he could see in her eyes that her thoughts were
elsewhere.“Caught up in the moment,” he
thought.“Or, perhaps it was a
combination of things.”The liquor,
matters regarding her son, or perhaps, it was simply her reaction to his gentle
touch.The soothing relief brought on by
his fingers that were now kneading a broader area along her arm adjacent to her
tit to ease the tension and counterbalance the bodies natural inclination to
tense up when hurt.
is obvious where Alex got his warm and giving heart,” Cézar followed.“I just wish every boy had such a loving,
caring mother.If he is an angle, then
you, Rosemary, are the angel’s guardian.”
“Kisa ki te pase (what has happened?),” Jomo called out
from behind.Cézar looked up to see Jomo
standing behind, and except for a Damballah sachet dangling from a gold chain
worn around his neck, he was bare ass naked.The long black cock hung down heavily by its weight half-way to his
was preparing a breakfast and has hurt herself,” Cézar
said to the boy.
pòv (Oh poor moms), he cried, as he came up and stood alongside,
the pendulum-like sway of his cock inches away from her face.Then taking off the Damballah sachet he wore
about his neck, he opened it up and sprinkled out a small mound of a brownish
powder onto his open palm and sang out as if in prayer.
(Oh Papa), “Pote bon sante ak konfò (bring
good health and comfort) to Moms Alex.I Share the offering, I share the offering,” he recited while he placed
his open palm in front of her nose, and then with a twinkle in his eye he
puckered up like a blowfish and . . . blew!”
Poof!”He blew upon the powder, causing a cloud of
dust to engulf her face.
grew dizzy and her mind was set adrift.She
clenched her eyes tight then coughed and sputtered while Cézar and Jomo looked
on smiling.When again she opened her
eyes, it was like looking through a red-filtered, fisheye lens.One might imagine the image as something you
might see reflected in a convex mirror, the sort found between the aisles of a
convenience store, or in this case, through the eyes of the serpent.
looked up she saw Cézar peering in closely as if examining her eyes.His distorted wide-eyed, grinning face
magnified ten-fold filled her view, while the rest of him receded in size into
her eyes to the side and again, Jomo’s cock loomed thick veined and heavy.Only now the distortion optics made it
appeared 10 fold larger than his receding torso, and so near she could see the
moist remnants of a recent fucking.Its
Intoxicating aroma surged through her with a rush, leaving her body wracked
with the sensation of an approaching orgasm.
sensation that coursed throughout her body was simply exhilarating, unlike
anything she’d ever felt before.And it
didn’t come to her in the way of a craving or an urge either, but seemed to
come from some fundamental circuit within, as if hardwired, as primal as the
need to breathe.His cock so vital as to
be programmed in, like a command line build into that circuit giving her no
choice but to follow.
everything she saw was coming through in waves.All she perceived seemed to ripple and shimmer and breathe, reducing her
reality to a sequence of warped, flicking scenes.Sometimes in ways that approximated reality
and sometimes like some bizarre drug induced dreamscape in which she was left
I see she has arrived safely in the arms of Damballah,” Cézar said.
is in safe hands now,” Jomo replied, then looked outside toward Alex's hut
where he heard the renewed creak of bed springs and the knocking of the
headboard.The boys out on the patio
heard it too, and immediately dashed off toward the hut to join the queue.
“I think I
go back now,” Jomo said to Cézar with a nod toward the sliding glass doors.
think she will be well now.” Cézar answer back, and then after giving it a
moments thought he added, “Perhaps Moms would like to go look too, huh?”
her spirits, I think,” Jomo beamed, again looking at Rosemary, her eyes riveted
to the tick-tock, near hypnotic sway of his cock inches away from her nose.
Tick, tock, tick....
moms,” Jomo followed, taking her hand while Cézar helped her to stand and then
steady her as they slowly led the way.
Rosemary’s perspective, her new contorted world view warped her perceptions to
such a degree that the distinction between illusion and reality was lost to
her.Her only remaining refuge was the
sight of Jomo's cock - that eerily red filtered, distorted image she seemed
hardwired to follow, while its hypnotic, metronome-like sway led the way until
they came to a stop in front of Alex's hut.
saw the faces of 9 naked boys, all of whom were rolling over in hysterics upon
seeing her.“Come moms,” Jomo encouraged
while helping her to sit upon a chair that fronted Alex’s raised ass atop of
which sat his new tattoo.
boys greeted her, stroking their cocks around the curved periphery of her vision,
while dead center and magnified 10 fold, her son’s ass was propped up by a
support pillow.And then there was that
green headed serpent tattoo atop his ass that seemed to be smiling at her.His long red forked tongue snaked out between
close-set eyes that seemed as aware and full of life as the boys poking their
cocks in her face.
emerging out from the periphery Fedji peered in, his grinning, magnified face,
obscuring all else from view.
like watch, moms, huh?U’s likes see
Fedji fuck Alex boy?”He asked, he
grinned, he leaned-in closer yet to make his
wi (Yes, yes), I hears U’s, moms, I hears U’s.No problems,” he added, sounding quite
confident while projecting a sense of cockiness that somehow fit that
ostentatiously proud, drop dead gorgeous perfectly honed ‘fucking’
machine;A machine with the power, the
skill and the equipment to stir trepidation in the heart of any woman, man or
boy, like Alex, whose world he was about to rock.
”No worry, moms.Fedji shows U’s,” he said before straightening back up and coming about
to front her son's rear raised high over the bolster.Then like the consummate showman he was, he
promptly slapped his massive black cock atop her son's lily-white ass before
shuffling his own finely honed ass slightly off the side to provide Rosemary
her clear, unobstructed view.
sees, moms?” he beamed while pointing at the gapping, red rimmed grotto.“Dous (Sweet),” he uttered with
a balmy inflection as he hands ran along his quarry’s flacks as if to settle a
young filly before taking her for a ride.“And (Mou) Soft,” he continued to adulate, “and (swa lis) silky smooth,
like a glove (tankou gan)!”
“U’s be fyè
(proud), moms, Alex boy's ass trè byen (very good)
pussy,” he followed as he aligned the helmeted head of his cock to the gaping
hole to fuck him.All the while looking
and grinning at her as he slowly squeezed that plum-sized head in an inch or
two before pulling back out to strike up a pose.With shoulder bowed back and hips thrust
forward, all 30cm of his hefty slap of meat was posed like an arrow aimed at
the bull’s eye - Alex's rutted out, silver dollar sized hole!
“Bèl (nice), huh, moms?" Fedji grinned."Alex boy good bitch.See!” he followed with a sweeping
showman-like gesture of his arm over the top of her sons raw, red hole.“Now I fuck Alex boy pussy real good for you
commence to fuck him he did!Ruthlessly,
like a bull in rut.His huge balls
banging out a rhythm off Alex’s ass, while the sloshing, whooshing sound that
billowed out her sons ass stirred in her the orgasmic sensation percolating up
from her loins.A sensation that now
consumed her, growing all the more intense as the minutes rolled on - as the
tens of minutes sailed past - as he fucked her son with reckless disregard to
all but his pleasure.But always
standing slightly to the side to insure “moms” got her good clean view.
see, moms," yet another boy nearby clamored excitedly. “No hands!No hands!" he shouted."Fedji, he fine Alex boy’s Girl-spot,” he shouted, wildly bounced
about while pointing toward the tiny white bead bubbling up out of the tip of
"Alex boy's" cock.See moms,
he cums like a bitch.No hands, no more,
just a cock in his pussy,”
But for all
the horseplay, Fedji remained manically on stride.Again and again he reamed out that hole on
the in-stroke, and wore it like a rose-pink sweater sleeve on the
outstroke.Like a pile driver on speed,
Fedji grunted, Alex whimpered and that headboard pounded a thump, thump,
thumping rhythm against the wall, until pulling out to show “moms” her sons
newly rutted out hole - a dark, red rimmed cavern from which his deposited cum
poured down upon the bed like a stream of curdled milk from the spout of a
Alex boy good fuck,” he turned around to say while pointing toward Jomo who was
already saddling up and aligning his hefty 11+ inches amidst a riot of high 5's
and cheers before putting it in gear and punching the pedal to the freakin'
byen, Trè byen" (Very good, very good), Fedji laughed as he
turned back around to face 'moms' and then pressed his sopping, smudge-ridden
cock up to her lips.
pwòp" (You clean), moms,” she heard him say through the
chaos that cluttered her brain.
distorted optics that were now her reality rolled though her psyche in
wave-like surges, creating a motion that seemed to transform Fedji’s cock into
a living, breathing entity all to its own.While beyond, the red forked tongue of the tattooed serpent spirit
looked to be speaking his mind.
Lwa,” that tattooed serpent seemed to be saying, encouraging her to open her
mouth."Louvri, louvri," (Open,
open) that blotch of ink grew more insistent and then beamed a smile
broader yet when she did open up to swallow that black plum whole.From her son’s ass to her mouth went the
slime and the sludge with a swirl of the tongue, and when she had swallowed his
junk, the orgasmic sensation she felt within her went off like a stick of
her body rocketed skyward, and when she have reached the apex of that flight it
was as though her she could see the heavenly gates before her, the gatekeeper -
that great serpent spirit - sitting alongside the gate greeting her with what
appear to be an all too real wink and a nod of approval.
“His approval !”No longer
was he just some red-filtered, optically distorted image she couldn’t
comprehend.Now, that serpent spirit was
as real to her as the psilocybin that had fractured the mindscape.
she heard someone call from beyond, and shifting her vision that way, she saw a
boy placing another pillow beside her son.
here . . .”
Cézar called out.“Let me help you
moms,” he reached out to support her.And then when comfortably seated beside her son’s raised ass, he pointed
to where the serpent spirit’s tongue snaked down to the crack of his ass.
moms,” Cézar consoled.“Now just rest
your chin righted here, beside the serpent spirit to welcome the dawn of your
"rebirth, rebirth," his words reverberated about in her head, making
Cézar's words all too frightening real.But that it was said of her was so insanely unreal as to be the product
of a nightmare.Yet, how else could she
explain the unintelligible, phantasmic landscape that now defined her new
It was a
change in her world that couldn't have been any more thorough, more dramatic,
or have happened any quicker had she placed a revolver to her head and pulled
instant she had gone from an ex-stewardess, consummate drunk, and mother to a
son held captive by his own desires, to her having transformed into something
'other' than the woman she once was.
'other' was she didn't know.There
simply was not enough left of the rational world to figure that out, much less
raise a single cogent thought.Only the
sight of Jomo’s cock and the subsequent orgasmic bliss remained to compel her
forward like a mindless, aimless dead to the world zombie.An undead entity simply there to follow a
script, while Cézar looked on and Jomo once again leaned down, and with a
wicked amount of that brownish powder sitting in his open palm, he fronted her
nostrils and . . . Blow!
POUF!!!!And she was gone, gone, gone!
shouted Alphé as he stepped up, hopped upon the saddle and drove all ten inches
up Alex’s ass, literally, under her nose.Alphé fucked his ass like a mad dog, using her hair as a handle and the
drool from her mouth as lubricant.And
when he couldn’t hold back a moment more and was ready to shoot his wad . . .
. . . “louvri (open), moms!” he said as he pulled out
his cock.“I manje Moun k'ap veye"
(I feed the Gatekeeper), he beamed a wicked smile skewed a tad to
10:Home Is Where the Spirit Lies
Police Station, London Detective Stan Wimple was sitting in his office going
over his notes when chief inspector Morris walked in.“Good Morning, Stanley, let’s hear what you’ve got so
far,” he asked, as he took up a seat fronting his desk.
sir.Well, as you already know Mr.
Thomas Jones brought to our attention a severely damaged hard drive he found at
his place of work.As he reported the
incident, the previous night he was outside taking a smoke break on the decking
of the Morris Cable building located at the foot of Old Wharf Lane where he
works as a night watchman.”
minutes into his break he saw a man walking the promenade along the ThamesRiver waterfront immediately beneath
there he stood.He described the man as
well dressed, black and in his words, in a hurry.He said that he watched as the man approached
the levy wall then pulled out the hard drive in evidence and attempted to toss
it into the river.”
then went on to explain that the gentleman in question tossed it high enough to
clear the wall, but not high enough to clear a row of nearby river pilings.As a result the item in evidence hit one of
the posts, and ricocheting off it landed atop another.And as good fortune would have it, the piling
it landed upon was close enough to the levy wall that the agent assigned to
investigate the matter was able to retrieve it himself. / he
was able to retrieve the item once the gentleman had departed.”
couldn’t provide a better description of the man?” Inspector Morris asked.
not!It seems it was a bit too dark to see much
else in detail.But the cabby did.”
“He came by
to discover how the man in question happened to get there, but after departing
the scene the gentleman did flag down cab number 883 on the corner of Old Wharf
Lane and Mayfield a half block away.Mr.
James Butler, the driver, said the man asked to be taken to Heathrow and was
dropped off in front of the international terminal at
described the gentleman as black, approximately 6-3, 6-4,
220-230 pounds, well dressed and spoke English with an accent.Unfortunately, the gentleman said little more
than where he wanted to go.Not enough
to determine where he might be from, but enough to know he wasn’t British and
probably from the Caribbean.”
how was he able to determine that?”
manner in which he pronounced Heathrow.Apparently he
has a neighbor from Jamaica and they both pronounce the word in
the same way.”
forensics, what have they to say?”
little and quite a lot actually.They were able to determine that the
destruction of the drive was intentional, and it was done with some sort of
Thermite devise designed specifically to burn a hole through the drive to
render it unrecoverable.”
“They call it
a very professional job, but enough of the boot sector remained untouched to
determine that the drive booted to a command prompt as opposed to an operating
system.In other words, the possibly
uses for this drive were quite limited, and when combined with the fact that
it’s an extraordinary small capacity drive, makes it suitable for use only by
someone with a specific purpose in mind.Say a computer technician or by someone with nefarious purposes in mind,
but certainly not by a layman.”
have we got, enough to go on?”
all that much, but yes, I think so.Only
two international flights departed after that night.One going to Amsterdam with no blacks aboard, and the
other was a flight to Miami that had eleven black gentlemen
aboard.Review of the security cameras
came up a bit short, but an Interpol review of the boarding list came up with
one particularly interesting name.”
name David Grant, a Fort
insurance salesman who resided at 2677 Palm Street.What makes it so interesting is that Mr. Grant died over three years
ago.So, yeah, I think we’ve got enough
to go on, and I’m pretty damn sure our man was on that flight.Once more, I believe he has used this route
before under another alias and will do so again.”
and good, but in truth you don’t even know if Miami was his final destination.You said he had a Caribbean accent.Perhaps he boarded a plane to Jamaica, or Puerto Rico or any number of destinations.”
I’ve considered that.And what I’ve
found is that of all the airlines operating out of the Caribbean, only two listed outbound
passengers who have yet to return on the date of our inquiry.That is, save two, Jamaica and Haiti!And of those, only Haiti included the name of an inbound
black male traveling alone to Haiti that did not appear on the outbound
manifest in the last 30 days.Mr.
Guilloteau Dessalines.”It too is a name
we’re found on a Haitian list of the deceased.”
isn’t for me to say he is our man, but just given the probability I don’t see
how we can afford not to pursue the lead.I mean, over the course of the last 18 months someone using the exact
same method of operation has looted the equivalent of over 3 million pounds
(4.8 million U.S. dollars) from banks and private accounts worldwide.200 hundred thousand of which was stolen from
Global National just two hours before he was spotted trying to dispose of the
drive.That makes him number one on my
most wanted list.”
“Huh!Well then, what would you propose we do?”
to go to Haiti and see if I can track down Mr.
Guilloteau Dessalines.The last name is
unquestionable Haitian, so I knew he’s not some outsider just looking in.Interpol agrees, but wants to wait to see if
the name reappears somewhere down the line.But if I’m right about this guy, I don’t suspect we will.When he comes out again it’ll be with yet
another assumed name and we’ll be back to where we started.Give me 30 days, chief, and if I come back
empty handed you can trim my feathers.”
okay.Just be careful.”
“Haiti!They say it’s like falling through the rabbet hole where nothing appears
as it seems.”
back in Haiti. . .
Beckett woke up in her bed.The peace
and quiet soothed over her like a balm, and the pleasantness never felt
better.It was the first time since her
arrival she’d slept on the bed, and as she stretched out to savor the
luxuriousness, she found herself wondering why that was so.Especially given the cloud like comfort she
wished she could remain embedded in forever.
She rose up
out of bed never feeling brighter or more chipper.Slipping on a robe, she made her way toward
the bathroom near dancing on her toes, wondering what it was she did the night
before that brought with it such a euphoric feeling.She felt sure it would come to her, but at
the moment she didn’t even remember going to bed.
reaching the bathroom, she turned on the hot water to dampen a face clothe and
wash the sleep from her eyes.“How wonderful,” she thought to herself
as she lifted her head to look into the mirror where she saw staring back out
at her the white painted skeletal face of Papa Legba.
she screamed out in horror as she fell to the floor.She was trembling, shaking in fear, the
nightmarish image still lingering in her mind’s eye.She braved a touch of her face finding
everything as it should be.But she
couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow she still hadn’t woken up.That the euphoric state of mind she woke up
to was just an illusion, and that shortly, she’d wake up to the world-class
hangover and the shit pile of grief that always greeted her in the morning.
back up on her knees and cautiously crawled back over to the sink, and then
pulled herself up to look again into the mirror.From all she could see, she looked right with
the world.But no matter how good she
looked, she couldn’t escape the unsettled feeling that still haunted her.It was a jittery, unsure feeling not unlike
standing upon a perilous ledge.A
feeling that caused her to gasp and jump with a start when she heard somebody
called out from behind.
moms,” she heard a boy say. Turning round and saw a number of boys standing
immediately behind her, just inside the door to the bathroom.All stood in a regimented line dressed
smartly in their Khaki uniforms.And
centering the group stood Alex, her son, looking quite the stunningly
attractive Boy Scout dressed in his khakis.
sorry,” she apologetically tried to cover her unease. “I-I-I didn’t hear you
coming,” which she hadn’t.Not an
utterance!Absolutely nothing over and
about the sound of her own heart!It was
as though they had appeared from out of nowhere.
moms.We comes like U’s asked,” the boy
she questioned her memory, having absolutely no remembrance of having even met
the boy before.
for breakfast, like U’s ask.”
don’t remember.”She stammered."I-I-I didn't know you were here.Where did you come from," she followed
while pointing toward all the boys piling-up outside in the hall.A dozen?Two?She couldn’t count nor could she fathom how
all those boys could have possibly been in the house all this time without
having heard them.
worries, moms.Obeah boys make good
breakfast,” he said as laughter broke out.”
“Breakfast?You wish to make breakfast?”
for you moms.As you
moms.U’s say, ‘I can only wish we made breakfast.’But no worry, Obeah boys cook up plentiful
breakfast.Plantain n’ fre krèm (cream),
you no go hungry . . .”
back in the office of Cézar Roché . . .
from the candle danced on the wall, broken only by the undulating silhouette of
Bon Mambo Serafine looking skyward consumed by the religious visions she saw,
her arms raised high as if possessed by a powerful spiritual force.
she chanted, “Come great Papa, come make U mischief and I give to this, ha! ha! ha!,” she sang out in a deep
baritone voice that seemed to come from without her.In her hand she held up a lock of Rosemary’s
reached down to pick up a jar to hold up alongside the shorn off lock of
hair.“. . . and this,” she bellowed as
the restless lil' bobs suspended in the amber medium shimmered in the
floor beside her sat Cézar in a trance-like state.His face painted white in the image of a
skull.Atop his head sat a top hat with
a vulture feather, and in the dark recesses, his eyes peered out reflected the
flickering candlelight as he breathed in the smoke from the Jimson Weed burning
inside an aerated brass burner on the floor beside him.
swayed along with the chant and until Bon Mambo Serafine leaned down and
pressed in close.Her painted face
loomed large and ghostly above the flickering candles as she engaged her
devotee.“Es time, Hunsi Roché
(devotee),” she hissed.“Papa Legba make
he’s mischief.” She followed as she held out a doll dressed to look like
out to take possession, he stared up into her eyes as she held up three
straight pins, each with a different colored cap.A black one and one blue to provide the Lwa
his moment of fun, while the third one, the red pin, he was to use to grant the
Lwa the spirit of the undead that would be his.
vle, (as you wish),” he murmured, and then taking the black pin
in hand, he stuck it into the belly of the doll!
over in Rosemary’s bathroom . . .
“Oh!”Rosemary gasped, doubling over while holding
her stomach as if suffering a spasm.“Ahhh!Ahh!” she
soon cried out in agony as that penetrating sting began to spread throughout
her like a wildfire.
breath she looked up again at the boys, only now her vision was red-filtered,
her ocular view, lens-like and distorted.Feeling disorientated, confused and in near panic, she turned again to
the bathroom mirror hoping to see what her mind couldn’t grasp.
over and suffering, she struggled to reach it.And when at last she had, she again saw the white painted skeletal face
staring back out at her. “Oh, gawd,” she shrieked as she stumbled back in
in Cézar’s office . . .
playfully twisted and poked the black pin he had embedded in the doll’s belly
causing Rosemary to double over once again.He then took up the blue pin and stuck it in the doll’s mouth.
again felt the penetrating sting course down her throat and into her belly,
where the sting quickly turned into a heat that radiated throughout her
body.The heat grew with her every
breath, and along with it, a tingling sensation not unlike an approaching
orgasm consumed her body and usurped her every thought.
her thoughts had become as purblind as her vision, and when all but that
over-powering need to cum pulsed through her veins, Cézar reached for the third
and final pin.The red pin that would
grant Papa Legba the spirit of the undead he was due.Taking it firmly in hand, he pushed it into
sensation of that pinprick ran roughshod over her every thought, taking such
control over her that even her voice was lost to her.Then like a fish gulping for air out of
water, she again turned toward the boys as if looking for help.Only now she saw them just as they had always
been.No spiffy Boy Scout uniforms, no
schoolbooks, but naked and stoking their bloated cocks.And standing in front, her son, bent over,
his ass held high in the grasp of another.He looked haggard, used, and altogether a different boy.
But it was
the sight of those bloated cocks that filled her being, turning that spark of
orgasmic heat radiating out from within into a bonfire.A fire so intense it was as though nothing
else existed.As if her need for them
was hardwired, as primal as the need to breathe.
moms, no worry,” Fedji beamed, igniting a roar of laughter.“Papa he comes to encase you now . . .”
now . . .”
now. . .” his words echoed in her head, bringing on that safe, warm, euphoric
feeling once again.She closed her eyes
for a short moment to savor the feeling, and upon reopening them, she saw
herself lying upon her bed once again.She again felt the comfort, and wanting to luxuriate in the warm
soothing embrace beneath the sheets, she stretched out her legs.Only now her feet butted up against a hard
wooden surface.Looking down toward her
feet she saw she wasn’t in her bed at all.Rather it was within a box she laid.A wooden box, not unlike a coffin - Beside her, above her, below her the
hard wooden walls that encased her.
she delighted in the comfort, and wanting still more, she sat up and rose out
of the enclosure where she came to occupy a different space.A space with blue skies above and acres of
lush green grass in all directions that beckoned her to run her toes through
the heavenly softness.
herself walking beneath the clear blue skies until coming to a stop when she
saw before her a mound.And upon that
mound was an upright gray marble slab, a headstone, only in the form of a
door.Her door, the door to her flat
that bore her name, and below her name the image of
the Lwa welcomed her.
happy to be home once again.She walked
toward the foot of the stone and saw herself opening the door.Walking in, she saw the clothes tree standing
inside the door where Selvandieu’s scarf still hung.“Oh, how wonderful,” she though.“Selvandieu is here,” she was elated with
happiness.Then feeling the need to
freshen up, she walked toward the bathroom where she saw Selvandieu clutching
Alex in a warm embrace.
moms,” he looked up to greet her.She
returned his smile, so pleased to see the two getting along so well.Alex, her son, had his fingers wrapped around
Selvandieu's thick cock, crisscrossed along its length with a gnarled mass of
purple veins.A cock that loomed large
and heavy unlike any other that had filled her belly.Just the sight of it caused her to salivate
and wish she too could hold it, smell it, taste it like her son stooped down to
do.Wrapping his lips around the large
spongy head, he moaned euphoric as Selvandieu showered him with his love and
you skanky fag ass bitch, suck up the slop,” he snarled, expressing his love
for her son in that same ruthless, contemptuous way he always spoke to
her.It was the savage in him that
thrilled her, and she was so happy for her son who now knew the same thrill
that came with satisfying Selvandieu’s cock with his mouth.And then when she felt as though the plateau
of her climatic joy could go no higher, Salvandieu raised that plateau up
hold of her sons head, he snarled like a madman and ruthlessly shoved his cock half
down his throat in one mighty thrust.As
Alex choked and gagged and struggled for air, she luxuriated in the heat that
radiated up from her loins.A heat that
grew into a fire as she watched Selvandieu tighten his grip and drive his cock
down to the root with all the savagery of an African Bushmen spearing his prey,
finishing the kill.
flailed about as if wounded, yet it all seemed so normal to her.As if treating her son like a whore, and
fucking his throat to the point of strangulation was the highest order of
affection.And no matter the savagery,
no matter how thuggishly brutal he fucked her son’s throat, she envied her son
and so loved her Selvandieu and wanted to tell him as much.But when she looked up to embrace his smile,
she saw that it wasn’t Selvandieu who was strangling her son with his cock at
all.It was Fedji who smiled back, and
beside him, Jomo, whose hard bloated cock stood out like an arrow pointing at
her son’s asshole.
you watch.” Jomo smiled, standing off to the side to give moms a clear view of
his cock nudging her son’s gaping hole.Then with a sweeping gesture of his hand, he pointed to the tattooed
image of the serpent spirit on her son’s ass.
“Papa encase him now . . .”
now . . .”
now . . .” the words again echoed in her head as she looked into the eyes of
that tattooed serpent that now, very much alive, rose up to speak to her.Only now in the form of an apparition that
possessed the head of the serpent and the embodiment of Jomo, a transformation
that took place before her eyes.His
eyes glowed red and his tongue snaked out of his mouth long and thick and
enflamed a bright red, like a cock with a forked crown.
moms.I breed my bride. Ha! Ha! Ha!” the
serpent laughed joyously, and then leaning down he wormed his tongue up her
son’s ass to fuck him.The sight of that
deep, hard fucking again caused a heat to build within her.With every stroke the heat grew and along
with it, a tingling sensation not unlike an approaching orgasm consumed her
body and soul.The pleasure she felt so
overwhelmed her she grew weak at the knees, and as she began to falter she felt
a hand upon her shoulder.Looking
around, she saw Bon Mambo Serafine, and beside her stood an upright coffin.
chwal (the horse that carries the spirit)!Come lie, and U start U walk among the tombstones again!!!”Rosemary backed in, the lid was closed and
again her journey continued . . .
Beckett woke up in her bed.The peace
and quiet soothed over her like a balm, and the pleasantness never felt
better.It was the first time since her
arrival she’d slept on the bed, and as she stretched out to savor the
luxuriousness, she found herself wondering why that was so.Especially given the cloud like comfort she
wished she could remain embedded in forever.
She rose up
out of bed never feeling brighter or more chipper.Slipping on a robe, she made her way toward
the bathroom near dancing on her toes, wondering what it was she did the night
before that brought with it such a euphoric feeling.She felt sure it would come to her, but at
the moment she didn’t even remember going to bed . . .
back in the office of Cézar Roché . . .
evening Mambo Serafine was deep in meditation when Ishmael walked in.Beside her sat Cézar, his hands held in
prayer while his eyes, wide-open, stared blankly toward the heavens in some
drug induced haze.The man looked lost
to this world whereas Mambo Serafine kept an alert eye on Ishmael as he quietly
knelt down to sit down beside them.
brother Duprè, it is good I see you,” she said, her voice hushed.
Mambo Serafine, it is good to see you,” he bowed his head as he held up his
hands in prayer.
good for you, I think,” She replied, lowering her eyes and gazed intensely into
the flickering flame of the candle fronting her.She stared at the flame a long moment and
then closed her eyes and said, “I see a man.”Then after watching the flame dance for a moment, “This man looks for
you, Hunsi Duprè (devotee).” She uttered in whispered tones.
“Do I know
this man, Bon Mambo?”
shook her head.“I see he travels
along.He is a non-believer and pays
good money to find Mesye (Mr.) Guilloteau Dessalines, a man who speaks to me
from his grave,” she stated the name quite emphatically.A name Ishmael did indeed know.It was the name of the deceased man he had
used on his password on his recent trip to England.
of him, I think,” she said, reopening her eyes.
Mambo.How is this man called, Bon
called Wimple, an English, I think.He bring bad juju, despair for you.”
I find this Wimple, Bon Mambo?” he wanted to know.
looks into the flame.She began to chant
then placed her palm above of it, close enough to the heat that it seared her
palm.“I see he sleeps in a room on Rue
Louverture.Tomorrow he visits the German.He grows closer, Hunsi.”
German,” he followed, “Chrisof Eichel?”
grows closer, unless . . .”
what, Bon Mambo?” he asks as she reached into a pocket and then held out her
open palm to show Ishmael what she had.
Lavolier works where he sleeps finds this on his pillow,” she glanced down upon
the single strand of hair. The artifact of power she needed to cast her wangal
(spell).“Unless he his cast away!” she
looked on, her skewed, smiling face cast an almost demonic image in the
candlelight.“Or, should you like, to
walk about the tombstones on the until damnation.”
returned her smile then took up her hand.“Or spend his days walking Rue Santara, huh?” he winked, “Dressed like a
man whore, his past, his own name, lost to him!”
Ha!” She sang out in that deep baritone voice that seemed to come from without
her.“Yes, good mischief for L’wah, I
made it this far, so I'm assuring you might well have an opinion.Should you wish to express it, you have my
Hacker ( firstname.lastname@example.org )
thank Data Fever for graciously provided his time and support in helping me
make this an enjoyable read.He is truly
an exceptionally skilled profession with a humongous heart.
I need also
thank Pat Roberts.A pioneer in the
black rule genre, he authored Ebony High, White Sunset and AfricanRenaissanceUniversity, all of which I would encourage you
to read if you haven’t as yet.He is no
longer contributing, but if you were to let him know how much you appreciate
his work, perhaps he shall.I hope so.