When Breeding Up Means Breeding Black Pt 2

WHEN BREEDING UP MEANS BREEDING BLACK Pt 2 By Peter The next day we hardly spoke at all. It was her night to go to Caroline's place, and she dressed in silence. She left in tight, low cut purple dress, seamed black stockings and spike-heels that matched the dress. She looked like a total slut. She knew it, and I knew it, though nothing was said. After she left I jerked off tearfully to the smell of my darling wife?s strong perfume and the memory of her luscious body and fuck-me attire. Sara arrived back at midnight, tousled and bubblier than I had seen her for a while and to my surprise she initiated sex with me. She seemed drunk as she whorishly spread her stockinged legs, revealing her bare, stretched pussy to my gaze, pinching her nipples and presenting her heavy breasts to me. ?Come on then Darren? she said. ?Do you want it or not?. My balls still hurt from the night before, but I couldn?t resist her. I lasted about 30 seconds, spurting my load into her gorgeous wet cunt, which seemed much wider than I remembered. After I came, I was sure I heard a slight chuckle. I fell asleep but around 2am I woke to hear her dressing. I pretended to be asleep, but as soon as she left the room I threw on some clothes. I decided to follow her. I took the bike, and headed towards Caroline and Arnies' house, but along the way I spotted Sara's car parked outside a bar called the 'Blue Star. When I walked in I immediately felt out of place. The bar was full of muscled young black males, and plenty of black females, and a number of sluttily dressed white women. I recognised Caroline and Rachael, a Jewish legal attorney of our acquaintance who had recently left her slightly-built Jewish husband for a well-known black lawyer known for representing gang members. Both were on the dance floor smooching with well-built black partners. Then I saw my wife. She was sitting on a comfy sofa snuggled up to a huge muscular-looking black guy with tattoos on his broad arms. He was wearing a black vest, a gold medallion, chains, rings and a huge gold watch. This, I would later learn, was Masta D. She spotted me immediately. 'Darren?' she said. The black man looked at me and immediately I was intimidated. He was big, and looked mean. 'Come on now, my love. I?ve had enough of this. We're going home' I said to my darling Sara, and reached across the table to take her hand. 'Bitch aint goin' nowhere' said Masta D, standing up in a shot and slapping my face, hard. I felt my cheek cut from one of his gold rings. Then I felt two black guys grabbing my wrists from behind. I was helpless, as Masta D continued to slap me. My wife, the bitch, just crossed her shapely stocking-clad legs and looked on. Masta D slapped me again, hard, then turned to my wife. "You ready for this baby?" he said. 'Yes, darling, I am' she replied, licking her full lips and obviously turned on by the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. ?You know it?s what I?ve been waiting for.? ?Sara!? I yelled, ?You?re my Wi-? - but before I could finish my sentence Masta D punched me hard in the gut, winding me, making me gasp for air. The two muscled black men were still holding me, both about a foot taller than me, so there was little I could do except plead for mercy. ?Please? I gasped. ?Sara?? My wife sidled up to me and preened herself in front of me like a bitch on heat, running her painted hand through her hair and sticking her big tits out so I was looking down her cleavage, inches from my chest. ?Who?s the racist now?? she asked. ?Who?s the bigot now, you fucking rapist? I knew you?d follow me tonight. Why else do you think I let you touch me?? Sara was wearing a long. heavy studded leather belt around her tight dress, and she undid it and handed it to Masta D. ?There, darling? she breathed. ?Sort him out for me real good, lover. Leave your mark on him.? I was dragged to a private room and my trousers and underpants were pulled down to my ankles. Then I was pressed over a table by the two thugs. Then Masta D proceeded to thrash my backside with my wife?s belt, one agonising, stinging stroke after another. I was in agony. ?You dipshit? Masta D stopping to catch his breath. ?Who da man?? I was in agony, and staring at my darling wife. ?You?d better answer him darling? she said, pouting in her fuck-me heels. ?Tell him?. Masta D whipped me again, even harder this time. ?I said who the man, ya muthafucker!? ?AAAAGH ? You?re the man!!? I replied, desperately telling him what I hoped he wanted to hear. ?Dat?s right wimp boy? he said. 'Now, Sara don?t like a rapist, do you bitch?' ?Not one bit?. ?Not unless he?s black? she added, staring at me with spite in her eyes. He then whipped me again, hard, then walked round, clenched my chin and looked me in the face. I was in shock. ?You done lost ya wife to black?, he snarled menacingly. ?And now her and a couple of brothers going down the station to make a complaint. Ya tried to rape her, and you aint gonna get away with it. Yo up shit creek, motherfucka? ?That?s right? said Sara, looking at the other guys present. ? That ugly fat fuck forced himself upon me, just cos I gone black. Just coz I a good little whore, doin what done comes natural, givin it up to the black man, just like a prime white bitch should. Wimp boy here can?t never satisfy me. Ain?t no surprise I done gone black. It?s only natural.? ?You hear that?? snarled Masta D, showing no mercy as he continued to whip my ass hard. I was in agony. ?She don?t want you no more, bitch boy?. ?You guys, take her down the precinct? said Masts D. ?You speak to the officers, baby. And I?ll bring this fuck in later, when I finished showing him who da man.? That?s how it happened. My darling Sara claimed that I had raped her that evening, and sure enough, the tests showed evidence that we had had sex. She also showed signs of being mishandled. Her cheeks were bruised, and her lipstick smudged ? obviously Masta D?s doing. There was no shortage of ?respectable? black guys from the recording industry to testify that Sara had left me for Masta D months ago, and I was crazy with jealousy. Caroline, the whore, told a pack of lies on the stand, dressing respectably for the first time in months, her belly swollen. But it was my wife?s testimony sealed it. She said that I had pleaded to have sex with her, to make a baby with her, and forced myself on her when she resisted. It even raised a snicker in court when she added ?luckily he didn?t last long?. My punishment was a year inside a tough penitentiary, followed by what?s called ?protective custody?. My time inside jail I don?t want to go into too much, suffice to say it was mercifully short. For six months I lived in constant fear of catching AIDS, and was used by the black guys in prison almost daily. As a white sex offender, I was the lowest of the low, and was even forced to dress in women?s clothing and perform sex acts at the weekend ?parties. On one memorable occasion, Caroline surprised me with a supposed ?friendly visit? but it turned out the evil bitch just wanted to watch me being whipped and abused like her poor Arnie. No doubt she reported everything back to Sara, including my mode of dress. I was relieved to be allowed out after 6 months, and luckily I hadn?t contracted any diseases during my time inside. The deal was that I was to be tagged, and forced to live, initially, within a ? mile radius of my home. Sara had supposedly moved out, but I was still hopeful of working things out with her, despite her infidelity. However, when I arrived back home I had a rude awakening. Her slutty clothes and lots of new, expensive jewellery were still in the master bedroom, but my artistic pictures had been replaced with photos of heavily muscled black rap artists, most naked to the waste. My stuff had been moved into the spare room. Of Sara there was no sign. The following day, I had to meet Bob Chivers, my probation officer at the local office, to discuss the terms of my parole. He told me that a correction officer called Rachael Weissman had been given overall ?supervisory powers? over me, which ultimately included the power to order me back to prison if I misbehaved. Under a strict new state law for sex offenders, he said, she could also order what he referred to as ?coercive punishment? which could be administered by a licenced nominee of her choosing if I broke the terms of my parole. With a gulp I realised he was referring to Sara and Caroline?s black cock-loving aquaintance. The bitch with the lawyer boyfriend,who I had seen dancing at the Blue Star on that fateful night. When I returned home that afternoon I heard loud rap music coming from the lounge, and found Sara laying there on the sofa, painting her nails. I couldn?t believe how radient she was. She looked absolutely gorgeous, in an short, clinging, low-cut pink dress. As I hadn?t had a woman in over six months, my cock became rock hard at the site of my gorgeous wife. She looked flushed and perfect, with her engorged breasts and hard nipples clearly visible beneath the thin material. ?Ah, there you are. ?Enjoy your vacation darling?? she asked, stifling a chuckle. You fucking BITCH! I replied. ?How on earth could you do something like this to me?? ?You?ve put me through FUCKING HELL these last six months. Do you realise what I?ve gone through? ?Er? you?ve been whoring yourself for black men, Darren, haven?t you?' she retorted. ?I know what you?ve been getting up to in jail, you fucking faggot. Caroline told me. But I always knew it. You?re just a fucking queer.? She chuckled and her oversized, bra-less breasts jiggled like jelly. ?Fucking wimp dick faggot?, she mocked. ?No wonder you couldn?t ever fuck me properly? "BITCH?! Enraged, I lunged for her, but she neatly dodged me. ?MASTA D!? she yelled. Suddenly a huge black figure lunged at me from the kitchen, and immediately I was floored with a flurry of punches. I found myself on the floor, inches from Sara?s sexy stilettos gazing at her crossed legs. Masta D ? who appeared to have been on a course of steroids ? towered over me like a growling bear. Then he began kicking me hard and methodically. I curled in a ball, terrified. ?AAAh? I cried. ?Look, please stop this. Please.? Sara was breathing heavily as Masta D mercifully let me be and sat down next to his woman. She snuggled up to him like a hot teenage schoolgirl, and started nuzzling and kissing his cheek and neck. My wife?s sexy dress rode high and I could see her stocking tops. He sat there, full of arrogance, his legs spread obscenely wide, the huge outline of his cock visible beneath his designer slacks. I later learned he has the same length of the porn star Mandingo, but a broader girth. As I watched, Sara?s dainty painted hand slid lower, down his chest. And then she started feeling the outline of his cock. I watched, powerless as she snuggled closer to him, her hot body flushed. She was on heat, obviously aroused by my shock and humiliation, her big breasts heaving . She ran her nails through Masta D?s cropped hair and licked his face. ?Mmmmmmm?, she breathed ?Are you going to give my husband a lesson in black superiority darling?? ?You fucking bitch? I spat through cleched teeth. ?Hell yeah? he said. ?I got da whole course planned out. Lesson one starts today?. ?Ooh darling? Sara said, crossing her dainty legs. ?I love it when you?re mean to white guys. And this one definitely needs putting in his place. Mmmmmm?. Masta D then fixed me with the meanest, most evil stare I have ever encountered. ?Now strip for her, bitch boy?, he said. Get those clothes off now. ?FUCKING DO IT!? Absolutely terrified, I started fumbling with my shirt. Just then the doorbell rang, and I breathed an inner sigh of relief. I hoped that Masta D and Sara would end their cruel game if we had visitors. I just wanted to get out of there. Sara walked to the door, and in a second she flounced back into the room followed by Caroline and none other than Rachael Weissman. My relief at seeing my new ?correction officer? was short lived. Mrs Weissman was not at all dressed in a manner befitting her profession. In fact, despite being the wrong side of thirty, she sported a ?sexy schoolgirl? look. Her thick dark hair was in two plaits and she wore a mini skirt, long stripey pop socks, yellow stilettos and a tight yellow T shirt emblazoned with the single word ?SLUT?. Caroline was wearing her usual slutty attire - a short, tight black dress showing plenty of cleavage. They were followed into the house by two more massive black guys ? one of whom I recognised as Rachael?s rich, hot-shot lawyer boyfriend. I noticed that Caroline was carrying a long thin cane. ?Hell, guys, you right on time. Fun just about to start? said Masta D. ?Bitch boy here?s about to do a striptease for us, like he learned in jail.? ?Ooh really? said Caroline, pouting and flexing her cane as she strode into the room. ?Mmmmm. I can?t wait?. ?Meet your new correction officer, bitch? Masta D said to me. Rachael then sauntered up to me, put her hand under my chin and looked me in the eyes. ?You?d better do a good strip, bitch boy? she breathed. ?Or I?ll order Caroline to rip your sad ass to shreds?. Caroline flexed her cane again with an evil glint in her eye. ?And guess what? I?m legally entitled? she smiled, triumphantly. ?I?m licensed, white boy?. The new arrivals seated themselves on the lounge chairs, the girls crossing their shapely legs. I was first ordered to bring them drinks. I was shaking with fear as I served them. I was terrified, and knew that I should do exactly what they said to avoid a severe beating. Rachael?s lawyer lover produced a long reefer and demanded I give him a light. Then Sara got up and changed the music. ?Now FUCKING DANCE!? said Masta D The girls were in hysterics as I tried to catch the rhythm, failing woefully, shaking my fat ass. The new song was a particularly infantile tune by a female rap artist called ?Short Dicked Man?. I will always remember those lyrics. ?Eenie weenie, teenie weenie, don?t want no short dicked man?. I was totally embarrassed, but no way did I want to be beaten again so I made a real effort to entertain them, shaking my ass as sexily as I was able, to the left and right, and undoing the buttons of my shirt. Masta D was right - I had been forced to do something similar in jail on more than one occasion, but not in front of three sexy, horny women. ?Yeah, shake that ass? said Rachael, taking a draw on the joint from her lover and sitting on his knee.. ?Yeah! Show us some flesh? Caroline said, laughing. I started to remove my shirt, clumsily. ?Tease us darling ? said Sara, who still had her painted nails on Masta D?s massive cock-bulge. ?We want you strip property, like a male stripper? I turned round and again shook my ass at the assembled party. The guy on whose knee Rachael was grinding launched a kick onto my backside, sending me sprawling. ?AAAAGH? I yelled. I fell on the floor and banged my knee painfully. ?Get up, bitch? Caroline said when she could control her laughter. ?Carry on dancing. DO IT!?. ?Don?t stop now darling? Sara laughed, still rubbing herself against Masta D. ?I want to see your cock. Everyone does. We?re dying to see it, aren?t we girls?? ?We want to be reminded how fucking small white boys are? Caroline added, with spite in her tone. ?And you better not insult us by getting hard?. ?Hey, Sara this could be your song? piped in Rachael. ?He?s a short dicked man and you sure don?t want him?. ?He sure is? agreed Sara. ?Big fat butt and tiny little cock. Not enough for a prime, sexy alpha bitch like me. Ugly fuck. No wonder I kicked his fat ass out of my bed for good?. ?It?s our duty to make sure this wimp know his place? Rachael added. ?Get up and get naked? Masta D snarled. ?And don?t forget to shake that sad ass for our bitches?. 8907 1.71/512345