The Story of Michael

by Damien Dsoul

  ***

  Master Shehu loved redheads. He wasn’t the only Black Master in the camp who does but he gets the first pick of the litter whenever any batch of bitch-slaves gets introduced in the camp. The second thing he loved most was herbal tea. Every breakfast, lunch and dinner he had me prepare him his brew specifically to his taste. He’s pretty intelligent as I soon got to learn. He had a Masters in Petrochemical Engineering and his father was once a European diplomat. He often trained us white boi-slaves in yoga. There were times when I’d sit at his foot and he’d narrate to me historically how the Queen of England still refuses to release priceless African artworks stolen during the slave trade and of the ridiculousness of the so-called Commonwealth. He loved President Obama, and his own critique about him was that he didn’t have white slaves serving him in the White House.

  “Would be good if he had some white boi-slaves licking his ass every day before he heads out to work,” Master Shehu mused as I sat next to his foot listening to him while he sipped his dinner tea. “Be a good thing for more black-Americans to be like him.”

  ***

  I witnessed a slave-matting for the first time while I was at the camp.

  There had been a lottery going on amongst the older white-boi slaves to see whom would draw a required six-digit lottery number. Older slaves were chosen on account of the amount of work hours they put in for their Masters who would then recommend them into the lottery without the slaves knowing; the Masters would hold on to the slave’s ticket until the day the lottery numbers would be complied and then the winner called out. This event took place every Saturday with all the white boi-slaves, including us the new fish, gathered in the indoctrination warehouse and then Master Abraham would call out the chosen number as well as the roll-calls of the slaves whose names had been submitted and finally the winner. A similar lottery draw as well took place amongst the bitch-slaves, although it involved those whom were in their heat period. The matting would commence the following day in the evening.

  There was another building located at the south end of the camp of which a dividing road from our slave hostel as well as that of the bitch-slaves lead to. This was where the slave-mating ritual takes place. There the white boi-slave and the bitch-slave were both kept in a cage and everyone, including the attending Black Masters, would watch them fuck.

  I was fortunate to attend one of such mating rituals before my escape incident of which you will read about pretty soon.

  The white boi-slave’s name was Ian, and he was from a small hick town in South Dakota. How he came to be in this part of the world, whatever must have brought him here, I don’t know. Someone mentioned to me that he’d volunteered. That he’d left America and travelled down here searching for something; whatever it was, he seemed to have found it. He won the lottery and he was expected to mate with the bitch-slave, her name being Ami.

  Inside the cave the mating was never that easy. The white boi-slave was expected to fight with the bitch-slave and see if he can overpower her, subdue her and then once she’d succumbed to his strength and prowess only then would she allow herself to be fucked by him. The bitch-slaves despised us white boi-slaves and thus this one their only means of ensuring such a mating doesn’t always occur.

  The room was crowed; the air stifling besides the triple air-conditioners blowing cold air inside. I stood on top a stool with Eamon as well beside me looking over the heads of the gathered crowd who were cheering and wildly clapping; the white boi-slaves occupied one section of the room and the bitch-slaves the other with the caged circle in the centre. Ian entered through a side opening and so too the bitch-slave Ami; the look on her face wasn’t a friendly one. A Black Master hit a gong bell and the ceremony commenced. We cheered at Ian while the bitch-slaves crowd cheered at their colleague. The two of them circled each other in the room and then Ian threw himself at Ami, but she side-stepped him in time, laughing when he caught air and fell to the ground. He lunged at her once more and they struggled and fell with the bitch-slave wanting to be free from his grasp. He hit her elbow in his face; the bitch-slaves camp went into an uproar as they saw him bleed. We thought it was going to end unsuccessful even though it had only passed a couple of minutes but a clock was ticking. If a white boi-slave is unable to overpower the bitch-slave within thirty minutes, the match would be cancelled and thus no matting until the following weekend. Still we continued to cheer. Ian got to his feet, wiped blood off his nose and assumed a stealthy mode of attack. He was not supposed to present any physical attack on the bitch-slave and thus had to out-wit her with however means he could employ.

  Just when we thought it wasn’t going to happen - twenty minutes had already passed on the clock - when Ian grasped Ami tight with his arms around her waistline and though she struck at him with both elbows, he continued to hold onto her. They fell to the ground and Ian pinned her face to the floorboard. We all held our breaths watching, praying for the inevitable to happen. It did happen. Ami slapped her palm repeated on the floorboard, signalling defeat. Myself and Eamon hugged each other, joining the rest of our white boi-slaves to scream and whoop with the sight of watching the bitch-slave capitulate. The bitch-slaves weren’t looking happy and booed at us from their side of the cage. There was much reason to celebrate as prior to the match-up, one of the older white-boi slaves had mentioned to me that neither of them had been successful with any of the bitch-slaves for nearly four weeks now; this was a surprised win.

  One of the Overseers signalled Ian over and unlocked his chastity cage. The look on Ian’s face was happiness as he felt his white boi-slave’s prick achieve some erection. Ami took off her bitch-salve outfit and lay on the floor with her hips raised, fingering her pussy at him. The crowd was rapt with attention as we watched Ian approach her. He came down on the floor and again we whooped with joy as he began to fuck the bitch-slave. He pressed her chest on her, his buttocks worked up and down between her thighs. the bitch-slaves watched in smouldering anger and defeat while we couldn’t help but chant at our colleague to ‘fuck that bitch pussy! Fuck that bitch pussy!’ over and over again like we were in a stadium watching a baseball game. Ami seemed to be enjoying it too. She pushed Ian on his backside and then came on top of him and first stroked his cock to get him further hard before climbing on top his dick. Eamon was holding his chastity-enclosed prick in his hand as he watched. He wasn’t the only one who was doing such. I know had we been freed from our chastity imprisonment a lot of us slaves would have been jerking off to what we saw happening in the cage.

  All around Eamon and I, ourselves included, us white boi-slaves made noise to spur our colleague onward.

  “ - give it to her, Ian!”

  “ - her bitch-slave pussy! Fuck her bitch-slave pussy!”

  “ - let her win, whtie boi! Don’t let the bitch-slave win, white boi!”

  From the other side, the bitch-slaves too weren’t keeping quiet. They too derided our colleague with vigour and spite.

  “ - pound his silly dick, bitch!”

  “ - the stupid, fucking white boi!”

  “ - him, Ami! Eat the slave for dinner!”

  “ - we’re with you, bitch! Don’t fucking let that slave bastard win!”

  “ - ain’t no Black Master, white boi! You ain’t no Black Master!”

  Only the Overseer’s who didn’t join in the spectacle; they were having as much amusement watching us interact the way we did and watching what was going on in the cage to be mindful of our expletives. Besides, this was one of the few instances in the camp where us white boi-slaves can really get to mingle close enough with our other half. A lot of the bitch-slaves that were there were just itching for the mating to be over so they would hitch with them back to their apartments whilst we would return to our hostel with our chastity imprisonment hanging down underneath our loin cloth.

  The bitch-slave rode Ian’s cock hard. The way she slammed h
er ass down on him you’d have thought she wanted to fuck him to an inch of his life. Ian lay on the floor gasping along with the bitch-slave whose tits swung up and down as her hips rocked his. Ian grabbed at her large pair of tits and squeezed them while she pressed her neck over his head. His hands went to her ass cheeks and slapped her butt; this elicited a screech of approval from us.

  The bitch-slave Ami cried out helplessly and Ian too joined her and grunted repeatedly and we knew he’d just filled her pussy with his white-boi slave’s seed. Ami rolled off from him on the floor, their bodies livid with sweat. We pumped our fists at both of them and gave them a standing ovation of handclaps. We blew loud whistles at them; Ian raised his fist at us from where he lay and we acknowledged him.

  The cage’s gates came open minutes later and Ian and Ami got up and wore back their slave outfits and left the arena without even a glance at each other. What I learnt later was that from that day on, Ami would be monitored by the head bitch-slave to make sure she’d actually gotten impregnated. If by the second week it became apparent that nothing had happened, another lottery would be taken out on her, this time to find two white boi-slaves to hold her down and do the job. Such was an event that seldom occurred. I did inquire about it from one of the older white boi-slaves who related to have been here at the camp going two years plus now and told me he’d only seen it happen three times. Hugh was standing next to me when I asked about this and then he being a nosy fellow asked the other question that was fervent on my mind.

  “When the bitch-slaves do give birth, whatever happens to the babies?”

  The older white boi-slave clamped up when he asked that question. “That’s none of our business, and don’t make it yours either.”

  The mating ritual now over, we trooped out of the building and went in the direction of our hostel.

  JASON / ESCAPE

  “How Kristin and I came to be here?” Jason said to me and then shook his head, a rueful smile on his face, and shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t really say. Such things are hard to define. I guess we kind of expected it ... or maybe we were too in love with each other and wanted to find out more about ourselves. Things we just couldn’t do back home. Know what I mean?”

  I actually didn’t, but for the sake of prodding him to tell me his story I nodded my head and told him yes I do know what he meant. In a way I guess I did. My mind recollected when I first tasted my cum ... and the time I ejaculated with Anya’s torn panties in my hand. Such wasn’t something I could have done back home in Buffalo. Or maybe I was wrong. Either way, I suspected I had to travel halfway around the world to discover that part of me. That part of my psyche that resides in every white man: the thought of wanting to be made a submissive.

  We were seated at the corner of the west wall. It was a section that divided us from the white-bitch slaves’ hostel. From where we sat we could see some of them doing minor chores like washing the Black Masters’ clothes or sweeping the yard. I had been on morning detail all day and had finished having my lunch break and having nothing else to do had left Eamon alone inside the hostel in search of Jason whom I’d met seated here. He told me this was his favourite spot. He sat here so to see if he could spot Kristin strolling by. Yes, he had seen her a couple of times, and no, he’d never once called out to her. It wouldn’t be wise if he did. Besides, she’d probably report him to her Black Master who’d quell his feelings for him so he didn’t want that. He was more content this way. He loved the lifestyle they both practised. He loved being submissive to black men and women and knew his woman too enjoyed it. He talked about his Black Master with a feeling akin to love.

  I was curious to know more about him and it took some prodding to get him to open up, which he did.

  “Kristin and I met in college,” he told me as we sat there under the shade of an Udara tree. “She was a top cheerleader and me, I was a science major. My Dad wanted me to go into the military just like him. He was a racist and hated anything black or Mexican or foreign, including Brits. I wanted nothing to do with war; I wanted to run an NGO instead and Kristin and I had made plans of getting engaged. We came down to Nigeria and stayed in a hotel down in Lagos.”

  He paused. I thought maybe I’d said something to discourage him and I nudged him with my elbow to go on. Then he continued.

  “And that was where we met her,” he said.

  “Who’s her?”

  Silent for a minute, then he began his tale ...

  ***

  “Her name is Mistress Tiffany. We met her on our third night at the hotel, her and her husband, Master Wale. He was a businessman, import and export, and they’d just returned from some trip abroad, or so they told us. It was Kristin who first met with them at the hotel’s swimming pool while I’ gone back upstairs as I’d forgotten her sun-block cream and returned with it to see her sharing a laughter with the Nigerian couple. We got introduced and they invited us to have dinner with them later. They were the first friends we were having since we arrived in the country; Kristin was quite flattered and Master Wale seemed to be quite a charmer. Something happened that afternoon when we returned to our suite. We had sex. Not just any type of sex, I’m talking hungry crazy sex. The type of sex that’s least expecting, that you aren’t thinking about even though you are somehow - I shut the door and Kristin jumped on me, kissing me all over and I too had the hunger and we found the couch and she kept moaning for me to fuck her harder ... and I did. I came inside of her. She wasn’t in her period then and she was being regular on the pill, and I was happy about that. I hadn’t much savings and wasn’t looking forward to starting a family just yet; neither was she.”

  “Evening came and we went down and meet with Master Wale and his wife. Damn, that was one pretty-looking black woman. Never met any woman who’s that gorgeous: tall with just the right shape of hips, kind of like that Beyonce chick, know what I mean? Kristin noticed it and I guess she felt kind of intimidated by the woman. I was too. I sat next to her and she and I talked stuff while Kristin and her husband made conversation. I couldn’t make out whatever they were saying - Mistress Tiffany had my full concentration. At one time she rubbed her hand across my thigh. At first I thought I was just ... nothing, you know. Then she went and did it again and that sent a lot of butterflies travelling down my spine, I’ll tell you. I didn’t know what was going with Kristine but later when we said goodnight to Wale and Tiffany and went back to our room ... she came at me even before I had the door open. Matter of fact we almost didn’t make it to the bedroom. We did it right there on the floor.”

  He laughed at this junction.

  “It was amazing. It was crazy. The stuff that flew out of Kristin’s mouth while she rode me. She kept hitting my ribs with her knees I thought I was going to break something but at the same time I didn’t care; I actually didn’t. I was hitting her back; I wouldn’t stop fucking her. The more she yelped, the more I wasn’t to bury my cock deep inside her. But the funny thing is all the time I was fucking her, it wasn’t her I was picturing. It was Mistress Tiffany. I got to learn later that she too had her own fantasy going on in her head while we were fucking. She told me she pictured Tiffany’s husband Master Wale pounding her. She opened up to me after we’d made love that night and told me while I and Tiffany had been talking that Wale had his hand running up her thigh. At first she’d felt disgusted by it and wanted to slap his hand off, but then she looked across to us and saw how relaxed I was with his wife and she thought what the hell. I asked what they’d talked about. She said this and that. He’d asked if she was enjoying her time in Nigeria and then told me some naughty stuff ... of course she didn’t tell me what naughty stuff they talked about, but listening to her giggle I figured it involved sex or something close to it.”

  “The next day we got a call from them saying there was this night club they’d love us to attend. Kristine was all up for it while I was still contemplating whether to acc
ept or not. We decided why not. They picked us up in the evening and first we drove to some classy restaurant and had something to eat, then drove to some night club somewhere in Victoria Island. Lots of people there, good music too. We got ourselves a private booth, had us some champagne and just felt happy being together. Somewhere along the line we kind of switched places: I sat beside Mistress Tiffany while her husband sat with my wife and Tiffany and I talked while I noticed her husband and Kristine kept flirting with each other. Tiffany asked me if I’d ever made love to a black woman before. I shook my head and said no. She then asked if I’ve ever eaten a black woman’s pussy before; still I said no. I looked over at Kristine and I swear she was kissing Wale. Tiffany had her hand on my crotch and kept squeezing my dick hard. Oh yeah, I was hard like a rock down there. Watching Wale run his hand down my wife’s thigh ... it just got me thinking wild and crazy. At one time Tiffany kissed me. It wasn’t like any ordinary kiss, no. She had her hands on my face and sort of opened my jaw and stuck her tongue down my throat. She wagged her tongue against mine and then pulled out and wet my neck with her lips. It was crazy, I tell you.”

  “We left the club and they told us there was a party going on somewhere and if we’d like to attend. They didn’t wait for us to make our minds up, we were in the car already and heading there. We got there ... and that was where things went another level.”

  What was the party like?

  “It was a party like any other ... and it wasn’t. It was a weird type of party, kind of fetish-like, but not really. There was couples there, foreigners. There were some women doing a striptease. Lots of wine ... people laughing and talking all around ... at some point, a guy came with a mic and talked to the women to come up on the stage where the striptease act happened, and next thing you know all the women there in the room let where they sat next to their husbands and went up on the stage. Tiffany told Kristine to go up and join them and she did, all giddy with excitement. The man now told them to pick out whichever man in the room they’d like to dance with and the women did. I noticed the white women picked out black men and their husbands who were there didn’t seem to mind; Kristine picked out Wale. Music came on and we watched them dance there on the stage. It was kind of erotic watching the white women and the black men dance ... I spotted Kristine cutting a rug with Wale. Saw the way he held her and really I should have been alarmed seeing all that happen ... except I wasn’t. To tell the truth, I was very much turned on. Tiffany came and sat next to me, asked how I loved seeing Kristine and her husband dance. She said to me that she hasn’t had her pussy eaten in a while and if I’d like to do that for her. I told her I’d love to. She took me upstairs into some room and pushed me on the bed and came on top of me. She held her dress up and sat down on my face; she didn’t have any panties on. She practically held my head up and forced me to each her snatch. She was like a wild cat. She cursed at me, called me a silly white boi ... said I couldn’t eat pussy even if my life depended on it. Told me I was going to be her bitch. All this stuff coming out her mouth and there I was eating her pussy like I hadn’t tasted none before. My cock was rock-hard in my pants all the time. And she was strong too. At one time she pulled me off from the bed and had me down on my knees and held her dress up with her other hand and forced my face to keep munching her pussy. She pulled my face back and spat on me and slapped me once or twice then jammed my head back on her cunt. She was a dominant bitch, unlike any I’ve met before.”