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Subject: {ASSM} Hip Hop Hoes Series -- Gay Sex/Teenagers/Racial Humiliation
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Date: Sat, 27 Mar 2010 13:10:03 -0400
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The Hip Hop Hoes Series
This story is a work of erotic fiction. It is intended for
entertainment purposes only. It may contain racial slurs and sexual
acts which some readers may find offensive. This story is not intended
to be read by minors or by anyone who might be unduly influenced by
its contents, or where community standards prohibit this type of
literature. If any of these prohibitions apply to you, please find
something else to read for your entertainment.
*****************
When I was in high school I lived in a working class neighborhood with
a lot of black and Hispanic boys. During gym class I snuck peeks at
the boys as they did their sit-ups, push-ups and pull-ups. Those
bulbous black and brown asses under their tight gym trunks tightened
and flexed with each push-up. I tried not to imagine what it would be
like to watch those boys pumping their seed between their girlfriends'
thighs on a steamy Saturday night.

Sex was never far from my mind as the boy next to me, wearing a cut-
off t-shirt, grunted under the strain of his push-ups. His funky
underarms whiffed my way, filling my nostrils with boyish masculine
dark skinned teenage sex smells. I was surrounded with inner-city teen
boy arm pits; it was all I could do to repress the impulse to stick
out my tongue lick one of them - tasting the fragrant hair of ghetto
puberty in my mouth.

After gym class we were all herded onto the locker room. The walls
echoed with boisterous laughter, shouts, joking, running, screaming
and wet towels snapping against nude skin. These black and brown
skinned boys tugged at their t-shirts to pull them off of their sweaty
bodies. Boys lifted their arms to remove their shirts. The sweet smell
of their deodorant mingled with the funky manly smell of their sweat.
All I could see was a sea of smooth dark bodies of all shades;
everywhere I turned there were cinnamon brown boyish biceps and dark
chocolate forearms, muscular caramel thighs and calves, and ashy coal
black knees.

Boys pulled down their boxer shorts exposing rich plumes of dark pubic
hair against dark skinned masculine boyish bodies. All of them seemed
to have thick long cocks dangling between their legs; jungle meat to
impregnate their girl friends.

I tried to turn away to avoid getting a hard-on; afraid that if any of
these black or Hispanic boys noticed I was aroused I would be the
subject of ridicule and physical abuse.

I desperately tried to cover myself up with my towel, to conceal my
raging erection. It was too late. One of the boys noticed me. A boy
named Tavis, the color of dark gold, beamed devilishly at me but
didn't say a word. How long could I trust him to keep my secret and
spare me from abuse? What would he want from me in return for his
silence?

He tilted his head and motioned me to fallow him into the next aisle
of lockers. Clutching my rumpled up towel to my crotch I followed the
boy. When we were just out of ear shot of the other boys, who were
noisily arguing over who was the baddest, Spider man or The Hulk;
Tupoc or Biggie; Freddie Kruger or Jason - Tavis leaned over and
whispered in my ear, "I see yur fuckin' soldier down dere standin' at
attention, ya damn queer. I want you to suck my cock n' I'll keep
quiet."

I blushed and swallowed hard, trying to look away. His brown chest and
shoulders pressed up against my body, emitting a teenage manly smell
that made my cock throb even harder underneath the towel that was
bunched up in my hands.

"If you don't want me to tell nobody you best follow me into da
janitor's room," he tilted his head toward a small door I hadn't
noticed before.

It turned out that the "janitor's room" was a small space with mops, a
sink and hose in it - and shelves were cluttered with cleaning agents.
The door was unlocked, but could be locked from the inside.

Once we were inside Tavis locked the door and grinned devilishly at me
again.

He slid his boxers down below his knees and sat on the edge of the
sink. "Get down dere and gimme some head you faggot - an you better do
a good job, too. I ain't playin'."

I slid down to my knees and stuck my face between the boy's smooth
brown thighs. I was almost overcome by the pungent smell of his pubic
hair that enveloped my face. His manly teenage sex smell gave me goose
bumps as I lifted this thick brown cock and held in just inches from
my lips.

"First suck on my balls."

The boy lifted his nutt sack and let his pendulous testicles fall over
my face. I licked under his nuts and licked up and down the boy's ass
crack, tasting the hairs in his ass. I felt his hands press on the
back of my head, gently guiding it toward his cock shaft. I slurped up
and down that thick piece of nigger meat. I filled my mouth with it.
His cock throbbed and jerked under the gentle massage from my tongue.

I licked his balls and his cock, tasting the warmth of his manhood and
sexual potency. Tavis grabbed the base of his cock and stuffed his
dick into my mouth. He pushed his thickening rod to the back of my
throat, cutting off my air and making me gag. I sucked on his warm,
throbbing member. He grabbed my head and forced it up and down his
thick shaft.

"Yeah, suck dat dick, bytch."

The taste of the black boy's manhood filled my mouth.

***************

All of this reminded me of a conversation I had several days earlier.

Anthony, a good friend of mine was telling me about the recording
industry. His father owns a recording studio where hopeful prospective
artists arrive by the dozens, dreaming of one day landing a record
contract and to become rich and famous.

Lots of aspiring boys from the street, mostly black and Hispanic boys,
participate in the search for stardom. They tried to impress their
homeboys and shawties, even before they cut their first CD. They made
videos of themselves and posted them on the internet to try to create
a buzz. Girls flocked to them, spreading their legs and giving them
head, treating them like the stars they wanted to become.

But back stage, with the owners of the recording studio, it was
another story. The old, fat, hairy Italian office managers weren't
impressed with black tough wanna-be rapper thug boys from the streets.
These business owners knew who held all the cards in this game, and
they never missed an opportunity to drive this point home to the
"talent."

One aspiring "artist" went by the name of "Jakiris". The boy had a
bright smile of milky white teeth that contrasted with his mocha
chocolate face; it made young girls' knees wobbly.

Jakiris wore a diamond stud on his earlobe that seemed to accent the
coolness of his personality and his soul. He was pure ice. For guys he
rarely cracked a smile and was quick to beat down anyone he thought he
could bully and get away with it.

But once Jakiris was in the back room with the studio owners, trying
to negotiate payments, he became the epitome of deference and respect
- not that it was reciprocated.

Jakiris rolled into the back office with his posse of niggas.
Anthony's father's name was Mr. Alfonso.

Mr. Alfonso, sneered, "Jakiris, or whatever the fuck your name is - I
see you brought a pack of your monkeys with you."

The black teens shifted nervously on their feet, partially embarrassed
for Jakiris, partially offended by the comment - in either case, not
really knowing what to do.

Mr. Alfonso turned to two other Italian men in the room. "You see this
dark-skinned monkey? His name is Jakiris - what the fuck kinda name is
that? Jakiris."

The men laughed. Jakiris's face flushed with anger.

One of the men offered, "His Mama musta been on crack when she gave
him that name."

Another round of humiliating laughter. Jakiris's posse of black boys
were now looking at the ceiling, their feet, the exit door - anything
to avoid eye contact with each other or with these powerful white
executives who held their dreams in their hands.

Jakiris tried to put on a game face. He stared defiantly at Mr.
Alfonso, as if he were ready to fight. Mr. Alfonso returned the stare.

"Naw, his mama wasn't on crack - she was too busy suckin' on the stiff
white pipe between my legs to be bothered with a glass pipe."

The three men laughed loudly once again. Jakiris' buddies seemed to be
looking for a way to get out of the place.

Mr. Alfonso was not letting up. "Jakiris, show these other monkeys how
your mama takes care of her boss' cock meat."

Mr. Alfonso lifted his hefty belly slightly off of his chair and
unfastened his belt, allowing his pants to drop. He pulled out his
stubby white cock and motioned for the black boy to position himself
at his feet.

Jakiris, weighing the situation, and wanting desperately to get a good
deal on the recording studio did what hundreds of street-hardened
young black thugs with dollar signs in their eyes and "bitches" on
their brains do every day - he sank to his knees allowed the man to
stuff his hairy Italian sausage between his thick black lips.

The other men howled with laughter.

Mr. Alfonso pointed down at the black boy slurping on his cock, "You
see - no matter how tough or 'street hardened' they think they are,
they are never too good to take the time to give a man a good ol'
fashioned blow job when he needs it."

Mr. Alfonso looked at Jakiris' buddies who were standing around like
awkward goony birds, not knowing what to do with themselves. "You
boys, don't just stand there - make yourselves useful. Pull those
baggy pants down and show my friends here some of that nigger ass that
makes you boys so popular in prison."

Silently, respectfully, the black boys let their baggy pants drop and
they bent over. Mr. Alfonso's buddies didn't waste time. They yanked
the boys' boxer shorts down, exposing their naked dark brown asses.

The men lined that teenagers up and took turns, one-by-one, humping
inside of each boy's ass, while the boy dreamt of stardom. The boys
whimpered with pain. Thick Italian cocks ripped through their black
bodies and massaged their prostates.

The boys ground their teeth in agony.

Mr. Alfonso's body grew stiff at the sight. He let out a loud sigh.

Jakiris sensed what was coming. He yanked his head away from the older
fat man's crotch, but Mr. Alfonso shot several thick loads all over
the black boy's face. By the time the fat was through, Jakiris' face
was dripping with the older white man's cum.

Mr. Alfonso sat back and laughed at his artistic creation, "Yeah,
that's the way to get a black boy to work for you."

The other men laughed as they each pumped their seed inside a skinny
black teenager's body.

************************

Meanwhile, back in the janitor's room - the taste of Tavis' brown
sweaty cock filled my mouth as if he allowed the potency of his man-
smell to accumulate by not washing his crotch for several days.

He worked his cock in and out of my mouth without mercy, as if giving
me a good pummeling in a school yard fight.

"Fuck my face," I managed to gasp between thrusts of his cock.  My
pleas for more abuse seemed to make his thrusts even more aggressive.

He looked down at me and sneered, "Yeah - youse a nasty bytch, aint
ya?"

I found myself mindlessly nodding in agreement. The more contempt he
had for me the more I was aroused by his manly power.

He sneered again and spat in my face as his frenzied face-fucking
became more and more intense.

He violently fucked my face. I couldn't help but think that I was
receiving the abuse of initiation in the strange and secret rites of
passage into ghetto manhood. Maybe this was what these black and brown
boys did to each other before they could become one another's
"niggas."

In the locker room how badly they needed to burn off energy. They
needed something to relieve the pressure of all of that teenage
testosterone and those thick, long dark cocks dangling between their
legs.

Suddenly I sensed that Tavis' body was stiffening. He dug his fingers
into my skull and mumbled one word: "Swallow."

His cock twitched in my mouth. Wave upon wave of thick, hot cum landed
on my tongue and slid down my throat. I savored the taste of his man-
juices in my mouth and swallowed all of it.

He stood up and looked down at me, sneering once again. "Youse a nasty
bytch."

He tucked his cock back in his boxer shorts and walked away.

From that day on I looked forward to gym class. Hard dark bodies
slammed against each other during a spirited game of hoops. Sweaty,
funky ghetto smells fill the air, gave me an irrepressible hard-on.
Every once in awhile a particularly horny dark-skinned boy cornered me
in the locker room or the john - pulled me off to the side, and made
me get down on my knees to give him head. After they were finished
with their business they acted as though they didn't even know me -
until the next time.

This was my urban education.

Now for more on "Jikiris":
*****************
It seems our boy Jikiris has decided to cross over and sign up with a
new record label. His boss is no longer Mr. Alfonso; his new boss'
name is Mr. Van Schmidt, and he is quite a respectable man.

Jikiris, a wannabe rap star who has a considerable following in "the
hood" found himself in financial difficulty and decided to visit the
offices of the owner of the record label he works for, Mr. Van
Schmidt. Every time Jikiris had to leave the hood and go downtown he
became apprehensive. This was no different from any of his other
visits. Record label owners are notorious for fucking with a young
nigga's mind.

After passing through a battery of body scans, wand scans, and hand
frisks, where Jikiris strongly suspected that the security guards were
getting off by deliberately feeling his nuts and his ass, the young
black thug boy finally reached the top man's office.

Jikiris walked into the office of black marble and polished wood. Mr.
Van Schmidt came from behind his desk to greet the boy. He held out
his hand and Jikiris awkwardly shook it - still not quite accustomed
to the normal business ritual and relying on his memory of how he saw
white businessmen behaving on TV.

Jikiris was amazed every time he saw Mr. Van Schmidt because every
hair on the man's perfectly styled blond head was impeccably in place.
Jikiris looked into the blue pools of the man's eyes and immediately
forgot all of his street bravado.

"Mr. Van Schmidt ...sir...I just wonderin' if you might be so kindly as to
gib me a few dollas so's I can make my car payments, sir." Jikiris
hated himself when he talked this way. He didn't do it on purpose, it
was just a vocal pattern that seemed to kick in whenever he was in the
presence of a rich or powerful white man. "I done gots myself into too
much debt and I bees in ovah my head."

Inside Jikiris was kicking himself, trying force himself to sound more
cocky and self-assured. He shifted nervously on his feet.

Van Schmidt coolly eyed the boy. "Sure, I can give you a few dollars,"
he said - pulling a checkbook out of inner breast pocket of his suit
jacket but not taking his steely blue eyes off of the boy. "I can give
you a few dollars, but it will be an advance on your allowance for the
next CD. I'll just take it off the top of whatever the CD grosses."

"Thank you kindly, sir," Jikiris awkwardly blurted out before biting
his lip in embarrassment at the way he sounded.

Mr. Van Schmidt scribbled on a check and handed it to the boy.

Jikiris reached out for the check, but the man let it drop from his
hands. The negro boy stood stooped shouldered, watching the check
slowly float to the floor at the white man's feet.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Van Schmidt said with false sympathy. "How clumsy of
me; I guess you'll have to bend down and pick it up."

Jikiris bent down and scooped up the check, but before he could
straighten his back Mr. Van Schmidt said, "While you're down there be
a good boy and dust the dirt off of my shoes, will you?"

Jikiris made an annoyed face. He thought Mr. Van Schmidt was always
asking him to do demeaning things like this. Still, Jikiris needed the
money, and if dusting off Mr. Van Schmidt's shoes was a part of the
bargain then so be it.

The black boy brushed his fingers over the man's leather shoes, but
Mr. Van Schmidt shook his head. "No, not like that - be a good boy and
lick my shoes with your tongue. Get them good and clean, will you?"

Jikiris made a face. He figured he wouldn't get off so easily. Here he
was, a male role-model and idol in his community, someone all the
"homeboys" and "shawties" looked up to, and he was about to get down
on his hands and knees and lick this man's dirty shoes. But he knew
this was the way the game was played and there was nothing he could do
about it. What he really bothered him was the fact that he always got
a raging hard-on every time he did something like this.

The black boy crouched down at the white man's feet and made another
face of displeasure. Slowly he ran his tongue over the man's shoes,
wiping them clean. As usual, Jikiris felt his cock getting rock hard,
making a tent in his baggy jeans.

Jikiris tasted the man's shoe leather. Somehow this racially forbidden
act seemed so right to the boy. This was something his homeboys would
never imagine seeing their hip hop hero do in a million years, and yet
if they saw it they would also get hard. There is nothing like the
shock of humiliation to get a black boy's cock hard.

Jikiris looked up at the blue-eyed white man who was glaring down at
him. A lock of the man's blond hair had drifted over his forehead. The
man seemed intent on keeping Jikiris at his feet. Jikiris looked at
the man as a dog looks up to the leader of the dog pack.

Maybe that was it, Jikiris thought, as he continued to lick the white
man's shoes. "I know I'm a dawg, and my boys be dawgs too, but maybe
dis here be da head dawg. He da dawg all us niggas gotta look up to
because he got da money an' da power."

Van Schmidt seemed oblivious to the boy's logic. The only thing that
interested him was how easily and thoroughly the boy could be subdued.

But to Jikiris this logic gave his life order and meaning - the law of
the jungle - domination and submission - the conqueror and the
conquered - as he licked this white man's shoes he felt himself
affirming the social hierarchy. His cock throbbed in his pants.

Jikiris thought that maybe this law of the jungle was why his pecker
was so damn hard and wouldn't go down. In the streets the only thing
that matters is power - and this dude, Mr. Van Schmidt, had it in
spades.

Van Schmidt sensed the boy's confusion. He enjoyed the prospect of
burning whatever lesson the boy was learning deep into his mind. He
lifted his shoe slightly so that the boy could lick the soles of his
feet. "Lick those shoes, boy - that's what you're good for."

"Yeah, dat's it," thought Jakiris - his stiff cock now leaking pre-cum
and creating a dark stain in the front of his pants. "I jus be gibbin
dis dude respect because he done earned it. He da man."

Van Schmidt gave Jakiris a slight shove with the bottom of his foot
against the boy's face - pushing him away. Then Van Schmidt turned and
walked out of the room.

Jakiris was still on all fours in the middle of the floor, looking
like a dog, his thick black cock twitching inside of his pants,
pumping pre-cum into his boxer shorts.

The boy almost didn't notice that Van Schmidt had left the room
because he was so caught up in his own thoughts about how it is that
in the ghetto, as with monkeys in the jungle, the stronger male
humiliates the weaker male - often ending up with the weaker male
sucking the stronger male's cock and swallowing his cum as a sign of
respect.

Jakiris also knew that the weaker male turns up his ass to the
stronger male - as a sign of submission - allowing the stronger male
to mount him in order to demonstrate his dominance. Jakiris was well
aware that this is why he and his buddies sagged their pants all of
the time.

*******************

Jakiris wasn't exactly the brightest jungle bunny in the forest but he
did know enough to figure out that what a white man could do to him,
he could do to one of his younger homeboys. When he got back to his
streets in the ghetto he had just such a boy in mind.

The boy's name was Darrius. Jakiris had had his eye on Darrius for
some time. The younger boy was about 16 years old, the color of sweet
caramel. He wore his long curly black hair bunched up in a frizzy pony
tail and topped it off with a bright colored cap - usually red or
green or blue or white - depending on the color of his jersey and his
sneakers on that day. His thick red lips were topped by a gentle
shadow of a peach fuzz mustache, hinting at that boy's emerging
manhood.

Jakiris found himself somewhat hypnotized by the younger boy's
flawless skin, especially when the boy was wearing gym shorts allowing
Jakiris to see his smooth brown legs. For some reason Darrius struck
Jakiris as being "innocent" so, Jakiris took it upon himself, as a
challenge, to help the boy discover his erotic passions.

When Jakiris saw Darrius walking up the street he called him over.
"Hey Darrius, come ovah here man, I gots a job fo you."

Darrius' eyes brightened. It's not every day that a budding recording
star like Jakiris even bothers to pay attention to a nigga, much less
offer him some work to do. He rushed over and stared at the older boy
in expectation.

"I wan' chu to help me out wid' a song I be workin' on ..."

Darrius couldn't contain his excitement. He warm brown glowed with
anticipation.

"But first u gotta cum wid me someplace where I kin see if u man enouf
ta handle th' job."

Darrius' face became quizzical but he kept up his game face, looking
street-hardened and deadly serious, "Thas wuz up." He silently
followed the older boy into an empty storage room. Jakiris locked the
door.

Jakiris faced the boy, "Pull down yo' shorts"

Darrius looked at Jakiris as if he was unsure that he heard what
Jakiris had just asked him to do.

"You heard me nigga, I say pull yo pants down."

Darrius slipped his gym shorts down below his knees.

"Boxas too."

Darrius looked embarrassed but he figured this must be some sort of
ritual of initiation. He slowly tugged down his boxer shorts revealing
a thick healthy cock nestled on top of two pendulous testicles with a
dense bush of dark pubic hair above  - all resting between the boy's
smooth brown thighs.

Jikiris studied the smooth brown curves of the boy's body and the
boy's tender bulbous ass. He sighed in spite of himself. His eyes went
dreamy. If a white man, like Mr. Van Schmidt, could own any young
nigga's body he wanted, then a nigga like Jikiris, who had everyone's
respect in "da hood" should be able to own a nigga's body too.

Jakiris pointed to a box in the center of the room, "Sit down on dat
box."

Darrius followed the older boy's orders. His eyes grew wide with
disbelief as Jikiris stooped in front of him and began fondling the
boy's cock, making it hard. Darrius looked away, embarrassed for
Jikiris who was kneeling in front of him, playing with the boy's dick,
and embarrassed for himself for getting a hard-on in front of a nigga
when there were no bitches around to play it off as something other
than what it actually was.

Jikiris leaned in; he looked up at Darrius and mumbled, "Don't tell
nobody 'bout dis." Then he stuck the boy's cock in his mouth and
sucked on it like it was a caramel Tootsie Roll pop. The boy's cock
quickly expanded and filled Jikiris' mouth.

Darrius let out a sound that was a cross between a whimper and a moan.
He had never felt a sensation like this in his entire young life.
Jikiris' warm moist mouth was wrapped around his cock and his tongue
massaged the underside of the boy's shaft giving him pleasures he
never dreamed of.

The boy tried to keep his "street mug." He was deadly silent and
serious, but he couldn't repress the moans and sighs that escaped from
his lips.

Jakiris grabbed the boy's hips buried his face in the boy's crotch.
Darrius forgot himself, forgot the pecking order of the ghetto, forget
his position in the social hierarchy - he grabbed that back of
Jarkiris' head and pumped his cock in and out of the older boy's
mouth, completely absorbed by his own uncontrollable teenage lust.

Jakiris chocked on the boy's thick cock. He swallowed his saliva and
the boy's precum.

Darrius grunted and thrust in the black boy's mouth. His thrusts grew
harder and harder  as his needs became more and more urgent. Darrius
picked up speed and breathed heavily - panting now with restless
excitement.

Jakiris went with the flow and allowed to boy to aggressively fuck his
face.

Before long Darrius' body tensed - he let out a deep moan - his cock
twitched in Jakiris' mouth. Thick blasts of creamy man-juice landed
heavily in the back of Jakiris' tongue and the roof of his mouth.
Jakiris nestled his face in the boy's pubes and nursed on the younger
boy's cock without apology.

After Darrius had finished firing his load, Jakiris sat motionless
with the boy's softening cock still resting on his tongue, leaking the
remainder of his joy juice.

Jakiris swallowed all of the boy's liquid man-nectar before lifting
his face from the boy's crotch.

When Jakiris realized what he had just done he became embarrassed. He
looked up at the younger boy who was still in state of bliss.

"Don't tell nobody I done sucked yo' dick," Jakiris said in a
threatening tone.

Darrius straightened up. He nodded, looking somewhat confused about
what had just happened. He silently pulled up his boxers and his gym
shorts. Both boys hardened their faces before returning to the
streets.

The two boys left the room - Jakiris couldn't even look at the Darrius
and Darrius avoided eye contact with Jakiris. They didn't say another
word to each other.

But Jakiris and the boys get a big opportunity to be "discovered" when
"Thomas" comes to town:

*****************

Thomas of Atlanta put an ad in the newspaper Indianapolis to discover
new talent for the hip hop videos he was famous for producing and
directing. The talented young white man had a lot of power; all the
black boys knew it.

The ad said that he was looking for young men to appear in his videos,
but everyone in the entertainment industry knew that this could lead
to an opportunity for budding young rappers to appear on concert tours
and to eventually audition to be featured in their own shows.

Thomas loved to see what hopeful young men, with dreams of stardom in
their minds, were willing to do for a shot at living their dreams.

Thomas heard the muffled sounds of a crowd of black youth outside of
the door of the audition room. He looked over his shoulder at his
assistant, "call in the first ten boys for the audition."

The large doors swung open and ten teenage black boys swaggered into
the room. The studio's assistants blocked off the other boys who were
eager for a chance to audition. They shut the doors and Thomas eyed
the first ten boys up and down. They were all shades of black and
brown. "Mmmm, nice."

Thomas stood in front of the boys with his hands on his hips,
thoroughly in control of the situation. "Okay boys, if you want to be
famous and make a lot of money then you're going to have to strip down
to your boxer shorts and line up with your hands behind your backs so
I can see if you have the physiques I'm looking for."

The black boys looked at each other and then at Thomas. They grumbled
and snarled to each other that Thomas was obviously a "Queer
mutherfucka," but they dutifully stripped down to their boxer shorts
so the white man could inspect their nearly naked black bodies.

Thomas grew impatient with grudging movement of the boys as they
pulled off their clothes, "Strip down to your boxers now - don't give
me any of your lip - unless, of course, you've got those nigga lips
wrapped around my cock." Thomas shot the boys an intimidating glance
and added, "I just looooove feeling nigga lips wrapped around my
cock."

They snarled but they got the message. Grumbling oaths of their
cherished pride and manhood the black boys stripped down to their
boxer shorts. Their thick, pendulous cocks swung beneath their cotton
shorts. Thomas' eyes grew wide as the outline of big, long nigger
cocks became plainly visible.

He tried to maintain his facade of aloofness but he couldn't prevent
himself from gasping, "Oh my."

The boys lined up in front of Thomas, hands behind their backs,
military style.

Thomas got close enough to smell each one of the boys' unique scent.
He inspected the "talent," slowly walking up and down the row of
nearly naked colored boys.

"The performers in this video," Thomas said, "have to be maaaaanly."
He paused in front of one particularly handsome young smooth-faced
Mandingo warrior. "Do you know how to be maaaaaaanly?"

The boy looked simultaneously annoyed, embarrassed and confused.

Thomas leaned close to the boy and pretended he was answering an
unspoken question, "What? You don't know what I mean when I say
'maaaaaanly'?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders as if he were afraid to say anything
that might offend the powerful the music director.

"When I say 'maaaaaanly,'" Thomas continued, "I mean someone who
glares into the camera when it's in his face."

The boy nodded, indicating that he was following what Thomas was
saying.

"And," Thomas continued, suddenly grabbing the boy's crotch, "who
reaches down and holds a big handful of nigga cock for his audience."

The boy jumped at the touch of the director's hand on his nigga sex
meat.

Thomas didn't let go; he continued to feel the boy up. He fondled the
boy's cock through his cotton boxer shorts, staring the boy dead in
the face.

The boy shifted with nervous embarrassment as his thick nigga cock got
stiffer and stiffer in the director's hand. Thomas grinned with
contempt.

When he let go of the boy's cock it was fully erect. All the other
Negro boys attempted to stifle their laugher at their homeboy's
discomfort.

"That," Thomas continued, walking away from the embarrassed boy, "is
what I am looking for in future performers for my hip hop videos. Do
you boys think you have what it takes?"

The boys all nodded in agreement; they were sure they had what it
takes to become famous hip hop stars. But Thomas wasn't through laying
out his criteria.

"It's important for my performers to have big nigga cocks because that
is what sells, but do you know what else sells?"

The boys looked at each other as if they were stumped by the
director's question.

"I'll tell you what sells." Thomas turned to a tall, light-skinned
boy. "Bend over. Grab your ankles." The nigga did as he was told.

Thomas yanked down the back of the boy's boxer shorts, exposing his
naked high-yellow ass. Thomas wrapped his arms around the boy's hips
as if he were introducing the boy's buttocks to the whole world. "Big
nigga ass," he said proudly, slowly turning the boy's ass like a spot
light sweeping across a stage.  "Audiences love to see big, bulbous
nigga ass shaking on their TV screens."

He let go of the boy's butt cheeks and walked away, leaving the boy
bent over, not quite sure what to do, still helplessly exposed to the
rest of the guys in the room. "If you don't have a big nigga booty to
shake you can forget about ever being a star."

Thomas looked at the row of lean, smooth, shiny brown and black chests
and abs. He sighed. "My boys need to be willing to show their bodies
when they perform in my videos."

He reached out and ran his hand over a chocolate brown boy's smooth
body. The boy quivered.

"People like to see lanky black boys, who are in good athletic shape,"
Thomas said, as he moved his hand down to the boy's thighs and felt
between his legs.

"People like watching black boys with attitude," he cupped the boy's
testicles in his palm and fondled them. "People like black boys who
are obviously filled with testosterone."

Thomas gave the boy a swift slap on his ass and walked away from him.

"So if you play your cards right you might get a chance to appear in
my next video."

Thomas disappeared into the director's office, leaving the row of
hopeful young niggas horny, embarrassed and unsure of whether or not
they had sufficiently impressed the eccentric white director, who was
the gateway to their dreams.

Thomas plopped down on a black leather couch in his office and whipped
out his cock, frantically stroking it with the images of nearly naked
young black boys still fresh in his memory. He could still remember
the feel of their thick nigga fuck meat in his hands and the smell of
their groins and ass in his nostrils.

He stroked violently, imagining several of the boys on top of him in
an orgy, their firm, sweaty dark bodies covering him as their hard
nigga cocks pushed between his thighs, in his ass and in his mouth. He
imagined licking their hairy nigga balls.

He stroked harder as he dreamt of grabbing one of the boy's bubble
butt as the boy pumped his black cock inside Thomas' ass.

"Oh yeah, fuck me nigger - fuck me. Fuck me with that big black
monster cock," Thomas gasped out loud, egging on his dream.

The black boy Thomas' daydream slammed wildly into his ass and filled
him with a hot thick load of potent nigga jungle cum. Thomas shot a
stream of jism all over his masturbating hand and his black leather
couch.

"If those boys want a crack at stardom," he muttered to himself as he
cleaned off his couch, "they better be able to perform at least as
good in real life as they do in my dreams."

Thomas returned to the audition room. The nearly naked black boys were
still standing there. Thomas wanted a new batch of nigga boys to
inspect.

"Send in the next ten boys," he called out.

His assistants ushered the next group of ambitious black boys into the
room to try to win Thomas' approval.

Once the boys are selected and the concert tour begins things really
start to roll. Even the rodies on the tour find that they have lots to
write about in their diary:

*****************

Notes from the Hip Hop Tour

Dear Diary,

Every day is a new adventure for me. As the only white boy on this
tour I am so excited. I feel that I am learning so much about myself
since taking this job as a roadie on a hip hop tour.
After long hours on a chartered bus we finally pulled into Memphis
where we are to put on a show. To save money - these concert promoters
are always cheap - us roadies have had to double up in our hotel
rooms. The tour reserves rooms with a single bed, telling the hotel
that there will only be one nigga in a room, so they can get cheaper
rates. Meanwhile, they assign two, sometimes three or four niggas to a
single room and we all have to share a queen sized bed.

It's a good thing none of us are faggots.

I was lucky last night - I only had to share a bed with one nigga. His
name is Clemont. Everybody on the tour calls him "C-Monster."

Clemont is a dark-skinned nigga in his early 20s, who always wears his
hair in tight corn-row braids. We spent a night on the town, taking in
all the sights and sounds of Memphis. By the time we were ready to
turn in for the night C-Monster and me were pretty toasted. Malt
liquor mixed with the blunts C-Monster kept rolling got both of us
good and wasted.

We got back to the hotel room and stripped down to our boxer shorts so
we could call it a night. We both wanted to be good and rested before
putting in a full day of unloading gear and setting things up for
rehearsal and tomorrow night's concert.

We checked each other out. C-Monster is pretty cut for a little dude.
He's short, but he's compact - built solid like a tank. I'm not bad
myself. I've been working out - pumping a little iron - so I can hold
my own with the niggas who seem to be naturally muscular.

I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a shit. By the time
I got back to the bed C-Monster was out cold. Even though we had a
queen sized bed, with lots of room for two niggas, C-Monster had
sprawled out across the bed. I had to squeeze in and rest my head on
his arm just to have enough room to try to get some sleep.

Clemont smelled of coco butter and regular nigga body funk, it was a
musty, sweet yet manly smell he gave off. Sleeping snuggled up next to
him like that, with his arm under my neck and his firm black body
pressed against mine I couldn't help getting a hard-on. I don't know
why that happens every time I sleep next to a nigga. I aint gay or
nothing, but it always seems to happen. It's kinda annoying.

Anyway, I finally drifted off to sleep and started having weird dreams
about being raped by a gang of wild black niggas in an African jungle.
Their big long nigga dicks kept firing jizz all over my face and in my
ass. It was a crazy dream. I don't know what caused it; maybe it was
the weed and the malt liquor playing tricks on my mind, but that's the
kind of crazy shit I was dreaming about.

Anyway, the dream got more and more intense - so intense, in fact that
I woke up. When I was fully awake I realized that Clemont still had
his boxers on, but he was grinding his cock into my thigh. The nigga
was still asleep, but he was absent-mindedly giving into his instincts
and humping on me like I was his woman or something. I felt that big
nigger cock pushing against the side of my belly. I never realized
before how big his dick was.

I was kinda aroused, having that big nigga cock pushing up against me
like that, but I was also offended. I don't want to be anyone's bitch.
I said out loud, "Oh hell naw." I reached out my hand to push Clemont
away from me, but all I managed to do was grab a handful of fully-
erect nigger cock.

That cock was thick and warm under his cotton shorts. I felt it
pulsating in my hand. I didn't want to let go of it. I felt like I was
holding onto big Black Mamba snake or something. I didn't know what to
do with it. I started stroking that bitch up and down, trying to see
if I could make it go down or something; I guess I was trying to tame
the bitch but it just kept getting harder and harder.

Finally Clemont started stirring. I think he was waking up. I tried to
lay still, but I was still clutching his big black manhood. Then I
heard Clemont mumble in a low voice, "Yeah, keep doin' dat."

So I kept doing it.

I slowly resumed stroking Clemont's hard black cock. Gradually I
picked up speed and did it with more and more vigor. Clemont brushed
my hand away and pulled down his boxer shorts, freeing the black
python between his legs. I was shocked. I was embarrassed. I didn't
want him to think I was some kind of faggot who was into stroking a
nigger's man meat while he was sleeping. I held my hands close to my
body, hoping he would forget about what I had just done and fall
asleep again - but he didn't.
Instead he reached out, grabbed my hand and placed it squarely on his
cock and mumbled, "I said keep strokin' dat bytch."
So I stroked it.

I stroked him harder and harder, making his body quiver. I felt like I
had power. I felt I controlled that nigger's body. This really made me
horny. I whipped out my own cock and started stroking it while I kept
stroking Clemont.

I heard him breath heavy. It really went to my head. It's an
intoxicating feeling, knowing that you have control over someone by
grabbing their cock. I felt I had Clemont, literally, in the palm of
my hand.

I made that nigga grind and moan. I hissed in his ear, "Yeah, I own
you, nigger. I own your cock. This cock is mine - give it to me."

I could see Clemont's lower lip quivering with pleasure in the
darkness. His black face was full of ecstasy. His eyes rolled up in
his head.

"Gimme that nigger cum," I hissed, "I wanna see you shoot that load
all over your black body."
Clemont's lip kept trembling. He sniffled with pleasure.

I leaned over and licked the tip of his cock head. It tasted funky and
sweet, like earth mixed with mango juice. I licked his cock head
again. Then I slowly slid it into my mouth and sucked on it like a
chicken bone.

His cock was thick, and warm in my mouth. It was pulsating with
hardness. I sucked on that nigger's cock and took more and more of his
shaft into my mouth. I heard him moaning and gasping. He surrendered
himself to me.

I licked up and down the shaft of that big black cock, tasting the
tropical flavors of coconut and jungle oil. I licked his hairy black
balls and tasted the musty flavor of nigga jock sweat. I had the taste
and the smell of nigga manhood all over my mouth.

I gasped for breath and whispered, "Come for me, nigger - come for me.
Let me feel that nigger jism splash down the back of my throat."

I felt his hips gyrate against my face. The coarseness of his kinky
pubic hair brushed against my nose. I started gagging on that cock as
he thrust it deeper and deeper in my mouth, fucking it like he was
fucking one of his baby mamas in the ghetto.

He grabbed the back of my head and fired cum down my throat.
Thick, hot splashes of white coconut juice oozed across my tongue,
arousing me like a can of fresh oysters.

C-Monster kept pumping load after load of cum juices in my mouth,
making me one of his boys - part of his posse. Big nigger cock firing
away in a white boy's throat.

I slurped it all down. I fired shots of cum from my own cock and they
landed across Clemont's black thighs. I don't think he noticed. His
smooth black body was covered with a coat of sweat, making it shine,
even in the moonlight.

When I finished shooting my load I was exhausted. So was Clemont. We
both just lay there in the bed, trying to recover from our orgasms.

I came up for air and rested my head in the crook of his arm, which
was still sprawled across the bed. I saw his gleaming bicep in front
of me and couldn't resist sticking out my tongue and licking it for
good measure - getting yet another taste of his powerful black
manhood.

Clemont shot me an alarmed glance, as if I had just done something
faggoty. "No homo," I reassured him, "Just chill. No homo."

Clemont looked at me to be sure I meant it, "No homo?" When I nodded
that I meant it he said, "Okay, cool," and relaxed.

We both slept soundly through the night with a newer and deeper
respect for our manhood. This is the way it should be with all guys
when they reach the point where they can trust one another without
having to make bitch moves, like getting jealous the way women do.
This is how guys should relate when there aren't a bunch of flighty
women around who always get in the way and distract you from manly
things.

I'm sure Clemont and me will work together much better now. That's
what manhood is all about. It's about having your partner's back and
he's got your back too. It would help the morale of the whole crew if
other guys could get a chance to bond that way.

Sincerely,

Evan (on the road with the hip hop tour)

But, now, how do hip hop boys train to become stars?
*****************
One of the ways teenage boys get prepared by record producers to
become big hip hop stars is for them to go to a "performers' training
camp," out in the woods, for several weeks. Hopeful black mamas bring
their teenage sons to the performers' camp with the expectation that
one day these boys will become rich and famous rappers. The only
problem is the performers camp can cost a lot of money, and most black
mamas don't have enough money to pay for it.

Not to worry though, the producers of record labels have found ways to
set up liberal terms for payment. Consider the story of Amos...

Amos' mom enrolled him in performers' camp - of course, the first
thing the staff of the camp suggested was that Amos would have to
change his name to something like "T-Shawn" or "Wal-Leek," because
"Amos" is not a name that carries very much street cred.

The camp staff consisted of teenage white males who had studied music
and who knew how to write, so they could help the black boys put down
their lyrics on paper. The white teenagers also knew all the ins and
outs of the recording industry, including marketing and promotion.
Young Amos, who was about 16 years old, was impressed by the white
boys' knowledge of the "behind-the-scenes" business aspect of the hip
hop industry and was eager to get started.

One of the counselors turned to Amos' mom, "How are you going to pay
for this, Miss Robinson?"

"I don't know," the fat black woman said, smacking on a piece of
chewing gum and making it pop in her mouth, "I wuz hopein' you could
find a ways to work something out."

"I'm sure we can," the grinned the white teenager. He steered the
older black woman into the finance office with two or three of his
horny teenage buddies and they shut the door behind them.

Two of the counselors stood outside of the office with Amos. "So, you
want to be a rapper, eh?"

"Yes," Amos said, staring wide eyed at the older, more knowledgeable
teens. He took a deep breath of their clean smell as they towered over
him; their chiseled bodies looked like white marble statues to the
black boy. He was filled with excitement at the prospect of being
around these handsome male role-models.

"Well," said one of boys staring down at him, "let's see how well you
can use those lips."

The young black boy looked confused, "Where's the microphone?"

"You won't need a microphone," laughed the other white boy, "We want
you to do this 'unplugged." He pushed the startled boy down on his
knees so that his eyes were level to their crotches. The camp
counselor unfastened his pants and pulled out his thick cock. He waved
it in the black boy's face.

"Your first test of musical talent is to see how well you can hum on
this. Do you think you can give it a good hummer?" he laughed.

Amos' eyes grew wide with amazement. He had never seen a teenager's
big white cock before. He thought that white boys had little cocks.
Even though Amos wasn't gay, he began to feel his own black penis
stiffen inside of his pants. He seemed awed by the purity of the white
boy's fuck meat. He kissed it, as if in a trance, and watched the
boy's cock grow harder and harder right in front of his face.

The teenager grabbed the boy by his head, and stuffed his thick cock
inside the black boy's mouth. Amos almost gagged as it filled the back
of his throat. He wanted to please the white boy so he tightened his
lips around the boy's cock and didn't let it slip out of his mouth. He
slowly began to suck on the teenager's cock, feeling it grow harder on
his tongue. The white boy moaned.

"How does it feel?" his buddy whispered as he watched his friend
getting a blow job while eagerly stroking his own adolescent cock.

"Awesome," came the reply. "It's so warm and moist. Those nigger lips
really feel good sliding up and down my dick."

Just then the sounds of a woman screaming echoed from behind the
closed doors of the financial office. Amos and the two white boys
froze. They were startled by the noise.

It was Amos' mom, and she sounded like a female house slave "helping"
her young master "make his bed" before sending him off to school in
the morning.

"Oh my, oh my, oh my," the woman shouted to the sounds of heavy
teenage thrusts, "I got a big white cock inside my black pussy."

"Yeah, take that cock Miss Robinson," came the teenager's reply.

"Fuck her black pussy, Mike," the other boy chimed in, "I think she
likes your big cock breeding her body."

There were frantic grunts and groans and bumping in the finance room
as the two horny teenagers took turns ravishing the older black
woman.

From outside, the two camp counselors, with Amos on his knees in front
of them, could tell the black woman was getting a real work over. They
quickly got back to work on Amos' lessons in performing "unplugged."

The sound of Amos' mom being serviced by the young teenage studs in
the finance office made Amos suck the camp counselor's cock all that
much harder. He was now sucking the teenager's cock with deep respect,
seeing how easily their buddies were mounting his mama in the other
room, using her for a black cock whore.

Amos looked up through the blond bush of pubes on the teenager he was
sucking. He gazed at the boy's smooth white abs and chest. Then he
looked over at the other boy and gazed at the boy's fierce blue eyes
and his rosy cheeks. These white boys were like gods to young Amos. He
was determined to serve them well so that he could get all they had to
offer him.

He licked up and down the throbbing shaft of counselor who had his
cock buried deep in young black boy's mouth. The counselor pushed the
boy's head back, and shoved Amos' face over to his buddy's cock so
that he could share the pleasure of having the boy's thick black lips
massaging his dick.

As Amos serviced the second white boy his buddy grinned and said in
almost a whisper, "You ever feel anything like that in your whole
life?"

The boy's face was flushed with pleasure. "No, never! This is awesome.
I've never had any jiggy lips on my cock like this before. I never
knew what I was missing."

Amos sucked even harder, trying to please his new tutors. He thought,
"Dese white boys gonna make me rich n' famous."

Amos rolled the white boy's cock around and around on his tongue,
giving the boy just what he needed since it had been weeks since the
boy had last seen his girlfriend, being squirreled away all summer
teaching in this music camp. Amos licked the boy's blond nut sack,
tasting the moist, intimate parts of the boy's budding young manhood.

The white teen seemed close to cumming. He pulled his cock out of the
black boy's mouth and told the boy, "Drop your pants and pull your
shorts down. Get on all fours. Get that black ass up in the air." Both
white boys laughed.

Amos did as he was told; his shiny naked black body glistened under
the intense lighting in the room. He jutted his ass out to grant the
white boys easy access. Amos' dangling balls and nigger fuck meat were
gently swinging under his ass crack.

One of the white boys mounted him. He fucked Amos' ass furiously, as
if he were working off weeks of pent-up teenage sexual tension. Amos'
black body rocked back and forth as he took the white boy's cock.

The boy, imitating what he had seen in his older brother's stash of
porn movies, shouted, "Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy?" while he
fucked the black boy's ass.

Amos paused and look confused, "I-I don't know," he answered
helplessly.

"You're supposed to say, 'You are! You're my daddy!" the white boy
corrected him, losing his patience.

"Oh," said Amos. "You are. You're my daddy."

The white boy grabbed the back of Amos' neck and fucked him even more
furiously.

He grabbed Amos' arms, and then wrapped his arms around the trunk of
the black boy's body, admiring the boy's lean muscles and smooth skin.
He relished the idea of having this tough, young inner-city black boy
completely at his mercy.

"Take that cock," the teen repeated. All Amos could do was grunt in
reply.

Just then the door to the financial office swung open and Amos' mom
staggered out, guided by the two white teens who had been fucking her.
A stream of jism ran down her leg.

At that moment, the teenager who was dominating Amos let out a loud
groan and shot his load deep inside the black boy's body. Amos felt
his body filling up with the white boy's warm sticky cum. The
realization that a white boy had just shot his load inside of him made
Amos spontaneously ejaculate. His nigger cock fired off spurts of cum
all over his dark thighs, his chest and his belly. Some of his cum
trickled in long, sticky strands onto the floor.

Amos' mama nearly swooned at the sight of her muscular teenage son,
the man of her household, on his hands and knees with his dark body
taking the white boy's cock. Her pussy got wet all over again.

She hoped that this was the beginning of great things for her
household.

Those hopes were somewhat dashed when one of the teenagers standing
beside her said, "Okay, that was a great trial run. It won't be
official though, until we make a video of it."

One of the other teens chimed in, "Yeah, we don't want the talent to
get too full of himself once he's up on the stage and women are
throwing their panties at him while promoters are throwing dollars. We
gotta have a leash so he won't wonder too far from the fold. The
videos we make of him servicing our hard cocks will be our 'leash' to
keep him in line."

*******************

Amos and his mother were ushered out of the building - Amos to his
camp cabin, with all the other aspiring young black boys who want to
be hip hop artists, and his mom to a cheap motel in a near-by town,
where she could earn additional cash if she needed it to pay for Amos'
lessons.

Amos and his mom where learning that his journey to hip-hop stardom
would be a long, steep climb.

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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