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From: zifferman@aol.com (Zifferman)
Subject: Shaba three
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My stomach tightened.  Even my mother knew about the oral rape Shaba had
committed upon me.  Images of my suicide flashed past my open eyes.

My mom gave me a maternal pat on the head and left my room, closing the door
softly behind her.

I wondered if Shaba had told my mother everything.  That the blow job was
involuntary.  That I wasn't a homosexual.

A rage seized me.  I felt the bile rise in my throat and I began unconsciously
clenching and unclenching my first.  I was pounding my thigh with one fist.  I
would settle this once and for all.  I would confront Shaba and force him to
tell my mother that he had gain a temporary advantage and had forced his penis
into my mouth.

I bolted to my feet and strode with force and determination down the hall and
stopped in front of Shaba's door.  I could hear the deep ‘boom boom boom' of
his ghetto music coming from his room.  I didn't knock.  I flung open his door.

Shaba was sitting on his bed, smoking a "reefer"-- a marijuana cigarette.  He
was wearing baggy short jeans.  His thin yet muscular torso was bare.  He
smiled broadly at me.
"Listen, you," I began, then realized that my words were lost in the volume of
his rap music.  I reached out and turned the volume off.
"Turn my tunes back on, white boy," Shaba said, his smile suddenly gone.  
"I will not!  I have to have a word with you. . ."

With unhuman speed and agility, Shaba pounced off his bed and struck me
repeatedly on the face and stomach.  I rolled forward, falling to my hands and
knees.  Shaba was behind me in an instant, grabbing a wad of my hair at the
nape of my neck.  Then I felt him tugging down the pajama bottoms and my
jockies.
"What the hell are you doing?" I screamed.

I heard Shaba spitting into the palm of his free hand and then felt him
rubbing the still-warm liquid on my exposed anus.  The realization of what was
happening hit me and I struggled to upright myself.  Shaba cranked back on my
head, hyper extending it backwards.  

I felt Shaba fumbling with his hand, undoing his pants.
"Now yo' just relax, or dis is gonna hurt ya' bad," he hissed.

I could feel the flared head of his stiffening cock probing around my
clenched sphincter.  It found it's target and he made a tentative thrust.  My
ass refused him entry.

Shaba hit me on the side of my head with his free hand.
"I said relax, bitch.  I don't want to skin my johnson on yo' pussy," he
growled.

Two more deafening blows to my ear forced me to concentrate on relaxing.  I
leaned my chest forward until my shoulders were resting on his carpet.  I
deliberately forced my ass cheeks apart.  His probing became for forceful and I
was conscious of his bulbous cock head clearing the ring of my anus.

The effect was immediate and electrifying.  My body began convulsing, trying
to rid itself of the intruder.  But Shaba pressed deeper.  I felt as if I had
the world's biggest bowl movement and it initiated a deification reflex, trying
to expel the fat, black organ.  I found myself taking huge, deep breaths and
then bearing down, like I was constipated and trying to dump.  This actions
seemed to please Shaba, as I heard a low laugh each time I did it.

I tried to talk, to plead, to scream, but each time I opened my mouth I could
only moan and groan.

Shaba hit bottom in a turn of my sigmoid colon.  The pain was intense.  He
then withdrew slightly and began pumping his cock in and out of my butt.
"Yo' be tighter than yo' ol' lady," he guffawed.  

Shaba released his grasp of my hair, but I was past all resistance.  I was
focusing on survival.  I felt that I would have to endure this indignanty to
live.  With both hands no Shaba grasped my hips and used them as leverage to
quicken his thrusts.

I felt a slight pain in my own penis and then realized that it was painfully
erect, bobbing under my belly.  It must have been some sort of motor reflex,
possibly from Shaba's cock's movement over my prostate or the swaying of my
balls.  The tip of my cock felt cool and I knew that it was leaking precum.

I'm not sure at what point I became cognizant of it (time seemed to have no
relevancy now) but I found that I was matching Shaba's thrusts with backward
thrusts of my own.  It was as if my body was on autopilot; that some primitive
animal instinct had taken over.  As my sphincter relaxed and the pain subsided,
I have to admit, I found the sensations almost pleasurable.  The feel of that
strong, powerful organ deep inside me gave me a feeling of empowerment, or
purpose.

I was getting rugburns on my shoulders, my chin and my knees.  Sweat was
pouring from my skin.    I turned my torso so I could look at Shaba in the
face.  He was fucking my upturned ass like a machine.  His fat lower lip was
sagging open, exposing his yellow teeth.  Spittle was dripping from his open
mouth.  His eyes were unfocused, bleary.  His beautiful black skin glistened
with sweat.  Every muscle on his lithe body seemed taunt, tightened.

Shaba was jabbing his pud into my yielding ass with inhuman regularity and
rhythm.  I wiggled my butt from side to side, maximizing my own pleasure. 
Juice was flowing from my tortured rosebud and seeping down to my balls.

I felt a closeness to Shaba that I had never felt to another human being.  It
was as if his mighty organ was reaching my heart, as if we were bonded into one
being.

Shaba's thrusts began becoming irregular and stronger.  He was lifting me off
my knees with each thrust.  Then he gave an animal-like howl and began dumping
a massive load of manseed into my colon.  I could feel the searing heat in my
bowels.  

At almost the same instant I shot my own load.  I had never orgasmed without
even touching my cock and the feeling was ecstatic.  I felt the ejaculations on
my chest, warm and gooey.

Shaba's eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward, crushing me to the
floor, his long tool still deeply embedded in my ass.  We laid still for what
seemed like an eternity.  I wiggled my ass slightly in an unthinking effort to
share and maximize Shaba's pleasure.  I slowly began humping on his deflating
cock.  I didn't want this to end.  I never wanted it to end.  My hormones had
taken over and I was no longer in conscious control of my body.

As my anus milked his softening cock (I wanted every last drop of his cum
inside me) I knew what my mom and Buffy felt.  I felt a kinship with my mother
and girlfriend and understood the words my mother had spoken to me that very
evening. 

Shaba finally seemed to rise and he began pulling his still-thick cock from my
sore anus.  He did not pull it out slowly, as to ease my pain.  He practically
ripped his cock from my bowels.  I was conscious of a sudden and unpleasant
void in my rectum, like my of my own vital organs had been removed and not
replaced.  My body tried to follow his withdrawn organ in an effort to resink
it.  Shaba just grunted and slapped me on the top of my head.  His passion now
spent, he seemed annoyed at my presence.
"Get yo' pussy out of here, punk," he sneered, wiping his cock off on my
underwear.  I left his room dejectedly, a newfound sway in my walk.  In an hour
I had an exquisitely painful bowel movement that produced a large jellied turd.

I couldn't leave my room the next day.  I was so ashamed at my performance
with Shaba.  I couldn't believe that I hadn't resisted more forcefully.  I
should get a gun and shoot the bastard, I fantasied.  I hated him with every
fiber of my being.  But when I dozed images of his magnificent organ in my butt
or in my mouth always caused me to awake with a raging, painful hardon, precum
staining the front of my pajama bottoms.  There was no listing in the phone
directory for the French Foreign Legion so that option was out.

Several days went by and my anus seemed to return to normal.  I decided I
needed to get some fresh air, to get out in public again.  I went to the mall
to do some shopping and sighted Lynette Vasquez' red cadillac in the parking
lot.  Seeing her car made my heart leap.  I had always had a thing for Lynette
and if it were not for Buffy, and the fact that Lynette's boy friend was the
huge captain of our football team, I might have made a play for the smallish,
raven haired beauty.  Lynette was Buffy's best and closest friend and I hoped
to meet with her and, perhaps, find out what was happing in Buffy's life to
make her act so strangely.  I found Buffy and Lynette together in the food
court area.
"Hi, Buff!  I am so pleased to see you again!"  I said cheerfully.

Buffy noticeably rolled her eyes heavenward and then said, "Oh, hi, Jack."

Lynette was turning purple, trying to stiffie a laugh.  I felt as if a dagger
was in my back.
"Ummm. . .what is that on your wrist, Buff?"
"Oh, this?" Buffy said, proudly displaying a woven bracelete that appeared to
have been made out of a black boot lacing.  "It's my slave bracelet.  Shab. .
.someone gave it to me and I think it's kinda cool.  I never take it off."

I then noticed that Lynette wore the same type of bracelett on the same wrist
as did Buffy.  I occurred to me that this might be some new trend among girls
at my high school, or something more sinister.

I heard Buffy's pager humming and she excitedly excused herself and ran to a
payphone, leaving me with Lynette.

   Seizing my chance, I scooted closer to Lynette.
"Tell, me, Lynette, have you noticed anything. . .funny. . .about Buffy lately?

The last few weeks?" I asked 

  Lynette's eyebrows raised slightly and she asked, bemusidly, "What on earth
do you mean, Jack?"
"I mean, has she spoke to you about our relationship?  Has she mentioned any
changes in our relationship?"

   She smiled knowingly and looked away.  "I take it that there is no more
relationship with you and Buffy, Jack.  I believe that she is seeing someone
else now."


   I went to spend some time with my dad.  As usual, when he wasn't working he
was drinking and lamenting about how my mother prefered black dick to white.
"She could have remarried a white man, but noooo. . ." he said with a slur.

   After several days I asked my dad to drive me home.  I was getting pretty
tired of his non-stop monolouges on my mother's sexual preferences.  As my
father pulled to the curb (he refused to pull into the driveway or enter onto
the property any more) I saw my mother drive up.  She was just coming home from
work and still had on her scrubs.
"Jack," she said, speaking to my father, Jack Sr., "I haven't received your
child support payment for two months.  I really need that money."
"Oh, I see, Michelle!  Your black-boy husband needs that money for the track! 
Jack here told me all about his gambling habit!  And the fucker doesn't even
work!" my dad spat.
"How dare you talk about Jerome that way!  You don't know the first thing about
him!  He's a REAL man, Jack, something you wouldn't know about!" my mother
said, her voice quaking with emotion.

   My mom started to cry and she fled into the house.   My father, never
letting well- enough alone, followed her into the living room.  
"I've wanted to see what that buck nigger had done with my house.  I figured
you'd have spears on the walls and African wood carvings on the floor," father
said.
"Please leave, Jack.  Jerome will be home soon," she pleaded.
"Afraid I'll whip him like a slave, Mitch?  Afraid that he'll run and hide in
the woodshed now that the ‘massa' is home?"  My dad gave a cruel laugh.

    It happened so sudden I didn't have time to react.  My mom lashed out and
slapped my dad full in the face.  The blow staggered him for a moment.  He
wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and saw that it was bleeding.  Then
he drew back and punched my mother on the cheek.  The force sent her sprawling
on the couch, her face in her hands and a look of shock in her eyes.  

   I heard a noise behind me and I turned and saw that both Jerome and Shaba
were standing in the foyer.  My dad turned and saw them and the blood drained
from his face.  His eyes darted around the room looking for an escape route.
"Lookit the white boy.  He can beat a woman, son.  Do you think he can handle a
real man?" Jerome said with a chuckle.
"Shee-it.  I ain't met a cracker yet who can handle a brother, one on one,"
Shaba said in a low voice, his dark eyes on my father, then on me.

   Jerome dropped my father with a single punch to the jaw.  Shaba straddled
my dad's chest and began pummeling him with his hard, tight fists.  My father
was struggling, trying to fend off the blows.

    The next thing I knew Jerome was standing over my father and had his fly
open and was lazily pumping a huge black penis to full glory.  I gasped.  It
was even larger than Shaba's, something I would have believed to be impossible.

It was long, thick, black as coal, with a pinkish circumcision scar running
around it's considerable girth.  Jerome reached into his fly and scooped out a
huge, bloated scrotum, easily the size of a large orange. It was full and
round.  I couldn't make out the individual testicles, but his sack could have
held ten of mine.

  I guess my dad saw what was coming, literally and figuratively, because he
began to resist with new vigor.  He trashed and twisted under the lighter youth
but the effective and ceaseless blows were taking their measure of my dad's
strength.  My father, his face bloodied and swollen, began to resist less and
less.  I, of course, did nothing to assist my poor alcoholic father, lest I
incur the wraith of both Shaba and his miraculously-hung dad.  On the contrary,
I imagined myself in my father's place, Shaba's growing bulge on my chest mere
inches from my chin and I felt my own, pathetic penis began stiffening,
lengthening.  

  I turned and looked at my mother.  She was seated comfortably on the couch,
a glass of wine in her hand.  He free hand was absently massaging the crotch of
her scrubs over her pussy, a look of wanton lust and abandon in her wild eyes. 
She was enjoying this show like a roman empress enjoying a lion devouring a
Christian.

  Jerome had his 13 inch cock at full staff and was wacking it with a force
that almost made me wince.  His ball bag was slowly expanding and contracting,
readying for the blast that was moments away.  I still could not believe that
my mother's delicate, petite body could accommodate such a stallion-like
device.  My mind raced feverishly with visions of her riding his pole like a
rutting slut, yelling crude obscenities and begging for more.

    Jerome's grunting brought me out of my reverie suddenly and I caught sight
of his cock erupting great frothy gobs of white, viscous spooge onto my
father's upturned face.  The seemingly endless cascade of ejaculate rained down
on his battered cheeks, eyes and chin, mixing with his blood and oozing into
his opened mouth.  My dad sputtered, retching violently as he tasted the black
sperm.  Jerome milked his beautiful organ, forcing out the last great gob of
jizz, which fell directly into my dad's open yaw.  He must have inhaled some of
it for he began coughing and spitting.
"Lookit yo' dad now, punk!" Shaba addressed me gleefully.  He then noticed my
erection testing the material of my jeans and laughed aloud.  "This punk even
likes to watch his ol' man made into a punk!  Fuckin' faggity white boys!"

  My mother was past all speech, her hand a blur at her crotch, her eyes wide
and unfocused.  I could see that her pants were damp over her twat and her
nipples were tenting her top.  All social mores, all societal conventions, all
taboos were meaningless to her at this point as her onrushing orgasm encroached
upon her conscious mind.  As her body began to convulse I heard Shaba's zipper
opening.  I turned and looked at my step-brother.

    Shaba had turned my abused father onto his belly and had his slacks down
around his knees.  My father's defenses completely defeated, he seemed in a
trance, a coma.  I watched as Shaba inserted his own huge prick into my
father's yielding anus.  At first my father's body jerked and twitched, like it
was being jolted by a series of electrical shocks.  My father began grunting
and hyperventilating. 
"Dad, just try breathing deeply and regularly.  It helps," I said sagely.
"Yeah," Shaba commanded with a grunt, "relax that tight white butt hole,
bitch!"

   Shaba's long black tool was bent and bowed as he tried to ram it home in my
father's rectum.  It looked painful for them both.  I knelt down beside my
step-brother and bent over, slathering his hot, hard prick with my tongue.  As
he worked my saliva into my dad's colon more and more of his rigid pole
disappeared into that puckered orifice.  I heard Jerome's deep laughter but I
wasn't concerned.  I moved around and laid on my back with my head between
Shaba's spread, muscular thighs.  I lapped eagerly at his bloated, swinging nut
sack.  It was an unworldly experience, feeling with my tongue what I had only
every felt with my hand.
I rolled my eyes and could see my dad's own meager equipment, which closely
resembled my own.  My dad's wrinkled prick was hard and bobbing under his
belly.  I hoped that he was enjoying this as much I.

  I was barely aware of some flashes of light and realized later that my mom
was taking some polaroid photographs of the scene.  She told me that evening it
was ‘insurance' against my dad's failure to pay his child support regularly.

  I had an inspiration and I quickly lubed one of my fingers with spit and
rammed it home in Shaba's bung hole.  The effect was drastic and immediate. 
Shaba began ramming into my father's rear with such a force that it was sliding
my prostrait dad across the carpet.  I had to scoot along on my back to keep up
with Shaba's nuts.  My dad was yelping like a puppy.  Shaba clamped down so
hard that I feared he would break my wiggling finger.  

  I felt the first wave of cum leaving Shaba's balls with the tip of my
tongue.  Between thrusts I could see that huge vein on the underside of his
cock pulse as it spit wad after searing-hot wad into my dear dad's bowels. 
Shaba was so possessed by his orgasm that when he fell backwards onto his back
his body was still locked in the rigid position he had as he butt-loved dad,
his knees spread, his hands above him clenching an invisible ass, his cock
pumping and spitting tendril of foaming white spew somersaulting high into the
air.  I hurried to catch the last two spurts on my willing face, then sat back,
a look of sublime satisfaction and pride on my dripping face.

 I heard some applause and saw that my mother and Jerome were clapping loudly
and enthusiastically, like parents at their child's first recital.  Shaba had
awoken from his reverie and was lazily stroking his slowly deflating cock,
nodding as he acknowledged their approval.  

  I had come at some point in the festivities, a large spooge spot spreading
in my beige slacks.  My mother approached me and took my head in her arms and
hugged me.
"Oh, son!  I am so proud that you pleased you wonderful step-brother like that!

I am so happy that you have come to terms with your function in life!"

  My dad was slowly crawling towards the door on his hands and knees, his
pants trailing after him.  His ass hole looked gapping and abused, a large
riverlet of Shaba cums meandering from it and down his balls.

   My whole world changed from that day.  I quit school so that I could be
more available whenever Shaba needed my affection.  I was suitably employed
lubing his cock as he shoved it into some orifice of my mother of Buffy or any
of a number of white women he brought home.  Shaba introduced me to the joys of
group sex when he took me to a club house where his all-black gang hung out.

   I developed a certain wiggle to my walk.  Shaba had me dress in skin tight
short shorts, a half shirt and an Afro wig.  I thought I looked stunning and
quite feminine.  

  Oh.  And my dad never ever missed a child-support payment again.  In fact,
he continued to make the payments regularly well after I turned into an adult.


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