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Without touching his nub, with only the furious thrusting friction of his black master’s cock, Kuz went over the edge into the infinite, painful bliss of orgasm. It was a hands-free prostate orgasm, surging up with tremendous force from his innards, gripping all extremities with turbulent, brain-melting pleasure. “F-F-Fuuuuuck!” Kuz whined and wriggled. In the blinding joy of the orgasm, Kuz clenched his tearful eyes tight. Time stood still. In a vision, he pictured Kaylee in a wedding dress, under the shade of a tree along some spectacular Appalachian ridge. She lifted her veil and stared into his eyes. He disappeared into her precious, rare, otherworldly Aryan features. “Dat’s rite,” Jamal yelled, making Kuz’s sissy ass cum, watching the sissy jizz dribble out of Kuz’s locked-up cock into the clear cock cage. “Kiss me, faggot.” The black master kissed his sissy with a wet, open mouth. As his tongue invaded Kuz’s mouth, Jamal went over the edge into his orgasm. The build-up was long and gradual. Like a tidal wave it crested slowly and built to dizzying heights. With angry grunts and growls — in monosyllabic rasps of hatred and malevolence — the hulking black brute bred Kuz’s sissy guts. “Got-dayum, white, bitch, fuck, got-dayum, cracka ass, bitch,” Jamal mumbled angry curses as he plowed through his wild orgasm. “I’m s-s-s-o fucking full, king,” Kuz cried between kisses, still riding his prostate orgasm. Jamal’s diamond-hard master dick spurted buckets into Kuz. It felt like gallons. It was a warm, unending, savage injection of African semen. Its hot potency filled Kuz fuller and fuller, as though his belly was about to burst, and Jamal’s quivering balls shook between long contracting ejaculations. Gripping and kissing his brutal black master, legs wrapped around his superior body, in awe of the strange warmth of his first orgasm, Kuz welcomed the African cum. He was proudly a martyr. He relished the full feeling, the flood of the hot poison that would wipe away his race, if only to save Kaylee from knowing its horrifying power. “Dat’s rite, I own you, bitch,” Jamal mumbled to himself in lusty exhaustion. “I own you. I own you.” On the forest floor, beneath the gorgeous naked bodies of his black conquerors, Kuz stared up into the pale shafts of moonlight. He decided, then and there, that he’d never tell Kaylee what her freedom had cost. And he most certainly would never tell her that, in the fucked-up depths of his soul, he enjoyed the brutality so much his little clitty came. “Hell of a berffday present, huh boss?” a guard asked. “Got-dayum rite,” Jamal said, shoving Kuz’s spent body on the floor like used trash. “Now let’s get up outta dis bitch. We done here.” The black kings had pimp-strolled away, rolling a fresh ganjala blunt as they disappeared into the forest. When the last of the black master seed dribbled out of Kuz’s gaping boipussy, he limped back toward his cabin to tell Kaylee she was safe. The black kings had done plenty of damage to the village, but Kuz couldn’t wait to explain how he’d saved her by bartering only a small bag of their large ganjala cache (sparing her the grisly details). Even though he’d been humiliated, degraded, and ravaged, he felt like a triumphant martyr for the cause of whiteness. The moon was high now. Kuz’s sissy skirt billowed in the cool night breeze. His sissy ass ached. He came over the ridge to his cabin in a dreamy haze, full of a strange, wounded optimism. There was nothing more he could lose. His ego, his waning masculine pride, had been shredded by the demonstration of black power. This made him feel paradoxically free — ready, at last, to flee for freedom with his beloved. Step-brother and step-sister, the fate of the white race riding on their success, would make a run for it across the loose network of sissy villages dotting the landscape. They’d do it together. The very next morning. “Kaylee!” Kuz called out as he arrived at the heavy cabin door. “Kuz!” her muffled voice cried out. The door flew open with tremendous force, knocking Kuz backward, into the front yard, onto his sore sissy ass. He brushed the pink-and-blue tresses from his face and looked upon his worst nightmare.
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