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.
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."
"Yessir," Jikiris mumbled, familiar with this little "game." Jikiris knew what was coming. He always hated this part of their interaction. He knew how he was about to be treated and he also knew how his own body would betray him by being aroused, robbing him of his right to be angry.
Jikiris bend 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.