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.
Karl Schmidt, a talent scout for future hip hop artists, began his career as a security specialist in a juvenile corrections facility. It was his work in the correctional facility that gave him his first encounter with most of the boys he later signed up with a record label. Here is his story about tense conditions he used to work under:
We used to work with a bunch of animals. That's the only way to describe it. Every day we lived in constant fear that they would do bodily harm to themselves or to one of the security guards.
One morning I was summoned to the warden's office because of a security breach in cell block D. A broken bottle whizzed through the air from the upper balcony of the cell block. The bottle flew inches from the face of a security guard on the lower level. A few inches and it could have gashed one of his eyes. Nobody is supposed to have bottles in this facility in the first place. My job was to figure out who had smuggled it in, and what else they might have had smuggled in for them. If someone could smuggle in a broken bottle, they could also smuggle packs of cocaine or marijuana, or maybe a small knife. We had to check it out for security reasons.
Since we didn't know which of the boys in the upper level actually threw the bottle we had them all line up outside of their cells so that we could inspect their cells. Maybe we could find some evidence of contraband.
As an added precaution we made the boys strip down to their shorts so that we could be sure they weren't concealing anything on their bodies.
When I left the warden's office to inspect the boys' cells I wasn't prepared for the sight that was awaiting me. Row after row of smooth-skinned black and brown boys, bare-chested and bare legged, all lined up. Their lean and muscular dark bodies glistened with sweat in the humid building. The boys smelled of perspiration and unwashed genitalia – some of the smell was no doubt the smell of cum from masturbating before they got up in the morning.
I walked past the rows of pungent black boys, trying not to make eye contact with them or to indicate any interest at all in their young bodies. Nonetheless I couldn't suppress a killer boner that sprang to life in my pants. I tried to conceal it by folding it upward toward my belly but it still seemed to jut out like a boy scout's tent in the summertime.
Try as I might to avoid eye-contact with the boys, I couldn't avoid a furtive glance at their smooth young faces. Their thick lips and high cheekbones, their almond-shaped eyes danced across their faces. Their broad noses flared, like young bulls looking for a heifer.
I couldn't control myself. I needed some pretext for intimacy; I needed direct physical contact.
As I passed one tough, boyish brown skinned boy I pivoted toward him, "You," I shouted, "Hold still. Don't make a move."
The boy was startled. His eyes grew wide and his body stiffened. He swallowed hard.
The guards beside me turned on him in alarm, responding to my outburst. "What's wrong? What did he do?"
"I think he's hiding something," I said. "I think I saw him stuff something in his shorts. It might be some kind of contraband. I think maybe he stuffed it up his ass."
The boy shook his head in disbelief, helpless to declare his innocence – not sure what to say to counter the word of an authority.
The guards drew their Billy clubs and closed in on the boy, as if it was their habit to beat a nigger when they were in doubt.
"No, don't beat him," I said. "Stand back, I can handle this."
I moved toward the boy. His brown skinned body exuded nigger jungle heat. The smell of his arm pits emanated masculine body funk. I enjoyed the fear in the boy's eyes; his silent acknowledgement that I had absolute authority over his destiny.
"Let's see what you're hiding," I said, more for dramatic effect than to communicate to the actual boy himself. He seemed bewildered. He seemed to wonder why I had singled him out.
If only he knew. I singled him out because of that pendulous black cock I could see outlined in his cotton briefs. I singled him out because of his lean, muscular brown arms that exuded boyish masculine energy. I singled him out because of the gentle whiffs of his curly black hair. I singled him out just for the hell of it, because he's a black boy and I'm a horny man and there is nothing he can do to keep the pleasures of his body hidden from me as long as he is under my control in this facility.
"Bend over," I barked, "Grab your ankles."
The boy bent over and grabbed his ankles. His black bubble butt protruded toward the ceiling, just like I like it. I yanked down his boxer shorts, exposing his naked ass, his thick, long black cock and his pendulous, hairy balls. Nice.
"I think he shoved something in his ass," I repeated, with an air of authority.
I spread his butt cheeks, inspecting the nappy dark hairs up and down the boy's sweaty black ass crack. I shoved my fingers in his ass and felt around inside of the boy. My dick got hard while dug my fingers into his ass and pumped them in a slow, deliberate fucking motion. I finger fucked that black boy slow and long, feeling the hard-on in my pants leaking pre-cum.
I heard the boy groan with pain as I felt inside his ass. When I couldn't take it any longer – because I was afraid I'd shoot my cum right then and there – I withdrew my fingers and scowled with contempt.
"Nothing in there," I said, as if working my way methodically down a checklist of areas that a black teenager could hide contraband on his naked body. "Maybe it's under his arm pits. Straighten up, boy."
The boy straightened up. I ran my hands along the side of his trunk and under his arms, feeling the tight muscles on his body. I savored his smell. The boy's nostrils flared. He might have been on to me. Maybe he was getting aroused too. I ran my hands under his arms and smelled the funk of his arm pits.
"Hmmm, I can't find anything there either."
I let my hands linger, feeling the boy up; taking my time to experience every part of his naked body. I ran my hands over everything he was accustomed to concealing from other men. I felt down his sides. I caressed his abs and his naval. I ran my hands over the boy's pubes and reached under his nut sack.
"Maybe he's got something down here. Maybe he's hiding it under his nut sack," I said with the certainty of a man who knows how to do his job thoroughly.
I felt up the boy's balls, playing with his round solid testicles, bouncing them in my hand. I eyed his face which, by now, was a mix of disgust and amusement. He had a subtle smirk of someone who knew the weaknesses of a man who is desperate for the feel of teen offender's flesh. But the smirk was crossed with indignation, as if the thought of being helpless to prevent this "inspection" of his body, this brazen violation of his privacy, was an offense to his self-image.
I grabbed hold of his thick nigger cock and massaged it, feeling him up, feeling it pulsate in my hand. At the same time I rubbed his ass as a diversion, as if legitimizing a thorough bodily inspection. I ran my fingers up and down the inside of his sweaty ass crack, as if inspecting it a second time to be sure there was nothing there. I was breathing heavily from the excitement. All the while I continued stroking his cock, making it hard.
The boy's cock throbbed and he involuntarily leaked precum on my hand. I kept massaging his cock until it was good and hard. Then I let it go and stood back for everyone to see.
The boy's cock stood erect in front of his body. The boys around him tried to stifle their laughter. The guards smirked in amusement. I turned to them with a look of disgust on my face, "You see how nasty these black boys are? They're always thinking about sex. Even when you search them for contraband they can't keep their minds off of it."
"Yeah," one of the guards agreed. "It must be those jungle hormones. We see that all the time."
My hands were now coated with nigger body sweat, underarm funk, and ass juices. I rubbed them between the boy's firm brown thighs, wiping my hands off on the soft hair between his legs.
"What are you gonna do?" I said in exasperation. "Whatever it is, he probably stuffed it so far up his ass I'm never gonna reach it."
The guards shook their heads in resignation.
"We'll keep an eye on him," they assured me.
"Yeah, do that. Maybe you should bring him to my office later for a more thorough inspection."
Now the boy looked really alarmed, but I continued down the corridor as though I didn't have the least bit of interest in him, but the boner in my pants made it difficult for me to walk.
I was only doing my job. It's dirty work, but somebody's gotta do it.