A Quiet Brutality 4.6/5 (5)

Benedict would tell you that medieval Islam spread the practice of slaving across Africa. He shares the insight because he insists its just plain stupid to say that black men taking white women and enslaving their husbands is some kind of revenge for all that whites have done to black people. Slaving can be in the blood, it can be part of tradition. Modern folk, hey they may not like it, but if you own some willing sex slaves, there are benefits.

For some reason (Benedict holds his hands up incredulous) there are white bois who bend to slavery so nice. There were always bitches that could be enslaved to bigger cock. Sometimes he summarises the benefits to his friends. Howard (me) I am his and brothers fag, putting my butt promptly to order. For that humble station in life I contribute 80% of my banking salary to Benedict’s lifestyle fund. His cock obsesses me.

It’s not just the sheer beauty and power of the thing, it’s how he uses it on Emma (my wife) and other women. Emma goes to him when required, she sucks that meat and then puts her sex and her arse up for him. If Emma has ‘partied’ with Benedict and his bros, my wife drips like a cream horn from tseveral places.

You’d think that Benedict had read about medieval practices may be. He has set out a strict hierarchy in these matters. First, John, Mark and I are the lowest of the low. We are the bottom of the pile. For that reason half a dozen white girl conquests of Benedict are deemed ‘prefects’ in our society. We have to address Emma and her sisters as ‘Madam’. The authority is reinforced pretty regularly enforced.

We lie or kneel on the floor and Emma or one of her peers will casually come to us, raising their skirt hem and urinate on our faces. Nothing reminds you of your humility like being pissed on. We’re not allowed to run off and wash, to change clothes, we have to spend the evening smelling of their drying piss. I was devastated when Emma first did that to me here eyes were calm, her expression so hard to read.

I was kneeling and she took hold of my mane and forced my head back. She was wearing a tartan mini skirt, one that she said had been the colours at her Scottish boarding school. She placed a booted foot up on the nearby stool and wee’d on me. I remember the warm liquid spraying against my eyes. ‘Open your mouth’ she ordered but she didn’t make particular effort to direct her stream. Candidly I was just there to be soaked, to be reminded of my place.

We ‘scum’ are of course required to lick sex, front and rear. Importantly that is never entirely limited to our own prefect. So John can be brought to lick Emma out after she has been fucked. I can be required to lick Juliet. The point is that your naive ideas about marriage have to one shattered. You don’t have a relationship with your previous wife, she is just another prefect. The prefects treat us with disdain.

The emotions explode in your head. I felt envy and then fury when Mark was licking prefect Emma. She watched me casually, my face reddening before settling on Marks’ face. She didn’t seem to like my eager staring so she flipped her shirt hem over his head and ground down. I watched, dry mouth as she writhed on his face. Benedict tells them to ‘use the scum till cream’.

The prefects are meant to ejaculate in our faces, thinking about their times with Benedict and his friends. I hoped upon hope that she wouldn’t orgasm on Mark’s face. I wanted that, I needed that! But she did. When she had finished with him his face was covered in her juices and his skin had gone blue. Emma had nearly asphyxiated the poor bastard.

Being a ‘prefect’ sounds privileged I suppose, but they learn their lessons too. I remember how Emma fell for Benedict, three years before. He was smooth, casual, sophisticated and they dated for a few months. Emma was blissfully happy, entirely content to treat me like shit as Benedict required. I remember every month I was dipping into my account to spend thousands of quid on the sexy gear that Benedict liked to see her in.

Then there came the Saturday when I had to pay for the extravagant gold collar choker that I’d seen some of the other women about Benedict wear. God, Emma looked fabulous in that collar. That night though we went to a party, I served canapes and Benedict gave Emma to a friend of his called Lionel. It was so fucking casual. ‘Go to Lionel, please him’ he ordered her brusquely. I watched her go to the man trembling.

I know that she wanted to be with Benedict, to be exclusively his bitch. But there is a quiet brutality in this society and Emma had to learn to take black cock gratefully from many sources. ‘Benedict has given me to you’ she told the guy. I winced. I really tensed up. I really shuddered with emotions. I wanted to push on over when he started to kiss Emma open mouthed. John though grabbed my arm.

‘You’re working, fucking forget it, she’s his, move on’ he snarled in my ear. I knew what he meant. I’d be taken out for a kicking if I objected. I watched Emma’s arms slip up and around the big guy’s bull neck. His hand went between her legs to check how wet she was.

I sweated as we return again to the caterers to collect mored canapes. I was feeling fucking furious. ‘They get addicted to black cock, they need to capitulate’ John said. ‘Emma loves Benedict, not you. She will learn to crave black cock up her cunt, any black cock that Benedict sends her to’ John said levelly. He squeezed my arm fiercely, ‘She is NOT your wife. She is his bitch. She will learn to open her legs to lots of black fellers.

She is going to learn to climax on them.’ John. forced another tray of canapes into my hand. ‘The collar, the one you bought her today, it means that she’s a prefect now. She’ll fuck to order and piss on you like you’re a toilet pan.’ I wanted to cry. My eyes were welling up. This wasn’t the plan. ‘I won’t tell you again Howie you either accept your lot, accept her lot too, or else you spend the next hour in casualty.’

We circulated and smiled politely at the guests who were drinking and chatting. I wondered around some of the other rooms. My legs nearly gave way at the doorway of one. Emma was bent forward like a dog, her leather skirt hitched up and Lionel’s cock was driving inside her. There was the rhythmic slapping sound of fucking and that interspersed with Emma’s groans. She glanced across at me as my frame blocked the corridor light momentarily.

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