Herbert's Place Trip
Copyright© 2026 by DiscipleN
Chapter 1
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is a spin-off tale from White Flight Generations. It tells the grinding tale of what happened to Lila's husband, Herbert, after he was forced to live with other cuckolds in an apartment complex controlled by Grady Fenton. Note that his plot does not represent the majority of blacks. I abhor racism in the real world, but I don't object to using a fetish trope in a sex-fantasy. Note 2: AI was used in this story's creation, but I wrote more than half of it and edited the crap out.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa NonConsensual Restart Cuckold Wimp Husband DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Interracial Black Male White Male White Female Oral Sex Pregnancy Size AI Generated
The moving van was gray, unmarked, small but oversized for the limited things that Herbert was allowed to bring from his previous home. Lila stood on the porch, six months pregnant with a black man’s child, wearing a tight dress around her distended belly. She didn’t move. She had already said goodbye.
Herbert Nump stood on the curb, sweat sticking his gray cardigan to his skin. He held two boxes. His hands shook.
“Hurry up, Nump,” Drake said from the front of the vehicle.
Drake was solid, wearing a security uniform with a name tag that read: MANAGER. He had black skin, a shaved head, and heavy arms. He sat in the passenger seat, looking down at Herbert.
Herbert nodded. “I’m almost there, Drake.”
“Don’t argue,” Drake said. “You know the rules. Grady wants your junk moved, not your drama.”
Lila watched from behind the screen wall of the porch. She remained quiet, pressing her back against the wall, feeling the baby move, and she looked again at her husband.
Nina stood next to Lila. She was fifteen, almost sixteen, with a massive pregnancy bump of her own. She held a phone. She typed something.
“Luthor said I could text him.” Nina walked to the porch step. When her father returned for another box, she held out the screen.
Herbert read the message. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, but now it’s too late. Just don’t complain, okay, and you’ll be safe.”
“Got it,” Herbert said.
He hoisted the boxes.
The van door was open. Another tenant, a black man, sat inside, smoking a cigarette. He smirked at Herbert.
“Don’t drop them, Nump.” Drake had introduced this other black man as the lower floors janitor, Raymond.
Herbert didn’t reply. He carried the boxes up to the van, leaving the boxes on the sidewalk for the janitor to load.
The drive took twenty minutes. The van bounced over potholes. Herbert watched through the window. He took a last look at his own street. The house diminished from his view, was replaced by the cityscape, followed by the concrete blocks of the Down in Arms apartments. They rose before the vehicle like a prison.
When the vehicle parked in front of them, Drake stepped out first.
“Out. Now.”
Herbert climbed out.
The building was a four-story brick structure with metal railings and barred windows. It looked like a housing project but clean. A sign above the door read: DOWN IN ARMS. RESIDENTS ONLY.
Drake walked to the door, swiped a card, and pushed it open.
“Welcome to your new life, Nump.” Drake gestured with his hand.
They walked down the hallway. There were other white men there. They wore cheap clothes. They looked worn out and sad.
“Number 210,” Drake said. “Upstairs. Don’t touch the walls. Don’t speak in the hall. You see what you see. You hear what you hear. None of it is your business.” They climbed the stairs. Raymond took the elevator with Herbert’s boxes.
Herbert stood at his door. Drake handed him a key.
“Don’t lose it,” Drake said. “Be sure to watch the TV for a few hours every day. We’ll know if you don’t.”
“Who will know?” Herbert asked, voice low.
“Terrance. Luthor. Grady. Whatever the fuck Grady wants. You stay in 210. You won’t see the camera in your place, but it’s there. Don’t mess with it. Don’t break the remote. If the batteries die, I’ll have someone bring fresh ones.”
“I understand,” Herbert said.
He stepped into 210.
It was a small room. One bed, wooden. A desk, small. A TV on the wall, turned on.
On the screen: a video feed of Lila, tied to a chair, a black man standing behind her, holding his cock in her face. Another pane on the screen, smaller, showed Nina, lying on a bed, a black man’s hands pulling her legs open.
Herbert stared aghast at the dual scenes. He had known- But he had never seen- The crash of boxes dropped to the carpet broke Herbert’s daze.
Drake pointed around the room. “Use all the electricity you want, but conserve water. That’s precious in this building.” He opened a window. The metal bars didn’t stop the rush of automobile fumes that invaded the otherwise stale air.
Herbert gulped. Drake was studying him, grim faced but unreadable. “You a sissy boy for blacks, Whitey?”
“Uh, HUH?” Herbert blinked. “No! no.”
Drake snorted. He turned away and left the apartment. “We’ll see.” He shut the door for his new tenant.
Herbert locked the door and leaned his back against it. The metal surface was cold. The air smelled of old carpet and industrial cleaner. The TV mounted to the wall was already on. A blue glow washed over the small room, flickering off the cheap white sheets of the single bed.
On the screen, two panes were filled with pain.
Top left: Lila. She was tied to a chair in the living room of their old house. Her arms were zip-tied behind her back. Her dress was pulled up. A thick black arm was wrapped around her throat, fingers pressing into her windpipe. Her face was flushed, eyes rolling back. A black cock was buried deep in her mouth, gagging her.
Bottom right: Nina. She was lying on a bed, legs spread wide. Her belly was protruding, skin stretched tight over the fetus. Two black men stood on either side. One was pounding her ass from below while the other ate her out.
Herbert didn’t move. He watched. A knot in his stomach twisted tight. He felt his crotch twitch, but he didn’t need to touch himself. The shame was enough to make his cock swell and ache.
He opened his first box. He had packed it three days ago, while Lila supervised from the kitchen.
He took out a stack of files. His employment records. Tax record. Birth cert. His passport had been confiscated by Drake. “You’re free to roam the city, but you ain’t gonna escape pay’n your support to the bitch wife and slut daughter.”
Next to them was a small plastic box. He opened it. Inside was a silicone sex toy. A vibrating pussy, about four inches deep - plenty for his erections. Lila had bought it for him, after he told her he missed touching her. She had called it his “survival kit.”
Herbert picked up the rubbery toy. It was cold. He traced the fake vulva with his thumb. He thought about the woman who had bought it. She was currently being choked on screen, accepting every inch of the stranger’s dick while another man’s seed gestated in her womb.
He set the toy down.
He opened another box. Inside were three pairs of work pants. Slacks. He had washed them twice, to prevent smelling his old home.
He sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress squeaked. It was hard.
He closed his eyes for a minute, then opened them, looking at the TV again. Nina groaned on the feed.
“Get your head straight, Nump,” he muttered. “They’re breeding pigs. You know what they are now.”
He stood up and walked to the window and looked out through the bars. In the concrete courtyard, a black man walked a dog. Other tenants sat on benches in the sun, wearing gray tracksuits.
Herbert felt a drop of sweat run down his neck. He adjusted his collar.
He went back to the boxes. He took out a small photo frame. It showed him and Lila at their wedding. He turned it face down on the desk.
A knock on the door interrupted.
“Open up, Whitey,” a strange voice called out almost humorously.
Herbert stepped away from the box and unlocked the deadbolt.
Steve Vance stood in the hallway. He was an older man, late fifties, bald, wearing a janitor’s jumpsuit with a badge that said VANCE. He carried a mop bucket on his shoulder.
Steve stepped inside without asking.
“Nump, right?” Steve asked, setting the bucket down.
Herbert nodded. “Yes.”
“Don’t nod. Speak. I’m your neighbor. Upstairs. I supervise the upper floors. You already met Raymond - no way he’d welcome you.”
“You’re here to welcome me?” Herbert studied the fairly fit white man with soldier eyes. “You called me Whitey.”
“Yeah. Get use to it, but mostly from the masters.”
The black men, Herbert guessed.
Steve looked around the room. “They told you to watch the TV, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Don’t skip the feed. Dr. Farragut checks the logs. If you switch the channel, you lose a meal ration. If you unplug it, Raymond will lock you in the basement for a week.”
Steve walked over to the bed. He sat on it. He kicked off his shoes. He eyes remained on the TV scenes.
“Them your wife and daughter?” Steve asked.
“Lila. And Nina.”
Steve smirked, a thin smile. “They’re fucking like animals. No disrespect, Nump. My Nicole and Amy were doing the same, last week.”
It wasn’t reassuring to hear.
Steve looked at the boxes. “You’re keeping photos? Work stuff?”
“Just what I needed.”
Steve took the sex toy from the desk. He looked at it. He smiled.
“Who bought this?”
“Lila.”
“Smart woman. Knows what you need. You need this more than a job.” Steve shook the toy a bit. “You know what the rule is for this place, Nump? You stay here, you watch the TV. If they send your wife to visit, you got not rights to her. If they send a black man in to check your room, you let him in. You don’t argue. You accept.”
Steve stood up, putting the toy back on the desk. “Your apartment, 210 ain’t on my floors, but if you get sick, you come to me. I’m in apartment 311.”
Herbert felt his throat tighten. “Okay.”
Steve leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “You know what’s on that screen, Nump? You look at that, and you see the world’s future. White bitches bred by black men. You’re part of that. We’re no longer men. We’re witnesses.”
Herbert looked at the TV again. Lila was gagging on the black cock, foam coming from her lips.
“Welcome to the Down in Arms,” Steve said. “You’re a cuck. Act like it, and you’ll do okay.”
Steve turned, picked up his mop bucket, and walked out of the room, leaving the door open.
Herbert didn’t close the door.
Steve had gone, but a gap onto the hallway remained.
Herbert sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were locked on the screen.
In the top left corner, the black man was fucking Lila hard. He had her head down between her knees. Her stockings were rolled down around her thighs, exposing her white ass to the black skin of the other man standing before her.