Chapter 52

Antoine's early childhood had been in Haiti -- his family had moved to the United States when he was five. In the neighborhoods where he had lived for the next several years, there was a lot of the whole overcoming the stigma of being black and coming into one's own in a world where white guys still generally ran things and everybody seemed to remember when great-great-granddad was a slave -- but Antoine saw a lot of this from the outside; it didn't really resonate with him, largely because the older folks who had it the worst seemed to be blind to the fact that it was all over.

When Antoine began discovering his sexuality at thirteen, his black friends discovered it and began rejecting him before he learned to mask things. This left him needy -- and white guys were hot, some of them, and they couldn't seem to see the word 'Queer' tattooed on his forehead like his black friends did, so he began to hang out with white guys, who sometimes treated him sort of as a pet or mascot. Then one day one of his one-time friends spurned him as he tried to insert himself into a conversation with, "Get out of here, Antoine! Why don't you go find yourself a nice, white massah and suck his dick for him?" The whole thing kind of snowballed; once it was started, blacks tended to give him similar shit regularly, and a fantasy was born.

Antoine got his first taste of white cock in a dirty men's room at a park; he'd been hanging out, ogling guys as they stepped up to the trough urinal and he got a little too obvious with a much older guy who was probably in his mid-thirties. The guy was hung and under Antoine's hot eyes, he got long and thick and hard. "Like that, do you?" the guy asked. "Go ahead -- touch it -- you know you want to, you little nigger cocksucker." Antoine's hand had moved on its own, reaching out to stroke the hot, hard shaft, and in no time, Antoine was on his knees in the shadows beside a back stall, sucking and slurping and jacking himself while the anonymous white guy called him names while hissing in pleasure. This guy was a classic -- he knew all about the nigger slave bullshit and all about queers and believed it all and took his golden opportunity to be on top and ride herd over a 'black queer' -- and Antoine, having found a niche that resonated with him, sucked it up with the guy's cum.

Antoine took to hanging out at the restroom and other similar places -- they seemed to attract the kind of nasty white racist hypocrites who would take advantage of his mouth and his ass while stroking their egos. Antoine didn't mind; his ass didn't last a week before it had taken its first cock and he took to arriving at home late, smelly and sometimes beaten, but satiated; there was apparently an endless supply of nasty white master wannabes out there...

His family couldn't take the embarrassment, and Antoine slowly realized that he was just too visible in his old neighborhood, so he left home as soon as he graduated high school and got work in a garage and training in a tech school. Cars were wonderful things and he learned how to tease from them their needs and wants based upon the slim clues they gave and rose rapidly to the top spot in the garage. Work and play were separate, though; Antoine kept a low profile and went hunting for his 'white masters' in the neighboring town, sometimes surfing public restrooms (which were more and more dangerous, now that video surveillance was becoming cheap and plentiful) and the bars whether the leather muscle-type gays hung out. The problem was that the muscle gays had their own thing going -- stuff that just didn't trip Antoine's trigger.

Antoine was uncertain just how old Hobart found him -- but he did, and the job offer he made was just too tempting -- especially when he added the wrinkle of showing Antoine pictures of himself and white guys going at it and blackmailed him into a suck. The money Hobart offered was good and the job brought plenty of leisure time with it and an opportunity to get DEEP into working on fine, high-end cars, complete with formal training -- and old Hobart's interest in doing the 'white massah' thing straight out was icing on the cake. So Antoine had gone to work for old Hobart, and it had been a pretty good gig. Miz Elaine had showed up a couple of weeks after he started and let him know that she knew EXACTLY what he and old Hobart were doing -- complete with video -- but that it was no harm, no foul; she was feathering her nest in case old Hobart decided one day to put her out. Somewhere in the process it became clear that she might like some black dick sometime -- but it wouldn't be Antoine's.

But there'd been a fly in the ointment -- old Hobart was slowly losing it -- and he knew it. He was somewhere over forty and Antoine was in his early twenties and when push came to shove, old Hobart couldn't keep up. He'd admitted as much, too, recently, climbing off Antoine after an exceedingly short fuck and wheezing, "I need an overseer to keep you tuned..." Also on the agenda, suddenly, had been the distraction of old Hobart's sudden interest in his daughter Cindy, who he seemed to think would fuck him, too, since she was doing black dick.

When brother Tyrone had arrived out of the blue and started taking on the women, Antoine had counted that as a good thing -- and when he'd stepped in and felt him out and more or less agreed to coordinate their efforts to keep the turmoil and confusion down, it had been even better -- but when he had actually surfaced Vince...

Vince was fucking PERFECT! Young and hot and hard and he had the attitude and he had gone to the effort of REALLY dominating Antoine -- not just talking shit, but physically overpowering him without even being particularly violent about it -- and when push came to shove (and it was -- Vince's cock was slowly sinking into Antoine's ass), Vince had it going on...

Vince had made Antoine suck him, bent over and chained, holding his head and fucking his face and saying, "You're mine, now, little nigger..." -- and Antoine had sucked like a mad thing, so happy that he almost got a nut without even being able to touch himself! Then they'd come upstairs because Vince didn't want to fuck around on the bare floor of the dungeon. They'd taken a room, and Vince was introducing Antoine's ass to his fat dick. Antoine's hands were still bound behind him and he was knelt up with his head on a pillow, groaning as he worked to open himself for what he knew would be an incredible fuck...

It was. Vince gave no quarter, but didn't feel it was necessary to beat on Antoine or anything, just fuck him without mercy -- Antoine was thoroughly dominated and they both knew it. Vince just pounded Antoine's ass, taking his pleasure, at one point grabbing a handful of Antoine's dreadlocks and pulling his head back. It was about the rights of ownership -- Vince was entitled to them, and Antoine was happy to provide. When Vince hammered Antoine a few times hard, then backed off until the double ring of his anus milked the head of his dick while he shot his juice into Antoine's rectum, both of the players were more than pleased.

Vince let him go and Antoine collapsed, exhausted, but his cock was rock hard. "May I jerk off?" Antoine asked.

"Yeah, go ahead." Momentarily sated, Vince was inclined to be magnanimous -- but he still didn't want to suck face or anything -- and that was FINE with Antoine, as it would have blurred their roles. "Maybe I'll play with your nuts." He disconnected Antoine's binders from each other so he could get at his cock.

"Can I suck you?"

"Yeah." Antoine had rolled over onto his back, so Vince knelt up and Antoine sucked him in, tasting the slight mess he'd left on Vince's cock momentarily before saliva washed it away. Vince leaned over to scratch Antoine's balls while he jerked himself, and he played with Antoine's asshole some and tweaked his small nipples, but he didn't touch his cock. That was fine -- Antoine didn't want him to. It was over relatively quickly; Antoine spurted onto his belly and chest and sagged back from it, well-pleased. Vince grimaced at the mess and said, "Now you're all nasty -- let's go clean up."

They went to the big shower room and Antoine quickly sluiced the jizz off his belly and chest before worshiping Vince's body with a bar of soap. Vince didn't return the favor; instead, he played grab-ass and tugged on Antoine's balls and other distractions while Antoine did a more thorough cleaning of his body. The roles were clear; Antoine was there to service Vince -- period. When they were done, Vince said, "Let's go check out that steam bath..." Five minutes later, Antoine was lazily sucking Vince's cock in a room so thick with steam that they could hardly see one another.

At the dance, Otis sidled up to Tyrone. "Do you know what them dickheads Marcel and Slick are up to?"

"No, what?" Tyrone asked.

"They've got Patty and Simone in stalls in the boys' restroom giving out ten dollar blowjobs!"

"Shit!" Tyrone rasped. "Go tell 'em to stop -- but keep it low-profile. I can't -- I got it through the grapevine that Cindy's old man is looking for a way to snag my ass. I have to stay squeaky until I have him nailed down."

"Lucky me," Otis grunted. "Bev's old man isn't that way -- Hell, I bet I could get him to suck my dick if I presented it properly. And he's slavering over the idea of ripping a piece off Bev..."

"You should let him -- and get video, just in case," Tyrone told him. "That's what I'm gonna do."

"Good plan," Otis agreed. "Fuck, he might even smile for the camera. I get the impression that he knows I've put the dick to his old lady -- and he'd give an eyetooth to be able to watch."

"That's not so bad, either, if you can get it to work," Tyrone replied. "Go fix Marcel and Slick, though, for now -- we can talk about that other shit later. I don't want some teacher wandering in there..."

"I got it." Otis headed for the boys' restroom.

"Hey, Otis!" Marcel grinned from ear to ear.

Then his face froze as Otis lit into him, "Are you fucking nuts? What if a teacher walks through that fucking door? If I heard about this, how long do you think you've got?"

"B--but..." Marcel was making good money and didn't want to bust things up! Slick looked unhappy, too.

"Do you want to end up in jail tonight? All four of you?" Otis rasped. "Patty! Simone! Get your asses out of here, NOW!" There was a line for service -- and groans came from it. "You two move them somewhere -- you can tell this bunch where and charge an extra five for the move." Patty and Simone did as they were told -- their conditioning to obey Otis still carried weight.

"Where?" Slick ranted.

Otis thought about it. It had to be close -- but most of the school was blocked off... "Lookit, this thing is winding down. A bunch of people are going to that diner over on Newbury. Maybe you can move this there ... There will be a lot of traffic, so the staff probably won't catch you -- and if you hand out a couple of freebies, they might look the other way..."

Slick squinted, thinking. "I think I know a guy over there. He busses or something. I think a couple of the waitresses are fucking the manager to keep their jobs -- and he might be pimping them, late..."

Otis nodded. "Split the take and let him run them and then if someone busts the place, your hands are clean," he advised. Slick nodded, his eyes hooded. "I'm outta here. Clean this mess up and move the girls. Marcel, let Slick handle the negotiations with the diner guy while you advertize." Otis headed out.

Carmela and Chuck were keeping it clean on the dance floor -- well, almost. Sort of. Usually. The problem wasn't Chuck, either -- it was Carmela. She was out and Chuck was not only dancing with her and paying attention to her, he had promised more, and she was flying high! As a result, she was all over him, wanting the illicit touches, the evidence of his desire for her. She wanted him making those moves that signaled his possession of her -- and as a result, Chuck found himself glancing around nervously while he surreptitiously fondled her plush ass or squeezed one of her soft titties through her bra. Carmela found the requirement to be alert mildly irritating, but she understood the reason for it. The good news was that they were in a very public place and Chuck's attention to her couldn't be missed by anyone watching.

Mrs. Carmody WAS watching, and she alerted on three different occasions, but Chuck was careful and did nothing prolonged. Ironically, Mrs. Carmody was aware that she was ruining Carmela's evening and had some sympathy for the girl -- but couldn't let it stop her. At one point, a rumor that there were girls in the boys' restroom distracted her for several minutes while she chased down Mr. Finch to go investigate, but he reported nothing untoward going on...

But midnight was approaching; the band announced their last number -- only, as is generally customary, to be talked into one more -- and began packing up, afterward. Singles and couples, and the occasional odd trio -- like Eddie Ray, Nick Mangia and Lucy O'Donnell, who'd been together all evening -- drifted out the doors toward the parking lot. It had been a memorable evening -- an exciting game and a good, celebratory but not wild dance party -- and as she drifted out to ensure that there was no last-minute trouble in the parking lot, Mrs. Carmody was pleased.

Carmela wasn't; she couldn't get her swollen feet back into her shoes and had to go out barefoot, carrying them. Chuck would have liked to have been able to carry her, but there were at least two reasons why he couldn't -- decorum and Carmela's size. "I'm sorry I can't get back into my Cinderella shoes," Carmela husked, apparently feeling that she'd failed Chuck in some manner.

"Don't worry about it," Chuck replied, "I like you barefoot." That got him an odd look from Carmela, but a smile came with it.

'And if I added pregnant?' had flitted through Carmela's mind. She minced out across the parking lot to Chuck's car, her gait accentuating the roll of her ass under her dress. Chuck followed, enjoying the show.

"Carmela!" Isobel tottered up, presenting Carmela with her overnight bag and her flip-flops, already extracted from it.

"Thank you!" Carmela exclaimed as she dropped the thongs on the tarmac and stepped into them. Then she flicked a guilty glance at Chuck, but he merely grinned.

"Close enough," he said.

"So," Isobel confirmed. "You're at my house?"

"Yes." Carmela nodded. Isobel would cover her.

"I'm at yours," Isobel replied, glancing back at Rick DeMeter.

"Oh?" Carmela blinked.

"A hand job, maybe," Isobel replied in quiet Spanish. "I like him. Maybe a blowjob. Maybe, if we get to three dates..." Carmela smiled and nodded, then turned to Chuck and shook her head; she wasn't translating THIS one. Chuck merely snorted, then moved on to unlock the car. "Good luck, Cinderella," Isobel offered.

"Thanks. You too! Things have gone well after all..."

Isobel nodded agreement; if nothing else happened tonight, the evening would have exceeded expectations. She headed back to her car, and Rick, who she was 'taking home.'

Tina and Alonzo were kissing in the front seat of Alonzo's car. They'd been called down twice as they -- Tina, in particular -- got wilder and wilder on the dance floor. Now, she was kissing wide open -- but Alonzo wasn't doing this in a car. Backing off, he started the vehicle, saying, "We can be a lot more comfortable than this. Let's go get that bite and then we can REALLY make out!"