The Devereaux Dissapointment

WARNING: This is a race play role play session.

That's his own hand, gripping the belt around his neck. This is a metaphor. 

I have considered adding footnotes to this story, because there's some research in the writing... but I'll spare you. 

I'm all about consent. Don't scroll down, if you don't want to read that kind of thing. Close the window. 

I had SO much fun with Jimmy. 

Jimmy is the beautiful, sensitive Black submissive who introduced me to race play. There's a lot of race play in this evening's events. I'm going to write Jimmy's part of the night out as a whole thing of its own, and if I get the chance, I'll write out the remaining hours, which were glorious in their own right, but Jimmy... Jimmy is special. 

Rather than relate this evening in the usual narrative monologue, I'm going to start with a redacted narrative that I wrote as a fantasy role play scenario. The kind of Mary-Sue story where it's obvious THIS is my character, and HE is your character, and we're gonna pretend like.... 

Jimmy likes to be scolded. He likes spanking. A LOT of spanking. One of my notes from our previous encounter [see also: Trophy Boy Part 1 and Trophy Boy Part 2] was that I could go a lot harder. So... harder I go. 

This is the fantasy story. Redactions are solid... I thought about doing it like the DOJ did with the Epstein Files, so all the references to racial slurs would just be black text on black ground... but I'm going to leave the words to your imagination. Maybe I'll black out some other random words to make things interesting/confusing. But to be clear - the version I sent Jimmy, was unredacted. 

The Missus and I had Jackson Devereaux and his lovely sister Annabelle over to dinner two weeks ago. I noticed that Jimmy was paying especially close attention to Jackson - and I can see why, he's a handsome young man - and Jackson appeared to enjoy my house boy's interested glances. I saw him wink at the boy when he was serving the cream soup.

So, when Jimmy turned up missing on that following Monday, I had myself an idea that he wasn't headed to New York.

Jimmy isn't fit for field work; he's beautiful, but his lithe willing body is small and his hands are delicate. I started training him young, bringing him into the house and teaching him the right ways to set and serve a table, how to act as my valet, and to dress and comport himself as if he were a butler. And how to please me in the bedroom as well as in the parlor. I really recommend Mister Gambridge's stock; he breeds them special, fine-boned and well-muscled, tight and sweet. I rutted with a few of his women to help contribute good heritance to his stock; he arranged for this beautiful cafa-au-lait boy to lick my asshole while I fucked his aunt, I think, or maybe she was his cousin. You know how it is. Gambridge kept scrupulous records, though, so there's never a risk of bad teeth or an overly-wide nose, the kind of face you don't want serving in polite society. 

So, once it got dark, I went over to the Devereaux home. The one in town, because I know Jackson hardly goes out to the big house these days, and I waited outside the gate. I saw Jackson come home, and his groom put up his horse. I waited until I saw the upstairs lights go on, and then I made my way into the house. Cherie tried to stop me - she's so devoted to him, just like Jimmy is to me, or like I thought he was - but she's half my size, and her complaining and fussing didn't stop me. I stormed up the stairs, and burst open the door to the master suite.

That ungrateful bastard was balls deep in Jimmy's sweet little ass. Now, Jimmy's been servicing cock for me and my friends since he was fourteen - but it's a world of difference between offering your guest an after dinner brandy and the use of your favorite boy's throat in the comfort of your parlor while the ladies have gone into the drawing room to talk embroidery, and you're sharing cigars and discussing the Council's new plans for the City -- and having him stolen out from under your own roof. I pulled out my pistol and fired a round into the ceiling. Cherie fluttered in, trying to defuse the scene, but I told her to get downstairs and let me deal with her Master, this was business for men. 

I pointed the gun at Jackson, and told him to dismount my boy. He did, his cock instantly limp when faced with the revolver. I noticed that Jimmy's cock was hard as a rock, still, and filed that note for later. I pulled the leather belt from my trousers, and told Jackson since he likes my         pussy so much, I'm going to watch him eat it. The disgust on his face was instant; he has to have known that my boy keeps himself clean and ready, because his lily white dick had no stain of shit, but the idea of licking a      's hole clearly turned his stomach.

See, first I have to make a little snippet of video, so that I can trick the camera into playing it back ONTO the screen... 

my God, this boy is stunning. So sweetly handsome. So shapely and pliant. 

I held the gun on him as he arranged Jimmy's legs into a different position, and started to half-heartedly lick at his little brown shit hole. I took my belt, folded it in half with one hand, and gave him a resounding smack on the ass. "Get on with it, boy; you're going to eat his hole and then suck his cock until he cums. If you go at it half-assed like this, it's going to take you all night." He licked with a little more vigor, and I helped him on with repeated lashes on his tender ass with the belt.

We have some fun play... including some Consensual Non-Consent. This is intense stuff. 

I talk a lot about how the perverts who are into raping virgins, are NOT doing it for a consensual thrill. 

This went on for some time - I was hard as a hickory axe handle, but Jackson was clearly overwhelmed between the beltings and the threat of the gun barrel. I stepped closer, and nudged him in the balls with the very tip barrel, still warm from firing, to encourage him, and ran the tip of it up his crack, rubbing it on his asshole. He yelped at the hot metal, and I damn nearly shot his balls off laughing. 

This whole time, Jimmy's little brown prick was as hard as my big white one. That fucking ungrateful bastard still fires my loins, and clearly something about this scene was working for him as well... so I shoved Jackson aside and mounted the little bitch myself. I'm quite a bit bigger than Jackson, apparently, and I enjoyed hearing him yelp in pain as I stretched him forcefully open. I pulled his hips up so that his knees were fully under him, so I could beat his ass one-handed with the belt while still keeping the gun trained on Devereaux.

I love being groomed, being dressed, being served like this. It's a fetish that flourished in my loins when I was in the historical recreation society, also known as the funny clothes drinking game, but I had clothes that I had to be sewn into in the morning. And I looked FABULOUS. Very nearly no photos remain, because we were all doing Renaissance-y shit, and nobody wants to carry a camera. 

I have more sketches of myself and my friends than photos from that time. 

This is the first time I've played it mean.

I like it. 

ALSO: SCOLD YOUR BOTTOMS. It's so fucking hot.

My favorite has always been to spend down his throat, and although I enjoy rutting his ass as well, turning him around allowed me a much better swing of the belt. I laid the gun on the side table behind me; clearly Jackson wasn't man enough to attempt anything like a fight at this point. 

Besides, he was getting hard again, apparently liking the change in events. I held Jimmy's wooly head in one hand, and beat his ass with the other, as I shoved my cock into his handsome young face. He whimpered into the hair of my crotch, but with my member blocking his voice box, he wasn't able to make himself heard. It could have been, "Please Sir, you're hurting me." I held it in him for a long time, all the way in so that it cut off his air, and watched as his adoring eyes went slack and glassy. I did it again, each time pulling out with a sucking sound and letting him get a breath before plunging into him again. 

"Jackson Devereaux, get your head under this        and suck his cock."

I am not sure which of the two of them was the most startled. Jackson's eyebrows shot up; Jimmy's tried to, but his face was at that moment contorting from lack of air. Jackson looked for a moment as if he were going to protest, but I reached behind me and touched the gun, and he decided he wouldn't chance me.

He leaned over, so that he could fellate Jimmy's fine little cock. I pushed his head down forcefully, making it clear that I was not looking for this to be gentle. Then I returned my attention to Jimmy. I hit his ass again and again with the belt, raising a radiating fan of welts; a few strokes went wide, catching him on the thighs, and once on the foot, because my attention was divided. A couple of hard smacks got laid down on Jackson Devereaux's plump planter ass, and one brilliant weal across his back that we're going to say was an accident, but I was so pissed at the little weasel, it wasn't entirely accidental. Nor was the second one that laid right on top of it. Oops.

I remember how excited he'd been... only son of a big local plantation, finally being considered grown up enough for me to invite him over on his own bill of fare without his father, and he brought his maid Cherie with him to help out. After she and Jimmy served a really lovely dinner - a cream bisque of Gulf crabs, roast lamb and Cook's excellent bread, followed with steamed puddings and rum sauce - and I'd let this little thief into my parlor, and shared my serving boy with him, while his sweet little Cherie did her best for me. She's just not big enough to really swallow my cock, and so I had Jimmy demonstrate for her, and then she gagged and spluttered and tried, drooling all down my trousers and onto the floor, but women's jaws just aren't up for the kind of rough pleasure I want.

And after all this - the little arrogant bastard thought it was acceptable, somehow, to seduce my boy and help him "escape." Like Jimmy has anything to escape from; that ungrateful       gets better food than half the          in New Orleans, even if he does have to eat the occasional meal from a bowl on the floor to remind him of his place. (You tie their hands behind them - it's very arousing as well as amusing, watching them eat.) He's always been so good... such vigor, docility, and fidelity, as our esteemed Senator from South Carolina rightly enumerated... that this kind of betrayal came as a shock. It wasn't to be borne lightly.

I started to fuck hard into his gullet, holding the back of his neck so that I could feel where my cock stretched him, and delivering sounding blows on his ass with the belt.

"YOU (whack) will NOT (whack) run away like this (WHACK) ever again, (whack) you ungrateful        whore. (whack, whack, WHACK) You will spread your legs(whack, this time right on the crack of his spread ass - and I realized, how much his back is arching, and how Devereaux is now sucking his cock like a man possessed) only when I say you will."

He seemed to be just almost in the throes of passion, instead of taking a rough punishment. I hit him harder. "And if I EVER (whack) see you making eyes like that over dinner (WHACK, and this time the belt hits across a prior stroke, drawing a little bead of crimson blood) with a fucking BOY from town..." (and, again, a stroke of the belt for Jackson - I deliberately swing it long, so that the belt wraps around his leg and smacks hard against the tender inner thigh, and catches one of his nuts. Fucking ingrate, he deserved it. I think that was the final straw for Jimmy, because I suddenly felt him spasm and shake. Either that, or he was finally passing out from all the lack of air. I held him by his         black skull and shoved my cock in him and unloaded with a roar. I hit him again and again with the belt, WHACK WHACKWHACKWHACK, and he danced, his screams coming out in little gasps and retches, his eyes rolled back as my cock squeezed out its load.

I made him walk home, all the way from town bare-assed, his naked flesh sticky with blood and covered with discolored welts, and leading my horse. Even though it was nine o'clock by this point, there were plenty of gentlemen and ladies on the street heading home from dinners and affairs, and many of them averted their eyes. Others goggled unabashedly. I saw one man discreetly stroke his pocketwatch against his thigh. 

I caught him an occasional stroke with my riding crop, just to make sure the memory remained fresh for him. At one point, I stopped and made him lick the blood off the crop handle. I hadn't cut him up badly at all, it's the kind of wounding that heals easily but leaves a mark. Something to remind him.

I have this feeling he's going to try to run away again.

I wonder what I can do to provoke it this time.