Tag: aggression

In pre-Civil War America, Master Taggart likes to watch his wife get it in every direction from the big black bucks he keeps as slaves. When one of them doesn’t cooperate the way he’s supposed to, Master Taggart has an effeminate slave climb on top and teach that mandingo a lesson in the power of Twink on Top!

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Master Taggart had less control over Desmond and the other slaves than he thought. That was because he had little conception of his own vulnerability — he thought that the slaves did what he said because he was a respectable white landowner.
But that wasn’t the case at all. Perhaps when it had first started, but that was years ago, before Desmond even got involved. Nowadays the Negroes of the Taggart Plantation did what Master Taggart said only because he ordered them to do things they wanted to do anyway.
Most importantly, he ordered them to fornicate with his wife while he watched.
Master Taggart enjoyed handling himself while his slaves fucked his wife. He loved getting close enough that their juices and their sweat splashed on his face, despite it making him gag and wrinkle his nose as though he disliked it.
Desmond had no interest in participating in that. If Master Taggart had told him to do it, he’d have made a good effort, but he would struggle to get hard. Desmond had little interest in women’s bodies, and he did not admire fornicating with them.
But that was okay. Master Taggart had no interest in making Desmond do that. He liked mandingos — big, horse-cocked Negroes with bulging muscles and massive bodies. He liked watching them plow and plunder his delicate wife.
Only she wasn’t so delicate anymore. That was what the other slaves said more and more often these days. They had enjoyed fucking her when she was tight and clean, but the more she got it, the sloppier her womanhood was. She had also let herself go over the year, and now had stringy, greasy hair and a saggy body, with tired eyes and yellowed teeth. Desmond had never thought she was attractive, but nowadays she was downright ugly.
“I ain’t gonna put it in that bitch today, she don’t look cleverly at all,” said Tyrell as they all walked towards Master Taggart’s mansion just past the plantation proper.
“Yeah, she too sloppy.”
“Nasty-ass too. I put my dick in her bottom last time and the whole thang slid right in. She didn’t notice,” Charles said with a rumbling laugh that echoed in the nearby woods. He was the tallest one there, nearly seven feet tall, built like a bear and with a great big smile. “I barely even got hard. I gots a freak to plow Desmond instead.”
Desmond blushed as everyone laughed at him. He was proud of his position, even if he knew most Negroes would be ashamed of it. He was a mandingo as well, in the sense that he had a massive dick, but he was not a mandingo in any other way — Desmond was short, skinny and weak, with a feminine lilt and a girlish flair in his mannerisms. Master Taggart only included him because he helped get Missus Taggart ready. That used to be a multihour affair, as she made up her face and her hair and tried on multiple dresses, while the mandingos hardened their meats in the next apartment. All that preparation was just so Charles, Tyrell and the others could make her wet and filthy. Nowadays she mostly didn’t bother to fix herself up.
Master Taggart waited with a solemncholy expression on his face, sitting upon the front porch of his mansion. He was excited to see them, and he jumped to his feet. Desmond went, as he always did, right for Missus Taggart, whose private quarters were in the back of the house. As he walked around the lawn, he heard Charles complaining about her slack womanhood, and the others chorusing their agreement. Desmond did not hear Master Taggart’s responses.
“Let’s get you lookin’s pretty, Missus Taggart,” he said when he saw her sprawled out on a couch. He still assumed that Master Taggart would talk the men into giving her a flourish. He always did. Lately they had been saying every time that they weren’t going to put their manhoods inside her because she was unpleasant, but when they actually laid eyes upon her bare body, their baser instincts took over, and Master Taggart didn’t need to be stern with them.
She was lazy. She frowned and nodded at Desmond. She had a faint mustache, and her overgrown womanhood peeked out from under her dress, which had grass stains all over it — was that the same dress she had worn last time? She was dirty as a punk, Desmond thought but wouldn’t ever say.
“You think that’s gonna humiliate me?! Negroes don’t shame that easy, Massah Taggart. I’ll do it, no problem.”
“Oooh, Charles’s on it now…!”
“Massah Taggart!”
The sounds of the mandingos in the front room drifted back here. Missus Taggart ignored them as she lazily brushed her hair a few times. She plastered on some lipstick and pursed her lips to get even coverage.
Desmond kind of wished he was up front with the others. He loved watching Charles fight, which happened often. He always took off his clothes for a fight, so Desmond got to watch his sweat-slickened muscles and his hoggish manhood dangling between his legs.
Every once in awhile, Charles let Desmond jerk him off, and Desmond would even get to finger his asshole — Charles was unique among the other slaves in that he loved having a finger in his asshole. He wasn’t even ashamed about it. He begged Missus Taggart to do it when he fucked her, despite the other slaves teasing him for it.
“Desmond! Get over here!” Master Taggart yelled.
Desmond shrugged. He looked at Missus Taggart, who lounged on her couch watching the sun set. Desmond sighed and went to the front of the building. After a brief delay, she followed him.
The other Negroes and Master Taggart had moved into the drawing room, where Charles scowled though he didn’t seem angry — he looked to be patronizing Master Taggart, the only person in the apartment who looked serious. The Negroes all smiled like this was a big prank.
“You too Sharon, come in here!” Master Taggart said. He smiled at his wife as she strode in lazily behind Desmond. Charles sneered at the sight of her. “This nigger here doesn’t want to fuck you. He says you’re too loose for him.”
Sharon sat on a chair. She smiled and looked at all the other slaves. “Fine. The rest of you will do.” She spread her legs, revealing a hairy womanhood.
The five remaining slaves exchanged nervous glances, then approached. They were younger than Charles so it wasn’t surprising that they were more willing to debase themselves with a loose woman. Besides, they were the ones who had loosened her in the first place.
She undid the plain strings that kept their rough canvas breeches up, and the room filled with the smell of their unwashed crotches. Desmond straightened his neck at the sight of five massive cocks thwacking against each other as she took turns sucking on each one. They raced to stiffies in seconds.
“Get offa my dick, Tyrell, she want me first.”
“She gonna get me, nigguh, don’t you get in my way.”
“Boys, let’s not fight,” she said. She took both dicks in her mouth, lazily sucking on each cocktip. She seemed to like thwacking them across her face so that those big brown knobs smushed against each other.
Desmond enjoyed watching, though he felt useless. Normally he had made her look beautiful, so watching the Negroes render her a nasty, cream-covered mess was a transition he loved seeing. But she started off nasty now, and it was possible she hadn’t even washed since the last time, so she might still be covered in dried cum.
“Charles, go on…” Master Taggart wasn’t watching his wife. He watched Charles. One of his hands ran up and down Charles’s broad back muscles.
Charles sighed and shook his head. “You think you hurtin’s me, Massah Taggaht, but you ain’t. Ask any of these nigguhs, I mess wit’s Desmond all the time.”
“Yeah but you don’t jerk him off!”
The other Negroes all laughed as they took turns dipping their manhoods into Missus Taggart’s hairy hole. Despite plowing her, they more closely watched Charles, who stood and stretched his legs as he approached Desmond.
Having heard what Charles and Master Taggart said, a part of Desmond knew what was happening. It made sense and it was precisely the kind of thing they would both do. Master Taggart would have thought that making Charles submit to Desmond would humiliate him.
But that wasn’t the case. Charles loved a finger in his ass and would probably enjoy more or less anything Desmond might do to his body. White men didn’t understand that kind of thing. They always thought of it as the height of utter submission to have a man’s prick inside you. Negroes like Charles didn’t see it quite the same way, a fact that Desmond had come to cherish because it meant men like him occasionally got to top men like Charles.
But as Charles actually sunk to his knees to get started, Desmond realized he had never been with a man like him. Their difference in height was extreme — Charles had at least a foot and a half on him. Desmond only stood as high as Charles’s nipple-line, and his entire body was skinner than one of Charles’s corded muscle biceps.
“Go on, Charles, jerk that nigger off,” Master Taggart said. His hands were in his trousers already, stroking his meat.
Charles sighed on his knees. He had to stoop all the way over to get his face in line with Desmond’s crotch. He undid Desmond’s leather breaches and then was surprised like he hadn’t seen it before when he saw Desmond’s throbbing, half-hard cock.
“Forgot you had meat like a big nigga…” Charles sniffed. He ignored the hooting of his fellow slaves, who barely seemed to be paying attention to Missus Taggart even as their balls slapped together between her legs. Desmond had grown to love that sweaty thwacking sound, the splash of their precum and her feminine secretions, the shine of their throbbing black cocks as they penetrated her over and over.
“I know, sweetie,” Desmond said, too shocked to think of anything witty to add.
Charles had a massive mouth to go along with his other body parts, so he swallowed Desmond’s meat easily. He did choke at first when Desmond jabbed into the back of his throat, and he wrinkled his nose at the taste, but he didn’t hesitate in continuing to swallow Desmond’s cock to the root.
That sent a shiver of pleasure up Desmond’s tender frame, as his hands fluttered. Desmond gasped. He wasn’t expecting Charles to do it with such ease and with such little hesitation.
As Charles teased Desmond’s meat with his tongue, Desmond straightened his back and moaned. He instinctually gripped Charles’s head with both hands — because that was what Charles did when Desmond jerked him off. He felt like he should hold Charles’s head in place and throat him, compete with the others on the sound his balls made when they slapped against his chin, paint his face with his precum — that was also what Charles did when Desmond jerked him off.
But would Charles accept that? Would Master Taggart? He walked around the room with his own white cock in his hands. He jacked himself off as he encouraged Tyrell and Wendell in their double-plowing of his wife’s holes.
Then he came over to Desmond, who spewed precum into Charles’s sour-facing mouth. Master Taggart stroked his chin and watched carefully, like he was an academic carefully scrutinizing test results. He massaged the rippling muscles of Charles’s shoulders, which bucked and flexed as he tried to deep-throat Desmond’s dick, and Master Taggart thwacked his cock on Charles’s neck and the side of his face.
What had begun as easy because Desmond was soft became difficult now that Desmond was hard. It was the only anatomical trait that Desmond and Charles had in common — massive cocks.
“Wreck his throat, Desmond, don’t be a durgen. This is supposed to be a punishment.”
“He don’t see it like that, Mastuh Taggart,” Desmond said. His voice was jagged and weak because Charles’s mouth was making him feel so good he couldn’t stand it. Desmond’s whole body roiled.
The other slaves laughed and confirmed it, but that just made Master Taggart red-faced and blustery. “You all are unchristian perverts,” Master Taggart said. “I should make you study the Bible again-“
“No way, Massah Taggart! That’s some borin’ mugwort, Massah!”
“You know bendin’s yo’s wife ovuh fo’s a bunch of niggahs ain’t in the Bible neither, right?”
Master Taggart scowled and stamped his feet as though working up a chivey. “You are all ruining this for me!” Gimblet-eyed, he looked to his wife, who seemed to be half-asleep, barely aware of the trio of cocks ramming into her body. “You most of all! Why did you have to get so loose? Why did you get so dirty?!”
“My fault? You-” Missus Taggart stopped sucking Tyrell’s cock long enough to shout, but then Tyrell pushed his precum-leaking meat back into her. She never finished whatever she started saying, and she seemed to instantly lose interest in shouting recriminations at her husband, who in any case was back to watching Desmond’s dick disappear down Charles’s throat. Tyrell’s manhood had a way of doing that.
“Let me in there too,” Master Taggart said. He stepped towards Charles’s face with his erect white dick in hand.
Desmond groaned. He didn’t like sharing. Charles pulled off his cock, looked up at Master Taggart and growled. “Massuh,” he said. “You asked us ovuh here to fuck yo’s nasty-drippin’s wife. That’s what we agreed to. I tol’s you I can jerk off this lavenduh nigguh, sure, cuz he pretty and he treat me right.” Charles wrapped one powerful arm around Desmond’s small, yet plump, ass. Desmond blushed and hugged Charles’s broad body. His muscles rippled beneath Desmond’s touch. Desmond’s hard, spit-moistened cock rubbed against Charles’s pulsating pectoral muscles. Charles leaned his head way down to kiss Desmond on the lips. That made Master Taggart groan, and Charles laugh. Charles spoke pot-valiantly, “So I gonna let this pansy make sweet love to me. That’s cuz I like him. I don’t like you, and I ain’t don’t like yo’s wife. So you can watch if’n you want, with that puny little meat, and you can even jack yo’self off. I won’t lose my temper if you get some of dat weak nut on me. But don’t you dare try to put yo’s own dick anywhere inside me.”
“Charles-!”
“Hey! A nigger is speaking!” Charles barked. He stood up as though he was going to attack Master Taggart, who turned pale-white and nearly collapsed. His knees buckled. Charles cleared his throat. He stood so his limp cock was right in front of Master Taggart, who was short enough that, on his knees, his face was at navel height, just barely above that throbbing, veiny slab of mandingo meat. Master Taggart gulped like he had trouble avoiding looking at it. Charles grinned. “I can describe yo’s birthmark, Massuh Taggaht, on yo’s ass, and I know if they check out dat ass, they gonna find it’s loose like you been lettin’s me plow you. So don’t make me go to the courts with that shit. Cuz yo’s wife gonna testify on my side, know that.” Master Taggart looked to his wife, whose mouth was full of cock. It wasn’t clear if she heard what was happening. Master Taggart blanched, and Charles placed one meaty hand on his shoulder. Master Taggart shuddered when Charles’s limp cock touched his thigh. “She ain’t on yo’s side no mo’, Massuh.”
Master Taggart looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. Tears twinkled in his eyes and he sniffed to avoid crying. Even as he was overcome by humiliation, however, he didn’t stop masturbating.
A part of Desmond was disappointed that Charles had stood up to him. He was glad that it had happened, but he was annoyed because he assumed it meant Charles would no longer do what Master Taggart said. The only reason Charles bottomed for Desmond was because he was told to.
It wasn’t a disaster, of course — Desmond bottomed for Charles all the time. It had just been nice to try something different, Desmond thought as he prepared to bend over for Charles’s cock.
But that wasn’t it. Either Charles didn’t realize he could do whatever he wanted — which was very possible, as Charles had always been beetle-headed — or he genuinely wanted to bottom. In any case, he got down on all fours on the ground, sticking his ass high in the air.
“Holy heckfire!” Desmond said, making Charles laugh. When he laughed, his body rippled and his gigantic asscheeks jiggled up and down. That sent a wave of desire through Desmond’s body.
Could he really do this? It was physically difficult. It simply felt wrong to line his tiny body up with Charles’s herculean frame. But ever fiber of Desmond’s being told him to do it, to ignore Master Taggart’s frenzied, humiliated sobs and to simply ram his dick in.
So that was what he did. He had to get up on his toes to put his cock in Charles’s ass, which was so tight he hit resistance right away. Charles bucked and grunted. For a moment it sounded like he was going to say it hurt and back out.
But he didn’t. He groaned and awkwardly stretched two arms behind himself. He spread his asscheeks. His powerful thigh muscles flexed.
“Tarnations…” Desmond muttered to himself as he slid more and more of his cock in. Charles’s ass so was tight that, at any given moment, it felt like he couldn’t possibly take any more dick. But every time Desmond pushed, a bit more slipped in, and another wave of even more intense pleasure washed up Desmond’s body.
As he began humping more and more violently, he slammed his hips in. That was just like Charles rammed him, as hard as he could, as aggressively as possible, like he thought Desmond was made of glass and he wanted to shatter him. Desmond had never minded because he liked being treated like that, but it was nice now to turn the tables.
Much to Desmond’s surprise, Charles had no compunctions, it seemed. He took every inch of Desmond’s dick, with a loud struggle at first, but Desmond had found the pleasure spot deep within him, and Charles groaned with desire with each thrust of Desmond’s cock inside him.
It felt like both he and Charles were nearing their climaxes when Desmond realized that Master Taggart had left the room. He hadn’t noticed that.
Then the door opened and Master Taggart walked in with a rifle in hand. “Hey-a, you niggers! I am takin’s charge of this sit’ation, you best believe that!” He pointed the rifle at Charles, whose asshole clenched around Desmond’s dick. “I am the white man here. That means that what I say goes, and I say-“
He stopped talking because Desmond plucked the rifle right out of his hands.
The slaves all burst into laughter. Missus Taggart hadn’t been paying attention because she was focused on the cocks thwacking over her face, but she realized what had happened and laughed as well. Master Taggart was confused at first. It hadn’t even occurred to him that the gun was not a magic spell, it didn’t give him automatic victory over larger men. He had to actually be willing to use it.
Desmond held the gun in his hand. He had never held a rifle. He didn’t even know how to use it, but it didn’t look like Master Taggart realized that — probably because Master Taggart hadn’t known how to use it either. At least Desmond was self-aware enough to know that he was ignorant about it.
“Stop blustering and lower yourself to your knees, Master Taggart, so you can watch me plow him,” Desmond said. He handed the rifle over to Tyrell, who had finished spewing his cream all over Missus Taggart — Desmond knew it was safer to give the gun to someone who might know how to use it. Desmond knew how to wear a dress and fix a white woman’s hair, not use a rifle.
Though Charles was up in the boughs about getting plowed, he didn’t find it easy. He had been scooting around the room as he was penetrated by Desmond’s big cock, and now they had ended up very near to the mandingo gangbang, where four Negroes continued to ram their meats into Missus Taggart.
Desmond always enjoyed watching this. It aroused a wistful feeling within him, because he always thought that, if he were were a white woman, he would be even sluttier than Missus Taggart. He’d just go live in the slave quarters so they could fuck him at every opportunity.
Slipping his head between her legs, Desmond sucked on two pairs of heavy balls as they slapped against each other. He watched those massive cocks slide in to her womanhood and her rear, just a few inches from each other. He buried his nose in the sweet, stinky flesh of his fellow Negro slaves — none of whom would have ever let him do this if they weren’t fucking a white woman at the same time. Charles was the only one who did anything like that, so this was one of Desmond’s few opportunities to get at the other mandingos.
As he watched frothy cum leak out of her and drip into both men’s swinging shafts, Desmond felt his own orgasm coming on. He lowered his head and planted his face into Charles’s meaty back, while Desmond kept ramming his cock in and out of Charles’s backside.
“Tarnations, nigguh,” Charles said breathlessly. He shot his own load into the palm of his hand, gasping and writhing beneath Desmond’s lithe body.
His orgasm overwhelmed him, and Desmond sighed into Charles’s shoulders. The sound of Master Taggart’s sobbing faded into silence in the back of Charles’s mind, while pleasure wracked his body so hard it hurt. He was dimly aware of Tyrell laughing as he threatened Master Taggart with the rifle, but that seemed very distant to Desmond.
He existed in a nether-state like that for what felt like forever, hovering with his cock in Charles’s clenching ass, feeling his mountain of muscle contorting beneath his touch. Desmond spasmed and shook.
Hot cum sprayed into Charles’s ass. They both sighed as it flew, spurting forth and coating his insides. It was thick and creamy, and it stuck to his flesh, clinging to his skin where it dribbled out and down between his asscheeks.
Finally it was over. Charles roared, sending Desmond back to reality. He shook the daze out of his eyes, slamming his dick in to shoot the last few drops as deep as they would go in Charles’s backside.
Then Desmond gingerly climbed down. His knees felt weak, and his balls hung low.
The other slaves were just finishing up with Missus Taggart, who lay sprawled out in her own post-orgasmic daze on the couch. The only person in the room who wasn’t satisfied was Master Taggart, who sobbed into his arms on the floor, too upset even to tell his slaves to feeze.
“You fuckin’ niggers!” He screamed through his tears.
“Yeah, that’s exactly the kinda nigguhs we is,” Tyrell said, and the others laughed.
They helped Charles to his feet. They would normally have teased him a bit, maybe a lot — when they lost bets and had to submit to each other’s cock, it was treated as humiliating, but no one treated Charles that way both because he was big and scary and because he had chosen it. Tyrell even slapped his ass in a chummy way, not realizing that that would send a shiver of pain up Charles’s back. He grunted in agony.
“Sorry, nigguh,” Tyrell said. “You looked like you enjoyed that though. I ain’t nevuh thought you’d have a freak to let a girlie-man climb atop you.”
Charles stretched his trunk-like thighs as they all strode out, bare cocks dangling between their legs. He smiled. “I ain’t think I’d like it either. But I did, sho’s nuff.”
“Yeah,” Desmond said, his voice sounding weak and tinny in comparison. “Me too.”
After a long pause, Tyrell added, “Shut up, Desmond. We all know you was into it. That ain’t nevuh been a question.”
“I felt you a-lickin upon mah balls too, don’t think I ain’t notice that!”
Desmond blushed, and Charles laughed. He clasped Desmond and held him close. Desmond’s face rubbed against Charles’s sweat-dappled torso, which smelled of sweaty manhood and funk. Charles chuckled out a deep barrel laugh. “‘Course he liked it, and he gonna like it again real soon.”