A White Man's Black Dream

I like to humiliate the men I date and get them to commit to doing anything to please me. I wanted one guy I dated to suck cock for me, and as part of his training, I would tell him explicit bedtime stories and then laugh with delight as his cock got hard from listening. Here is one of the tales I told:

Once upon a time there was a man named Officer Galvin. He was 41 and had been a cop for eleven years. He had been married for nine and had three children, two boys, ages six and eight, and a daughter just three years old. He liked his job, his wife, and his kids and didn’t really want to give up his life. But he had a secret that haunted him. Any hint that his secret might have been detected drove him into a frenzy.

One night, many years ago, a group of his police buddies sat drinking with him at a local pub. They teased him relentlessly for seeming a bit effeminate. They were only joking. While he did appear a bit sissyish, nobody really believed Officer Galvin was gay. His wife was hot. Mrs. Galvin was pretty enough to model. Anyway, the incident changed him. He became ruthlessly macho.   

His beat was in South Central Los Angeles, which is a high-crime area. You know, he dealt with typical shit like drug dealing, pimps, gang bangers and the like. To prove he was a man, he overcompensated in the field, often using extreme force when commandeering bad guys. During one particular incident, he came across a petty drug deal going down. A couple of dime bags of weed were all that was at stake. The perps were two black teenagers. Darryl was the dealer. Darryl had lost his job of two years at McDonald's (it was determined he was giving free food to his friends) and found out he was going to be a father, both on his eighteenth birthday. Two weeks later he stood on a corner directly across the street from a discarded mattress centered squarely between two abandoned row houses. Several very young boys were using the dirty mattress as a trampoline and having great fun at it. Their innocence, should we believe they had any, would soon be lost.

Officer Galvin approached Darryl. “What seems to be going on here, boy?”

Darryl mumbled some words under his breath. Unfortunately for him, Officer Galvin heard them and made them his last words on earth. They were: “Fuck off, faggot.”

Officer Galvin beat him to a pulp. Planted a gun on him and claimed self-defense. The testimony of the young boys who had witnessed the whole affair seemed to have little effect on the jury. They acquitted Officer Galvin, on the basis of lack of evidence, after a one-day trail. Darryl's older brother, Tyrone, swore to himself that he would avenge Darryl's death, but a few days later the thought was all but forgotten, as he had just become an uncle/surrogate father.

It was a bright summer morning nine months later before he would even see Officer Galvin again. Tyrone was standing outside a Chinese food take-out joint, waiting patiently for it to open so that he might order an early lunch of shrimp fried rice and an egg roll. That would never happen, because he found himself with a gun to his head.

Officer Galvin, unnoticed, pulled Tyrone around a corner and into an empty warehouse. “Sit down, Tyrone.”

Tyrone was a menacing, big black guy with broad shoulders. Wore baggy jeans, his hair in cornrows. A thick platinum chain with a rather large diamond-studded cross hung heavy on his chest, which made you think more of the devil than it did Christ. He sat down in the lone chair, seemingly unaffected by the morning's bizarre turn of events.

“I know that you know all the neighborhood thugs. I want you to be my eyes and ears, Tyrone. I want to know who’s doing what and when. Or else.”

Tyrone asked the obvious question, “Or else what, muthafucka?”

“Or else you’ll end up like your brother.”

“Is that so?”


“Suck my dick.”

“What did you say?”

“Suck my dick.” Tyrone’s tone was controlled. It wasn’t quite sexually suggestive, but it wasn't classically insulting either. Officer Galvin's dream, which had begun to consume most of his waking and sleeping hours, of having his face fucked was still unfulfilled.

Standing in the warehouse, he couldn't control his own cock. It was getting hard despite himself. It pleases me now to think about how quickly a man can submit to even the vilest of acts, in the right situation with just a few choice words.

Officer Galvin had his gun pointed at Tyrone, but his arm was beginning to wobble.

“Put the gun down. Get on your fuckin’ knees. Crawl your white faggot ass over here and suck my dick.” Tyrone said the last part of the sentence slow, emphasizing every word. And Officer Galvin did. He crawled over to where Tyrone was sitting and sucked the biggest, blackest cock you’d ever want to see. He didn’t stop sucking it either, until he had swallowed every last drop of nigger cum Tyrone had to offer. Officer Galvin was a really good cocksucker too. In just under three months, he was ripped from behind the white picket fence he had so carefully constructed, that had protected him against murder charges in a court of law, and had become the ghetto's neighborhood bitch.

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