Disclaimer: This story may contain scenes of a graphical nature that may not be legal in your area. If you are under 18, or if material of this nature is illegal in your present location, please leave now. By reading on, you are confirming that it is legal for you to view the material in this story.
This story is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental, and no harm or slanderous intent is implied or intentional.
Unsafe sexual practices can be undertaken with impunity only in the world of fantasy. In reality, it is both your obligation and your right to play safely, sanely and healthily. I hope you enjoy my work, and if you have any comments, or ideas that may inspire new work, please feel free to contact me - all e-mails will be answered to the best of my ability.
End of Part 1
"I am an old hand at this. Not to worry." Achmed went over to the medicine cabinet and pulled out a black box. He opened it and removed a vile of tranquilizer drugs and a hypodermic needle. Filling the syringe he said, "this should keep him out for a few hours. He will be O.K. That will give you time to get him settled in his new home." He then administered the drug and the two men picked out a cheep rug and rolled Dexter up in it and then they carried him out and put him in the rear of the van.
Achmed laughed and said, "Just like Cleopatra. You now have a new queen."
*
Part 2
Sultan climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. What a pig he thought. But then am I much better? I'm only one rung higher on the animal chain than Achmed. I purchase, sell and rent human flesh. So who am I to cast stones, as the Christians say?
What was Sultan's business? He was the owner and operator of the best brothel in the city (in fact, for those who graded such things, his establishment was in the top ten of the country). He ran his establishment like it was a palace. Hence, one of the two reasons people called him Sultan. A listing of its clientele would reveal some of the most respected names in the country. To get into his place of business cost a small fortune. And that was just the admittance fee, and then there were the additional costs for special services, etc.
He liked to present himself as an unimposing man. But it was deceptive. He was quite the opposite and therefore the second reason for his name.
Sultan The Magnificent, and he was just that. He was huge. When he walked into a room women could not take their eyes off him and the men, well they died of envy. He was Sudanese and black as coal. On his shaved his head at a jaunty angle he always wore a fez. At first look one was reminded of the primitive drawings children love to make. You know the kind - where the arms and legs look like Bologna and the rest of the body looks like one ball on top of the other. He reminded you of that lovable Michelin tire guy in the ad. However that was a first impression. When one got to know him, his body and face were attractive in a rough sort of way. His skin was always clean and shinny. His arms and legs were tree trunks. Strong and well muscled, as were his chest and abs. His ass was made up of two black marble globes. Being six foot three inches he was able to carry all this beautiful body meat and not appear fat. Hell there wasn't an ounce of fat on him. One did not have to look any further for the perfect man... Many said that he could be the 'black Mr. Universe' if his face was more handsome.
Despite this women loved him - men salivated over him. The reason for this adoration it was the size of the cock and balls that hung between his powerful thighs. It was said to be at least nine inches soft, one and a half to two inches in diameter and black. Not brown as most black men's penis' were, but black. Clients loved to see that black baseball bat plunge into a white ass.
On those rare occasions when he would participate in the Saturday night Orgy on stage at his establishment the audience would be treated to a performance that they would never forgot. He was able to fuck like a piston. With his back straight as a board he was able to move his ass and cock forward and backward like it was a cannon firing off a round. They appeared to be separate from the other parts of his body. Plunging deep and rapid, his hips were a blur while the rest of his body was board stiff. It was something to behold. He was envied and hated. Perhaps it was because he was black and therefore an outsider. For all its boasts of Moslem equality, in reality it did not exist. It was still remembered that it was the Arabs that ran the slave trade for the most part. And they were still dealing in black flesh well into the late 1990s. Even today in some remote areas, one could still buy a black slave. It was true that today most of them were not Moslem but Christian blacks.
The ringing of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. Damn things! If they weren't so helpful to the business I would smash the Devil's invention, he thought as he pulled to the side of the road and answered the contraption. No now was not the time to get stopped by the cops, for driving and using the phone, no with that cargo he was transporting in the rear of the van.
