Author's Note
This is a story of Karl, an unkempt, uncouth teen "scally" White lad and his cultivated and sophisticated but willing, mature Pakistani slave, Gulzar, centred around one November night, 2018 in the British city of Birmingham. The master-slave relationship they both enjoy is consensual and mutually respectful. How they engage with each other in "play" is not how they would conduct themselves in the wider society.
The interracial domination aspect is part of their shared fantasy and here the purpose is to share some of the erotic experiences they gain together. It is in no way intended to hurt the feelings of, insult or belittle any group of people.
It is with some regret I feel the need to explicitly say this, The Rise of Scally God is an erotic
fictional story
of interracial domination, written in the format of an autobiographical account, nothing more or less than that. If the theme is not in keeping with any reader's sensitivities, please read other material that is more in line with your taste.
Neither is this a story of mainstream sexual fantasy (if there is such a thing), the theme here will interest those who want the everyday "real life" niche stuff of the world of some of those who, otherwise successful and thriving in their everyday life, submit and surrender to the dominant demeanour of others and of the mentally strong and determined young men who delight in having complaint slaves under their feet.
Just so readers are aware before they commit their time, bare feet domination and a strong raceplay theme feature prominently in the story. Large sections of the story seek to provide detailed background to the main character, Karl. The erotic aspects of it are interspersed in and against the backdrop of the overall narrative rather than brazenly scattered everywhere.
Readers are urged to note, the
entire text
of the story is Karl himself speaking, not only where his direct speech or thoughts are quoted, so the style of language and attitudes expressed in it are to be seen as his personal views.
The sections of the story written in italics font between brackets are Karl providing supplementary background information. While this enriches the story, particularly for first-time readers, it is not strictly required to follow the flow of the story. Readers preferring brevity may skip these sections.
The story is told from Karl's perspective. As a consequence, the reader gains a much deeper insight into the drivers behind his mind while Gulzar is very deliberately relegated to a minor cardboard cut-out role. This is also done to, subtly, further highlight the importance of the superior male, Master Karl while diminishing the role of the story's inferior male, Slave Gulzar.
Depending on feedback and demand, there remains the possibility of a follow-up novella where Gulzar expresses his side of the story and takes the centre stage but the story as told and as it is, with Karl the undisputed superior male, cannot and will not change. (Karl has no concept of "switch").
Any follow-up story will just be an account of the build-up to and an unfolding of the night's events as seen through Gulzar's eyes...... or rather, as much as the young scally stud Karl's power-hungry, insatiable bare feet permit Gulzar's eyes to see past the splayed-out toes as they the crush to insignificance his face................
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Prologue
The weather is far bleaker than I had hoped for. It would've done no harm to have checked the forecast and rescheduled tonight's meet-up outdoors. Heavy rain lashed down, creating puddles all over the long-neglected, narrow side road. The odd flash of lightening the only time I catch a brief clear glimpse of the surrounding environment in this otherwise poorly lit, derelict industrial estate situated between Aldridge and Brownhills in the northern reaches of Greater Birmingham.
Unable to smoke unsheltered in the downpour, my only recourse to nicotine is a mouth full of chewing tobacco. Each time I gather up a large glob of saliva, I spit it out onto the street, adding to its general wetness in my own small, insignificant way. Nicotine and alcohol are hardly consistent with the lifestyle of an aspiring young martial arts instructor but I find it hard to do a clean break from some of my most-loved pleasures.
As is often the case with me, I'm inadequately clothed to fend my small, slim boyish body against the November evening chill. A single layer to protect my upper body, an old worn-out grey Nike hoodie top and one of my only two Umbro track bottoms, both items of clothing completely soaked through, clinging to my body. Footwear is nothing more suitable for the weather than a pair of borrowed, undersized, fit for the scrap heap, red Adidas trainers stretched over a pair of once-white ankle socks, both holed at the heels and toes, which have now become drenched and heavy with the water. If anything, my feet are colder
with
my socks on.
I kick off my trainers and socks. I'm a barefoot boy by nature anyway, it is how I am most comfortable. It is how I feel free and ready for action, ready to take on
any
challenge life throws at me. Now I stand waiting barefoot on the hard, wet, uneven concrete pavement, close to a field of overgrown bushes outlining the perimeter of a deserted plastic injection moulding factory's carpark. There is no CCTV coverage in this spot of the street.
My Casio watch shows 23:40. Very late and pitch-black dark. But then again, it is not without reason I had carefully chosen this time and place. A secluded, quiet spot, late at night, almost deserted but with enough potential to give me a few spectators for the planned performance.
A time and place where anything-goes and passers-by, if they dare to be on foot at all, do not intervene in others' business or are otherwise busy driving to their place of work in time for the midnight shift change. The eminent Dr Gulzar Asfand Khan should be here within 5 minutes. He is a disciplined, punctual man at the best of times but when under my express orders he knows better than to disappoint.
* * * * * * * *
Twin light beams eventually pierce through the darkness, getting ever brighter as the car moves along the road towards me. I can already make out the shape of Gulzar's Volvo XC90 at hundred or so meters due to its gleaming crystal white paintwork. It comes to a smooth, gentle stop alongside me.
Gulzar steps out of the car, heavy rain pattering and as quickly flowing off his glistening shaved head. I beckon the tall, sturdy, Cambridge PhD graduate towards the bushes, close to the only working street light so we will be easier to spot. He follows until we are a safe distance from the roadside but at the same time deliberately in clear view of drivers passing by.
No time to waste. I instruct the PhD engineering doctor to remove his shoes and strip off his shirt and trousers to reveal his wife Foziah's black frilly knickers, stockings and suspenders stretched over his hairy brown legs. I had ordered him to be dressed to impress. I catch his ankle with my small bare foot and drop him to his knees.
From the plastic bag I'm carrying I pull out an eBay "make an offer", cheap £4, used blond wig, dripping wet and clumpy, and unceremoniously plop it onto Gulzar's head, completing his blond bimbo look. I have converted Gulzar from a "
him"
to a "
she"
. Positioning her with her back to the road so onlookers have a clear view of the slut's frilly-knickered brown ass, I stand legs apart, hands on hips in front of the kneeling bitch.
I lightly tap my small, bare scally feet. The trained dog responds. She leans further forward and places a paw each on the tops of her scally god's bare feet, rubbing them, warming them. I drop down my track bottoms just enough to release my raging hard 8.5" White weapon of control and domination.
I issue a one-word instruction, "Suck!" The slut awkwardly reaches up with her head, paws still resting on my bare feet, takes my Gypsy scally cock like a starving whore. I'm invading her mouth, destroying the last remnants of her pride and dignity. She never once takes her hands off my scally feet. I stand akimbo, relaxed, at ease with my conquest.
