Blac Jiu-Jitsu Domination

As he crossed my path, we almost collided and I heard him mumble, "Sorry," in a deep, sexy voice. He didn't look more than 21 years old. He was black, as black as a black man can be. He stood about five foot eight with short cropped hair and eyes that showed an expression of cold indifference. He looked dangerous.

I knew he didn't work in the building because there is a dress code. He was decked out in blue jeans, white sneakers, and a black mesh tank top through which I could see every one of his ripped muscles. His physique was not quite that of a bodybuilder, though every chiseled line left no doubt that he was a powerful man. What really caught my attention was the green and blue full-face motorcycle helmet that dangled causally from his right hand and swung as he walked.

I visited the smoking area one last time that day before catching the bus home. He was sitting there, the motorcycle helmet and a pack of Newport 100s on the table. I watched as he took a deep drag and blew out a long, slow stream of very thick white smoke that seemed to go on forever. My heart lurched. As I watched the smoke emerge from his ebony face, I started getting hard, so I quickly tried to think of something else.

"Excuse me," I said, holding out my hand, "I'm Richard."

"James," he answered smiling and shook my hand.

"I hate to bother you, but I missed my bus," I lied. "Do you think you could give me a lift home?"

"I ride a motorcycle," he said, nodding at the helmet.

"Is that a problem?"

"No," he replied, "If it's not too far out of my way. Where do you live?"

"About a block from the Mall," I said.

"OK," he agreed.

"Thanks!"

My heart was pounding with excitement. We walked to the parking garage. As we approached a Honda Shadow 1100, he pulled a pair of black leather gloves out of his helmet and laid them on the seat. His cold eyes stared straight into mine as he slipped on his helmet and gloves. He looked as though he as preparing to do something to me.

"You ridden before?" he inquired.

"Many times," I assured him.

"Then get on, white boy," he demanded as he swung his leg over the seat. He started the bike and gave a few quick revs. The sound was louder than normal, deep, and throaty. It suited him. "Put your arms around me and hold on!" he advised. I wrapped my arms around him. I could feel his rock hard six pack beneath my palms and his warm, muscular, black body next to mine. The vibration of the engine came through the foot pegs and washed over my entire body. I got a raging hard-on that he didn't seem to notice. He gunned the engine again, flipped down the face shield, and we were off!

When we arrived at my apartment, he pulled off his helmet and switched off the bike. "Thanks for the ride," I told him. He could see I was sincere.

"Can I use your phone?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied. He smiled at me.

When we entered my apartment, I offered to make coffee and showed him where the phone was. I had just finished in the kitchen when I noticed the strong smell of cigarette smoke coming from the living room and I realized that my dick was getting hard again. When I returned he was sitting on the couch. His helmet and gloves were on the coffee table. I couldn't help but stare at this powerfully muscular black man sitting there exhaling thick streams of white smoke into the air. Watching him excited me. His eyes met mine and I quickly looked away.

"So, what do you do?" I asked.

"I work construction, part-time. And I teach."

"That sounds interesting. What do you teach?"

"Jiu-jitsu," he said. "I got my first-degree black belt when I was fifteen. I've been teaching ever since. I'm working on my third-degree now."

"How old are you?" I asked, curious.

"Nineteen," he grinned. "Are you into martial arts?"

"No," I admitted, honestly. "But I've always been fascinated by submission holds."

"A lot of guys are," he said. "They're always asking me to show them holds."

"Do they want you to teach them or do they just want to know what the holds feel like?" I asked.

"Some want to learn, but most guys just want to feel the holds. They don't believe me when I tell them how painful joint locks and pressure points are. But when I start applying the holds they tap out real quick! Most guys are wimps."

He was staring straight at me and, for a moment, I thought he might be sizing me up. But I suppose a 52 year old out-of-shape and slightly overweight white man might just qualify as a wimp. I was definitely no match for a nineteen year old martial artist.

"What's your favorite hold?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"The rear naked choke—you know—the sleeper," he replied. "I can take a guy out in six seconds if I apply it full force," he bragged. He was obviously proud of his abilities and staring at his powerfully muscular black arms I had no doubt. "No one ever gets out of my chokes, especially the sleeper," he added.

I felt fear and excitement building inside.

"Can I ask you something," I inquired.

"Sure."

"I know in competition you're supposed to let the guy go when he taps out. But have you ever made a guy beg and not let him go?"

James chuckled half-heartedly. "You mean bully a guy in a submission hold? The brothers I practice with play like that all the time," he explained. "We're not out to injure anyone. We're all black belts and know what we're doing, so it's no big deal, really."

"But what if a guy who wasn't into martial arts asked you to do that to him?" I hinted.

James took a long, slow drag on his Newport and split the air with another stream of thick smoke. He looked at me seriously for a moment. "If a guy wanted me to make him beg—I'd make him beg. No problem."

"Wouldn't it bother you?" I asked, wondering how merciless he could be.

"Why?" he replied. "He's going to feel it, not me! Besides, he asked for it."

James was completely comfortable and confident in his answer. He took another drag, filled the air in front of him with a thick stream of smoke, and leaned back on the couch stretching his arms and legs. I stared at him in awe and wondered what it would feel like to have his black body all over me—what it would be like to feel his strength.

"Would you show me some holds?" I blurted out without thinking.

"Teach you or use them on you?" he observed as he stared hard at my blushing face.

He had caught me off guard. He knew exactly were I was going and he was already one step ahead of me.

"Use them on me," I admitted, embarrassed.

Now his look became serious. "I'm a second degree black belt," he warned. "I could have you begging for mercy in a heartbeat. What do you really want from me, white boy?"

"I want to know what it's like to be bullied by a black man using jiu-jitsu," I confessed. "I don't want you to injure me, of course, just make me beg a little—you know, like you and your friends do."

His expression softened and a look of comprehension spread across his face. Then he began to smile.

"You want me to thug on you," he stated. "I can do that—I can do that easy."

"You're smart. You don't seem like the bully type," I observed.

"I can be a bad ass muthafucka when I want to be," he said proudly. "I be doing' my thing on your ass, white boy."

"And does your thing include putting me to sleep?" I asked nervously.

"Fuck yeah!" he exclaimed. "I'll make you beg to be put to sleep," he threatened. "You really want me to thug on you, white boy?"

I was shaking with excitement and fear. He knew this was turning me on and that was his obvious intention.

"Yes," I said. "And wear your motorcycle helmet and gloves while you're doing it!" I added quickly.

"If that's what you want," he agreed. "But let me warn you, white boy—when I get my gloves and helmet on, there's no turning back, no changing your mind, no backing out. You'll get exactly what you asked for. You got that, white boy?"

I shook my head. He watched me intently as he put out his cigarette and stood up. He picked up the motorcycle helmet and slowly slipped it on. Then he buckled the chin strap and let his arms fall to his sides.

"You don't have to do this, you know. You can still back out if you want."

He stared hard at me waiting to see what I would do. I stood there motionless and said nothing. I just watched as he slipped on his black leather motorcycle gloves. When he had finished, he walked up to me slowly and got in my face.

"That's it, white boy! I be doin' my thing on your ass!" he said and slammed down the face shield.

Standing there in gloves and helmet, he looked more dangerous than before. I was shaking with fear and excitement. He moved so quickly I didn't know what was happening until we were on the floor and his body was tangled with mine. I felt his weight on me. His powerful black muscles seized me as tight as a steel trap. I couldn't move an inch. I was totally helpless and completely at his mercy. When he applied pressure to the joint lock he had on me, the pain hit me like a ton of bricks, sharp and extreme.

"It hurts! Please let me go," I begged to him. Looking into his eyes I saw no warmth, no emotion, and no pity at all.

"You don't like the way that feels—white boy?" he taunted. "I haven't even started doing my thing on you yet! How does it feel to beg a black man for mercy?"

"Let me go!" I demanded and struggled hard against his grip. He responded by increasing the pain even more.

"No you don't!" he demanded. "You're fucking with a second-degree black belt! I could kick your ass in a heartbeat, so just lay there and take it—white boy!"

I was relieved when he let the hold go. But it was short lived. The pressure point he used on me next was even more painful and I begged to him even harder. I struggled, but there was no escape. His powerful black body was a lot stronger than I had imagined. His arms and legs were like steel bands and he knew how to use them!

He put another joint lock on me. "Feel that fuckin' joint lock, white boy! You like that shit, don't you? You like having a black man inflict pain on your body! Beg to me—white boy!"

"Please end it now!" I begged. "Please put me to sleep!"

"You had enough, white boy? You ready for my choke hold? You really want a black man to put you to sleep?"

"Choke me out!" I begged. "Please, put me to sleep!"

He released the joint lock. I was so relieved I didn't notice that he had moved behind me. Suddenly, his powerful right arm snaked around my throat and his left arm dropped behind my head in one fluid movement. His forearm pressed hard against the back of my neck, forcing my throat deep into the bend of his elbow. His head went down beside mine and his motorcycle helmet pressed hard against the side of my head. The rear naked choke hold was locked around my neck—a triangle of powerful black muscle from which there was no hope of escape.

"I'm taking your ass out, white boy!" he bragged. There was a sudden explosion of power as his hard black muscles flexed around my neck. The pressure was tremendous. I felt a tingling sensation all over and the room grew dark. As I lost consciousness, the last words I heard were, "Go to sleep, muthafucka!"

When I regained consciousness, I was sitting upright between his legs leaning back against his chest and his muscular arms were wrapped firmly around my body. I was only out ten seconds, so he still had on his helmet and gloves. I tried to move, but his powerful arms restrained me. I heard his muffled voice in my ear from behind the helmet.

"Don't try to move. Take it easy. There's plenty of time."

"I'm OK," I said quickly, to reassure him."

"I know you are," he responded. "I've put a lot of guys to sleep. Just relax."

James reached up, pulled off his helmet, and laid it on the floor beside us. Then he put his arms back around me and started rubbing my chest with his powerful gloved hands.

"Did you like that, white boy?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did!" I was honest with him.

"I did too," he agreed. "There's a lot more holds I could show you. Any time you want to feel them, let me know."

"Can we get together again?" I asked.

He stood up and took off his gloves. I got to my feet as well.

"You got something to write on?"

"Yes," I said, and handed him the pad I keep by the phone. He wrote down his name and number. Then he handed it back to me.

"Call me whenever you want," he offered, and quickly slipped on his gloves and helmet.

"Thanks for helping me!"

"I just be doin' my thing, white boy!" he replied and lowered the face shield on his helmet.

James took a step towards me and threw his arms around me in a bear hug that crushed the breath out of my body. It lasted about fifteen seconds, then he released me, turned, and walked out the door. I wasn't sure whether his embrace was meant to show affection or aggression. When I heard him gunning his Honda Shadow as he ride off down the street, I was sure it was the latter.