Piece Offering

[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18; NO EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE TRUE; STORIES HAVE A 'HARDER EDGE' THAN MOST; BE WARNED; HERE BE DRAGONS]

[All characters and events are fictional; any similarity to actual people or events is coincidental. No harm is intended for any person or organization.]

*

It had taken almost six months to set up this peace conference. The meeting site, like everything else in America, was not neutral. The groups meeting here were well known to the public and to law enforcement. Everyone from the FBI to Interpol knew these groups, their favorite colors, their feelings about CK, cc, PCP, LSD, THC, ballers, MOB, associates, soldiers, Surenos, Folk Nation, People Nation, Latin Kings, Le Raza, and the dreaded wires and flippers.

Here were representatives of the two famous networks of groups, one from LA and the other from the cruel streets of New York. The 'hosts' all sported White Sox baseball caps, though none actually played for them, went to any games, or could name any players. The meeting place was on the 'So Side (Southside) of Chitown (Chicago), in what they used to call 'the back of the yards'. The real estate used to be affordable because you were not far from the stock yards where the nation west of Chicago would bring their livestock before shipment east.

In clear violation of the meeting rules and the truce, one of the representatives was clearly wearing blue colors. But it was cool; everyone was chilled out. The negotiations took two days, but at the end, it was decided that each side would give the other peace offerings to show goodwill. From the east would come 10 keys, shipped direct to them in a 20 foot container in Long Beach from their eastern (Asia) connections. The west coast crew had their fingers in the port and could get thru any customs seal ever invented.

The west coast crew said that they were out of drugs (eliciting hilarity in the room for ten minutes). When they stuck to that theory, the leader of their delegation asked what ELSE would be an acceptable offering. The New Yorkers huddled and said a 'Piece Offering' would be cool.

The westies said: "What peace offering?"

The NYers said: "Not PEACE offering...PIECE offering; we want 10 bitches, and we mean fine, all white, over 20 and under 45, ready to work and marked the way we want (group initials, the usual playing card 'toos, and the local affiliates group names.)"

The westies said: "Ten...mo fo...that's a tall order, but in the interest of peace, you got 10 pieces of fine white ass on the way."

Everyone signed off on the peace plan and it was cool.

Back in LA, Devon was not only wearing blue, but feeling it too. "How the fuck am I going to get 10 of the finest white cabooses all recruited, tooed, and ready in time for the peace plan? Shee-att, mother fucker?"

Artemis: "We can dust off my favorite plan!"

Devon: "Not THAT shit again...that shit won't fly; chocolate CHIPpendale?"

Artemis: "You have a better plan? Didn't think so. We're in luck because the Accountants of North America (ANA) are meeting AND their wives were invited, but will have a separate doings at the same time. It is perfect."

Devon: [looking down at the tattered carpet] "I can't believe I'm saying this, but go ahead. Only, don't come back without some fine foxes, bee-atch."

The ANA had their meeting set for Tuesday. It was not much time for the westies to get their plan ready, but it was enough.

As to the men and the main ANA meeting, all the westies crew had to do was plant a lookout or spy outside the hall with a cellphone to call in meeting start, end, and breaks. Pretty easy stuff. The wives of the ANA, where the action was, would be more difficult.

The wives of the ANA met in a different hotel as the ANA main group took up the only meeting room in their hotel. Their meeting was underway, with boring speakers just like their husbands. The hotel banquet room was beautiful, resplendent with bouquets of chrysanthemums.

All of a sudden, a black man in hotel employee regalia tapped the shoulder of the stocky woman speaking, saying that he had a surprise. The black dude said that the ANA men knew that the 'girls' would be bored stiff at this point (laughter throughout the room), so they had a little 'surprise' for them. He held out his hand, pointing to the big black man in a fur coat who came out on the podium. He carried a boom box big enough to announce Derek Jeter to the Yankee Stadium crowd. He hit the button and the rap started playing.

The wives of the ANA started fidgeting. What the hell was going on? Then, it got REAL weird when the man in the fur coat dropped it, just wearing a g-string. He started dancing. Right then, three wives got up to go. They got to the exit and left, only to be collared by a crew member and herded back in. Meanwhile, back on stage, it was getting weirder. The dancer was one of the crew who had been in the joint (San Quentin). He still sported gigantic 'guns' from lifting weights. The ladies of the ANA were drawn to his incredible physique and started crowding the stage. One of them got the idea of tipping. Soon, fives, tens, and even a hundred or two, were all put in that g-string. Sure enough, one of the women boldly pulled it down, letting his twelve inch friend out. All of the women, including the three who had tried to escape, all gasped.

At the high point of his dance, the women were crowded at the foot of the stage closest to him. His huge dark paw started the dreaded up and down stroke. To the delight of his crew, watching and hoping for some women as volunteers, the women all closed eyes and opened mouths like ravenous hungry young fledglings. When it happened and his huge cock popped, the spray reached the front row and second row of women. At least a dozen of them got a mouthful. Every one of them licked lips and noisily swallowed his offering.

Devon took the stage. He said: "Let's hear it for Russell, ladies!" [Wild applause] He continued: "You know girls; we are an entertainment company out west here, offering cordiality and escort services to the proper gentlemen. If any of you fine ladies would like to look into getting some part-time exciting work on the side, we have a recruiter in the back that can sign you up. We know that some of you wouldn't want to upset your husbands and won't sign up. That's cool...no really. I am sure that when he slams you at home, he packs the same kind of meat that Russell does, so why run around?"

Before he had finished his speech, the women were fighting to get in line. Of the 23 women there, 21 signed up. Nine of them were not foxes and were only fit to be 'thrown to the troops', the lowly street associates and soldiers who would screw anything that could walk. The other dozen women were fine and would do great. They got their ten prize bitches, and more...chocolate CHIPpendales, huh? It didn't sound so silly after all.

Next stop was outfitting the women. Short tight skirts, high platform shoes with Lucite straps (clear) and Lucite soles. They were see-thru top and bottom. Most guys didn't care, but some dudes went crazy seeing a gorgeous white chick with great legs and beautiful feet with see-thru soles. Blouses had to accommodate some really busty ladies, though some were real fine ladies with modest busts. Anyway, most didn't wear bras, or if they did, there were no fronts to them, so that either way, the rough cotton blouses would make the nipples angry and pucker, then pop, into erect thumb-sized knobs.

Devon looked at the line of babes, and then he kissed Artemis on the cheek so hard he almost removed his tattoo. He wasn't a 'home boy' but, man, that plan worked! They talked the women into giving letters to their wimpy husbands, many of the letters pre-written by gang members or affiliates, so they just had to sign them. Of the original dozen, they lost only one. They now had a single one more than the required ten fine ladies; they herded them onto a chartered bus for the long trip to the big city on the Hudson.

On the long interstate run, the women were given numbers to keep with them. As their number was called, they got some quality time with Russell, their old friend from the stage. He had a tough job, but SOMEONE had to do it.

He had an aisle seat, but they had removed the center seat next to him, and had pushed the chair arms back against the seatback. So, as he sat with his 12 inch pride outstanding, the fine white bitches would come up. A crew member would unceremoniously strip off their skirt, folding it neatly. The beautiful white wife of some accountant would swing a leg over and settle herself down onto the foot long pole. As she gasped for air as it slowly skewered her insides, its rough cut ending scraped the tender sensitive vaginal walls of the woman. They always moaned in pain, and then pleasure. They would slowly go up and down, easing themselves down until the full footlong length was accommodated. Finally, a rhythm would be established. A climax would be achieved either by the woman's efforts, or the occasional road hazard, forcing a huge jounce to the bus and a squeal from the grateful accountant's wife. Either way, Russell would grab their fine white behind with a big black set of paws. Then he would jet his very potent African seed into their tight, occasionally very fertile, white vaginas, filling their valuable hungry wombs with the very seed of life.

By the end of the trip, he had done a heavy number on every one of these gorgeous women, with some of them having had their fertile wombs bathed in potent black babybatter several times and for several hours at a time. Unknown to the crew on the bus or those foxy women, six of the eleven recruits were now pregnant with black babies even before they arrived in New York. It was the ultimate joke on the New York street gangs that their 'piece offering' arrived, on time and as ordered, but with dates in the delivery room already necessary.

The handsome chartered Greyhound-type bus went down Park Avenue, all the way, and turned, entering the realm of the east group. Off loading the eleven fine bitches, there were a lot of high-fives and gang shakes that went around. The crew chief called the port of Long Beach, releasing the container, breaking the seal so delivery could be made. The westies had some of the finest products ever put out by the Northern Alliance of Afghanistan, our allies over there and occasional owners of the poppy fields when the Taliban didn't have them.

The bus had pulled into this old, gang owned and run, warehouse. They all got out and lined up for inspection. Rufus, Roosevelt, and Theo looked over the new line of ho's. They were looking good. The westies worked on them, schooling-wise, during the long trip East. By the time they arrived, the ladies were well versed in dressing, talking, and acting like pros. The idea of doing hung studs, only black, turned on these volunteers.

Rufus called out for number one to come forward. They were to say their background, and then they would be given a new name and background, be told their duties on the streets of New York. First up was Heather.

Heather: "My husband is a tiny dicked white accountant. We had a 3 bedroom home; I had three children, two white wimpy small cocked boys and a white daughter who preferred little Debbie to Little Richard. I loved her but she became more of a balloon than a babe."

Rufus: "Come here, Heather." [She walked closer] [he approvingly ran his hands up and down her body, feeling her angry nipples cutting thru the thin, cheap blouse, her solid-from-healthclub-membership behind, and those shapely legs, unnecessarily accentuated by fishnet stockings. ] "Your new name will be 'Bitch number one' or just plain 'Bitch'. You have a fantastic figure, so you will be turning tricks in Manhattan, from that hotel on the park. No gangster 'toos for you. We will ask for $1,000/night for you, and get it. You will be seeing some rich dudes, let me tell you. And if we can embarrass a politician with some DVD disk of his visit to you, well we are talking BIG money! Now, you go girl!"

Rufus: "Next!"

Tristany: "I have second thoughts; the idea of being a 'ho' for you guys is kind of scary...I think I want to go home, if that's ok with you?"

Rufus had to think fast. He nodded to two of his crew; they grabbed Tristany, a petite blond, about 35, with an hour glass figure, a tiny bit top heavy, her five foot three inch frame out of balance with a set of tits needing a 36D bra. Fantastic show girl type legs, and beautiful little feet still sporting those sexy see-thru Lucite soled shoes, she was unceremoniously lifted up and put on top of a shipping crate. The two flunkies held open her silky smooth, bikini waxed legs by the slender ankles, one of them already sporting a sexy tattoo. Rufus snapped his fingers and Theo came out. He was wearing a very loose, poor fitting athletic jersey for the New York Giants. Rufus couldn't stand it, being blue and all, but team uniforms were NFL decisions. Anyway, Theo took off his uniform and out came a cock smaller than Russell of the westies crew (10 versus 12 inches), but it was pumped solid, veined, and curved just right.

As Tristany was held against her will, and the other women looked on, their ardor for becoming ho's rapidly changing, Theo went to work. He approached her standing on the floor, her body on the shipping crate at the precise right elevation. He let his huge, heavy, veined phallus fall onto her pussy lips. In spite of her feelings, her pussy lips soon were slavering, sopping wet over the gorgeous tool that was toying with her clit. As that love log was sawing back and forth, Tristany started to moan in pleasure, and the other ho's there starting moaning in sympathy. It was quite amazing, as every squeal of ecstasy caused by that ten inch piece of steel hard cock elicited a moan, a cry, and a sigh from not just Tristany but every white ho there. As it entered her still fertile vagina, the women were dead silent; looking on as if it they were watching the most important event ever. The hell with the landing on the Moon, Theo's giant babymaker was plunging into Tristany's tight, welcoming, vagina. As the rough, uncut head of that cock emerged ever so slightly on the upswing, then disappeared along with the entire cock on the downswing, the ladies gasped. One of them actually lovingly held Theo's balls in their small hands; the small grapefruit sized testes requiring two small hands to even hold one up.

The slap slap slap of his balls against the side of the container as he went in and out was mesmerizing. Tristany muttered that he was touching places she had never had touched before; he was virtually stroking her cervix and making nice with her uterus. The ladies watched in rapt attention as finally his huge balls slowly rose, then shuddered, shuddered, shuddered, some eight times, indicating that he had done a heavy number on Tristany's open, fertile, unprotected cunt. At that point, the ladies wished there was such a thing as a vaginal interior cam; they knew that if she had a fertile egg awaiting fertilization, it had just been inundated, covered in a tidal wave of vibrant, healthy, black baby making sperm, the potent seed a tribute to Theo's virility and desire to make black babies...

He pulled out and a white lava flow oozed out. Exhausted from the sex, Tristany was helped to her feet and then Theo helped her walk to a holding place. As she would later tell her friends among the wives of the ANA group, Theo was a gentle lover, but a fantastic one. She insisted that he do her again and again. But, that was his intention anyway; determined to be the first eastie to put a claim on one of these bitches, he kept Tristany's fertile cunt filled with potent African seed, his virility ensuring a heavy load too. Before the week was out, Tristany, now bitch number two, would be pregnant with a black baby. As a matter of fact, the very day of her black breeding in front of the other girls, later that afternoon, she had conceived.

Flash forward four years:

Devon brought out what was left of the original eleven ho's from the west coast. Two were busted for 'prostitution', one for 'lewd and lascivious behavior', and one for possession of a controlled substance (actually, it was four controlled substances). Two got 'black married' and went off the street, which left five fine bitches. They lined up dutifully, all wearing the most tasteless clothes conceivable from the finest boutiques and couturiers on 125th Street.

Devon: "Something unusual has happened and I wanted you all to see it. Though most of your husbands just declared you missing and went on with their lives, at least one kept looking and found us, somehow. He must've flipped some westie; I know none of my crew would talk to 'the Man'. Anyway, that wimpy white dude is here, and I wanted him to see that we are all happy, with no one being held against their will. Tristany, your dear husband is here. In a moment, we are going to give him a fair and equal chance to re-claim your heart. Let's set up that test...men..."

Two school chairs were put out. A slightly stooped, 5 foot 8 inch balding accountant named Larry came out of the darkness, he being Tristany's husband and the dude who found this place. He was pointed to a chair. Seated next to him was Theo, looking pumped as usual. Theo was only two inches taller at 5 foot 10, but he was like twice the volume, with a larger frame and three times the muscles. From the line of ho's came Tristany. Larry adjusted his eyes, thinking this COULDN'T be her, it couldn't! Chewing gum, sleazy dress, slightly run stockings, crotchless panties detectable under the skirt, heavy breasts about to burst out of the blouse. Then, Devon said: "Can we bring out Tristany's little horde."

Two black female gang affiliates brought out six black babies. One of them pushed a four-seat baby carriage while the other carried her twins. Fast work for four years.

Devon: "Well, Larry, as you can see, Tristany has been busy during her time away from you. However, we want to be fair and give you a chance to re-win her heart and take the little lady home with you tonight. So, you will go head to head, mano a mano, with Theo. Tristany can sample either or both of you and pick her hero. Winner takes all, no questions asked...now, let's get it on!"

As the west coast ho's cheered Tristany and Theo on, two gang members lifted Larry up and unceremoniously pulled down his expensive all-wool slacks. His thingy was only about 2 inches, on its way to its massive 3 ½ length.

Next to him would sit Theo, his monument to manhood about three times the size of Larry's.

Tristany was brought forward. Devon announced: "Oh, Larry, just to kick it up a notch, your lovely wife Tristany has recovered from her last brood of black breeding and is very very fertile today. The dude that does her today will be shopping for baby clothes with her tomorrow. Also to kick it up yet another notch, we have this on live web cam; it will be fed out live to 16 adult websites, so you and your wife will be TV stars like you always dreamed of!"

Tristany was stripped naked by the same two black women who had brought in her huge brood of children. They worked silently and with no expression. Tristany had tattoos everywhere, with 6 over her incredibly fertile cunt, big initials on her upper neck, two black hands—one on each perfect cheek, a moving frieze of brothers servicing white women, and the obligatory crest across the lower back.

Tristany went up to Larry first. When she noticed that he was definitely 'hard' but that his thing did not extend above his thighs as he sat there, so that she could never 'get on board', she turned, laughing uncontrollably. She went to Theo and proceeded to go up and down on him, moaning in pleasure. His huge cock was having a field day, tapping, prodding, and stroking every pubic inch of her wondrous fertile vagina. When he tapped once too often at her cervix, she bent over to Larry, grabbed his lapels, breathlessly said: "BLACK BABIES!"; she turned to the webcam and repeated it as if Marilyn Monroe was there instead of her. Then she swooned to make out with Theo.