The Order: Maurice and Charlotte

Maurice made a couple of wrong turns and had to amble down a few suburban streets before he found 28 Javier Drive. The house with a white façade and brown roof looked as unassuming as any of its neighbours along that unremarkable stretch of suburbia.

Nevertheless, this felt like a foreign land to Maurice. Even making his way down the garden path and knocking on the heavy teak door felt unfamiliar. Neither Maurice nor any of his friends had ever lived in an ordered, neatly kept neighbourhood like this. As he stood patiently waiting on the doorstep, a cool evening wind rustled the low hedges and carried the heavy perfume of night time blooms. The zephyr felt intimate, like a furtive welcome, and Maurice allowed himself a pleasurable shiver of anticipation.

A pale blonde and slim young woman opened the door. She was dressed in an elegant if slinky black dress that set of the glow of her creamy skin. The smile on her face was both cheeky and shy, like she was opening a Christmas present early right in front of Santa.

"Mr Gold! I was told that you were coming."

Maurice was no young buck. He looked to be about sixty, was heavyset and had the protruding belly that was prevalent among men his age. But his face was handsome, and his smile wide and rakish.

"Maurice." He tipped his newsboy hat like his grandmother had taught him when he was little and bowed, revealing a dark, shiny dome ringed by fuzzy white hair.

Though Maurice moved slowly with the gravity and cautiousness of his age and size, there was weight in his bearing that made Charlotte feel abashed, although she knew this was

his

first encounter and

he

was supposed to be the inductee. She reached out her hand to his.

"Maurice..."

"And my dear you are?"

"Charlotte...oh!"

Maurice had brought her fingers up to his stubbly lips and a place a lingering kiss on their tips.

Charlotte tittered and not letting go of Maurice's hand, led him into the house through the brightly lit vestibule, past a fancy curving staircase leading upstairs, and into an elegant living room. Her fingers were stroking the back of his hand and her thumb made small circles in his palm.

"I've heard that this is your first time Maurice."

"It sure is little darling."

Her face was definitely flushed now.

"They said you gon' show me what this is all about."

Charlotte indicated to Maurice to have a seat on the couch and she followed suit, tenderly resting one hand across his knees.

"Tell me how you came to us."

Maurice recounted the incident a week ago at a supermarket, where a pompous middle aged lady cut in front of him at the checkout line. He had tried to tell her to move to the back of the queue, politely at first. But when she responded by mocking him and asking what Maurice was going to do about it, he decided to let fly.

"And so I said," Maurice shifted forwards, his eyes gleaming and a gleeful smile tugging at his lips.

"I said 'If your pussy hadn't shrivelled up ten years ago I'd fuck a baby into you!'"

Maurice laughed heartily at his bawdiness, then faltered slightly.

"I'm sorry, that was --"

Charlotte shook her head, unperturbed. "What then?"

"I was thrown out by security of course! They assumed I was the one starting trouble. To hell with them. I just brushed myself off in the parking lot and was ready to head home when this young brother approached me and asked me for my number. He said he knew a group that could use black men like me. I told the punk that I was way too old for gangs, but he insisted that he was being dead serious."

Maurice paused in his recount, turning in his seat to face Charlotte directly. She was nodding in encouragement and her hand on his lap caressed his knees with a gentle stroking motion.

"He said quite a lot of other things that I can't quite remember now, but I do know that he told me 'It's your time to be king'. And when I gave him my number -- why the hell not I thought -- he gave me five hundred dollars and said 'The Order provides'... Does that mean anything to you?"

"Yes, yes it does baby."

Charlotte's hand had found his now and she was playing gently with his fingers, brushing their tips and interlacing them with hers. A look of confusion crossed Maurice's face, but at the same time he could feel a deep stirring in his loins, taste the long-forgotten fire of conquest, and he ran his tongue over his lips instinctively. Charlotte was so young -- barely into her twenties -- and the contrast between the two of them could not have been more pronounced in their hands. His large, calloused, and wrinkled, hers smooth, slender, and soft. The only attention that Maurice was used to receiving from the like of girls like Charlotte was distaste and fear when they passed him on the street.

Charlotte could sense Maurice's hesitation. She would need to help him understand.

"When they told you to come here, did they tell you what you could expect?"

"Well, if you don't mind me putting it bluntly, they said that there would be a beautiful white woman waiting for me, and I could do anything I wanted with her."

Maurice could not help but laugh after hearing himself speak. It sounded like a fairy tale or simple-minded fantasy.

"Yes that's right," Charlotte responded simply.

"What's the catch?" Maurice's reply was sharp and fast. He hated to be played the fool.

"There isn't one."

"Quit foolin' me. What, are you not old enough?" Maurice looked around apprehensively.

"The Order was established for the pleasure of black men and the propagation of the black race." -- She said it stilted, like a mantra -- "That's all there is to it."

Maurice shook his head, as if to clear his disbelief. "Why haven't I heard of The Order before?"

"You can imagine the turmoil that would follow if the public at large found out about our philosophy... and our practices. I could hardly believe it myself either when I first found it, but I guarantee it would not be a mistake for you to join us. We want men like you. You deserve it."

Charlotte leaned in, resting her hand upon his shoulder and then her slim body against his side.

"And why would a lovely girl like you join The Order?" Maurice still had his suspicions, but he could not deny the quickening of his pulse and a deeply visceral stirring.

She drew back, laughing a tinkling laugh tinged with wistfulness and punctuated with a little sigh at the end.

"I share the beliefs. Your beliefs. I know it doesn't always seem like it, but there are many like me. We know what you want to do to us, we know your needs, and we want to satisfy them... I don't think I can explain it -- can you?"

Maurice sat in silence for a moment, contemplating her, contemplating the possibilities, and reflecting on the inexplicable moments that fling the trajectory of one's life off all foreseeable courses, redefining an entire plane of existence.

Charlotte was gently stroking the side of his face now.

"You don't have any children at all Maurice?"

"No -- well, none that I know of."

"I can see why they sent you to me now," Charlotte smiled coyly.

"What do you mean by that?"

"It'll be easier for me to show you..."

Charlotte stood up and indicated for Maurice to follow her.

She led him up the stairs, and he followed as she gently opened one of the doors that lined the corridor. Maurice stepped into the dimly lit room and found himself in a charming nursery bedecked with colourful wall prints. A handsome little boy looking to be just over 2 years old, all creamy skinned and frizzy haired, was sound asleep in a race car bed.

"This here is Nashawn. His daddy Darius was my first."

Maurice peered down at the sleeping child and felt a warm rush of comfort and affection for the little thing. Even at that same barely-out-of-nappies age, Maurice himself never had the luxury of sleeping so peacefully through the night, and he knew so many black youngsters in his neighbourhood who still did not. All his life Maurice had resisted starting a family because he was never in a position to provide the kind of life he wanted for his children. To see one lucky little one resting so peaceably in a spacious nursery lined with toys and games filled him with a joyful ache he could barely grasp.

Charlotte turned and wandered over to two cots pushed against the wall on the other side of the room.

"These are my babies -- my twins, Tyrese and Tyrone. I don't know for sure who their daddy is. But I think it might be Trevon. He had me the most that night," she whispered shyly.

The two stout, sleeping cherubs were much darker than Nashawn, and their features sharp where their older brother's was soft. They were clearly of a different parentage.

"I could always tell when it was Trevon putting himself in me because even in a roomful of thick black cocks he could stretch me and make me scream."

Although the room was gloomy and the nightlights cast strange shadows, Maurice could tell that Charlotte's cheeks were growing flushed, and her breathing heavier.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, Maurice steered her towards the door. "How about we move outside?" His voice came out much deeper and hoarser than either of them expected, and both could sense a turning of the tides.

They did not go back downstairs. Instead, Charlotte took him to her own room down the hallway furnished, importantly, with an amply large bed. Charlotte closed the door, then wandered back to Maurice's side. She pushed her breasts against his ribs, one hand on the small of his back and the other stroking his bulge.

Maurice was revelling in Charlotte's little show with a wry expression on his face.

"Where are Darius and Trevon now?"

"I don't know... they didn't want an exclusive relationship so they come and go as they please. The Order provides."

There it was again, that maxim. But Maurice understood it a little better this time.

"It's probably too much to get into tonight, but The Order gives us everything we need to raise our strong black children. They allowed me to move into this house after I had the twins -- three growing boys are going to need so much space! And, maybe one more..."

Charlotte slid the dress straps off her shoulders and crossed her arms across her front, holding onto the bunched up cloth. She turned her face slightly away from Maurice and lowered her chin, girlish and shy.

Charlotte envisaged all the prejudice, the judgement, the aspersion that the callous world would cast on this encounter and allowed it to fuel her lust. They would deem Maurice too unseemly and unworthy of her beauty and youth, would assume that it was impossible for a lithe, desirable nymph like Charlotte to be aroused by a husky, elderly man like Maurice. Such ignorance which knew not that

any

black male desirous of Charlotte's body had the power to transform her into a bitch in heat quivering with need.

"Mmm," Charlotte teased beguilingly, pressing herself against him. "Do what you want with me."

It amused Maurice, had amused him, to watch her try to arouse him now and over the course of the evening. He enjoyed it very much for what it was of course, a coquettish woman putting on a performance. Nevertheless Maurice had certain of his own philosophies. He was an old dog with many tricks to teach yet to an overeager younger partner.

Maurice gripped her hair at the roots and pulled her gently but firmly away from him.

"My man don't need you to get him hard. He's ready to rip into your pussy right now. You wanna live through tonight though you better make sure that you get yourself wet."

"Wha...?" Charlotte drew her breath in sharply, not understanding.

"What do you like a man to do? Tell me."

"I... I like it when he plays with my breasts."

"Then do it. Touch yourself now. That's right. Both sides."

Charlotte slowly brought her hands up to her breasts and started to roll the hard brown nubs between thumbs and forefingers.

"Don't just pinch them now. Play with them the way you want your man to. And you look at me when you do."

Charlotte fluttered the tips of her middle fingers rapidly against the points of her nipples and whimpered as she forced herself to meet Maurice's gaze, to watch him watch her whip herself slowly into a state of lust.

Maurice arrogantly rubbed his growing cock over his pants as he scrutinised her exquisite body.

"Your titties aren't even that big but them nipples sure are long. You wanna tell me why?"

"Mmm... Because I feed my babies with them."

"Uh huh. Keep talking."

"Because my babies are hungry all the time. They suck my titties and want to drink my milk to grow strong like their black daddies."

"Now you stand with those legs spread lil' mama. Spread them wide like those childbearing hips of yours. Never close your legs in the presence of a black man."

"I won't close my legs Maurice," Charlotte repeated deferentially. "They are always open for your hard dick and for me to deliver your heirs. Ohhhh..."

Charlotte drew a deep and shuddering breath. Stimulating herself so brazenly, then hearing herself utter aloud the shameful, degrading words caused the walls of her dripping sex to spasm involuntarily. She clenched hard, seeking relief for the hollow ache.

Smiling approvingly, Maurice drew Charlotte in towards himself. Maurice's thick lips wrapped around one swollen pink nipple and began to suck, drawing her milk out with quick tugs. With one hand he played with the other nipple like he had seen her do. The warm, wet, sucking sensation on one nub and the tickling of the other made Charlotte quiver and arch her back. She rubbed her hands over the smooth top of Maurice's bald head, pushing him into her and urging him to drink more from her breast.

"Maurice... suck my nipples... have my milk daddy... it's for you and for your baby..."

"I bet I'm older than your daddy. Tell me about him. Tell me about the white cuck that fucked your whore mother."

"Daddy... daddy doesn't know that I take black cock in my cunt. Daddy doesn't know that I've had black babies."

"I think the next time we do this we should let Daddy watch, don't you?"

Charlotte imagined what the scene would look like to a lucky observer. A gorgeous white woman freely surrendering the use of her body to an old black man, allowing his rough and wrinkled lips to suckle at her pale, tender breast and obediently opening her legs wider to offer up her wet cunt when she felt his fingers wander below her navel.

Daddy would take her away from all this if he knew what she was doing. He would say that she had been indoctrinated, brain washed, driven mad. But he would be so wrong -- Charlotte had never received any instruction regarding the axiom of black dominance. Since she was a young teen she had always had crushes on the African-American boys in her class, largely out of rebellion she felt, because her father had warned her to stay away from them. But the true dawning of her revelation came more gradually and intuitively, as she bore witness to the potency and innate sovereignty of the black race.

Charlotte remembered the first time she had seen a biracial baby. With its dark curly hair, large almond eyes, and silky brown skin, the infant was the prettiest little thing she had ever seen. She also recalled her surprise that so little of the baby's white heritage appeared in its features. As she later matured and after experiencing the courtship and youthful rutting of an assortment of young lads, she found herself naturally gravitating towards the black boys. And why not, with their expert long-stroking and superior cock length.

The final epiphany had come to Charlotte one day in high school, as she was bent over and taking a railing from a senior in the basement staircase landing. Jackson was the biggest black boy in school, of an intimidating height and musculature. As they both closed in on the edge of ecstasy, she heard him mumble almost to himself.

"Imma cum inside you."

"No -- no --" Charlotte had protested and tried to jump off his jerking member.

But he merely grabbed onto her hips like two handles and forced her back onto him. Charlotte's entire bodyweight was no match for the burly arms that could have crushed her in a bear hug.

"No please --"

She twisted around to put her hand against Jackson's abdomen, and she saw that he was completely lost in the moment, eyes closed and tugging at her hips, paying no attention to her protests.

"Imma cum inside you," again Jackson muttered, still with his eyes shut, still shoving himself deep into her with abandon. He said it with no trace of a question; neither was it a warning. He was simply letting Charlotte know what was about to happen to her, how he was about to have her the way he pleased. Her place was merely to let Jackson use her body to meet his needs.

The realisation that she was a nothing to Jackson, was just a receptacle for his cum, caused Charlotte's knees to buckle as her legs went weak under the intense pleasure that went deep into her loins and belly. Jackson too shuddered and found his release in the massaging contractions of her pussy.

As Jackson slowly pulled out behind her, Charlotte started to come to her senses again and began to desperately wipe away what she could of his emissions when she heard the snappy thwack of rubber. In the moment of panic she had forgotten that they

did

in fact used a condom. Jackson was likely just living out his fantasy of ejaculating in a girl. His previous partners, being high school girls like her, had probably never let him do so. The sweet boy even apologised for scaring her and gave her a peck on her forehead before departing.

Recalling now the state of euphoria that Jackson had left her in, Charlotte knew that the kernel of her beliefs had been planted in that encounter. Charlotte longed to be the submissive and willing maidservant whom they deserved to plant their offspring into. For this was her life's purpose -- to bear the babies of black men and to carry on the lineage of those who would grant her the honour. As she stood still in that stairwell bent over and bow-legged, Charlotte could feel that her body was ready. She would have taken any black man who wanted her in that moment and always, whether he be the janitor, her English teacher, the chemistry club president...

"Hnnnggggaaaahhh!"

Maurice's fingers had reached the moist cove between her thighs. With two thick fingers he made a swirling motion at her entrance. Charlotte had completely lost her mind and with her body seeking only pleasure, started to grind in rhythm.

As he continued to stir against her soft flesh, Maurice took Charlotte's hand and pulled it downwards, moulding it against his and nudging so that his fingers breached her entrance, but only barely.

"Touch yourself with me."

Charlotte could barely stand the humiliation. She ground harder against him and gazed hood eyed at Maurice pleadingly.

"Maurice..."

He knew what he needed to do to force her hand. Bending down, he nuzzled her breast, tempting the nipple to harden again. He teased it with his nose and lips, then suddenly wrapped his mouth around it, drawing a tight suction while tickling with his tongue. All the time his fingers continued to work, groping and fondling.

Charlotte screamed with shock at her surging need. Shamed to be pleasuring herself so wantonly in front of a stranger but unable to tame the desperate yearning, Charlotte took hold of Maurice's palm and pushed into herself. She angled the digits and swivelled her hips to find the depths that needed to be touched, then pumped vigorously to plunge the fingers in and out of her tight canal.

Maurice guessed rightly that with the young studs that Charlotte had been pleasuring it had been almost formulaic. Suck, pump, and go. Suck, pump, and go. Young thugs... a white woman covered in or full of their cum was enough to make them feel like kings. There was little time to think of anything else when their raging hormones drove them to seek release fast and often. Charlotte had been trained to serve and please black men like this, and she had been trying her best. Fair enough, but he liked to have fun on his own terms. Old men like him had subtleties.