Dating in the Black New World Order

My name is Percy, Percy B. White, and this is my story of dating in the BNWO.

It's not easy dating since our Black Masters took control, no sir. But today I was so excited---I had a date with my best girl, Staci! Well, not really my girl. Technically she wore the brand of her pimp, and was classified as Whore, Second Class. But I sure liked that sweet girl.

I was one of the few white males who didn't face immediate castration, come the Revolution, 'cause of my pretty face. It was judged that I could sire some foxy white girls, a steady supply of purebred white girls being so very desirable.

I had convinced Staci to meet me for lunch, and I was going to pop the question! So I dressed up extra special.

I scrubbed my effeminate face clean, and carefully applied my heavy, whorey makeup. A pretty pink miniskirt showed off my shapely legs. I was currently off the hormone cycle, so I had to stuff my bra. I spritzed myself sparingly with my favorite fragrance, Li'l White Gurl, by L'Danté. Slutty street walker shoes with 4" heels to show off my legs. And, in accordance with Amerikan Africa Law, I was caged and plugged in public, subject to free use, and plug inspections by any Black man. Since I had recently been disciplined, I was rocking an 8 pound, 5" plug. Let me tell you---with that bad boy up my butt, it was hard to concentrate on anything else, anything at all. Woof!

I had had to work extra shifts at my job at the whiteboi strip club, The Pink Pussycat, and out at my gig at the The Cum Dumper, the sissy whorehouse, to save up extra Obamas for the lunch with Staci. And, boy, let me tell you, working doubles on the weekend had me walking funny, and gave me some disturbing dreams, (and unnatural urges!)

But over the period of a year, I had saved enough for our date at The White Bread, the fancy sit-down white folks restaurant. My mouth watered thinking about the tasty fish sticks, the savory mac-n-cheese... and Staci, of course!

Stacey was the girl next door type---if you lived next door to a whorehouse. But she was a toothsome wench, and I loved her. She was always looking bruised and a little roughed up by Tyrone, her big, mean pimp. But I knew a whore had to be guided with a firm hand sometimes. And she was fertile! I wanted to breed her, and I hoped to convince her today. We could make some beautiful whores together, I expect. Whores that would, in due time, carry on the family tradition of sex worker. Unfortunately, if the offspring was male--well, I tried not to think about that.

I asked Staci on a date because I wanted to pop the question---yes; I wanted to sign her up for a breeding contract. A small number of very fem, "pretty" white "males" were allowed limited breeding privileges in order to keep the supply of pureblood white girls flowing. I adored Staci---blond hair, blue eyes---and I think she liked me too!

I had saved up my Obamas to take Staci to a nice sit-down whitey restaurant. We made small talk about work, and things were going well.

"... And then he popped off in my mouth! No warning!" she giggled. "I think I'll try the Cobb salad," Staci said. "I always wanted to try a Cobb salad. And a Pumpkin Spice latte. You're so sweet to take me here!" She smiled and touched my hand. My little pee-pee gave a twitch and a wiggle.

"Get whatever you want, Staci," I said with a gulp, thinking of my rapidly diminishing roll of Obamas, so carefully saved. But all in all, we were hitting it off very well.

Until a gang of black men entered, looking for whites to harass, for a lark.

"Don't look at them," Staci hissed. "Maybe they won't see us."

Fat chance! Staci was hot, and I was a very pretty boy. I wore the mandatory make-up and girly dress up, falsies, shaved legs and heels. Earrings, lipstick, Dolly Parton wig---the works. I looked pretty. Hell, I was pretty!

"Well, well, well, what we got here?" one giant Negro asked.

"White folks havin' a good time, not a care in de world."

"Looks like Precious, here, gon' get some. That do be a tasty piece," he drawled, looking at Staci---my Staci!

"Now, please, fellas--I beg of you--" I began. Staci kicked me under the table. I had forgotten my manners, and my Ebonics. "Now look, here, dawg--I axe you--is that be the way to be?" I begged.

"He sound jus' like a brotha. I wonder if he/she enjoying his date with the prissy Princess, here." He nodded at my Goddess.

Damn the luck!--our salad course arrived, just at that moment.

"Needs seasonin', looks like," one black man commented.

"Sure 'nuff do," another agreed. The brothers took that opportunity to masturbate great gobs of Negro sperm all over our salads. "Go 'head... eat up!"

Blushing, we had no choice, and we stirred the bro protein into our Cobb salad, with Ranch dressing.

"Yum, yum," Staci said.

"Very good. Thank you," I said, chewing mechanically.

"I wonder if home boy be properly plugged," someone sneered. Oh, no! I stood up and bent over for my "plug check". Unplugged, my girly guts sucked air; and then let out a deep, tuba-like bass note. Not very romantic.

Five minutes later, we were both bent over the table getting railed.

"What did you wan--Unh!--to ask m-me, Percy? Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! UNH--UNH--UNH--" She was bent over, ponytail pulled, hips shaking, getting pounded by a meaty black cock on a huge black man. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she wailed. Poor Staci!

"Go ahead--talk to yo' bitch!" said the large black man going to town on my sissy ass.

"UNH! I--I--want--to-UNH!--ask you--AHH! to--to--BREEEEEED!" I screamed, like a little girl, as he unloaded deep in my guts.

Staci shook her hips in the throes of a huge orgasm. He whispered in her ear, kissed her neck. She nodded.

"I have to go, Percy. Call me!"

Smirking, with a crooked, lust-filled smile and sashaying of her hips, she left with the pack of muscular Negros. I understood. She didn't think of me as much of a man, and she probably wanted to make a few extra Obamas.

At the door one turned to me. "An' don' forget to plug up, sissy-boy."

In tears, I paid for our meal, and bagged up the leftovers. I minced to the door in my high heels, puddling a little.

Out on the sidewalk the sun broke through the clouds, and birds sang. I stopped, and slowly smiled when I remembered what Staci had said. She wanted me to call her! Oh, boy!