The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

At first, the mood at the Sweet Pines Motel had been angry, but optimistic. The group peaked at about 30 cuckolded husbands or boyfriends, ejected by the Black cuckoos in their family nests.

The bar attached to the motel became their unofficial HQ, where the Pinefield men nursed their white loser grievances, and plotted to take back their town, with increasingly fanciful plans as the beers were sunk each night.

But at least that meant they weren’t drinking the water, which their de facto leader, Trent Williams, was convinced had been doctored. Trent had led their unsuccessful local opposition to The Project for refugees coming to Pinefield in the first place.

Graham the bar owner, also a middle-aged single white male, was naturally sympathetic to their cause. He even started putting on a stripper for them on Fridays and Saturdays to help relieve their inevitably pent up, but now denied, male urges.

Trent strongly suspected that the shrewd bar owner was also taking a cut of the young girls’ post pole dancing extracurricular activities too. He himself felt he had to set an example to his followers by staying above all that. Instead Trent had acquired two porn mags, an old Playboy and a copy of Massive Jugs, full of white studs fucking horny well-endowed white sluts, for his own safe release of tension.

What Trent wouldn’t give to go back to those early days of optimism. Now, the doctored drinking water had done its work, creating a miasma of horny submission right across town.

Anyone arriving in Pinefield today would be left in no doubt as to its new place at the heart of the Black New World Order. Not that any unwanted prying eyes were arriving anytime soon, not now the road back down to Brunchester City had been blocked and closed.

Two days after the Mayor’s Town Hall meeting, Pinefield had reached the tipping point and submitted. Whereas before, a drive down Main Street would have seemed odd the casual observer, now it would be truly shocking.

Nearly naked bimbos and sissy bois seemed to be everywhere. Public acts of open interracial fornication, often being filmed, could be seen in parks or on street benches. Black Shemale Mistresses walking pet cuckolded bois on leashes. A giggling group of pink clad girls at the Diner taking it in turns to suck off their Cum Shakes from their Black waiter Masters.

Slowly, that early optimism had turned to despair, almost unnoticed. Like lobsters unaware of the ever hotter water of the pan they are trapped in. The self-styled resistance at the motel had suffered what felt like a losing war of attrition as the days wore on. Until now, just Trent and three others remained, virtually barricaded in on the upper floor.

Back in those early days, Trent had urged caution against some of the group’s wilder, drunken plans, asking for time to simply fix the doctored water problem.

That had been fine until the bottled water ran out, and they all had to rely on Trent’s make-shift distillation kit. And there was the constant need for food too of course.

They’d lost the first dozen or so of their number, almost without noticing amid the ongoing new arrivals, on those early trips for food and general intel.

Soon after that, three from the minority who had been advocating flight, rather than fight, broke ranks and headed off on foot through the forest for the hunter’s footbridge across the River Semelt that led down to Brunchester.

Just the one made it back two nights later to report they had found the footbridge destroyed. Having no choice but to return, they were attacked as they headed back, the lone survivor barely escaping. The last he saw of the other two, they were each tied naked to a tree trunk being buggered by a giggling line of Sissy Scouts.

The news galvanised the fight faction. Already fed-up with Trent’s prevaricating over the water, five of the hottest heads deserted the group to violently confront their ex-wives and their new Black lovers. Trent was at least pleased that he managed to persuade his right hand man Marty not to go with them. They never saw the five of them again.

At the end of that same week, the bar’s Friday pole dancer was a very hot young Black girl for the first time. Both Marty and Ted were clearly very taken with the new stripper, but it was Ted who seemed to win her post-show affection as the pair headed back to his room.

The next night, Graham told the assembled, if now somewhat diminished resistance, that he had a special treat for them. As the lights illuminated the pole dancing podium, they were horrified to see Ted take to the stage in wig, full make-up and pink lingerie.

They fled the bar, leaving Ted gyrating grotesquely on the pole, Graham’s mocking laughter ringing in their ears. As the last of them ran out of the door, Graham too stripped down to his own set of sissy pink lingerie and joined Ted on the podium.

With their sanctuary of the bar gone, the survivors began to barricade themselves in, morale at rock bottom. A situation not improved by reports from those on the food run of an ever deteriorating situation in town.

Trent was also aware that his amateur water treatments were unlikely to yet be completely effective. So with the sexual release value of the bar’s strippers now denied them, he made sure a health supply of porno mags was acquired on one of the food runs. Only well-endowed white studs fucking horny white sluts of course. After all, you clearly couldn’t be too careful.

A week after the barricading started, there was a visitor at their makeshift entrance gate. A journalist on the local paper, Jay Barber, wanted to tell their side of the story, why they were all holed up here.

Having grown up in Pinefield, most of them knew young Jay, but Trent was still wary. “Didn’t you write that rubbish praising all the good The Project was doing in town?” he accused him. “Yes that’s true” said Jay, “I write about all town life, but the Pinefield Sentinel is fiercely independent, and that’s precisely why I should also be writing about what you think of The Project and the changes in our community, so our readers get a balanced view.”

In the end they agreed that Jay, and only Jay, could come in to talk to them, deciding that some positive coverage could only help. After a lengthy chat with Trent about the water, Jay interviewed four or five of the other men about their views. He challenged them too. Weren’t they just bitter that their wives had divorced them? Weren’t they just being racist and fearmongering about The Project?

Ethan found Jay’s probing uncomfortable. He had to step out of his motel room onto the walkway balcony to smoke a cigarette. The sissy journalist took a quick look around the room while Ethan was outside. Jay found one of the porno mags tucked under the pillow on the bed, and looking to check Ethan was still out of sight, he swiftly took another magazine from his reporter’s satchel and slipped it under the first.

Jay finished his interviews in Kane’s room talking to the angry man about his girlfriend kicking him out of the house. How did it feel to be replaced by another lover? Wasn’t this motel group all just about denial? “You know, I also spoke to Cheryl about you two splitting up” Jay surprised Kane, tapping a finger on his trusty little recording device. “Wanna hear what she had to say about you?”

Kane put the offered earbuds in as Jay hit the recorder’s play button. The corrupting hypnotic tape hit Kane instantly. His eyes first rolling back into his head like in some kind of seizure, before his whole body sagged and he began to drool.

When Trent eventually became concerned about the length of time Jay had been in Kane’s room, he went to take a look. He found Kane naked and on his knees, wearing just a pair of ridiculous looking frilly pink diapers, sucking Jay’s cock. Jay, standing by the bed on which there was an unlocked chastity cage, had also removed his regular clothes to reveal his sissy pink lingerie beneath.

In the ensuing commotion, the men bundled the two sissy bois roughly out of their compound. Jay seemed to be finding the whole situation hilarious, and was in a constant fit of giggles as they were thrown out. Kane was pleading with them to let him stay. “No, no, you don’t understand” he was saying. “We’ve just got to accept the facts. We’ve failed as men. We can’t satisfy our wives. We are only good as sissy cocksuckers.”

Down to just nine, the mood that night was sombre, and they all retired early to take private solace in their porn mags and the Motel’s adult cable channel. The unwitting need for release continuing to grow unnoticed day by day, as the residual effects of Trent’s only partially effective ‘safe’ water built up within them.

Ethan found the second porn mag, simply assuming the latest food run had left it for him. Although he wasn’t sure Trent would approve given this one was called ‘Black Girls’. Still his hand was already firmly around his hard cock at the sight of the smoking hot girl on the cover, so it seemed a shame for the mag to go to waste.

The intoxicating smell of new magazine print completely masked the other heady musky scent in which the porn mag was doused, as Ethan gooned mindlessly.

The magazine’s first photo story simply featured the hot cover model stripping, prefect Black breasts, pussy lips fingered apart to show the pink triangle of desire in close up. What Ethan wouldn’t give to fuck a hottie like that.

In the second set the young girl was starting a new office job. Her white boss was a creep. He forces her to suck his dick. if she wants to keep her job, then fucks her on the desk. Ethen nearly came there and then at the sight of cum splashed over those perfect Black tits.

The girl is out on the town with her Big Black boyfriend in the next photo story. They fuck at his place, and eventually she confesses what happened at work. Ethen is struck by just how much bigger his Big Black Cock is. How much more enthusiastically she fucks a real man who can satisfy her like that.

In the final section, the boss has called round uninvited to her flat after work to fuck her. But after sucking his cock to lure him into the bedroom for some kinky bondage play, she turns the tables on him by tying him to the bed and fucking him with a Big Black Dildo strap-on. The boyfriend then turns up and finishes off his sissyfication with his Big Black Cock.

As the superior Black Cum leaks from the sissy boi’s pussy in the final photos, Ethan’s own little dicklet dribbled in tribute as he rubbed it excitedly.

In the next door room, Ethan’s best friend Spencer had switched on the adult cable channels as he did most nights.

He was halfway through wanking off to a busty brunette MILF getting fucked by her plumber, when the channel went to dead static. Another two of the four adult channels were the same. Only the fourth was different, a black screen with a caption simply saying “Please wait for service to resume”.

Spencer waited. The other three channels remained dead, even when the fourth was updated with “We apologise for the loss of our regular channels” and then “A temporary service will be provided by BMTV”. The screen burst back into life, a sudden blinding brightness in the room after the dull black screen. It was the same bimbo brunette MILF still riding cock, but now she was being fucked by a Big Black Cock, with a swirling pink spiral behind.

Spencer couldn’t look away, captivated by the huge thick Black shaft stretching her pussy impossibly wide as he masturbated furiously. He couldn’t stop, even when there was a knock at the door and his friend Ethan walked in with no pants on, clutching an open magazine, limp little white dick flopping about.

Ethan silently got on the bed with Spencer and the two jerk buddies began helping each other out as they watched the pretty pink spiral.

And that was how the others still found them the next morning. Naked on the bed and covered in cum, still rubbing each other’s little sissy clitties to the interracial images on the hypnotic TV screen. Both glassy eyed and braindead, slowly repeating in a low voices, over and over, “Black Men are my Masters”.

It took all one man’s effort to get into the room, face averted from the screen, until he could get close enough to smash it with a hammer as he turned. Their show over, the two new sissy bois simply got up and minced off into town, seemingly oblivious to the remaining motel men. Trent quietly scooped up the Black Girls magazine left on the bed and put it in a draw in his room for safe keeping.

The next week, almost a month after the Sweet Pines Motel had first become his long-term home, Trent’s personal hammer blows came in quick succession.

First they lost Marty, his right hand man and enforcer. Marty went out on the food run and never returned.

Some light on that mystery would have been shed about four days later, if they had seen the show ‘Marty the Mouth, a white city boi’s cock sucking adventures’ on the BMTV channel. But they had pulled out all the cable TV wiring on their top floor of the motel after Ethan and Spencer.

Then, just a couple of days after Marty vanished, Trent’s eldest daughter Mary returned to town, despite his explicit instructions to stay away.

Mary also brought the crushing news that the corrupted Pinefield Police had closed and blocked the road back down to Bruncheter City.

Now they were trapped.

All the next day, Trent fretted and worried. Mary had promised to return, but had so far failed to do so. Then, just as it was getting dark, a figure appeared at their gate.

His hopes leapt, only to be dashed immediately. It was a young guy, student type with a backpack, repeatedly looking back behind him nervously.

“Chris” cried Derick, one of the six remaining motel holdouts, recognising his nephew, banging on the gate begging to be let in. “Wait” said Trent authoritatively as Derick instinctive moved to let Chris in. “What exactly do you know about your nephew? We can’t risk another Jay Barber.”

The others listened as Derick and Chris between them explained that the young Pinefield College student had been away on a six month work placement. He had got back to Pinefield on the bus yesterday morning, and had immediately been concerned about what seemed to be going on both in town, and in his own family. He had spent the day making excuses to keep put of everyone’s way, trying to figure out what to do.

Then this morning he overheard some people laughing about the men holding out in the motel. So he decided that was where to make for, via a long circuitous route around the edges of town to carry on avoiding people. Nearing the Motel, he had had to go through a park, where he ran away and hid from a Big Black Man who had made it clear he was going to rape him. Chris had stayed hidden, not risking making the final approach to the Motel until the cover of darkness.

“Please, you can’t leave me out here” he pleaded, still constantly looking over his shoulder nervously. “That Black Man is still out there somewhere!”

It was probably that which caused them to take pity on Chris. But it was a close run thing. The others voted 3-2 to give Derick’s nephew sanctuary. Trent was the swing vote. But even so, remembering Jay, Trent insisted that Chris strip down to his underwear before they let him in. Chris did as they asked, revealing only a pair of regular men’s boxers under his normal male clothes.

It was a pity that in the heat of the moment, no-one thought to also check Chris’ backpack.

For little did Derick know that Chris had indeed arrived on the Sunday morning bus, but not yesterday, he had arrived back last Sunday, a week earlier than scheduled.

His nephew, when not acting this role as a man for her Masters, was already really an enslaved loyal sissy bimbo in the Black New World Order.

The last of the failing resistance had unwittingly let in a ‘Trojan Whore’!

The following day was the day of the Mayor’s Annual Town Hall Meeting. They had already decided, partly because of Chris’ experiences getting across town, that it was too risky to send one of their number just to gather intelligence.

So as usual they just killed time as best they could and worried about what to do. Trent now feared the worse for Mary, and buried himself in his water ‘research’ as a way of reassuring himself he could fix it and still save her along with everyone else.

Chris was in, but could feel the hawk like, distrustful, watchful eyes of the two who voted against constantly on him. Thanks to that unwanted scrutiny, and Trent’s hermit like obsession with the water equipment in his room, Chris found herself unable to tamper with the group’s whole water supply as originally planned.

So instead, she contented herself, when the watchers’ gaze slipped, with doctoring Derick’s water bottle, and the water of his neighbour, Randle, in the room next door. The later was particularly satisfying, as Randle was one of the two against letting Chris in, but her Uncle had unwittingly distracted him on the balcony walkway deliciously long enough for her purposes.

As well as plenty of sexy bimbo clothes, breast forms, makeup, headphones and a double ended Big Black Dildo, her backpack contained two small phials of clear liquids. One was a super strong dose of feminising hormones, the other a concentrated form of the mind-bending hypno chemical being added to the town’s mains water supply.

Unable to get the liquids into Trent’s apparatus to spike them all, Chris just dumped the whole lot into Derick and Randle’s water bottles. She didn’t know if such high doses would kill or cure them, but it was sure gonna be fun finding out, she thought with a giggle.

Outwardly, nothing seemed odd or out of the ordinary with Derick or Randle even as the day turned to evening. Chris was a bit disappointed.

As night fell, her easiest option without raising suspicion was to look in on Uncle Derick. He was slumped on the bed, still conscious and alert, but with a sort of unfocused faraway look in his eyes, as if drunk. “Oh high babes” he said as Chris entered the room, the big pair of headphone in her left hand. “What you listening to?”

“Just some Guns N Roses” Chris said, still somewhat warry, but knowing that Derick would approve. “Wanna hear Hun?” Derick nodded apparently untroubled by her choice of language which was a good sign.

She slipped the phones over Derick’s submissive ears, and the bambi hypno tapes immediately drilled deep into Derick’s mindless feminised brain, like a sponge just waiting to soak up new instructions.

It wasn’t long before they were both dressed and made up as the sissy bimbo whores they both knew they were. Blond wigs, plump pink lips, and fluttering whore lashes covered their empty heads, while big breast forms, and diaphoraneous pink babydolls clung to their horny little bodies. In the dark, they slipped unseen next door into Randle’s room.

The overdose of feminising hypno chemicals had apparently hit Randle much harder. He was naked on the bed apart from a bra, although god knows where he got that from. He had also recently shaved his body clean all over. A couple of carrots were on the bed, presumably from their food store, while Randle was stuffing his ass furiously with a cucumber.

“Mumm, need Daddy” he told the bimbo gurls as he looked at them with desperate pleading eyes. “It’s alright Princess” Derick told him as he took over from Randle, cucumbering his sissy pussy at a gentler pace, while Chris put the headphones over his ears.

Much later, Randle’s bimbofication was also complete. The new bimboi’s dark wig cascaded over her thin shoulders, and she constantly had to brush it out of her face so it didn’t cover her smokey eyes. The chemicals had given her big puffy lips, and her chest and ass were larger than any woman, all squeezed into a tiny, shiny pink minidress.

Chris introduced them to the double ended Big Black Dildo, and the two new sissy bimbos fucked each other through the night, preparing themselves to serve a real man’s Big Black Cock.

Trent awoke, just as dawn was breaking, to the sounds of a commotion. As his sleepy head cleared he could hear that Larry was shouting.

He emerged from his room just as Seth and Cory were doing the same. They all saw Larry half in and out of his own room, fighting off three pink bimbos on the balcony passage way trying got get in.

They rushed to help, only to be stunned to see the attacking ‘women’ where actually Derick, Randle and Chris. A full scale scrap ensued. The numbers were almost even now, four against three, and the sissies had clearly decided they had a chance to take them all down.

But eventually the extra man counted, and the four remaining resistance fighters bundled their opponents out of the gate. The sissies hung about for a while taunting them, until a Big Black Master turned up and led them away to whatever fate awaited them.

The four survivors, Trent, Larry, Cory and Seth were clearly shaken by the attempt at an all-out assault, and sullenly, dejectedly shuffled back to their rooms.

Trent opened his bedside draw, feeling badly in need of a release of tension. Thanks to the accumulated effect of his only partially effective ‘safe’ treated water, he no longer even noticed that over the past week the musky scented Black Girls mag had become the only porno he now jerked off to.

Despite the increasingly addled minds of the unsuspecting four survivors, even they couldn’t fail to notice, two days after the Mayor’s Town Hall Meeting, that a sea change seemed to have occurred in Pinefield.

The previously covert now seemed to be overt and out in the open. Several bimbo MILFs spent the afternoon naked around the motel pool below them, occasionally sucking off a Big Black Cock in open public view, shouting up insults at them. Black Masters would come up to their gate urging them to come out and submit to their superiors. Some would even wave their huge cocks at them.

When he could safely avoid both groups, Trent slipped out for food and to ask at Reception if the pool could be closed off to stop the bimbos returning tomorrow. As their self-proclaimed leader, Trent had taken on the responsibility of the food run, as their numbers dwindled, for most of the last week.

So none of the other three knew, that over the last week, Brenda the previous Motel Receptionist had been replaced by a very pretty Black girl called Tress. Trent had immediately hit it off with the young Miss. She looked like a model form his magazine. She seemed so sympathetic and understanding. She made his cock throb in his pants.

She had even started collecting the bags of food for Trent so they had longer to just talk. The others all agreed how delicious the food tasted, joking that Trent should have been their food guy all along, without knowing that it wasn’t actually down to him.

Perhaps Marty had been on the right track after all Trent thought. Before he disappeared, Marty had advocated a more direct approach. A sexual demonstration that white cock could be just as dominating. Although from what Trent had seen in his magazine, and down at the pool, that might simply not be true.

But perhaps just a simple example of a healthy, good old fashioned interracial relationship, where a Black Girl wants his white cock, was all it would take to break the apparent Big Black Cock spell over the town.

That evening, the four of them plotted while they ate. Not so much a council of war, more like a last supper of defeat. Larry, Seth and Cory had all decided it was over, their only option now to try and hike out. With the two bridges closed, and the mountains at their backs, that meant a long and difficult trek down along the River Semelt, all the way to the ocean if necessary.

No-one knew if it could be done, or how long it would take, but what other choice did they have? They would set out in the morning after getting as much rest as they could first tonight.

Back in his room, Trent could only reflected on his utter failure and defeat. He couldn’t blame the others though, even if he still wasn’t sure if he would run with them tomorrow.

Their resistance, his leadership, hadn’t been anything of the sort. No fightback, no successes. He had discouraged action, and in the end, all that had achieved was to herd them in the motel like sheep in a pen waiting to be picked off. He had failed to stop The Project coming to Pinefield. Failed to protect his own family. Failed all the men here at the motel.

His hand was wrapped around his stiff little white cock, the Black Girls mag open beside him on the bed, although he was actually thinking of Tress as he wanked.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was one last, probably insignificant action he could still take tonight to make amends. A long shot at redemption if you will. He could have that drink with Tress.

She’d asked him if he wanted to get a beer in the bar a few days back, and when he explained why the bar was off limits, she had said not to worry, she had a bottle of wine in her reception desk draw for the long evenings, and he was always welcome to keep her company sometime.

Trent jumped into the shower to change for his date.

Earlier that afternoon, Mistress had spent a profitable few hours with a wrench in the Motel’s boiler room behind reception.

A canister of their concentrated chemical additive was now attached to the hot water feed.

Back on the reception desk that evening, she was delighted to hear the creaks and groans of the hot water pipes working as someone took a shower.

Trent appeared in Reception about 45 minutes later, freshly showered, ready to take her up on the offer of a glass of wine.

She smiled broadly at him.

Trent had been nervous, but inexplicably horny at the prospect of a drink with Tress he realised, when he stepped out of the shower. He felt almost lightheaded, as if already slightly drunk. But his heart missed a beat when she greeted him with a dazzling sexy smile.

Tress was so understanding, like she knew the real him so well, and so super sexy too. Trent was sure she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Perhaps that was all Pinefield needed, the public demonstration of a healthy interracial relationship to put things back into a more balance perspective.

Before he knew it, they had polished off the bottle of wine, laughing and flirting like comfortable old lovers, and he was inviting her up to his room for a nightcap, with all that implied.

They were kissing before he’d even closed his motel room door, pulling off each other’s clothes as they hit the bed with playful laughter. Trent had never felt so horny.

She pulled down his pants wantonly. Her change in laughter hit him instantly. From playful delight to contemptuous sneering. He looked up at her with confused questioning eyes.

“Surely you white bois don’t dare call that little clitty a real man’s cock?” her harsh words hit him like a slap in the face. “How could you ever please a woman with that tiny white worm? Look, I’ll show you what a real Big Black Cock is.” And with that, she pulled down her own pants.

Trent could only stare, dumbstruck at her Big Black Cock. Tress was a shemale. She was so big. So much bigger than him. He wanted to be disgusted. Instead Trent could only feel disgustingly in love with her.

“See what a failure you are?” she said, hitting his limp sissy boi clitty with her meaty superior Big Black Cock. “Yes, Tress” he found himself saying weakly, broken, submissive. “My full name slave” she demanded straddling him aggressively. “Yes… Miss… tress” he corrected himself, his confused head spinning wildly.

“Open wide white boi” she commanded, reaching for her phone. “We’ve gotta show everyone what a proper interracial relationship looks like.”

Trent awoke early the next morning, naked in bed alongside his Mistress, his freshly broken in sissy ass and slutty mouth both sore from his long night of submission. He gazed at her with loving eyes, and wriggled down the mattress to take her Big Black Cock into his mouth. A wake-up blow job from her devoted slave.

“The others” he said to her, as he swallowed Mistress’ superior Black Cum, hearing the creaking of hot water pipes indicating showers being taken in the other rooms before their planned escape.

“No need to worry about them” Mistress reassured him. “I’ve arranged for room service to call.”

In their rooms, Larry, Seth and Cory each stepped out of the shower, their little white dicklets rock hard with frustrated horniness. Wet hair, droplets of contaminated water glistening on their skin, a breathable steam of water vapour in the air, all overloading and overwhelming their senses like mindless sex zombies.

They staggered from their bathroom cubicles into their motel bedrooms to find a Big Black Master standing there, equally naked, next to a maid’s cleaning cart.

Each braindead horny white boi slut simply dropped their towel, fell to their knees, and began their worship of superior Big Black Cock.

Back in Trent’s room, they also had a visitor.

“This is Bill Master” Mistress told him. “But you can call him Daddy.”

Daddy had lovely twinkling blue eyes, which made Trent want to giggle as he starred deeply into them.

If Mistress’ cock was big, then Master’s was simply huge, Trent realised as it swung hypnotically back and forth in front of his drooling face.

He obediently got onto all fours, Mistress’ Big Black Cock in his mouth again muffling his cries, as Daddy’s Big Black Cock stretched his sore sissy pussy even wider, filling him even deeper.

The warm explosion of superior Black Cum inside him sealing his complete submission to his Masters in the Black New World Order.

A week later, the upper floor of the Motel was still gated off. The Black Master at the barrier taking the money from punters visiting Pinefield’s new sissy brothel.

The Brunchester road repairs were still ongoing, so the Mayor had negotiated a compromise, with the route closed during the week for the works, but open at weekends for visitors.

That allowed the Blacked residents of Pinefield the freedom to be openly sexual for their Masters during the week, with BMTV filming the action freely. They only had to dress discreetly at weekends, when visitors arrived to sample town’s increasingly famous wild sexual nightlife.

Moderately busy during the week, when it was often used for filming pornos, the Motel brothel was positively rammed at the weekends. Word had got around, and many Black Masters from Brunchester wanted to visit and fuck the former white racists of Pinefield.

Trixie was proud to be the highest earning, most popular, sissy bimbo whore out of herself, Laura, Sammy and Cara turning tricks for Daddy at the Motel.

Every hot Black Master visiting from Brunchester seemed to ask for her. Often on a Sunday evening, she had to finish with a gangbang to satisfy them all before the road back down to Brunchester closed again.

Trixie also seemed to attract the roughest sex. Many of the Black Masters she worshiped liked to slap her about and call her a racist slut.

It was funny, given she loved nothing more than having Big Black Cock stuffing her mouth and ass, their superior Black Cum filling her stomach and breading her sissy pussy. But she knew that her Black Masters knew best, so if they needed it rough, that was what she was there to provide. It was her purpose. Her place in the Black New World Order.

Plus, her ‘tips for tits’ were great. She would totally be the first of the four of them to hit the target for Daddy to buy her a pair of F-sized implants, so that she could become the truly braindead sissy fucktoy bimbo slut she so desperately wanted to be to please her Black Masters.

Like everyone in town, Trixie knew her place. Pinefield had submitted. Ground zero for the Black New World Order.