WMD Ch. 02

(WMD = Winter Men's Dilemma; My own irreverent spin on the BBC mythology)

*Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*All the sexual participant in this story are eighteen, or older*

*This story is NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY!*

* Vlad ~ "You actually expect me to believe my Father, Brothers and I have the genetic capability to addict every woman we have sex with to our schlongs? That's nuts!"

Mom ~ "As opposed to thinking the color, length and girth of a phallus makes any woman lose all sense of loyalty, morality and decorum so she can become a man's sex sleeve - whore - bitch - property? Yes, I do." *

*Right off the bat, be warned that I'm using the 'N' words - nigger, niggah, my niggah, plus homie, thug, coon, buck, spook, spade and whatever other crude racial slurs that come to mind. Due to reader feedback, I've attempted to tone things down this chapter. This story plays to both Black and White stereotypes. BBC stand for Big Black Cock, not the British Broadcasting system*

*Lastly, this story is rather flippant with the entire concept of sexual assault. Those who have read my previous tales know this is not my attitude at all. For the sake of this genre, I had to grapple with the concept of forcing a woman and the idea 'making them love that dick'*

*A Swing, a Miss and a Hit - that pretty much sums it up*

(Retribution)

Sunday was a family outing to Big Bob's for Sunday football. This time, seven other Sheriff's Deputies (with their families) were there as well. Even the scumbag Deputy who had face-fucked Brandy Friday night was there with his wife and three year old daughter. He had this big ole shit-eating grin on his face when his eyes lit on Big Bob's pride and joy.

It didn't take Clarence Peterson - that was the mother-fucker's name - long to corner Brandy in a bathroom. The hunters, not realizing they were the hunted, was a running epidemic in this burgh. I made triple sure I didn't fall into any sort of complacency.

"Hey Brandy," he sneered at my 'supposed girlfriend' as she tried to stand up from the toilet seat. "I need a little relief."

"I don't think..." she mumbled.

"Bitch, I'm not asking you to think," he grabbed her hair. "I want you ..."

"What?" I stepped into the room, closing the door behind us. "Dummy, you want what?"

"If you know what is good for you, you will walk the fuck out of here," he challenged me.

"Good idea," I snorted. "Why don't I go out to the party, trick that pretty wife of yours into a dark room and face-fuck her? How does that sound, nigger?" Yes, I was a White boy calling a Black cop 'nigger'. I had chosen my culturally bankrupt words carefully with the intent to incite.

He stormed my way ready to put me in my place. He was equipped with law enforcement level basic hand-to-hand training. I'd been play-fighting that for half my life. I couldn't openly bruise him. An arm bar fit the bill for keeping in place while I landed punch after punch into his crotch until he was halfway to his knees and crying for his Mamma.

"Now before you decide to turn this misunderstanding into an incident," I whispered my threat into his ear. "You might want to consider Big Bob's new security system and how one of my Brothers is getting a record of what you just pulled (a lie)."

"You came into another man's house and tried to rape his womenfolk," I cautioned him. "How would you like it if someone treated your wife that way?" I could see the complete lack of empathy on his part.

"From here on out, you don't touch Brandy," I continued.

"As far as I'm concerned, the way you treat any woman is your permission slip to do the same thing to your wife. We might even make you watch, you cock-less piece of shit. Keep it sheathed around anyone but your wife. Got it?"

"Fuck off you bastard," he spat. Thank the Almighty for that BBC arrogance.

I twisted his trapped arm up then planted two steel toed boot kicks into his already tenderized scrotum. He almost passed out from the pain.

"Vlad?" Brandy worried.

"It is okay Brandy," I smiled at her. "Go out and stand by your Daddy. I'll be with you soon enough."

Out she went, leaving me with the asshat.

"Boy," he hissed through his agony. "You are going to get ..."

"Cool enough," I shrugged. I leveraged him over to the toilet and shoved his face into the commode. Had he not interrupted Brandy, she would have had time to flush.

I let him thrash about a good deal before bringing his face out of the water. He immediately got combative so back in he went. It took four trips to the fetid pool for him to realize he was on the wrong end of police brutality.

"Just so we are clear, Clarence," I lectured him.

"All I want is some respect and fair treatment. You've crossed Big Bob, my Dad and now me," I reminded him. "In my opinion we've almost balanced accounts. Act like a married man and like someone who swore an oath to serve and protect - EVERYONE. You cross the line again, you can bet we Samsonovs will find out about it."

"We will assume the incident is you serving notice that you've vacated the human race and you will be dealt with like the piece of trash you've become. We are not the fucking KKK, Butt-Monkey. I don't think any man is less than me until he proves it. You have a family - your dick stays at home. You have a daughter. Do you want her growing up happy only to get cornered in a bathroom by some asshole who thinks he has the right to violate her?"

I let him go and stood back.

"We are done unless you fuck up again. Make an issue of this and I'll make sure your wife is gobbling Big Bob's cock before Thanksgiving. Clean yourself up and enjoy the party, Clarence," I sneered. I left him there, kneeling on the floor before the porcelain altar.

He had hate in his eyes ... and he was scared too. Having broken both the law and the covenant of marriage, he'd painted himself into a corner. Things were going according to plan. Kick the BBCs in their masculinity. How we would defeat the sexual addiction angle was still a mystery to me.

I was looking for both Brandy and Clarence's wife. Mom had gotten to the latter first and was already insinuating herself into the woman's confidence. She was a born con artist. I found Brandy alone by the pool, rather shaken up. She gave a slight jolt when I wrapped my arms around her from behind.

"Oh, it is you," she sighed with relief.

"You are my girlfriend, Brandy. You don't need to be afraid of me," I soothed her. 'That's right Brandy' was the message. 'You can have a boyfriend who fucks you silly yet doesn't treat you like crap and scares you.' Darius didn't have to be an abusive bastard. He chose to be.

He choose to make Brandy the pawn in his rage against Whites in general and Sheriff Carson in particular. 'Black Rage'? That was an excuse for lashing out at the weak, defenseless, innocent and uninformed. Worse, it was insulting - to Blacks. Why would Black people be less emotionally mature than any other human beings? Just saying the phrase made me feel racist.

By that reasoning, any person of any race could be excused for going nuts because their lives had been harsh enough. Funny; if a White man had spontaneous rage issues he would be committed to a mental health facility, or sent to prison, and then forced to take medicine and submit to therapy.

Child abuse, torment, broken homes, poverty, drug abuse and persecution were all excuses used by serial killers too. I preferred to see Black people as people and accountable to that standard of civility I held myself to. In the same manner, they were worthy of all the respect I showed my Father as long as they didn't prove otherwise. The only person I could stop from being racist was me. The rest had to be held to their own standards - period - end of statement.

"Thanks Vlad," she pushed into me.

"You know," I rested my jaw on the top of her head. "Standing by the pool reminds me that I've never seen you in a bikini." She gave me a weak elbow to the ribs.

"You've seen me naked," she teased me. She twisted enough so she could look up at my face. "Have you forgotten that already?"

"Not likely," I bent my body so that I could kiss the tip of her nose. That caught her off guard yet she quickly rewarded me with a butt wiggle. "I take that back," I looked away. "I've completely forgotten about it. Maybe you could show me what I've been missing sometime soon." I got another butt wiggle.

"You are impossible," she remarked loudly.

In unison we looked toward the grill in time to see Big Bob sending a satisfied smile our way.

"Parents," I protested to her softly. "Can't I just hold you without your Daddy making a big deal about it?" I had to head off her anger with her Dad from poisoning the gains I'd been making.

"Oh God, yes," she sighed. There was a long break in the conversation.

"Are you going to give me trouble about still seeing Darius?" she questioned me.

"I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not happy about it," I hugged her tighter. "But, I'm a man of my word and I said I wouldn't stand in your way. Don't ask me not to hate him."

"Why would you hate him?" Brandy prodded me. I knew what she wanted.

"I'm going to dislike any man who touches you, Brandy," I nuzzled her hair. "White, Black, Yellow, Brown, Green, or Purple - I don't care. I know I can make you happier than Darius can. I'm man enough to trust you to figure that out on your own." Another long pause.

Big Bob was calling everyone over for their grilled meat of choice.

"What if he won't let me go?" she posed.

"Then I'll kick his ass and beat the crap out of every goon he puts between us," I pledged. Brandy wanted a brutal competition as confirmation of her perceived self-worth.

I took that sense of victory into Monday morning. I felt confident. I also had boarded up the proverbial windows and evacuated the low-lying areas because a hurricane was coming my way. There was no more confusion on Darius' part. I was the enemy he had to crush no matter what. My family would have to go down as well.

It wasn't the smart move, but it was really his only move because calling for a truce wasn't in him. A real man would have looked at the possible costs versus the intended gains. Instead, a mad delusion gripped the opposition - Darius didn't give a damn about any of his supporters. His BBC culture encouraged him to think of every woman as a token to be taken from any man.

It was insane for anyone to think they were safe from that toxin. What possible loyalties could have sprung from encouraging such insidious selfishness? It wasn't IF you would fuck a certain girl; it was WHEN. Was a girl with a guy? She wouldn't always be under his protection and then it was BBC time. Would the guy get pissed his girl was being boinked?

So? Girls were walking, talking sex orifices and that guy had just proved the girl who you thought was yours was really nothing but another cock-hungry slut. Very few women were truly respected anymore and those who thought they were safe had their heads hopelessly lost in the clouds. Wouldn't color save them? Why?

The community had already given Black men a pass on predatory behavior toward Whites, forgetting they were people too. Exercising their BBCs gave them all the White pussy, lips and ass they could want. 'Want' being the key word. Black girls were just as sexually enticing as White girls. The boys were already skilled at violating their victims, willing, or unwilling.

The same lies the BBCs told White girls work on Black girls too - because the truth they are nothing but hash-marks was too bitter a pill to swallow. Given his looks, natural talent and the thoughtless adoration of his community, Darius' blinding egotism was a given. The rest of the parasitical crowd had vested too much in their favored Son to restrain him now.

That attitude greatly simplified the Samsonov stratagem to under-cut his latest efforts before they even got off the ground. He had racked up four more blackmail victims Friday night. Mom was taking that leverage away once school was in session by taking the evidence to the parents of the students in question. Painful? Yes.

It was cauterizing the damage before Darius' crowd could turn it into a long festering wound. Our position was aided by the fact we didn't require the White families to do anything except to bring their kids into the loop. No active resistance was required - yet. All that was still coming. For me, it was another day in homeroom, talking with Kaelyne about her weekend.

"Hey Vlad," Brandy's greeting had a bit more 'oomph' this morning. Taliyah was in her normal, tag-along spot with that accustomed slight smirk on her face. She was behind the times.

"Hey yourself, Brandy," I smiled my 'GF's way. "You look really nice today." Brandy had been a bit unsure about the state of our détente. Taliyah and Kaelyne were floored by my propriety.

"Thanks, Vlad," Brandy gave me a sultry twirl of her skirt before she sat down. She twisted to say something else, but my attention had already refocused on Kaelyne. I wasn't going to surrender my friendship with Kaelyne for Brandy.

"What where you saying about that female Peshmerga fighting against ISIS?" I picked up our conversation.

Yep, petite Kaelyne was a gun-nut with a secret ambition to fight the patriarchal rapists of Mother Earth. She was enchanted by my tales of the Alaskan Wilderness and I found her ... well, kinda neat. Kaelyne kept stammering her response while looking over my shoulder at Brandy. I followed that path back.

"Brandy, is there a problem?" I regarded her somewhat coldly.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Basketball team," she kept shooting intimidation Kaelyne's way. The basketball angle was to remind Kaelyne I was a jock. Cheerleaders and jocks ran in the same social circles. Jocks and geeks didn't.

The local twist on that quaint social custom was all the other athlete/jocks were Black, except for the token - 'Mamma paid my way onto the team' White boy ... and now the Samsonov triplets. We three had no illusions about being welcomed by the Black athletic establishment. No matter what Brandy chose to believe, cheerleaders of both races were little more than easily accessible fuck-toys.

My brothers had already razzed me about putting my dick into Brandy. None of us wanted anything to do with the rest of the cheerleader corps, though Mom insisted we consider the opportunity if it arose. That and give them the disinfectant treatment before penetrating any of their whore holes - and, due to the BBC preference to deep-throat and tea-bag their bitches, that included French kissing.

"I'll catch up with you at lunch," I suggested. We knew that was Darius-time. There was nothing like creating a scheduling conflict with the onset of the new week and our new relationship.

"The Squad (cheerleading squad) has a practice meeting at lunch," Brandy reminded me...that she and the girls were required as cock-sluts during lunch.

"How about we meet up at the end of lunch then?" I offered.

"Okay," she turned her somewhat brittle smile to me. "As co-Captain of the Cheer Squad, I need to coordinate activities with all the athletic teams." We had three school teams: football, basketball, and Track & Field. The third group didn't get Brandy's support.

"He's not likely to be selected team captain," Taliyah pointed out. That was unfair. Very likely true, but still bigoted and biased.

"I'm hoping it will be Kaja," I responded. "She's a hell of threat plus she'd got a good head for the game."

"She's a girl," all three girls around me spouted. Ms. Alice Thomas, our homeroom teacher, called things to order. We got the regular announcements out of the way and one 'gem'. The School Board had hired a new 'interim' Principal. He was - surprise, surprise - Black (I was actually wrong about that - more later). This time, he was a Canadian Black man.

The morning was much the same as last week; more sneak attacks, slights and racial slurs. My brothers and I knew how the teachers would treat us. We had broken them down into three groups: the Racists (yeah, I know, Black people CAN'T be racists), the Cock-suckers (their BBC masters were pissed with us, so those teachers were pissed with us), and the Doomed (victims of blackmail forced to torment us).

The Doomed were the nicest. Their heart wasn't in their efforts to annoy us. All they did was make the minimally required dubious efforts to single us out for maltreatment. The first two groups came at us with some real hatred. Those 'educators' were openly disdainful. We didn't mind. Samsonovs respected authority until it stopped being fair and impartial.

On the way to lunch, Mikhail and I began our school counter-offensive. As two punks tailed him into a security camera blind spot, I cut off the lights so they could be highlighted by external illumination. Then the beat down began. We grappled them with one hand and landed body-blow after body-blow with the other. We'd split up and slipped back into the school crowd before anyone was the wiser.

"Vlad?" Taliyah yanked on my arm in the hall during the 5th/6th period break. When I turned around, "Vlad." She came close to me and pulled me into a door sill. "Vlad...umm...why don't you go by the infirmary?"

"What? Please don't think I like, or trust you, Taliyah. I see how you look at Brandy and that ain't love," I chided the Black cheerleader.

"I don't like you either, Vlad," she glared, "but ... Brandy ... she pisses me off at times, but we've been close since seventh grade and ... go see for yourself." With that, she took off. To go, or not to go; that was the dilemma. Taliyah's actions were unusual and out of character for the player she thought she was. I went with the bizarre and the belief that even bad people can be humane.

I found Brandy on the nurse's couch looking pretty damn miserable. She'd been crying and appeared distraught. The nurse was sitting in the corner, talking amiably on her cell phone.

"Brandy?"

"What are you doing here?" the nurse, Tasha Cooke, tried to block me.

Had she been paying attention to her sole patient she might have been effective at that.

"Brandy, I'm just stopping by to say 'hey'," I said as I hovered in front of her.

"Vlad," she sniffled. "Nothing is wrong." Clear lie. "I'll be okay."

"Now would you get out, boy?" Nurse Cooke grabbed my left bicep.

"I'm her boyfriend," I shot a furious look Cooke's way. "I'm going to call her Father and see what he says about Brandy and your treatment of her."

"Vlad, don't," Brandy grabbed my hand that was reaching for my phone.

"Boyfriend," Nurse Cooke snidely muttered under her breath.

"That's right," my voice took on a tiger's rumble. "I'm the one here when she is in distress, not some cock-sucking loser who things he owns her." Our eyes clashed. "Make sure you tell Darius I said that too," I taunted her.

"White boy, you don't know what's going on," Tasha taunted right back.

"Tasha Cooke - older sister of Nefrititi Cooke who was recently fired by my Mom for being niggardly," I fiercely grinned. "Mother of three. Never married. It was relayed to me you are more of a bitch than your sister, so no man wants to hang around after he's done his business. What exactly don't I understand, Ms. Cooke?" I wasn't calling her a 'bitch'.

That would have been bad. No, I was staying I had heard someone called her a 'bitch' and was relaying that information.

"Ah," she stuttered. "Have you been stalking me?"

"Nope," I shook my head. "The 4-1-1 on you wasn't even difficult to obtain.

"Now give us some space before I start to think you don't like me," I added. She didn't like me. I didn't care. I wanted to talk to Brandy without this cunt standing over my shoulder. Tasha backed off, then mumbled something about going out for a smoke. With her gone, I hugged Brandy and kissed her on the top of her blonde head.