Category: Black

John was the new leader of the Indians and was already seeing the benefits of that acquisition. New prostitution money was rolling in and his team was getting more and more powerful. He had taken on the Giant, which was the new nickname John had given him, as his right hand man and had even forgiven him for his transgressions against Dakota. He made him promise never to beat another prostitute again or he would meet the same fate as Chief Baseball Cock.

The Backstreet Thugs had learned of the change in power and Tyrone Biggums was planning a preemptive strike against John. Luckily for John his new Indian women hooking on the street forewarned him about this and he was well prepared. He had quite the surprise in store for Tyrone and his gang of black thugs.

It was midnight and Tyrone had put his plan into motion. His men approached the Indian stronghold where John had setup his new headquarters. They were armed with guns, knives, bats, swords and everything else they could get their hands on. The did a frontal assault and kicked the door in, ready to start shooting the place up. As the dust settled and the lights turned on, all they could see waiting for them was about 50 squaws all lying facedown on the ground on their hands and knees with their bare asses up in the air, glistening pussies exposed and already wet with anticipation. John had decided to fight them with a new type of warfare. Sexual warfare.

The black thugs could feel their cocks getting hard as the Indian whores all began to do the booty clap in unison, like a well-trained precision swimming team. Clap, clap, clap, clap. Their ample butt cheeks were slapping together and the room filled with the smell of wet pussy. As the booty clapping intensified the thugs dropped their weapons, and began taking off their pants, exposing their hard, black cocks. They all seemed to have 10 inch or bigger dicks. As John watched from the safety of his office security cameras, he thought to himself “I guess what they say about black men is true.”

The black gang, now so horny with lust, approached the native hookers ready to plunge their throbbing black dicks into their inviting, wet pussies. As the men began fucking the women, the moans of pleasure grew louder and louder. Black cock was entering red-skinned pussy and the room filled with the stench of sex and ass. Suddenly, there was a blood-curdling scream. One of the thugs fell over in agony, clutching his crotch. Blood spilled out onto the floor. The native American whores were booby-trapped. Traditional 19th century Indian metal wolf traps had been strategically placed into their pussies. One of the women stood up and pulled a severed penis out of her pussy. “Get ‘em, girls!” She shouted. Suddenly the room filled with the sound of metal clamping shut and the yells of anguish of the black thug gang.

The floor filled with pools of blood and severed penises lay everywhere. The entire army of the Backstreet Thugs bled out on the floor of the Indian stronghold. John’s plan had worked perfectly, with the help of the Giant and his handcrafted wolf traps.

Now there was only one more hooker territory for John to take over. The Yankees.

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Some were putting out cigarettes and some looked like they were so drunk they could barely walk. As one fell over and hit the floor, the old man shouted “Bahhh! Too much fire water for Dakota today. Get that whore out of here.” A giant, shirtless man came from the back room and grabbed Dakota by the wrist. He lifted her off the ground with one hand and carried her away back behind the curtain from whence he appeared. It was an easy feat for someone that appeared to be almost 7 feet tall and over 350 pounds. John was going to have to be careful around this guy. He was obviously Chief Baseball Cock’s main bodyguard, and looked to be a deadly killer.

Within a few seconds I could hear Dakota screaming as the sound of open-hand slaps came from the back room. He was beating her for getting too drunk on the job. Some punishment would be necessary to maintain a smooth running business, but beating the women is never justifiable in John’s eyes. This would never happen when he took this place over. And he would make that giant Indian pay for what he had done to Dakota.

As John looked over the lineup he spotted a young native with nothing on but a deer-skin bikini. Her skin was smooth, brown and perfect. She had traditional native makeup on and a single feather in her long, black hair. She couldn’t be a day over 19. John pointed with a big smile on his face and said “That’s the one I want.” The old man replied “Ahhh, Hoowanneka. She’s our most popular girl.”

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“What does Hoowanneka mean?” John asked. “Little elk” the girl replied. She was obviously named Little Elk because she was so tiny and petite, just like a baby elk. Hoowanneka smiled at John and took him by the hand. She led him into the back room past the wall of hanging beads. As John looked to the right he seen Dakota lying in a pool of blood on the floor in the corner. Her faced was badly bruised and it looked like she was missing all her front teeth. The giant stood in the corner getting sucked off by a fat Indian hooker wearing a full feather headdress. The stench in the room was foul. The giant made eye contact with John and their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. As the giant came in the fat whore’s mouth she vomited all over the floor. The giant never stopped staring at John. John vowed that giant sonofabitch would pay for what he did to Dakota.

They entered one of the back rooms where there was a bed and some filthy towels and an open container of lube and a basket of condoms in the corner. Their sanitary standards were not exactly up to par. John was going to change this once he took over their gang. A clean whore makes for a happy customer. And a happy customer always come back for more.
Hoowanneka slid out of her tiny clothes and stood naked before John. Her eyes sparkled like they had diamonds in them. She reach out and grabbed his cock through his pants, which was already rock hard. “What do you want me to do to you, sir?” She asked. “Or what do you want to do to me?”

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The third gang was the most powerful and would be the biggest challenge for John to overcome. They were known as the Yankees. Not named after the baseball team of the same name. These were ruthless, racist, white supremacists who harkened back to the days of the civil war. They often wore full white robes during their meetings, not unlike the KKK. They only dealt with true blooded white Aryan prostitutes. They felt mixing of the races was unclean and wouldn’t allow any of their female workers to be of mixed race. And they wouldn’t allow their hookers to have sex with men of other races. They would perform public lynchings in the streets of New York if they got wind of anyone violating their strict rules on race mixing. They were bitter enemies of the Backstreet Thugs and wanted them out of New York. John thought he might be able to use this to his advantage, working both sides against each other. But his first target was going to be the Indians. He wanted them out of the way so he was able to concentrate on the bigger fish.

John knew he was going to need to muscle up, so he called up the entire security team from his father’s office and brought them together for a meeting. He told them his plans and how he wanted them to be his enforcers. He promised them millions if they would help him. He promised them positions of power. Some of them were disgusted by the proposition and left the room. But the others stayed and listened to his plans intently. They wanted in. For them to be successful they were going to need the best guns, the best body armor, and the best equipment. This wasn’t a problem for John. The money was rolling in daily from his family’s business which was basically on autopilot. Whatever they needed he told them to go out and buy, basically giving them a blank check.

John knew the time was perfect to strike at the Indians. Chief Baseball Cock was in town at their Pow Wow club on Third Street. John just had to get inside and he could take him out right then and there. There wouldn’t be a need for a drawn out war or a gun battle. Once they lost their true-blooded Apache leader the rest of the organization would fall and John could move in to take them over. All he had to do to get into the brothel was pretend he was a client. Not a problem. John hadn’t been laid in 5 days which was something of a record for him. He had been too busy planning his ascension to power and getting his team equipped and ready for action. He was so horny his cock was throbbing just thinking about the chance to fuck a Native American whore.

He walked up to the club and gave the traditional “How” sign to the door man. This let them know he was legit. Once inside the Pow Wow club he was greeted by an old Indian man wearing a feathered headdress. He was about 5 foot 2 and looked to be over 90 years old. “How, white man! Which one of our squaws suits your fancy tonight?” barked the old man. John looked up and seen a lineup of attractive Native American hookers assembling before him.

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It wasn’t long after John died that he was able to get his hands on his parent’s fortune. You see, John was the son of a real estate tycoon. He had never worked an honest day’s work in his life. He lived off of his daddy’s fortune and spent his days indulging his vices. The main one being prostitutes. He drank whiskey by the bottle, fucked multiple hookers a day, and chewed Viagra like candy he got out of a Pez dispenser. He was used to getting what he wanted, if it was the fancy new sports car, or thousands in cash for him to spend as he seen fit.

But it was never his money. It always came from Daddy. He always got a disrespecting look whenever he entered his parent’s company business office. Everyone from the front door security guard to the janitor knew who John was and how he spent his days. And they knew if he was in the office he was there looking for more money. This really ate away at him and now with his parents being dead he was finally in a position to do something about it.

He wanted to start his own business empire with his new found fortune and finally make something of his life. He wanted to combine his passion for something he loved into a business empire and make money at the same time he was having fun. There was only one thing John loved. That was prostitutes. He wanted to start the biggest escort service in all of the United States and sit back and watch the money roll in. Now that his parents were dead from a tragic plane crash, all the pieces were falling into place. He no longer had to be disrespected by the lowly peons at his daddy’s office building. He was going to show them all.

There was only one thing standing in his way. That was the other lords running the prostitute game in New York. The city was divided up into territories and he was going to have to take them over one by one. To do this, he was going to need lots of money, which he now had, and lots of muscle. Each of the current 3 gangs had a different leader and a different gimmick.

The smallest upstart was called the Indians. All their hookers dressed in traditional Native American attire. Their leader was Chief Baseball Cock. Named so because of the size of his cock, and because the baseball bat was his weapon of choice. He was a true blood Apache and had murdered many people in his rise to power in the Indians.

The second gang who had control of the Bronx and the ghetto was called the Backstreet Thugs. Their leader, Tyrone Biggums, was a ruthless man who started out as a member of the crips and worked his way to the top, before branching off to start his own gang. He had a monopoly on all the black hookers in New York. If you wanted to fuck a black chick in that city, a portion of your money would be going to Tyrone.

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