Endings and Beginnings ...

As 2017 comes to a close, the opening monologue from the fourth season of "Babylon 5" seems particularly poignant...

It was the year of fire, 

the year of destruction,

the year we took back what was ours.

It was the year of rebirth, 

the year of great sadness, 

the year of pain, 

and the year of joy.

It was a new age.

It was the end of history.

It was the year everything changed.

So on behalf of all the officers of the Forty-First precinct ... for those who have been Transformed into something more than they were...

and those who have been through the Process and emerged enhanced and tempered by the experience...

and those waiting for the chance of a lifetime...

A very Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and a wonderful, healthy, and Happy New Year!

Rant of the day: Politically incorrect fat-shaming

I have just about had it with the whole "I'm fat and I'm proud of it" thing.

You shouldn't be. It's not only unhealthy, but you look repulsive and you probably have body odor because of the high lipid intake metabolizing poorly. You know when someone drinks too much beer they "smell like a brewery"?? Well, boys and girls, a similar miasma permeates the air around you.

Fat-shaming is GOOD because it's the plain, unvarnished (and yes, painful) truth - whether you want to hear it or not. You probably got yourself into that predicament because of all the moral (and immoral) relativism around. If someone actually said to you, "You've put on some weight - you looked better when you were thinner" I sincerely doubt you'd be where you are today.

I can say this because I used to be a porker myself. The best day of my life was when I no longer had to go to the department store and get pants from the "husky" section. I went on a diet, exercised and lost about 60-70 pounds. Not using Slim-Fast. Not Nutrisystem. Not Jenny Craig. Just common sense and portion control. And I've kept it off for 38 years.

I can tell when I put on 5 pounds and I simply cut back on everything until I lose it.

This rant was brought to you by this picture.

I can only imagine what this guy looks like in regular clothes. Rubber can be slimming, but in this case, there's a limit of what it can compress. Honestly, if you want to feel sexy about yourself, looking like that, spend money on healthy food, and an exercise program. Just walk, for God's sake! That and swimming are the two best exercises around. And just imagine how sexy you'd feel when your pants start getting looser and looser!!

You may never get to look like a physique model, but you'll look a helluva lot better in rubber and everything else!

Photo Study #34: SPFX Black Senior Redux

I don't recall if I had ever published  my shoot with my SPFX Black Senior, but from the very start, it was an abomination. I like black guy masks and after seeing how good it looked, I wanted to get one.

There were multiple bubbles in the mask itself, there were no ear holes, the eyeholes had been cut cock-eyed, and there were thin areas in multiple areas of the mask. Even sending it off to Brian Wright for repairs/corrections made it somewhat better, but at that point, SPFX quality was in the toilet, and I kicked myself for buying it. But it looked decent - not great - after it was haired with brows and stache looking like Danny Glover from "Lethal Weapon".

The final straw occurred when I tried it on at a later point and the silicone oil that Rusty had used as a deadener had leached out of the mask, leaving it stretched beyond wearing. Completely disgusted, I sold it on ebay.

And because I was so glad to get rid of it, I didn't purchase USPS insurance for it. The guy that bought it from me (in Florida, who worked at some adult cabaret) claimed that the box was torn open and resealed, and an empty box was delivered to him. I believed him (stupid, stupid me) and refunded his money, thinking that either ebay or paypal would help me out. Nope. I even contacted the local sheriff in Florida and never received anything back. I'm sure the sonofabitch lied to me and I still curse him to this day. So I not only lost the mask, but I was also out $800 and shipping. I got a whopping $50 back from USPS.

Lesson learned - NEVER sell a mask without insurance.

But I still missed having an older black guy.

Enter Yves Gravelle of Metamorphose Masks.

I love Yves - he is such a joy to work with. I asked him if he could take a "Soul Man" and make it look like my Black Senior. I have a Soul Man of his already and love the way it fits. I sent him reference pics, and after about 6-8 weeks, I received a new mask. 

Yves also does beautiful work in hairing masks. He's diversified into hairing and repainting other vendors' masks as well. I HIGHLY recommend him for any revision, repair or hairing mask work you may have.

It's a beauty. Fits great overall, and excellent eye and lip fitment as well. And Yves makes amazing bibs on his masks. He's also upped his painting skills by a magnitude of ten, so the new black guy I got really is an amazing work of art. Here's a movement video that Yves made of the mask before it was mailed out:

I'm extremely happy with the new me (or him), so here are some shots of the "new and improved" electrician, Kaden Ross...

Photo Study #33: Asian Rubber Throttle Jockey

A while ago, I had seen the picture below and it had really gotten me amped - I loved the thought of layering a skintight catsuit with a slightly looser aviation-type coverall.

The only problem... I don't like to layer. With the exception of having sheath shorts underneath a catsuit, or a pair of bondage shorts over a catsuit, I generally avoid doing it ... I'm afraid to tear the latex.

Looking for the coverall was a bit difficult; I couldn't really find something at the price point I wanted that also had the right "look" - many of places that I normally go to were too expensive or the ones that were cheaper really looked like crap.

So I figured that I ask my buddy Pinky (as we've only corresponded by email, I'm not sure if Pinky is a he or a she) at Aqualatex if they could do it. Aqualatex is an ebay seller from China, and unlike other places like Latex Catfish, they do a beautiful job of finishing their stuff with perfectly joined seams and no excess glue.

And the answer was ... "Of course!". Aqualatex already had my measurements, so all I needed to tell Pinky was "This is going over the catsuit you made me, so make this a little bigger and a little looser."

Almost perfect. Almost.

The reference pic showed snaps. So I get the inner catsuit on and chicken-wing my way into the jumpsuit. Yes, it looks great and fits great across the body, but the damn third and fourth snaps from the bottom front kept popping open. I guess with 0.4mm latex, you can't use really heavy-duty snaps. A call to Pinky explaining the problem and we come up with an "extender" strip to give me a little more leeway - and it works like a charm. And it was free - except for the shipping.

While I was waiting for the extender to show up, I figured that a wide rubber belt would also do the job (or hide the problem). I place a call to Mr. S Leathers and in a week, I had my 3" rubber belt.

The hood. Mmmm. This comes from an Etsy shop called "Mr. Latex" (also in China). The quality and fit is excellent. I gave the owner my measurements and when it arrived, it fit perfectly. Some of you eagle-eyed readers may see a resemblance between this and my Spexter suit's attached hood - and you'd be absolutely correct. I can now get that mirror-eyed look on any catsuit with this hood. And I highly recommend Mr. Latex for great communication and great product.

I also was thinking more about this suit combo as well since it really fits and feels great. Since my red latex suit, I also decided that something like this would look amazing with some faceless hoods as well. The hood below is from the excellent folks at Latex101 - they are in Scotland, not China. They not only have a great selection of colors, but also use the micro-perforation technique (first pioneered by Kink Engineering) to give you very good vision and breathing in an (apparently) solid mask. I opted for noseholes anyway, and got a few colors. The mask definitely works and feels great. I did make the semi-mistake of ordering a bright yellow hood; the microperforation is visible from some distance away, so for the illusion of an unbroken expanse of latex, stick with darker colors. 

My idea with these hoods is a group of latex paramilitary (or latex convicts) whose rank/designation is color coded. Communication is by sign language or telepathic links.

All in all, I am extremely happy with how everything turned out.

Also, Aqualatex makes some impressive "standard" suits. Check out their Dainese latex motor suit...

In For A Penny, In for A Pound - Mortal Sins

Jax knocked the rest of his drink back and then proceeded to shove his tongue down Adrian Weaver's throat. The two fought valiantly until Adrian broke the powerful embrace first. He gasped lungfuls of air from his near-suffocation and grinned at the heavily inked leatherman.

"Dayumm... you gotz summ set ov lungz on you... c'mon, stud. Letz go an' hav summ hevvy-duty suckin' an' fuckin' ..."

Jax winked at the young thug. "Ah'll seez you 'round, AJ... Don' leave. Afta Ah'm dunn wiff Adrian, Ah'll lock you in dat sling an' drill yo' ass..." The two men sauntered off, leaving the young thug at the bar. As AJ was finishing his drink, his eye caught a young white muscle-puppy and he grinned in anticipation; he left the bar and caught up with his next conquest.

At the same time, the barkeep inserted a pair of tongs into Thomas' glass and opened them up, lifting the glass off the granite bartop without disturbing it's outer surface. He put it into a plastic bag and gingerly placed it into a blue wastebasket.

* * *

"Arkadiy - take a look at this!" Dimitri Resnikov strode into his brother's office. In his hand he held a DVD. His older brother took the disk and inserted into his computer.

"Go to 2:15:22."

Arkadiy tapped a few commands and an elevated view of one of the Greasetank's many bars appeared in high definition. The scene displayed Jax Thomas and Ajani Cole at the bar; in a moment, Adrian Weaver joined the duo and proceeded to fondle and grab the heavily inked black man.

"The one with the tattoos said this was his first time here, so Alexei took his glass to run his prints..." He displayed a folder in his hand with a flourish. "Jax Thomas. A hit man. A very highly paid and extremely successful hit man..."

Arkadiy arched a brow and took the folder from his brother. He opened it and began to read. A slow smile broke over his face. "Hmmm.... very nice, indeed." He looked up at the video to see the view had changed to another room where Weaver and Thomas were brutally raping each other. "Bring him to me the next time he comes in."

* * *

Night had fallen and the streetlights glowed softly onto the manicured lawns and stately houses of Scarsdale. The van – stolen from the parking lot of a local Stanley Steemer franchise  - was parked on a dark side road and the group of five thugs were gathered together in the back. The group was composed of Jax Thomas and Ajani Cole, along with Adrian Weaver and two of his more intelligent henchmen – Mariano Ruiz (a heavily built, bald Dominican who was one of his principal actors in the snuff films) and Terryl McBride.

Jax Thomas handed the pair of night vision goggles to Ruiz.

"Mariano, you stayz outside. Make sure dat no one cummz near da house an’ if'n d'ey do, knock 'em out an' tie 'em up.  Nuthin' else, unnerstand? We don' wan' no co-lateral damage..."

The other man grinned. "You got it, boss." That response engendered a deeper scowl on the face of Adrian Weaver as Ruiz cracked open the back door and slipped out into the darkness.

Jax turned to Weaver. "You don' needz to getz dat sour look on yo' face, Adrian. Da Resnikovs axed me ta getz rid ov da lawyer an' make it look like a random crime. Ain't nuthin' aginst you – Ah jus' gotz mo' experience doin' shit like dis an' bein' real carefull."

Weaver grumbled and Thomas continued. " 'Sides, Ah iz gettin' PAID t'do dis job – you do stuff 'cause you luvz doin' it firs' an' getz paid fo' it afta... an' Ah ain't lookin' t'replace anyone bruh ... Mariano an' Terryl are still yo' boyz..." He traced a gloved hand down the side of the thug's face and gave him a soft kiss. The gang-banger grunted and a small smile twitched onto his face.

"Letz git goin' then..."

* * *

Jeffrey Bollinger was a senior partner in the white-shoe law firm of Monteil, Hudson and Eiler and while many of his clients were large, multinational corporations, the largest percentage of his billable hours was servicing the criminal enterprises of Arkadiy and Dmitri Resnikov – with full and complicit knowledge of their illicit activities. Even with those monies flowing in, the lawyer became greedy; the brothers became aware of Bollinger making copies of damning documentation and while he had yet to try and blackmail them, they decided to eliminate the problem before that threat ever materialized. The next time Jax Thomas had entered the sex club, he was ushered into the brothers' offices and offered the job to kill the lawyer and obtain the stolen papers.  With a grin – and a six-figure deposit – he accepted.

* * *

The four thugs pulled ski masks over their faces and slid out of the back of the van. They moved quickly through the trees and hunkered down next to the three-car garage.

"D'eres fo' people in da house – da lawyer an' hiz wife, plus two kidz. Dis iz wat's gonna happen. AJ gotz da codez tah disable da security system. Soon as dat happenz Adrian, me an' Terryl iz goin' in an’ takin' anyone down. AJ gonna shut da door, turn off da lightz and re-arm da system. Reddy? Letz go!"

The four men sprinted to the back door.

* * *

Bollinger and his second (as well as trophy) wife Deborah were sitting at the dining room table when the kitchen door slammed open and the four thugs entered the room. They were too shocked to scream when Adrian pointed the AR-15 at them and hustled them into the living room as AJ and Jax took the stairs two at a time with barely a sound.

* * *
The two Nubians move quietly on the second floor and with hand signals, moved from room to room, finding nothing. As they approached the end of the corridor, Jax put up his hand. From the final room, they heard muffled noises. He nodded to his partner and kicked in the door, his gun held steady before him.

What greeted the two gang-bangers froze them in their tracks; on the bed was a small boy ... and he was being raped by a well-muscled 20-something with short, brown hair.  The young man looked up in shock at the two masked intruders and AJ reacted first; with a cry of rage, he grabbed the rapist and threw him against the wall. As the assailant tried to get up, Jax gave him a swift kick in the ribs and pulled his arms behind him, fastening the wrists with a zip tie. He roughly pulled the naked young man to his feet and pushed him out of the door.

* * *

Bollinger and his wife sat on the sofa. Their wrists were bound behind their backs and their ankles were fastened as well.

Adrian Weaver glared at the couple.  "Where'z da safe?" McBride was in the process of rifling through drawers and looking for valuables.

Bollinger did not seem perturbed. Weaver put the muzzle of the AR15 underneath his chin and forced the lawyer to look at him. "Ah ain't gonna keepz axe-in' da same queshyun... where'z da fuckin' safe??"

A small, sardonic grin crossed the captive man's face. "You had better get the hell out of here now, BOY..." He sneered the last word. "You don't know who the hell you're dealing with..."

At that point, there was a massive THUMP from the upper floor. Both captives turned towards the noise and watched in horror as Bollinger's naked 24-year old son tumbled down the stairs. Jax followed and proceeded to grab him by his cuffs and throw him onto the floor in front of the other captives. Beneath the ski mask, Adrian was shocked as well – the hitman was always in complete control (even when sex was involved) and this was completely out of character.

"Jeff!" Bollinger yelled. "What did you do to my son?!"

"Dis sumbitch wuz fuckin' a baby!!" He gave him another kick in the ribs.  The younger Bollinger groaned and curled up in pain.

"You BASTARD!" Deborah screeched and tried to rise from the couch. Weaver pushed her back down.

Jeff Bollinger pushed himself into a sitting position on the floor. He gave his father a look that was part defiance and part manic glee. "Just keeping up the family tradition, dad..." His face broke into a sneering grin. "At least I stopped when Davey started to cry... the first time..."

Adrian and Jax looked at each other and realized that the lawyer must had violated his older son in the same way. The gang-banger smashed the gun stock into the side of the younger man's head and he crumpled unconscious to the floor. Weaver gave the unconscious rapist feral grin. "Oh, we gotz sumpthin' REEL speshul plann'd fo' you, whiteboy... yes we do..."

* * *

The little boy had begun to scream when his older brother had been pulled off of him and dragged out of the room; he screamed even louder as the masked thug swept him into his arms and held him close, stroking his back. "Shhh, Swee-pea... noboddy gonna hurt you no mo' ..."

AJ made a decision. He pulled off his mask and the little boy looked into the soft brown-black eyes; he stopped screaming and buried his face into the powerful shoulder and cried.

The cries soon turned to whimpers as AJ continued to stroke the child's back and murmured soothing words. Finally, he put the child back down on the bed and squatted so they were eye level.

"Wat's yo' name Swee-pea?"

The little boy sniffled. "D...Davey..."

"Dat's a reel nice name... how old you be, Davey?"

The little boy put up 4 fingers. AJ raised his dark eyebrows. "Wow... You iz FOUR? You iz a reel big boy... an' hansum too..."

"Who are you? Where's Jeffty?"

Cole paused. "Mah name iz AJ. .." His face hardened. "Mah friend took Jeffty downstairz 'cause he wuz bein' verry bad tah you."

"I hate him!!!" The child began to cry again. Once more, AJ gathered him in his arms until the sobs subsided. 

"Did Jeffty do dem bad thingz to you a lot?"

The little boy hung his head. Then he nodded. AJ's face was a mask of rage. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

"Did you tell yo' momma?" Davey shook his head and began to cry again. He climbed across the bed again and flung himself into AJ's arms.

"Jeffty said if I told Mommy she would send me away!" His cries were piteous and AJ held him close.

"He wuz lyin' Davey – yo' momma luvs you – she wood nevva sendz you away..." That confirmation quieted the little boy down. AJ sat him back on the bed. And held up an open hand with his five fingers outspread.

"Did he touch you dat way dis many times?"

He shook his head. "More."

"How many more, Swee-Pea?" The little boy held up both hands; one thumb was tucked in.

AJ wanted to scream. And kill that young fucker. "You likez bubble baths, Davey?" The little boy gave a small smile and nodded. "Well,  Ah thinkz you shood hav one. C'mon..."

* * *

Jax turned to Weaver. "Did'chu find out where da safe iz?"

The other thug shook his head. "I wuz axe'in ‘im when you pitch'd da otha sumbitch down da stairz..."

The lawyer had regained his composure, even though his wife was now staring at him with undisguised hatred.  Jax pulled a handgun with suppressor and shot him through the knee. The lawyer screamed in pain.

"Mr. Reznikov foun' out 'bout yo' hand in da cookie jar, Bollinger. Wherez da documentz you took?" He turned to the young woman seated next to the writhing lawyer. "Lawbooks here wuz stealin' frum da Russian mob..." She visibly began to shake.


Between the pain of being shot and Thomas' statement, the lawyer blanched. He realized his position and gulped. 

"He's got one beneath his desk in the library. Under the carpet." Adrian motioned Terryl McBride to go into the other room.

"Shut up, Deborah!, SHUT UP! That's the only thing that is going to keep us alive!"

"Wat's da combin-ay-shun?" Silence. Jax cursed under his breath.

McBride returned.  "Itz there, but it ain't got no keypad o' dial. Jus' summ dark glass plate onnit."

Jax put his revolver back into his waistband. "Show me."

Hit man and thug left the room and soon returned. Jax grabbed the lawyer's chin so their eyes met.

"Mah guess iz dat's a hand o' a foot scanner. Ah don' think itz an ret’nal scan since you ain't got da flexibility t'getz yo face down dat far, bein' da fat fuck you iz... an' you ain't da type ta be walkin' ‘round wiff bare feet..."

Jax watched as the man's pupils dilated as he spoke - an involuntary tell that the hitman spoke the truth - and started to walk away. Suddenly he pulled out the H&K once more and shot Bollinger between the eyes. Jax turned to Terryl. "Gimme dem cleaverz Ah saw in da kicchen. No sense draggin’ da body 'round when we cain jus' bring da handz."

Deborah Bollinger had duct tape wrapped around her mouth and was placed on the floor with the bloody remains of her husband slumping on the sofa; the older son had been similarly gagged and was wrapped in several black garbage bags and strapped with baling wire. The portion of the bag tied around his neck expanded and contracted as he breathed.

"We gonna take da whiteboy an' we iz gonna make ‘im pay..." Weaver kicked the squirming body.  The thug shook his head. "Fuckin' a baby like dat ... "

"Ah'll be out inna minnit, bruh." He climbed the steps to see what was happening with AJ and the little boy as the other thugs left the house.

* * *

Jax followed the faint sound of voices and entered another room. This one was decorated in pale blue and white, with numerous Disney characters across the walls. AJ was sitting in a chair with the child on his lap and was reading from a book. With a shock, the hitman realized his lover was unmasked.

"AJ?? What da fuq ...???"

The child looked up with fear in his eyes at the tall, ski-masked and gun-toting intruder and began to whimper.  AJ gave him a kiss on the top of his head. "No worriez, Davey. Dat's my friend. He be playin' a game right now.  'Copz n' Robbas' – he be one of da robbas... now where wuz we...??"

"The genie made the castle disappear..."

Jax stood dumbfounded at the scenario before him.

"Uh-huh. Da geenie took da palace inna a biiigg tornaydo ... you knowz what a tornaydo iz, right, Swee-pea?" The little boy nodded vigorously and spun his hand around and made whooshing noises.

"Dat's right. You iz real smart, you know dat? So da palace gotz put on the top ov dis big mountin far away an' Jaffar wuz laughin' hiz head off..." AJ gave an evil laugh and tickled the child in his arms. Davy giggled and snuggled closer into the young thug and then proceeded to give a big yawn.

"An' DAT tellz me itz time now fo' big boyz like you t'go tah sleep ... Yo' momma iz goin' ta finish dis story t'morrow nite..." AJ stood up and gently placed the little boy in the bed and covered him up. He gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"Sweet dreamz, Davey."

"Bye AJ ... " He embraced the young thug and kissed him back. AJ turned off the lights and quietly closed the door behind him as the two Nubians left the room.

Jax pushed him against the wall. His voice was a tight whisper. "Are you fuckin' crazy, AJ? We gotz a ded body downstairz missin' both handz, a whiteboy dat's gonna be work'd ovva an' kill'd an' summ psycho bitch tied up! Wat wuz you thinkin' ??"

AJ shook his head. "Ah couldn' leave Davey by hisself, Jax – you knowz wat dat baby went troo!" Cole grew grim. "Dat sumbitch raped him 'bout NINE times! Wat wuz I gonna do?"

Jax muttered several curses under his breath. "We iz leavin' now. Letz go. We gotz wat we came fo'."

"Ah ain't leavin' yet."

"WAT???!!!"

The young thug was adamant. "Ah gotz tah talk tah hiz momma. You getz outta here. Ah'll catch up wit'chu at da Greasetank inna few hourz an' 'xplain. Don' worry 'bout me. Jus' leave mah backpack."

Thomas continued his imprecations as he strode down the stairs.

* * *

Deborah Bollinger struggled in her bondage; After several minutes of twisting and contortion, her bonds remained as tight as ever and she stopped, breathing heavily through her nose. The thugs had left with Jeff Jr. and the dead body of her husband was starting to lean precariously on the sofa; she hoped that the bloody corpse wouldn't fall on top of her.

A noise. She twisted her head to see a pair of powerful booted legs in black and grey camouflage descending the stairs. Oh God, there's one left. He wasn't wearing a mask or a shirt and that fact made her scream in her gag and twist even more. He's going to kill me.

The young thug stood above her and she looked into the hard, deep brown-black eyes, incredibly handsome ethnic features and a powerful physique that stretched the fabric of his pants to their limits as well. He’s going to rape me. Inwardly, she was embarrassed that that thought made her excited more than terrified.

"We gotz tah talk. If'n Ah takez dat gag offa you, you promiss not tah screem? One loud noise an' Ah cut yo' fuckin' haid off..."

She nodded and the Nubian pulled out a large K-Bar knife from his boot;  he sliced the duct tape from her mouth and peeled it back.  He sat on the couch so that his massive package was obvious through the material of his fatigues and leaned forward. The corpse started to tip towards him and he shoved it out of the way. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his dark, highly-developed muscular upper body and she felt her insides clench with a sense of delicious anticipation.

"You didn' tell da whiteboy, did'chu?"

"What?"

"Don' fuck wiff me, bitch... You didn' tell 'im dat hiz brutha wuzn' hiz brutha, did'chu?"

She looked at him in shock. "I... "

At least she had the decency to look embarrassed. But that's probably an act as well.

AJ nodded. "Ah thought so. You wuz fuckin' da frat boy whiles Mr. High an' Mighty wuz fuckin' you. Davey iz da whiteboy's baby, not hiz haff-brutha, right?"

"H-How did you know...?? Davey? Is he...?"

"He be fine. Ah gave 'im a bubble bath, den Ah red tah him fo' a while an' den Ah put 'im t'bed with hiz Mr. Fluffy. Hiz daddy fuck'd 'im 'tween five an' nine timez, but Ah thinkz he'll forgit 'bout it inna few years..."

AJ's face grew harder. "Mah guess iz dat you hadda sign summ type ov pre-nup b'fo' you married dis old fuck..." He shoved the leaning corpse again. "... so's you hadz frat-boy wrapp'd 'round yo' cunt an' he wuz gonna getz rid ov hiz daddy fo’ you... den you waitz a few monthz an' den da wedding bells wuz goin' be ringin' agin... and wiff da baby, you gotz all da basez covva'd"

Deborah was speechless for a moment. "I... I married Jeffrey for his money. And he married me for the sex. I never cared for him, but when I met Jeff – his son - I had to have him. I figured that I needed a baby as well for insurance and keep my husband off balance. Jeff put an explosive bolt on the brake line with a remote trigger.  During his next trip, he would drive behind him a few miles and then blow the line. There are plenty of accidents on the Sprain Parkway..."

"So Ah takez it dat you needz a boddy fo' identificayshun?"

At her puzzled look. "Frat Boy. He ain't gonna be livin' much longa afta wat he did tah dat baby. Yes o' no? Ah ain't gotz all nite. You gonna need dat fo’ da insurance an’ shit...??"

"Uh, yes. I guess so..."

"Ah'll let da bruthas know." With that, AJ got up and once again took out the knife and nicked the zip ties wrapped around Deborah's wrists.

"You cain bust outta dem now if'n you keepz at it. But don' call noboddy fo' two hours, unnerstand?" With that AJ removed a recorder from his pocket and pressed the "Replay" button. Deborah heard her voice and her confession through the small speaker.

"Jus' r'member, bitch ... dis can fin' itz way to da copz anytime... you takez care ov dat baby now likez yo' life dependz on it - 'cause it duz..."

AJ slung his backpack over his shoulder and left the house.

* * *

The trip back to the city was uneventful, and the four thugs pulled into the enclosed garage of the Greasetank around 2am.  As they were crossing the bridge, Adrian and Jax received the text from AJ about the need to identify the body.

Adrian turned to Jax. "Mista R gonna be reel happy dat da problem iz gone. Go home an' chillax wiff AJ – Ah'll tell 'im where tah meet'chu when he showz up."

"Nuh-uh. Ah gotz t'punishment-fuck dat baby rapist. Lotsa timez." Jax gave the other thug a hard kiss and proceeded to the Resnikovs' office while Terrell, Mariano and Adrian dragged the captive into the sex club.

After the young Bollinger was unwrapped from his plastic prison, an eyeless black latex hood was slipped over his head and a collar was snapped around his neck. This was followed by a ball gag that was shoved into his mouth and locked in place. He was then duct-taped over a sawhorse and set up in one of the public spaces of the venue. He turned to Mariano.

"Leave him d'ere fo' a few hourz. We iz gonna hav one reel speshul snuff film to-nite." 

Above him, Mariano put up a paper sign; almost immediately, a line began to form and the Dominican went deeper into the club to stir up more interest.

* * *

Jax was ushered into Arkadiy Resnikov's office and the Russian mobster gestured him to take a seat.

"I take it that the problem has been resolved?"

The hitman nodded and placed a large manilla envelope on the desk as well as a medium-sized plastic bag that made a wet, squishing sound as it hit the desktop. Resnikov quirked an eyebrow.

"Dat's hiz handz. He had da stuff inna safe wiff a han'print ID." Jax' face took on a harder cast. "We also had a littl' complicayshun... we caughtz da olda son rapin' hiz baby brutha... We took 'im back wiff us an' Adrian sed he'z gonna take care ov 'im..."

A look of revulsion crossed the Russian's face. "Ublyudok... Bastard. What of the wife?"

"We tied her up. She don' know nuthin."

"Excellent. I will deposit the remainder of your fee into the Caymans account tomorrow."

Jax grinned. "T'ank you, Mista Resnikov. Great workin' wiff you." He stood up and stretched, rubbing his bulging crotch. "An' if'n you'll 'xcuse me, Ah gotz summ mo' work wiff Adrian givin' dat baby raper summ real ass-fuckin' befo' he dead..."

* * *

Black Gold Lounge
Three Weeks Later

Jax Thomas was drinking a Corvoisier at the bar when a visibly upset Ajani Cole walked in. He ordered one as well and knocked it back in one gulp. Like the other men present, he had changed in the anteroom and was nearly naked, sporting a leather jock, combat boots and little else.

"Wat's da matta, AJ?" Thomas stroked the powerful back of his lover and rested his hand on the muscular ass. He could tell the other man was terribly upset.

"Rico tol' me mah timez up..." He lowered his voice. "Ah gotz tah go back bein' who Ah wuz... Shee-it Jax, Ah luvz bein' a muscle-brutha an' a thug. Ah don' wantz t'be jist a whiteboy agin! EVVA! It ain't FAIR, bruh...Dis iz da way Ah shood be fo' da res' ov mah life!!!" Cole slammed his fist on the hard surface.


Jax pulled him close. "Ah know. Bein' like dis iz such a rush ... but nuthin' iz changin' fo' me - if'n you iz 'Ajani Cole' o' dat whiteboy 'Micah Benchley' you iz da one Ah wantz t'spen' da res' o' mah life wiff."

A look of absolute joy crossed the younger thug's face. Jax continued.

"An' you cain thinkz ov it dis way… You iz gettin' put inna speshul kinda prison an' you ain't gonna be seen fo' a while. But afta summ time, you be back … an' meanwhilez, Ah gotz me a cute whiteboy tah fuck whilez you iz away. Tho Ah gotz t'be mo' carefull rapin' hiz ass since you knowz how whiteboyz iz mo' delicate… dey cain't take da poundin' anotha brutha cain…"

Jax grinned and squeezed AJ's bulging package. "When you gotz t'switch back?"

"T'morrow. Ah gotz t'be back on Monday."

"D'en we gotta cel'brate t'nite. Letz go inta one ov da back roomz. Den you cain fuck mah brains out."


* * *

The following morning, the two Nubians arrived at the warehouse in Brooklyn. While Ajani Cole was being transformed back into a white police officer, Jax decided to spend some time working out in the artist's gym. A few hours later, a completely hairless Micah Benchley appeared with Zack Gauthier. Wearing just a white towel. Thomas got off the incline bench and put down his weights, then whistled and laughed.

"Dayummm... Now Ah gotz me a skinhead tah fuck!!"

Micah laughed. "It feels so weird being white again, Jax. It doesn't even feel natural..."

Jax stood up and pulled his partner into a sweaty embrace. "Well, you iz gonna feel much betta afta Ah rapez yo' ass a few timez..." The two men held each other close, deeply kissing and exploring each others bodies and were completely oblivious as Zack excused himself. Thomas nuzzled his lover's neck. "Ah forgotz wat a fuckin' HOT whiteboy you iz..."

"I think this will work out perfectly..." The two broke their embrace to see Zack holding a pair of 18-eyelet boots in one hand and some bleacher jeans and other clothing in the other. "Why don't you head over to the Greasetank tonight?" His lips quirked into a wicked smile. "You two should turn a number of heads..."

Jax grinned. "Shitchyeah! Letz do it!"

Zack gave him a shove. "Go and get cleaned up, stud... Micah will be ready when you come out."

As the hitman left the room, the artiste looked at the rookie cop with a critical eye.

"Micah, hold on a moment. I want to do a little something on you for tonight." Zack jogged around a corner and came back with a small bottle and a pair of eyebrows and short beard. "Let's put these on." In a moment, the artificial hair was in place an he nodded in satisfaction. "Perfect. Those are on tight for at least fifteen hours. You can remove them with some warm isopropyl alcohol when you get home."

The Nubian hitman stripped off his sweaty workout gear and entered the industrial showers; in a short while, he emerged naked, with a towel slung over one massive shoulder and his ringed cock already hard again. He stopped in shock.

His partner now sported a pair of ginger eyebrows and a scruffy auburn beard. Micah had taken the clothes from Zack and started to dress; a thick c-ring was slipped over his cock and balls and was followed by a well-worn jock that struggled to cover his expanding package. A thick pair of socks came next; polo shirt, jeans and suspenders completed the outfit. Benchley sat down to fasten the boots over his muscular calves. Jax whistled and Micah looked up with a wide grin on his face.

"Fuccckkk...we iz goin' tah hav summ fun to-nite!!!"

* * *
JAX

I slipped on a body harness and paratrooper boots and finished up with a warmup suit. Then we headed out of Zack’s warehouse and over to the Greasetank. We entered the sex club about fifteen minutes apart and it didn’t take long for my partner to find a muscle-puppy to skullfuck as a warmup. I was glad to see a newfound sense of confidence and domination in Micah’s actions – it was great to see at least some of Ajani’s hard-core habits were still with my whiteboy. I drilled a couple of Latinos and while I was at one of the bars, I saw the ginger skinhead hard at work thrusting himself into a muscle-brutha immobilized in a sling.  Both of us were enjoying ourselves separately, but eventually we worked our way up onto the stage together.  Micah fondled my painfully bulging crotch and nuzzled my neck. My whiteboy... my PROPERTY.

I spoke directly into his ear in a low voice. "Dat beard on tight?"

He continued. "Yeah, I’ve already done a ton of tonsil hockey and it’s fine."

"Good!" I grabbed his face in both hands and pressed my lips against his. Our tongues fought for control and we finally broke apart when we couldn’t breathe any longer. I spun him around and pushed him down over the sawhorse and undid the hidden zipper in the seat of his bleachers. I stroked the muscular globes of his ass.

I unsnapped the pouch from my harness and poured a thick coat of lube onto my aching cock then squirted another good amount up his chute. "Time fo’ you tah get some REEL meat up dat skinhead ass!"  My dark hands grabbed his hips and my nine-inch tool slammed in until my balls hit his cheeks.

Micah shouted as I split him open. "Harder, Jax! HARDER!!"

I was breathing hard. "You sure you cain take it, whiteboy??"

"DO IT!" I jackhammered his ass like there was no tomorrow. The crowd was roaring their approval at our fuckfest and despite the pain inflicted, I could see that Micah was enjoying it as well. After about 15 minutes, my vision started to darken around the edges; my balls began to churn and I threw my head back as unloaded gallons of cum up his ass.  I gripped his waist as my head spun and blood roared in my ears. After a few moments, my breath steadied and I opened my eyes. My partner grunted as I pulled out and shoved a thick plug into his dribbling pucker; I closed the zipper and slapped his ass to get up. We were both grinning like idiots as we stumbled off the stage.

The rest of the night was blur. We double-teamed several bruthas; we even double-dicked Mariano. Eventually we staggered home to my apartment and after a long cool shower, settled into bed. Micah had removed his artificial hair and I spooned into him, once again thrusting my shaft up his eager hole. I marveled at my dark hand stroking his powerful (now Caucasian) body until his breathing quieted and he fell asleep. I began to doze off myself, but not before the thought crossed my mind … I wonder when will my time be up?

* * *

Micah was nervous as he dressed on Monday and as we went into the station house together; he was still re-acclimating to his original identity as a white cop and not the black felon he had been for several months - he startled himself every time he passed a mirror. All the guys - Converted or not - welcomed him back with open arms. 'Isiah Fulton' and 'Najeem Patterson' - two of the original bruthas that had gotten my lover ready for his own Conversion - had Transformed back last week to their original selves of 'Bryan Joseph' and 'Frank Dorsey' - were present as well, and having two other cue-ball smooth cops on hand did wonders for his first day back on the Job.

It took me a several more weeks to gather the courage to approach Rico. During that time I had done another contract killing for the Resnikovs and giving him his cut was the perfect excuse to broach the subject of my own possibly imminent Conversion back to the white man I no longer wanted to be. Thanks to him and Zack, I was now a multi-millionaire - the monies from the murders I had committed for the Russian mobsters were safely placed in several Grand Cayman accounts that Zack had set up for me. Micah had also moved into my apartment; the best thing now was waking up next to him every morning and fucking him senseless or having him do the same to me.

I rapped on the doorframe of his office and sauntered in. His scowl lessened as I approached and his tightly bearded face broke into a smile as I placed the thick envelope on his desk.

"D'ere you go, boss - yo' cut frum mah last job."

He put the envelope in a drawer. "Thankz bruh, Ah madez a reel good pick wiff you..."

"Uh, Rico ..." He raised both eyebrows. "... Ah knowz AJ hadda go back t'bein'... jist... y'know...Micah... an' Ah wuz wunderin' when Ah... ummm..."

He held up a dark hand. "Jax, you cain stay dis way az long az you wantz. Ah tol' Isaiah an' Najeem da same thing. Ah ain't tellin' you when tah becumm a whiteboy agin. Dat's upta you." He gave me a sly grin. "An' if'n you wantz tah stay a black man, dat's fine too... Ah ain't switchin' back - becummin' a brutha wuz da bes' thing dat evva happen'd tah me."

It was my turn to look surprised. There had been hushed conversations about Sergeant Jamie Reardon staying the gang-banger 'Rico Landry' and he just confirmed those rumors. Ever since Tony McLaren and Charlie Hawke had re-Converted to black felons, the whispers were going around that permanent Conversions into Nubians with extensive criminal records - and with regularly scheduled criminal activities - would be the next step Rico would undertake with the officers of the Four-One.

"Rico, you think dat summtime in da future AJ cood cumm back too? Like Ray-Ray and Benjie?"

A bigger grin split the thug's face. "Ah don' seez why not... if'n he behavez hisself an' don' forgit to gimme my cutz on time... Ah think we cood do sumpthin' inna few months... Dere's gonna be a lotta changez cummin' soon here anywayz..."

I grinned back at him. "Thankz, boss. Ah really 'preciates dat!"

* * *

With the massive relief that there was no clock ticking for me, I continued with the contract killings for the Resnikovs, adding more and more money to Rico's coffers as well as to my own. And Micah's. My partner at the Four-One had become my partner-for-life. After a few weeks, his hair had grown back in and he now sported a sleek fade cut which complemented a stubbled, razor-cut beard. My lover also now sported elaborate ink down a forearm and a thigh and I was overjoyed that this sexy (and completely kinky) whiteboy was all mine. I hadn't thought of myself as a white man for months now and I was still seriously considering Rico's words when something happened to shake my world.

The decision to Revert was not wholly mine; criminal acts and murder had now become second-nature to me and rather enjoyable as well, but when Dmitri Resnikov wanted me to eliminate a police officer, something snapped. I refused the job. Even when he doubled the fee. Then tripled it. Even being who I was now, at least there were still some lines I couldn't and wouldn't cross. I also had been thinking of my life with Micah now. I could share that with the guys from the Four-One, but really nowhere else. And the Greasetank didn't count. Hell, even my own family wasn't aware of my proclivities and I was damned if I was going to let that continue and keep that part of my life - and Micah - hidden away.

I was relaxing on the lounger as my lover was in the bathroom trimming his beard. I got up and slipped my arms around him. We were both naked and my prong was already stiffening as I rubbed against his muscular ass.

I kissed his ear. "Micah, Ah've been thinkin' 'bout wat Rico sed 'bout me stayin' a brutha... Ah wuz gonna do it 'cause bein' dis way is such a fuckin' rush... an' da fact Ah don' hav an offishul crim'nal record wood make our livez t'gether easier ... but Ah wanna be able t'go out wit'chu t'other placez 'sides just sex clubs..."

He turned around and kissed me. "Believe me, I know how much you love being a Nubian, Jax. I still miss being a black man every time I look in the mirror. But I won't stand in your way if that's what you really want." His eyes twinkled. "Because whether you're 'Jax Thomas' or 'Cash Ingraham', I love you with all my heart, and wherever you want to go and whatever you want to do, that's fine with me."

"Shee-it..." I wiped a tear from my eye. "God, wat did Ah do t'get summ-one like you?"

"Jackhammered that gigantic cock of yours up my ass, what did you think?"

I started to laugh and couldn't stop. Micah joined in.  "Lemme call Zack an' set it up."

* * *

It was early October when Zack arranged for my Reversion; other than feeling a little chilly from the sudden loss of hair on my head, I felt great and embraced Micah when I emerged from the process of becoming 'Cash Ingraham' once more. After things had (physically) settled down, I also got some some elaborate inking on my forearms and (as my hair grew back in) sported a well-trimmed goatee as well. I also decided to change my hairstyle and haircolor and I asked Zack to make my eyes lighter and bluer. Even after five weeks, though, I still missed being that handsome-as-fuck black hitman... I guess I always will...

We talked at length about our time as Nubians. At some point, the two of us may Convert back into black men for a while and have some not-so-legal adventures - who knows? At least we know that's an option that's on the table.

Both of us also know that there wouldn't be a problem if we ever wanted to go the permanent route and become muscle-bruthas forever - we're filthy rich thanks to the Resnikovs and we could start our own criminal empire. Or porn studio. Or both.

Micah is coming home with me to Ohio for Thanksgiving. It's time my family finally knows about me and the man I love.

And I don't give a flying fuck if they disapprove.  

Money can't buy happiness ... but it's already bought us a villa in Ibiza.

* * *

I was determined to finish this story - I just didn't expect it to take almost THREE months to do it. And at this point, I think the whole "transformation" concept has run its course. I believe that that was the reason why it took me so long to finish - I just didn't have that inner fire to get it completed. 

But I perservered and it's done. I'm happy with the ending and the way that even the most amoral of characters - Adrian, in this case - still had some things that even HE could not countenance. 

Writing this arc also brought up to the forefront how different the cops are at the Four-One; not only they can (and do) experience what it's like to be a criminal, but the unspoken standards they uphold amongst themselves - from their physiques, to their inkings, to their striking good looks and to their mental attitudes - I've often thought of them as a combination of Jedi Knights and porn stars!

While I've exhausted Zack's "Transformation" Process, I don't think I've finished with the Four-One. There are other stories I'm thinking of involving these unique officers and I'm hoping to start planning new stories as well.

As always, a very big "Thank You" to my readers for your continued interest and patience in waiting for Micah and Cash's finale!