Go outside to find Jamal!

You slipped out of the room and closed the door, the thumping bass of the party washing over you again, like a physical wave. But you couldn't escape the images that are now burned into your mind: Taylor's gaping hole, Dior's wet cockhead, and slow drip of white cum. You weren't sure how to feel about any of this, you were horrified of course, but for some reason you were more aroused than you had ever been. But right now, you felt dizzy and unsteady.

You really had to find Jamal.

You pushed through the crowd, your movements clumsy, your head swimming in the alcohol, that you had already forgotten you drank. The flashing lights and laughing faces felt like they were from another world.

You quickly you saw him.

Jamal was leaning against the outdoor bar, a confident smirk on his lips, talking to Trent. A wave of relief so powerful it almost made you weak washed over you. You started towards him, needing that anchor, that sense of familiarity that he gave you.

But as you got closer, you heard their voices, low and confident over the music.

"...man, I'm not gonna lie," Jamal was saying, his voice a low, proud rumble. "I had him right where I wanted him. He's so close to being mine, bro."

Trent took a long pull from his beer, a smug grin on his face as he watched the pool. "I told you. All that shy, confused energy? That's a blank canvas, man. Just begging for a real man to come along and paint a masterpiece." He finally turned to Jamal, his eyes gleaming with competitive interest. "So you finally made a move?"

"Oh, I made a move for sure," Jamal chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Caught him rubbing his little white dick in the study after your show with Justin. He was all shaky and overwhelmed. It was way too easy bro." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I had him strip for me, you know, to show off what he got, which was, as expected, nothing. Even made him compare my cock and body to his own, to really show him how pathetic he is. Then I got the little guy on his knees. Made him jerk me off until I painted his hands and even his cute, pale face with my cum."

You froze, your blood turning to ice. He was talking about you....

Every single private, overwhelming moment was being retold like a victory lap.

"Damn," Trent whistled, impressed. "So you're saying you won our little bet? You tapped that bubble butt of his already?"

"Not all the way," Jamal admitted, though his tone was far from disappointed. "But I'm close, so fucking close man. I had my hands all over that perfect white ass, spreading his perfect cheeks open real good. He was whimpering and moaning like a bitch in heat, completely gone. And his little white boy dick? It's pathetic, man, seriously. It looks like a little pale shrimp, bro. He couldn't even cum, said he already did today and wasn't able to a second time. Thats so pathethic, but typical for them"

Each word was a physical blow, pathetic, little white boy. The humiliation was sharp, but mixed with it was a terrifying, undeniable thrill. You definitely couldn't deny how much bigger his dick was then yours and everything he described did happen and was true...

But what stood out to you was, that even trough all those humiliating words, he seemed to be proud of you and proud of what he'd done to you. For some reason that made him telling Trent everything marginally better...

"See man? That's what I'm fucking talking about," Trent said, gesturing with his beer bottle towards the pool. "You gotta remind those little, pathetic white boys of their real place in life. Felt like Justin needed a little public reinforcement tonight. The white boy is much more agreeable when he's humbled and humiliated."