White College Basketball Players Get Their Due

Note : This story is completely fictional!

This story concerns the outcome of a "good will" game between a local private college and a public, inner city community college. This private college, located in an exclusive suburban area outside a major city, is truly a pleasant place to visit, and a wonderful place to learn. Its buildings, covered with ivy, ("ivy league?"), were old, but elegant, and reflected the proud Quaker tradition of the place. On the campus there was a duck pond, several statues, a library, etc. etc. The campus itself is surrounded by a wooded area, where people could take walks, or jog. Frequently sports teams used it for their workouts when they were bored with using the track.

At the center of the school was the college’s small athletic complex. (It was a small, private college, not a big university). Inside there was an indoor track, which the school had in addition to the outdoor one. At its center was a basketball court. At almost every evening, around seven o’clock, the intramural basketball team practiced. For a small private college they were not at all that bad. The players, all proudly wearing their black white and red basketball uniforms, were all tall and athletic. As beyond that a physical description would have to include the fact that they were not as integrated as the color of these uniforms would suggest. The players were, to a man, all white, as was most of the rest of the school.

“Okay, guys, we’re really going to show ‘em!” The voice was that of Pat MacDonald, one of the team’s top scorers, and well known for his aggressiveness both on and off the court. Pat stood tall, nearly seven feet, had short dark hair, fair skin, large blue eyes, and a handsome heart-shaped face with just the right combination of boyishness and masculinity to make him perfectly desirable to several assorted females on and off the campus. “That’s right, Pat!” The comment came from another player, Mike Scherner, who aspired to the same degree of basketball prowess as his friend, and idol, Pat. Mike was also what women would call, “easy on the eyes”. He was slightly shorter than Pat, about six foot seven, had dirty blond hair, and brown eyes. His hair was a little longer than Pat’s, parted in the middle, and came behind his ears and down to his neck. It was not shoulder length, however. His complexion was darker than his friend’s. He was one of those lucky people, who, despite being Anglo Saxon in ancestry, seemed to always have a permanent tan. He probably had some German ancestry, whereas his friend Pat was probably more English, or Scots Irish. Both were tall and strong, Pat being a little heavier, but Mike was more defined. Mike lifted weights to add to this definition, which extended to his arms, chest, stomach, legs, and, well, “glutes”, (you, dear reader know what I mean). Neither of the two was what you would call hairy, although Pat had a little bit of chest hair, and just enough over his body to distinguish him from the female of the species in that department. Mike had very little body hair. Mike made up for it in the size of his, well, “organ”. Let’s just say he was well endowed in that department. Pat was not. This did make for some insecurity in the showers and locker room, where, because of his height relative to everyone else, it was hard to hide. As for build, Mike had narrower hips than Pat, who had a little weight over his frame.

The team got together, with their coach to discuss strategy for the goodwill game with a distant, community college. Most of the students at that school were minorities, and came from lower income families. Its basketball team, which was fairly good, was entirely black. The event was meant to foster better relations and goodwill across racial and socio-economic boundaries.

That weekend the small, indoor stadium was filled with spectators. People from both colleges filled the stands as both teams worked their hearts out to score. As the game went on what had started off as goodwill became more and more competitive. It seemed as soon as one team scored, the other did, and vice versa. Fouling became more and more common as Pat MacDonald, an aggressive player, meant some equally aggressive players from the other side. As for Mike Scherner, he also kept up his end in adding to the ferocity of the competition. Finally at the end, with the score tied, one of the community college’s best players was about to throw a jump shot, which in the final seconds of play, would have won the game. At that point, Pat, aggressive as usual, bumped the ball from the young man’s hands, fouling the shot. He then passed over the court to his strategically placed friend, Mike, who scored, and thus pulled off a victory for the school. Their fans were elated. The opposing team’s were outraged. The referee, who was an alumnus of the private college, “didn’t see” Pat’s foul. The fouled player glared at Pat, who returned a smirk, revealing that he knew full well what had happened, that it was no accident. The large black man, almost as tall as Pat, advanced toward him, and almost got to Pat, when he was stopped by one, then another referee. He was finally ordered off the court before he got to exact any retaliation.

Pat and Mike then walked off the court with the rest of their teammates, receiving congratulations from their fans, and exchanging high fives with each other, and even receiving the occasional tap on the shoulder or behind, as sometimes occurs with the emotion of sports. Even the coach, who was very demanding, had to congratulate the two on their winning performance. So, instead of proceeding straight to the locker room to hit the showers with the rest of the team, these two lingered to talk to the fans, then they both went to the coach’s office. The coach, who usually summoned players to his office to bawl them out, was now doing this to congratulate the two. The rest of the team left, went to the locker room, showered, dressed, then went out together to party. Then the opposing team had use of the locker room for the same purpose. Although they were not exactly in the partying mood. Or maybe I should say they had a different kind of “party” in mind. And, to be good sports, Pat and Mike would be “invited”. This team would indeed show their appreciation for losing do to a foul by Pat. As it turned out the coach kept the two in his office long enough that by the time they left their team was already gone from the locker room. The area was now occupied by the opposing team, who didn’t even bother to shower or change clothes, being more preoccupied with their anger over being robbed of their victory in front of all their fans and families, by the biased referee, and especially those two cocky, stuck up white boys. They sat around and grumbled, then the door opened, and who would it be? It was Pat and Mike, who, being distracted by the feeling of utter glory, didn’t realize that they just walked into the middle of a small, windowless and nearly soundproof locker room full of angry black basketball players from the inner city.

“Hey, look who’s dropping by. Maybe they are expecting some congratulations for the great game they played. Well, white boy, what you got to say?” Pat looked up, his pale face blushed and his eyes widened. This he did not expect. “Ah….well, what are you guys doing here?” “What the fuck do you think, white boy? Are you that dumb? We just want to admire how well you two played, and how you won, just so fair and square. Yeah, that’s it. Fair and square”. His teammates chuckled at this. “Uhhh….well…yeah. It was a good game. Hey, no hard feelings, right, dude”. “No, of course not, not at all. Let’s shake”. The large black player, who Pat fouled, got up from the bench where he was sitting, and took two steps toward Pat. Both Pat and Mike had a bad feeling, but, being surrounded and outnumbered, decided to go along. Pat raised his right hand, and extended it to the other man, who, in one motion, grabbed it with his left hand, and punched the unsuspecting Part in the stomach with his right. “Arghh!!” Pat clutched his stomach and doubled over. A second and third blow, delivered as a combination, left him on the floor, dazed. Mike jumped in to protect his friend, and nearly knocked the black man back against the lockers, but then he was grabbed from behind. Then the first attacker could deliver several repeated blows to Mike’s face. Mike kicked and swung as best he could, but being held underneath his arms he, too found his assailant gaining the upper hand. Soon he was also on the floor. Mike’s face was swollen and apparently his nose had been broken. He doubled over in pain. Pat was just struggling to his feet. He saw what happened to his friend and didn’t know what to do. He just stood there in silence. “Hey, white boy, your gay lover is in pain. Maybe you should help make him feel better”. “He isn’t my gay lover! I’m not gay!” “Well, you’re going to be by the end of tonight!” Pat was horrified by this statement. His face turned pale. Forgetting his friend lying on the floor, he tried to rush towards the door. Several of the other team players blocked him, striking him in the stomach again and kicking him in the legs in the bargain. He was trapped and being held by the arms by two assailants, and confronted by the big black player, who was nearly his height, but more muscular. “I said, if he’s your friend, make him feel better. Suck his dick! If you don’t we will gang fuck you both. Your choice.”

Pat knew he had no choice. He looked down at Mike, who was lying on his back, his knees bent, and looking on in pain and horror. “I have to do this, buddy.” Pat got down on his knees and approached Mike, separating his knees and reached between them to undo the drawstring of Mike’s black basketball shorts with the red and white stripes. Mike did not resist. He was in pain from the broken nose and he knew resistance would be foolish. The drawstring was loosened, then Pat gently tugged at the garment, sliding it lower. “Hurry up!” demanded one of the tormenters. The shorts were pulled down and removed entirely. Mike lay there still on his back with his knees bent. Below the waist he now wore only his sneakers, socks, and jockstrap. “Well, what the fuck you stopping for? Keep going!” After this the locker room fell silent again. All that could be heard was the snapping sound of a jock being removed from a low moaning college athlete. The garment made a last snapping sound, then was tossed aside. Pat, still on his knees looked down and again parted his friend’s knees. He looked at the large genitals that he would now have to perform oral sex on. “Well, start sucking!” “Yeah, suck that man meat! We know you want to!” Pat looked up, then around. He then opened his mouth, leaned forward, and put the large, cut penis into his mouth. His face was now buried between Mike’s legs, and his bottom was now higher than his head. The black team let out a cheer. Then they demanded more sucking, the suspicion being that Pat was only putting the penis in his mouth but not actually sucking it.

Pat sucked. He started slowly at first, then, as he got over the initial revulsion, increased the tempo. Mike, for his part, merely laid back. Involuntarily, he started to moan. This was not like the moan of pain, but the opposite. He was becoming sexually aroused. As this process continued, the penis slowly hardened, filling Pat’s mouth, and almost causing him to gag. He felt the warmth of the stiff organ in his mouth, the tip teasing his throat, and the warm, smelly groin area of his friend, and even the light tickle of the small amount of pubic hair Mike possessed. He could almost swallow Mike’s now packed scrotum as well, and at one point, reached with one hand and gently touched his friend’s anus, easily reached as Mike kept his knees bent. This produced, oddly even a louder moan from his friend, and cheers from the spectators. “More, more, suck more…harder!!!” Pat continued to suck. Mike’s penis gradually reached a crescendo. Mike’s legs extended straight, Mike’s moaning grew even louder, and he even appeared to be thrusting his hips foreword in order to impale his friend’s mouth. The exercise did indeed seem to make him feel better. He was now on his back, spread eagled, and rotating his head back and moaning uncontrollably. At last he reached the climax. He could hold out no longer. His erection exploded inside of Pat’s mouth. “Swallow all that jism! Swallow it all!!” Pat, out of fear or passion, or both, obeyed. He then sucked his friend dry. Also he did indeed, “swallow the load”.

“Well, I told you he was a fag. Now, for the real fun!” The team now were preparing to get their real revenge.

Pat slowly got back to his feet, the disgusting taste of his friends cum still in his mouth, almost making him gag. Mike, for his part, raised his head and sat up. Still with some pain from the broken nose he received, he slid over to the lockers, sitting on the dirty rug of the locker room floor. His back was against the lockers and he sat with his knees bent and his head down in shame and humiliation. Between his knees, his long and now flaccid penis dangled covered in his friend's saliva and now dripping with a strand of semen from his recent orgasm. He still wore his sweaty team basketball shirt as well as his sneakers and socks. Other than that, though, Mike sat naked on the floor. He simply sat, head bowed, in a stunned silence.

Pat faced his tormentors. He stammered to talk, as difficult as it was. "Uh, guys, well...uhh..I, I did, you know, what you said. Is that all? You guys made your point. I'm sorry. Can we go now? Please." "Now, white boy, since you enjoyed sucking off your buddy, you must be a fag. So, maybe you would like to suck us off, too?" "Uh...no..please, not that! I don't like the taste of cock! Really, I don't. Please, don't make me do that! I'll do anything! Take anything from me you want! I...I have money! I'll open my locker! Just see!" Pat, in a panic, opened up his locker, and started to toss his personal belongings out of it and onto the floor. He tossed out his wallet, with cash and credit cards, his nicer clothes that he was planning to go out in, and many more items. The black team members were temporarily distracted by this spectacle, and when Pat was left with just the clothes he was standing up in, demanded more. "What about your friends shit. Let's have it all!" Mike raised his head, looked up, and, realizing he had no other alternative, got up off the floor, and proceeded over to his own locker, and started to remove its contents. This was of interest to the black dudes, because, in his distracted state, he forgot to put his shorts back on, and was undoing his lock nude from his waist to his socks. As I mentioned earlier, Mike had a beautifully, and perfectly shaped backside. He was tanned, and his derriere was cute, bubbly and white, where the sun never shined.

Soon, both young men’s lockers were divested of there contents. Mike, glancing down at his exposed state, walked back over to his original seating position. He hoped that this ordeal would be over soon. Surely, they would be satisfied with this now, he thought. Pat hoped for the same. “Is this all the shit you clowns have got! What else!?” Uh…that’s all, I mean it, really.” Pat was pleading, but to no avail. His eyes were starting to become glassy, and his chin was starting to quiver. He was trying his best to hold back his tears. “Fine, then, we want everything. Take off your clothes, boy. Take it all off!!” Pat hesitated. What were they going to do? He looked around at the tough faces of his assailants. Maybe it was really just a robbery after all. The stuff could be replaced, and it was, after all, a locker room. Pat slowly removed his basketball shirt, and handed the garment over to the big black man that he had fouled. He took the garment, and then indicated Pat’s sneakers. Pat stood there, bare chested, tall, but not quite so muscular as the black man, his pale skin revealing just a slight touch of chest hair, but, beyond that, the young basketball player did not seem at all that masculine, with his big blue eyes so full of fear, and with so much of his smooth, young flesh exposed. Pat lifted his left leg, and struggling on one foot, he untied the strings to his sneakers. This made him nearly fall over, his long lanky frame not showing the least bit of grace. Some of the black guys snickered at this. Apparently Pat was too distracted to realize that there was a bench just right behind him where he could have sat down to remove his shoes. This ridiculous spectacle was repeated with the right foot. Both sneakers were then handed over to the large black man by Pat. Pat then straightened up, and stood in his basketball shorts facing the black man. He just stood there with his hands at his sides, desperately hoping that his ordeal would soon be over, but all the time feeling very very vulnerable. He was masculine enough, but in this situation, his long and lanky frame, with just enough adolescent baby fat, and his full hips that many tall white guys seem to have, as well as a rather flat, wide bottom, seemed now to become more obvious. It seemed to him that the black guys were looking at him as a woman, and not a man. He was having a hard time to prove otherwise, their masculinity surpassing his now by leaps and bounds. He had just a little chest hair, but not nearly that much, and his lack of much definition made his long frame seem almost feminine. Maybe this will be all, he thought. “Those, too.” The black man pointed to Pat’s shorts. Pat made another look around. He, however, knew by now what he had to do. Silently, and without any comment this time, he undid the drawstring to his shorts, and then, slowly he handed these over. He backed into the lockers behind him, nearly tripping over the bench that was nailed to the floor in the process. He now stood, terrified. He was now only wearing his jockstrap and socks! He just stood there, stunned, unable to respond to the situation, with his hands at his sides. If he had looked around he would have noticed that several of the black guys were starting to get hard. This sight was just too good in its absolute beauty and power to be resisted by them.