Hard Time for Rashanta | Neal's Home Page | ASSTR Home Page
CAUTION: This story is not politically correct. It includes the humiliation and degradation of willing and maybe not so willing black women. The "n" word is used liberally.
by Neal
Rashanta awoke gradually the next morning. She felt like she'd had strange dream and struggled to remember it as she lay with her eyes closed. Somehow she'd ended up in jail or some other preposterous place. But unlike a usual dream, this one didn't gradually dissolve to the point of being forgotten.
Instead more details came to her mind. Pulled over on the highway, arrested, transported, inspected, it was all so clear. Then she couldn't quite recall getting to the hotel and started to panic when she realized she didn't know where she was.
Slowly, the black woman became aware of the sounds around her. She heard the echo of distant voices. Another sound was much closer. A wet sound, slurping even. The loud grunting noise what it finally took to get her to open her eyes.
The reality of the situation hit Rashanta hard. She saw the low ceiling and barred walls of her cell. She felt a shudder and a sense of panic rising inside her. It wasn't a dream at all. She was locked up in a jail in a strange town a thousand miles from home. None of her friends or family knew where she was. She was alone and helpless.
The sound. The wet slurping sound. Rashanta rolled onto her side and looked to see what it was.
What she saw was Desiree, her cell mate, naked on her knees with her face up against the cell door. Outside the bars, a uniformed deputy stood. The white man was at least fifty years old, his hair mostly gray. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. The big black girl was obviously sucking his cock through the bars.
"That's it, bitch," said the deputy huskily, "suck it good. Suck it for your breakfast."
Rashanta watched in shock while Desiree moaned around the big white dick in her mouth as she sucked and slobbered on it. The fat negress pushed her face into the bars, straining to get it as far as it would fit in order to take as much of the deputy's cock in as she could.
"Ugh! Ahhh..." the white man grunted, releasing his sperm into the big black girl's waiting mouth.
Desiree remained in position until the deputy stepped back and his dick slipped out of her mouth. The negro girl sat back from the bars as he zipped up.
"You are a good cocksucker, Dee Dee," he allowed. "Even for a nigger. Here's your prize."
The deputy reached his hand through the bars and dropped a white wax paper bag on the concrete floor of the cell. Rashanta watched as he turned and walked away while her cell-mate opened the bag and pulled out what looked to be a pastry of some kind and took a bite.
"What is that?" asked Rashanta.
"Din't know you was up, girl," replied Desiree, startled. Powdered sugar was on her lips, semen on her chin. "It's a jelly donut from the deputy's break room. From yesterday. They was jus' gon' throw 'em out anyways. You want one?"
"Did you just blow that guy for them?" the slender black woman wanted to know.
"I'm hungry!" the big colored girl said defensively as she finished the donut. "We ain't reg'lar pris'ners so they ain't gon' feed us no breakfast wit' 'em. Might not get to eat 'til lunch. If you don't want the other one, I'll eat it."
"You sucked that guy's dick for stale ass donuts!" exclaimed Rashanta incredulously. "That's fucked up, girl!"
"You gots a lot to learn 'bout dis place, girl," Desiree explained as she started on the second donut. "You gots to go along to get along. You'll see."
Rashanta watched with disgust as her cell-mate wolfed down the jelly donut and wiped her face off on the back of her hand. Desiree stood up and picked her orange gown up off her bunk and put it on. The big black girl laid back down.
The slender negress was hungry, too, though. Rashanta tried to remember the last time she'd eaten and realized it was one small sandwich she'd been served on the airplane that had delivered her to this horrible place. She began to regret not having taken up her cell-mate's offer of the day old jelly donut in spite of what the big girl had done to get it.
After a couple of hours another deputy came to the cell door and opened it.
"Wallace," he announced. "Get your ass out here. Your lawyer's here."
Rashanta climbed down from the top bunk and the deputy took her through the corridor along the row of cells. The colored girls locked inside watched as the slender black woman was walked by them. Finally the arrived at a small room with a solid door. Inside was a table and a few wooden chairs.
"Wait here," he instructed. "He'll be along shortly."
The deputy closed the door. Rashanta sat in one of the chairs and looked around the room. Institutional green walls, no windows, same concrete floor as in the cells. After a few minutes the door opened.
A thin white man in his late forties entered. His brown hair was combed over, but did nothing to mask his baldness. His mustache was turning gray and didn't do much to give his non-descript face much character. He wore a cheap looking brown suit and carried a brief case in one hand and a handful of file folders in the other. He placed both on the table and sat down.
"I'm Sam Woodward," he said by way of introduction. "I'm the county public defender. I'll be handling your case."
He put on a pair of half frame reading glasses and opened one of the folders. He spent a minute glancing over it before looking up at the black woman.
"I'll be frank, Miss Wallace," he said, looking at her over the lenses of his glasses, "it doesn't look good for you. Grand theft is a little extreme, but there's no doubt that you took that car before it was paid for. That's taken very seriously in this state."
"It's all a big misunderstanding, that's all!" Rashanta told him. "I don't understand why they can't just charge my credit card and give me the papers!"
"It's not that simple," said Sam. "The rental agency is pressing charges and you're simply not going to walk away from this."
"This is ridiculous!" she protested. "What I did was no crime. It's bullshit! I need to talk to my sister or my boss at work. They'll get me a decent lawyer and get me the hell out of here! I haven't been able to make any calls yet."
"It says here you got your phone call," observed the lawyer.
"I called my worthless ass boyfriend like a fool," the black woman told him. "He wouldn't do shit. They wouldn't let make a call to anyone else."
"Well, that is the policy here," Sam informed her. "They're within the law."
"It doesn't matter now," explained Rashanta. "I can give you my sister's phone number and you can tell her what happened and she'll take care of getting me a lawyer."
"Why would I want to do that?", asked the white man, taking off the reading glasses. "If I don't defend you I won't get paid by the county."
"Jesus!" exclaimed the black woman. "Don't worry about it. I'll pay you make the lousy phone call. Probably more money than you'd get for the case, too."
"Maybe I don't want money from you, girl," he said.
Sam's eyes roved over her body and finally lingered on her nipples poking against the fabric of her prison gown. Rashanta knew what was on his mind right away and felt a wave of disgust. The idea of doing anything physical with this pathetic third rate lawyer was making her queasy. But it wouldn't be the first time she'd paid her way with her body.
* * *
The slender colored woman remembered the evening she earned her promotion to senior buyer in the vice president, Paul Davidson's office. Tall, handsome, and still fit looking for a man in his fifties, Rashanta had thought he was reasonably attractive. The silver haired white man had called her into his office the evening that the current senior buyer announced he was retiring.
"Shanta," Paul had begun, "I wanted to tell you that it's down to between you and Tyler. He's got the experience, but you bring something to the table that he can't. I'm just not sure I can justify passing him over."
"Well, Mr. Davidson," she'd said. "I really think the company would do well with me in that position. I can bring a fresh perspective to it."
"Hmmm," he'd gone on, "that's not quite what I meant. To tell you the truth, I was thinking of that fine black pussy of yours. I've never tasted brown sugar and I'd sure love to try it."
"Mr. Davidson!" The shock in her voice had been clear. "I can't believe you just said that!"
"Believe it, girl," Paul had said in a hushed voice. "Look, if you're not interested, fine. Just an idea I was toying around with, that's all. But I'd keep this to myself if I were you. I'll deny it ever happened. I've been at the company for over fifteen years. Who do you think they're gonna believe?"
Rashanta had realized instantly that he was right. Who'd believe her, a young black woman, over this older white man who held an executive position with years of seniority? Besides, she thought, she wanted the job and the money and respect that went with it. Using her own assets to her best advantage was nothing to be ashamed of, was it?
"Oh, it's not that at all!" she'd protested, thinking fast. "I didn't mean it like that! I just meant... I just meant that I couldn't believe you felt the same way as me. I... I've been, well, attracted to you for a long time. I just never dreamed you were thinking that way about me. You're so handsome and powerful! What woman wouldn't want to be with you?"
She'd studied his face for any sign that he doubted her sincerity. He had looked back at her for a long moment before continuing.
"Sorry about that, Shanta," he'd said at last. "Forget I said that. I'm flattered you'd be interested in an older man like me. I hope you understand my initial concern there. Can't be to careful and all that." He'd laughed nervously. "And, please, call me Paul."
"Oh, yes, Paul," she'd gushed. "Ever since I first saw you I'd had, well, naughty thoughts about you!"
Rashanta had swallowed hard and put on a false smile. Why had she felt so ashamed then if there was no shame in what she was doing?
"How about a drink?" Paul had gone on, getting a bottle out of desk drawer along with two glasses. "Sherry?"
"I'd like that," Rashanta had lied.
Whatever it took, she'd thought at the time. After a couple of glasses of sherry he'd maneuvered himself next to her on the low backed leather couch in his office. She'd smelled his breath, felt his lips on hers, his hand under her blouse. She'd just sat there and taken it. She'd known that she had to give him what he'd wanted if she was going to get what she wanted.
Rashanta had thought about how it would be to have her own office while Paul had slipped her panties off and dropped them on the plush floor. She'd imagined herself flying first class all over the country and staying at high class hotels as he'd let his pants drop and climbed between her open legs.
The black woman had visualized the big paychecks and expense account she'd have at the same time she'd felt the white man's hard dick enter her vagina. She'd dreamed of the prestige and respect she'd have in her new senior level position as he'd ejaculated inside of her.
The negress had pictured herself continuing to climb the corporate ladder even higher as the silver haired man had withdrawn himself from her and zipped himself up, leaving her laying gap legged on the couch, her pussy leaking his semen onto the expensive leather upholstery.
Rashanta remembered how the smell of sex hung in the air in Paul's corner office and the sticky wetness between her legs. She'd made some more small talk and told some more lies and hurried to elevator.
The colored woman had felt so used as she stepped into the lobby that evening on her way out the door. She'd realized she'd left her panties in his office at the same time the gray haired black security guard had said 'good night, Miz Wallace' to her as she passed his desk near the main entrance.
The slender negro had realized she'd left more than just her underwear behind as she'd sat behind the wheel of her Lexus. She'd known then that she'd also left her dignity and self respect in that white man's office. She couldn't remember a time before that when she'd felt so much like a whore and it had shamed her to her core. She was just a nigger, she'd thought. Nothing but a nigger bitch in a business suit. Silent tears had rolled down her cheek and his slime continued to seep out of her onto the driver's seat.
* * *
Rashanta looked across the interview table at the weasely white man who apparently represented her best hope of ending this nightmare. Alone and friendless, locked in a jail in place she'd never heard of and was anxious to forget, she knew she was in desperate straits. And desperate straits required desperate actions.
At least Mr. Davidson had been attractive, she thought. Sam Woodward was anything but that. But she valued her freedom even more highly than the fancy job her body had earned for her in the vice president's office. It was all too obvious to her that she didn't have much choice.
"Ok," sighed Rashanta. "What do you want me do?"
"You can start by taking that gown off" said Sam, grinning at her. "Orange doesn't look good on you."
The black woman felt the tears of shame welling in her eyes. She stood and pulled the orange prison gown off over her head, exposing her naked body to the now sweating white man. He slowly took in the sight of her firm breasts, hard nipples, flat belly, and hairy bush.
"Turn around," said Sam in a hoarse whisper.
Rashanta complied and turned her back to him. Her face was hot with humiliation. A tear rolled out of one eye, leaving a wet track across her cheek. The seedy lawyer drank in the view of her bubble butt and full brown thighs.
"Damn, but you're mighty fine lookin' for a colored girl," Sam said at last. "Mighty fine indeed. Come here, girl. Sit in my lap."
"Is that all you want?" she asked, the contempt in her voice unmistakable. "Ok, then, I'll do it."
She stepped towards him, her shoulders slumped.
"Why do you have to be so negative, girl?" he responded, peeved. "I wanted to start this off all friendly and you go an' act like that!"
"Let's just get this over with, ok?" Rashanta said with resignation.
"Well, if that's the way you feel about it, we can skip the amenities," replied Sam. "Get on your knees, bitch. Get on your knees and suck my dick."
Any hint of friendliness in the attorney's manner evaporated. He stood up and put his hands on his hips, looking right into her face.
The black woman had always hated performing oral sex on her lovers. It was utterly degrading. To put her face at the level of his crotch. To take his cock into her mouth. They always expected her to swallow it, too. The thought of taking what came out of some man's dick into her body disgusted her.
"What?" said the black woman, taken aback. "I will not!"
"You will if you want me to make those calls, cunt," he said. "Personally, I don't give a shit about taking your case, I've got more than I can handle as it is. But I'll take a blow job to make a phone call. Or the next bitch will suck it instead. Whatever. So what's it gonna be?"
Rashanta had no alternative. She needed to get word to her sister about her situation. This weasely lawyer was her only chance at making that happen. She got on her knees in front of him and looked up into his face.
"So, you wanna suck it, bitch?" he taunted her.
"I'll do it," she sighed. "I don't have much choice."
"No, you don't, do you?" he sneered. "But with that attitude, maybe I'm not interested. Maybe I want you to want it. Or at least act like you do. So let's try it again. You wanna suck my dick, bitch?"
"Yes," said the black woman.
"Yes, what?" prompted the lawyer.
"Yes, I want to suck your dick," she said, feeling the tears welling in her eyes.
"Yes, you want to suck my dick, what?" he prodded.
Fuck! she thought. She was completely humiliated at being forced to beg for performing an act of utter degradation. Her face was hot with the shame of it and she felt a lump in her throat. But she knew what he wanted to hear.
"I want to suck your dick, sir," she said at last. "Please."
"That's better," he replied, triumphant. "Go ahead and suck it, bitch."
Sam unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down to his knees. He took his dick in his hand and started slapping the side of her face with it. Physically, there was no pain from it, but emotionally she was devastated at having to just take it.
"Get on with it!" he ordered, still dick slapping her in the face. "Get busy!"
His cock smelled of stale sweat and wasn't completely erect, but she began to suck on it anyways. She could feel it growing in her mouth. She sucked harder and the occasional slurping noise escaped.
"That's the way," murmured the lawyer, "suck it good."
The white man began bucking his hips, thrusting his cock into her mouth. The colored woman choked on it and tried to pull back. But that only made him reach his hand around the back of her head, grabbing a handful of her hair, and shoving it in even deeper. The negress gagged on it.
"Uh uh, girl," he corrected her. "You'll take it and like it. Or at least you'll take it. I don't give a shit whether you like it or not."
"Mmmmffff!" she responded, her mouth full of white cock.
Rashanta's throat hurt as the tip of his dick kept banging into it. Her nose was in his pubic hair and his balls hit her on the chin. Her eyes watered and she could feel herself drooling around his cock. But she kept sucking hard in an effort to get him off quickly and end her torment.
Just then the door opened. The naked black woman looked up from her knees on the floor to see a uniformed deputy standing in the doorway.
"God damn it, Hank!" exclaimed Sam, annoyed, his pants around his knees. "Can't you see I'm with a client!"
"Uh, sorry, Mr. Woodward," he said, never taking his eyes off the debased negro woman. "You gotta another one waiting..."
"I'll be there when I'm through with this one," he said. "Now get out!"
The white deputy leered at the kneeling negro woman for a moment and closed the door. Rashanta was thoroughly humiliated at having been seen this way. She'd been forced to suck cock in the past to get what she wanted, but she never had a third party watching her degradation.
Despite his reaction to the interruption, Sam seemed invigorated by being seen with her by the deputy. Rashanta figured that he liked being seen by others exercising power over her this way. Him, standing, mostly dressed, with his cock in his client's mouth. Her, naked on her knees, servicing a virtual stranger.
The attorney fucked the negress's face even harder for a few strokes and then abruptly pulled out and grabbed his cock. She was startled by his action and started to look up at him. Suddenly he exploded with a series of loud grunts.
One spurt of hot semen after another hit her as he ejaculated in her face. The first left a white streak from her forehead and into her hair. The second caught her in the eye. The third on her cheek. Then he put his dick back into her still open mouth and finished draining it down her throat.
Sam stood over her, gloating, for at least half a minute. Rashanta couldn't look at him and hung her head. Her eye burned from his sperm and his semen dripped off her face onto her chest and onto the floor.
"See, I knew you'd be a good cocksucker," the white man told her as he pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt. "Niggers always are. I guess it's just natural."
The black woman remained on her knees, shamed and humiliated. She felt thoroughly used and degraded. Far worse than she ever had with Mr. Davidson. Paul had at least tried to maintain the illusion that she was his lover and not just a piece of fuck meat. Plus she'd never felt so desperate in giving in to him the way she did now, giving into the weasely lawyer.
Sam gathered the papers on the table and opened the door. Rashanta looked up and watched as he exited the room and left the door open. Anyone passing by could see her, kneeling naked on the floor, her face coated with cum. A used whore.
Hank the deputy appeared in the doorway and looked down at her, leering as he had before.
"Well, ain't you a sight!" he chortled gleefully. "I heard you were actin' all high an' mighty when you was brought in. Look at you now! Just another nasty nigger whore. Like all the others we got in here."
Rashanta hung her head back down and wept noiselessly from the shame of it. In the back of her mind, she feared he was right. That that's all she was in spite of all her efforts to lift herself higher.
"Get up off the floor onto your hind legs, girl," he ordered her. "Time to put you back in your cage."
The negress slowly stood up and grabbed her prison gown. She tried to decide whether to wipe her face off on the gown or not. There was nothing else at hand to use.
"Let's go!" said the deputy impatiently. "You can put that back on back in the cell. I ain't got all day! Move it!"
Rashanta started to wipe her face off as she walked. The deputy stopped her.
"Leave it alone, slut," he ordered her. "You look better that way. Ain't no doubt what you are now!"
The black woman was mortified. She had to follow the white deputy through the cell block, naked, her face dripping with semen. The negress inmates laughed and and called to her as she walked by.
"Welcome to county lock up, bitch!" one shouted.
The others laughed. Rashanta was deeply shamed and tried to look straight ahead and ignore them and their taunts. At last they arrived at her cell. The deputy opened the door.
"In you go," he instructed her indifferently.
The negro woman stepped into the empty cell. Desiree was nowhere to be seen. She heard the door clang shut behind her. She used a sheet to wipe the lawyer's cum off her face and put her gown back on. Then she just lay in her bunk and waited, staring up at the low ceiling..
She must have drifted off to sleep because the sound of the door opening again woke her up. She looked up to see Desiree, naked, holding her gown in her hand. The white deputy was just shutting the door. She watched as the big black girl shuddered at the metallic clang as the door latched. The deputy walked away without saying anything. The fat negress put her gown back on.
"You 'wake?" Desiree asked.
"Yeah," replied Rashanta, rolling onto her side to face her.
"Thanks for givin' me a break back there, girl!" the big girl said.
"Huh?" the slender negro woman was puzzled.
"With Woody!" Desiree went on. "The lawyer? Sam Woodward?"
"I know him, alright," said Rashanta with disgust. "But I don't know what you mean."
"He said you blew him," the fat negress explained. "You blew him so I didn't have to. That white man's a nasty mother fucker."
"I had to," replied the older black woman. "He wouldn't call my sister or my boss otherwise. No one even knows I'm here! What else could I do?"
"Woody said he'd do somethin'?" chortled Desiree. "That be a first for that asshole!"
"He told me he'd call them if I... you know," stammered Rashanta.
"Oh, yeah," agreed the big black girl, "I know alright. Tell me, did he ask for a phone number? Or a name?"
"Uh...," the slender negress pondered. "No, he didn't."
"I's sorry, girl," said Desiree. "I's sorry I laughed, 'cause it ain't no joke. That white man ain't gonna do shit. Long as you here and you his client he be usin' you, know what I's sayin'?. He ain't gonna do nothin' to fuck that up."
"That bastard!" exclaimed Rashanta. "That fucking bastard! I'm not gonna let him get away with it!"
"Ain't nothin' you can do, girl," the big black girl told her. "You is fucked big time now an' you gots to get used to it. You gotta go along to get along. Ain't no other way."
"Like hell there ain't!" the older woman replied, hoping what her cell mate said wasn't true. "I can't start believing that or I might as well just give up."
Rashanta rolled on to her back and tried to think of what she could do to get out of this hell hole she'd found herself in. But the more she thought, the more she realized she was thoroughly trapped and utterly helpless. She knew she was completely at the mercy of this place and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
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