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Message-ID: <27868asstr$976763402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Pink Bette <pinkbet@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Black burglars 2 (Sam) (MMF reluc d/s interr)
Date: Wed, 13 Dec 2000 22:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

BLACK BURGLARS 2: SAM

This is a continuation of the story begun in "Black Burglars 1 (Tom)"
which was posted to alt.sex.stories.moderated (ASSM) on December 7,
2000. If you like this, you should read that one too.

As labeled, this is an interracial story. It contains racist and sexist
language, with some domination/submission, a hint of BDSM, and even a bit of
blasphemy.  It also involving an initially reluctant "rape" victim (first
taken by Tom in the previously mentioned story).  While not actually depicted
here, this story also refers to male homosexual incest.

Standard disclaimers apply. This is a story for adults; if you're a kid,
close your eyes and go away. If you think the story will offend you,
ditto.

Thanks,
Pink Bette

---------------------------

BLACK BURGLARS 2: SAM

(In "Black Burglars 1 (Tom)," two black men, brothers, enter Bette's
apartment in the middle of the night to burglarize it. Finding nothing
worth stealing, they decide to at least get something out of the night
-- Bette.  Tom takes her first, and she likes it.  Now it's Sam's turn.)

I expected Sam to strip down and climb onto the bed to take his
brother's place between my legs, and to pump into me until his jism
exploded out to mix with his brother's hot cum and my own juices in the
recesses of my cunt.

Instead he stood silently beside the bed and ran his fingers slowly up
my right leg from ankle to outer thigh.  I had expected him to be
brutal, a savage, but he was surprisingly gentle.  His hand moved to to
the inside of my leg, again ran up it from ankle to thigh -- but this
time my inner thigh.  I was still spread open and wide as Tom had left
me, and I could feel our mixed juices seeping from my pussy.  I was
aware of Tom, still naked, standing at the end of the bed watching his
brother touch me.  He had taken possession of me with his cock.  He had
made me beg, had forced me to call him my master, had ordered me to
spread wide for his brother....

Sam parted my labia with his fingers and ran them up the slick length of
my slit.  I couldn't see his hand over the slight swell of my belly, but
his skin was dark, dark as the fudge someone had brought in to work that
morning.  The bottoms of his hands would be paler, but the back of his
hand would be that same color, nigger dark against the deep glistening
pink of my cunt.  I almost moaned as he stroked my slit and pressed his
nigger thumb against the hard nub of my clitoris.   Suddenly he brought
his hand to my face to wipe my cum and his brother's across my lips.  He
didn't say it, but I remembered what his brother had called me: "white
whore."  I felt a rush of mixed shame and excitement.

I could see Sam more closely now, his thick purple-veined cock standing
out from his jeans, his left hand unbuttoning his blue and white plaid
shirt to reveal the dark skin of his chest and belly as his other hand,
still damp, softly stroked up my belly.  Like Tom he was well-muscled
with a flat but toned stomach.  I couldn't help but look on him, to
follow the flow of blackman's skin from the base of his throat down his
chest, belly, the slight curve from his belly button down to his tight
curls of pubic hair, his penis jutting stiffly out.  It was hard with
niggerlust for me.

His right hand was now on my right breast, close, where I could see
clearly the contrast of my pale skin to his dark.  My chest rose and
fell, I could hear my own breathing fast and shallow.  His hand cupped
my right breast and squeezed lightly.  I have full breasts, the size of
canteloupes but softer, with large rose-pink aureoles that are usually
smooth but which darken and wrinkle when I'm excited.  He rubbed my
right nipple and it responded; he rubbed it till it was hard, and he
took it lightly between thumb and forefinger.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

I almost jumped at the sound of his voice. If was the first thing he'd
said since he agreed to let his brother use me first.

He squeezed my nipple lightly.  "Did you enjoy my brother's cock inside
you?"

What was I supposed to say?  His own cock was so close to my face -- I
was wondering if he would force me to suck it.  How it was going to feel
when he filled me with it.

He suddenly pinched my nipple hard between his thumb and finger.  The
pinch lasted only a moment, but it sent a spike of pain through me that
made me cry out.

"That's the first lesson," he said.  He bent down and took my chin in
his hand, compelling me to look into his eyes.  "My questions are never
rhetorical, Bette, unless I tell you they are.  I expect you to answer
them.  If the answer is more complex than a simple yes or no, then you
may use other words.  But you will answer.  Do I make myself clear?"

I couldn't read his eyes.  I feared what he could see in mine.  I nodded
mutely, then remembered I must speak.  "Yes, I understand," I gasped
out.  I was full of fear, but also of excitement.  I could feel how wet
my cunt was.  I could only barely keep my hips still.

"Very good."  He released my chin and stood straight, again taking my
nipple between his fingers.  "Now again: did you enjoy my brother's cock
inside you?"  His eyes still had mine locked.

How could I answer?  If I said yes, it was as if to say that it was
perfectly fine for them to break into my apartment and force me.  But if
I said no, then -- what if he wouldn't -- what if he wouldn't -- it was
hard to finish the question in my own mind -- what if he wouldn't fuck
me?  But of course he would -- but what if he didn't?  Had I enjoyed his
brother's cock?  Oh, how Tom had made me beg, how desparate I'd been for
his niggervirile thrusts.  I could feel Tom's eyes on me.  How he'd know
my denial for a lie.

"I was scared...," I told Sam, breathing hard, finding the admission
difficult to speak -- "so scared... but yes... I liked it.  Yes."

Sam said nothing, but I could see his pleasure in my answer.  He
squeezed my nipple lightly, just enough to send a shiver through me,
then moved his hand again to my pussy.  He probed gently and a finger,
it must have been his middle finger, entered my vagina.  There he left
it, his dark finger in my cunt and the heel of his hand resting on my
clit and pubic mound.

"Di you enjoy my brother reporting to me as he fucked you about how
tight and hot your snatch was around his rock hard cock?"

It was maddening how light the pressure of his hand was.  The question
-- how could he ask it, it was so shameful... but exciting... and his
left fingers now took my nipple and quickly I answered, "Yes."

"Did you enjoy knowing that my brother is black and that the cock inside
you was a black man's cock?"

Just as the stiff prick so close in my view was a black man's stiff
price, that I wished so desperately would enter and use me now, and I
felt Sam's finger inside my snatch, not enough for me but something, and
I did it, I admit it, I pushed up against his hand to feel the  pressure
of his hand against my clit and to bring his finger deeper into me.
"Yes," I said, "I did," and I felt a flush of deep shame course through
me, but it only excited me fuirther, to be seen so naked and desperate
by this virile black man and his brother, the nigger who had already
made me his whore.

"Did it excite you when my brother talked about whoring you out to other
black men?  Did it excite you to imagine being a white whore with an
endless succession of nigger cocks fucking and using you at my brother's
command?  Did it excite you to think of how you look with your legs open
wide and a black man between them, pinning you to your bed with the
force of his pistoning cock?"

With each question I ground harder up against his hand, trying
desperately to bring his finger deeper inside me, begging with my body
for him to fuck me with it.

And to every question I answered, "Yes."

"Do you want me to plant my cock in your tight white pussy, Bette?"

"Yes!" I groaned.  "Yes!"

"Good."  He took his hand away.  I groaned, panting, needing it, needing
his stiff prick even more.  He saw my need and for the first time I saw
him smile.  "Very good," he laughed softly.  "I will.  But not yet."

He laughed again at my grown of frustration.  "There's nothing that
pleases me so well as a white bitch begging for satisfaction from a
black man.  Especially when that black man is me."  He smiled again,
flashing his white teeth.  "It's a pleasure I've denied my brother,
until now.  But it came time to reward him."  He nodded, pleased.
"Thomas chose well when he chose you as the white bitch for me to
enslave.  Would you like me to enslave you with my cock, Bette?"

My cunt was now fucking the air for lack of his hand.  "Ohhhh, goddddd,
yessss" I moaned.  "But --"

"But?"

"Aren't I... don't I belong to... Tom... now?" I asked.

"Ah."  He laughed.  "I see explanations are necessary.  Thomas -- are
you hard again yet?"

"Yes, sir," Tom answered quickly.

"Then enter this white bitch again."

"Yes, sir," Tom answered enthusiastically, and he climbed onto the bed,
grinning down at me.  He showed me his prick, stiffly erect again, then
with a grunt stabbed it into me.  "Oh yeah," he sighed, "hot and tight
and silky fine."

"Fuck her slow, boy," his brother said.  "Just enough to keep her
wanting.  And mind you don't cum into her, boy.  The next black man to
coat her fine cunt with jism will be me.  Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Oh god, it felt good, Tom's weight on me and his movement as he pulled
back, then pushed slowly in again... but not hard enough, not forceful
enough.  "Please, please," I begged, "please, harder, fuck me, please."

He just laughed and said, "I listen to my brother, bitch.  I listen and
obey.  You best listen too.  And if things work out...."

"My brother has a fine cock," Sam said.  Then he took my right hand and
wrapped it around his own thick tool.  "He can tell you how fine mine
is, too."  I could see and feel its fineness -- a thick stiff dark shaft
of male flesh that itself was like a powerful muscle, smooth but for the
purplish veins and the flare of his cockhead.  His cock was thicker than
the one inside me now, though not frightening in its girth or length --
thick enough to fit me tightly, long enough to fill me fully, but not so
long that, that he couldn't thrust as hard and deep as he wanted and
still be fully inside me.  I grasped it, feeling its strength, wanting
it, wanting it inside me, dominating me, owning me.  But I belonged to
--

"Thomas, tell Bette how fine my cock is."

Thomas gave a stiff thrust and smiled at my groan.  He pulled back
slowly.  "When I was 13 and my brother was 15," he said, fucking slowly
into me again, "we went swimming once, skinnydippin', y'know, at this
little lake we knew in the woods.  And Samuel saw me look at his prick
and he asked me if I liked it, and before I could even say anything me
made me get down on my knees like in church and suck it.  And then he
pushed me on the ground facedown and spread my ass cheeks and he fucked
my cherry ass but good."  With "fucked" he stabbed hard into me to make
me groan again.  He pulled back, slowly, telling me, smiling, "And tha's
how my brother Samuel made me, his own brother, into his slave."

Sam's cock had gotten even harder, if it was possible, as Tom gave this
account.  "Does it excite you, Bette, to imagine the man who is now
violating you now being violated by the cock you hold in your hand?"

His cock now was thick and ridged, his cockhead glistening with precum.
 How could he stand there, so aroused, without fucking me with it right
now?  Or -- or climbing behind his brother and fucking _him_?
Sodomizing his own brother as his brother fucked me?

"Yes," I panted.  "Yes."

"You see, Bette," Sam explained, "when my brother rapes you -- for you
might still think of it as rape, though it's certain how very much you
want it -- he does so only on my suffrance and with my sanction.  His
cock is my property, just as his ass that I ream with this prick is my
property, and all the rest of him is my property too.  When my brother
masters you with his cock, he is acting as my cock. But your _real_
enslavement will be with _this_."  He moved his hip just enough that his
stiff shaft moved in my hand, so I could feel the hard ridges of it, see
how black it looked in my hand, imagine it in my mouth, my ass, my cunt.
 When would he do it?  How could he stand there and not do it?  How long
before he pulled his brother off me and brutally thrust that stiff
nigger fuckpole into me?

"You might remember, Bette, how we came to you tonight, as burglars.
Perhaps you've guessed by now that the real reason we came was to do
exactly this: to force your legs apart and enslave you with our hard
black dicks.  Just as you've always fantasized."

His cock in my hand, his brother's cock in my cunt -- I had thought I
was overwhelmed with that, but his comment sliced through it all.  My
fantasies?  What did he know about my fantasies?

"Thomas," Sam commanded.

Tom gave me a hard thrust -- it seemed to be his way of gaining my
attention.  "I saw you at the video store, bitch, looking at the dirty
movies.  You were awful nervous, afraid someone would discover what a
whore you are, I 'spect.  But what really got my attention was what
movies you liked.  All those niggers with those white bitches kneeling
at their feet sucking their big black dicks.  Oh yeah.  You liked black
dick. My brother had said I could look for a white bitch for him to make
his slave, and that he'd let me fuck her, and he'd even let me fuck her
first.  And you looked so fine, there in that store, lusting over black
cock but too scared to act on it, you looked like the perfect white
whore.  You'd be so fine with my cock thrusting into you, moaning and
begging like you white bitches do.  And you just as fine a whore I
thought you'd be, too, bitch."  He laughed down at me.  "So I followed
you home and watched you.

"And I broke in when you were at work and I found your stash.  All those
videos you duped.  'Black Slaver.'  'White Slave Sluts.'  'Black Daddy
Master.'  'White Bitches, Black Dick.' Found the stories you printed off
from the Internet, too, anything that had black cock and white pussy
begging for it.  Stories about white bitches being forced by black studs
and discovering how much they wanted it.  Saw that big black dildo you
like to fuck yourself with."

He laughed.  My face must have been bright red.  I thought I had hidden
all that stuff so well.

He laughed again, stiffing me with his prod.  "I told my brother what I
found, and today we watched outside your house so he could check you
out, and he thought you were fine too."

"You would never have acted on your own, would you have, Bette?" Sam
asked.  "You would fucked yourself with your black dildo as you watched
your movies and read your stories, but you wouldn't have what you really
wanted.  You wouldn't have had Thomas.  You wouldn't have had me.  You
wouldn't have this."  And he put his black hands over my white one,
holding my hand firmly on his hard tool as he pulled his cock back, then
thrust it forward, letting me know how he would move when he put it
inside me.

"The burglary thing was an act, Bette, to give you what you wanted.  You
would never have acted on your fantasies, so we broke in here tonight to
force them on you.  To force on you what you wanted: to become a slave
and whore to the black men you've always wanted.

"How lucky my brother is that his is the first black cock inside your
whore's cunt.  But he won't be the last, will he, Bette?  Will he?"

He put his fingers on my nipple to remind me.  "No," I said with a low
moan.  "He won't be the last."

Sam chuckled.  "No, of course not, because in just a few minutes, _this_
--" and he shoved his cock at me -- "will be inside you.  Would you like
to be my white slave, Bette?"

"Yeeessss."

"I'm pleased with you, Bette.  I want you to be my slave too.

"But remember what I told you?  There's nothing that pleases me as much
as a white bitch begging for a black man to satisfy her.  When my
brother is inside you, fucking you, and you're begging for it, that's
very pleasing to me.  But you're also, shall we say, not entirely
yourself.  What if, once you've been sated, you have second thoughts?
What if you don't _really_ want to be my slave?  I don't what a bitch
who's unhappy being my property.  I want a _willing_ bitch.  A white
bitch whose begging will always be in earnest.  The begging of a whore
in the moment she's being fucked can't always be trusted.  It doesn't
make a very good contract."

My eyes widened.  "No!" I said.  "I want to, please!  Please trust me!
Please make me your whore!  Please own me, please!"

"Very pleasing."  He smiled.  "But what it will really take is for you
to be in your right mind when you beg me.

"When we leave you tonight, Bette, I will leave a contract and a message
number.  The contract tells you just what you can expect as my slave,
and what I will expect from you.  The number is for you to contact me if
and when you're prepared to beg me properly to become your lord and
master.

"It could be, Bette, that when we leave here, and the last tremors of
the orgasm I give you are gone, that you'll feel shame and horror.  Or
you'll be angry at how two niggers broke into your apartment and raped
you.  The fact that you wanted us to will make no difference -- you
might still be outraged.  Maybe you'll call the cops.

"You are welcome to, if that's what you decide.  You're welcome to try
to find us, though you won't.  Or you can simply forget -- or try to
forget -- us."

Tom made a noise of disbelief.  Sam chuckled.

"We won't come back here.  We wait for your call.  We'll wait two weeks,
and if you haven't called, Tom will find another white bitch to be my
slave instead."

The thought made me groan.  _I_ would be his slave.  _I_ wanted this
thick nigger cock so hard and virile and black to prove on me his
ownership of me again and again.  I wanted this descendant of slaves to
enslave me and use me like a slut, like a white whore, a bitch
constantly in heat to be mounted by her black owner.

"Two weeks.  That gives you enough time to move to where we can't find
you, to call the cops, to do whatever it is you need to do to make
yourself feel safe from us.

"Though you know as well as I do, Bette, that we'll always be there in
your mind.  So choose wisely.  A fantasy of us, with a black rubber
dildo -- or us, and our real cocks, making you moan and squirm and beg
as we use you for our pleasure, making every fantasy real.

"But before we go, bitch -- I will show you just exactly what it means
to be my possession."

He removed my hand from his cock.  "Thomas, out."

Thomas was instantly obedient.  He pulled out, his black prick shiny
with my juices.  It was still hard, and he was obviously in distress at
being unable to finish himself off in me.  Strangely, his exit excited
me almost more than anything else he'd done: he must have wanted to cum
inside me again, and force me to come, but he was his brother's slave,
made a slave in the same way they were making me into a slave, with the
power of Sam's dominating maleness.  His obedience to his brother
aroused me.

No sooner had Tom pulled out than his brother reached for my hand and
pulled me up, forced me to get off the bed.  He walked me into the
living room, switching on the overhead.  He pulled me suddenly to him,
and I felt his cockhead brush across my ass.  He pushed my legs apart
and his cock slid between them, his shaft rubbing against my hot slit.
My labia were swollen with need, and my clit and cunt ached.

He pushed me against the back of the couch and held me there.
Meanwhile, still naked, Tom -- apparently to some prearranged plan --
was hooking a videocamera up to the back of my TV.  "No!" I said
involuntarily, assuming they were making some blackmail tape.

"Don't worry, bitch," Tom laughed, "we won't keep a copy, we're just
adding to your video collection."  He switched the TV on -- and there I
was, naked, Sam black and dominating behind me.

Sam smiled at the camera, his eyes narrowed.  "If you call the cops,
Bette, you can give this to them to ID us.  But chances are, if they
watch it, they'll just pull you into an interrogation room and fuck you
themselves."  He laughed.  "Does that thought excite you, Bette, being
thrown onto an interrogation room table with a bunch of cops putting it
to you?"  He was teasing my clit by rubbing his shaft back and forth
against it.  I groaned, watching myself on the TV groaning.  He put a
hand on a nipple: a reminder.  "Yes," I moaned, and then I couldn't help
adding, because he knew this about me already, "if they were black
cops."

He laughed and gave my nipple a soft pinch.  "You please me, bitch.
I'll make your darkest, blackest fantasies come true.  If you beg
properly.  And I'll hurt you too.  If you beg for it.  And I can make
you beg for it.  Can't I?"  He took my other nipple, and he pressed his
cock up between my swollen aching labia and pinched both nipples at
once, hard.  I cried out in pain, watching his hands on my breasts on
the TV, how black they were, knowing how black and hard and virile that
nigger cock behind me was, and my cunt juices poured out to slicken it.
 I could see why they wanted to put this on camera: they wanted me to
see how black Sam was against my white skin, they wanted me to watch the
very blackness of him dominate and use me.

Tom took the camera off the tripod and approached us with it.  His cock
was rock hard, but he was focused on watching us with the camera, making
us appear on my TV -- Sam's black hands, my white breasts -- another
hard pinch, another cry of pain followed immediately by a rush of juices
flowing out of my pussy onto his cock.  "Remember the question, bitch,"
Sam said.

A question?  He asked a question?

"I can make you beg for me to hurt you, can't I?" Sam reminded.

The pinches -- yes.  They hurt, but they made me feel -- helpless.
Overcome.  Overpowered.  A slave.  He could do anything he wanted with
me.  "Yes," I said, "yes.  Please... please hurt me.  Please fuck me."

He pinched my nipples again, twisted them in his black fingers.  I cried
out, "Ow! fuck! that hurt, you fucking nigger!" and he laughed, pinched
and twisted them again.

"You're beautiful angry, bitch, I think I like to make you angry," he
said.  "Do you want me to hurt you again?"

The TV now showed my ass from the side, his stiff fuckprod fucking
between my legs.  "Yes!" I shouted.  "Hurt me, fuck me, fuck me you
filthy black nigger, fuck me, hard, hard, please!"

Tom pulled the camera back and I saw me on the screen begging, my eyes
angry, but I wanted it, wanted it, angry at wanting it, angry at needing
it, at my desparate whorish need to be fucked by this perfect stranger,
to have him make me his slave.  Sam pinched my nippled again, making me
screen, and he said in my ear, dark and cruel, "Beg, bitch.  Beg me to
become your god."

"Please, god, please, god, please, god -- please be my god, let me
worship you with my cunt, please fuck me god, fuck me, own me with it,
please... -- "

And as I continued my prayer of helpless need, he bent me over the
couch, making me even more helpless.  I could still see the TV, and I
saw Sam force my legs roughly apart even as I felt him do it.  I saw his
swollen black cockhead at the dark pink entrance of my cunt, I saw it
press into me and I felt it press into me and I saw his thick ridged
shaft follow it in.  He was inside me, my black god was inside me, he
was impaling me, ramming it in.  I was full of him, so full -- yes, he
was bigger than his brother, and irrelevantly I wondered how Tom could
fit this massive godhead into his tight nigger ass.  On the screen my
mouth was open wide.  I was panting.  Sam pulled back, very slow, and
very slowly pressed back into me, filling me.

"You've done very well, Thomas," Sam said.  "She's a fine white bitch.
Her cunt is indeed very tight, very hot around my prick.  I'll reward
you well, Thomas, for finding us such a fine white whore."  He pulled
back, pushed slowly in again, fucking me slowly and deeply.  "Do you
think she'll want to be my slave, Thomas, after tonight?"

"How can she not want to, master?" Tom said, now getting a nice shot of
Sam, still in his shirt and jeans, fucking his naked white whore.  They
must have realized how much I'd alwasy fantasized about being completely
naked, being fucked by a nigger who was still clothed, bent over a
couch.  What else had they realized?

As if reading my mind, Sam pulled me up off the couch.  "Move it," he
said, and the picture onscreen went wild for a moment as Tom pushed the
couch to the side so that Sam, his cock still embedded in me, wouldn't
have to pull out to move me.  We came back onscreen, and Tom quickly
knelt down to get a frontal shot of my pink glistening slit and the
shaft of his brother's cock sticking up into my pussy, his massive
testicles dangling below.  Then Sam forced me to me knees, following me
down so as not to come out, and onscreen there I was on hands and knees
with a hard nigger buck fucking me like a dog.  Now Tom could get a
better shot of how the stiff prick that had sodomized him at age 13 was
taking me from behind, in and out, hard, rough, like a powerful animal,
a stallion mounting his mare.

And then Sam slowed down, to make me beg.

"Do I own you, Bette?"

"Oh yes, oh yes...."

"Who am I, Bette?"

"My owner... oh god, yes, hard hard fuck me...."

"Do you want to be my slave, Bette?"

"Yes, yes, please, yes...."

"Do you think you'll want to be my slave tomorrow, when you wake up
exhausted and sore and all your shame comes back to you?"

"Oh god, yes yes yes please fuck me!"

On screen he appeared calm, his eyes cruel but smiling, and there was a
smile on his lips.  Nothing please him so well as a white bitch begging
to be satisfied by a black man, especially when that black man was him.
 And there I was, my hair in disarray, my face flushed, completely his.
 Nothing pleased me so well as to be his white bitch begging, to feel
this cock of a descendant of slaves making me into his slave, his whore,
his shameful shameless white bitch.  If he had placed a whole room of
erect nigger cocks before me in that moment, and told me I must suck off
each and every one and swallowed all their jism, before he would bring
me to satisfaction, I would have done it.

"I am your god, aren't I?" he said.  "Even if you get frightened
tomorrow and run away, you'll always worship me, won't you?  You'll
always want me inside you, hurting you, humiliating you, making you beg?
 Won't you?"

I knew it was true.  I would never forget.  I would always want him.
And I said so.  "You own me.  You're my god.  Please, I beg you, God,
please, fuck me.  Please fuck your slave.  Please...."

And he did.  His eyes narrowed and he began a hard pistoning fuck, as
brutal as I had thought he'd be, brutal and cruel and exciting,
dominating and owning me with every savage thrust.  He called me his
whore, his white bitch, and told me as he fucked me how he'd make me eat
his cock, how he'd sodomize me, how he'd teach me to accept pain and
he'd fuck me for a reward.  I felt his balls slap against my pubic mound
as he thrust into me, and then he'd pull out, so far as to almost drop
from my pussy, and then slam in again.  "Beg me, bitch, beg me," he
said, pinching my nipples hard to make me cry out, and I begged like a
whore, knowing myself for one, and watched the results of my begging on
the screen and felt it in my cunt and in the sharp pains of my nipples.

And with a deep, savage thrust, I felt him explode inside me, felt his
jism fill my cunt, and even as he came he gave my nipples another hard
twist and I my own orgasm came, my cunt walls throbbing around the black
fuckmuscle he had enslaved me with.

I knew he was right.  Even if I got scared tomorrow, and called the
cops, and moved away so he couldn't find me, he would always own me.

After a time, he pulled out of me and stood up.  He walked around to
stand in front of me, his prick now limp but still powerfully male,
still beautifully black.  "Kiss it," he said.

I kissed it.  Hindus worshiped the phallus of Shiva.  I would worship
the cock of my living black god, the instrument of his enslavement of
me.

Tom turned off the TV.  He took the tape out of the camcorder and put it
on the TV.  Sam took a folded pieced of paper from his shirt pocket and
placed it on top of the video.  He lifted me up gently and carried me
into my bedroom, laid me on my bed, and covered me up.

He smiled.  "Two weeks, Bette," he said.

Tom got dressed and they left.

Now I would have to decide.

--

Pink Bette


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