	             ____________________________
                    |                            |
                  /)|     KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF    |(\
                 / )|         DIRECTORIES        |( \
              __(  (|____________________________|)  )__
             ((( \  \ >  /_)              ( \  < /  / )))
             (\\\ \  \_/  /                \  \_/  / ///)
              \          /                  \          /
               \      _/                     \_       /
                /    /                         \     \
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o  	I don't believe in categorizing things. "I don't want to  o
o  be typed therefore I don't type things myself."  I think it's  o
o  a lot more fun to browse around and find  'little'  surprises  o
o  that you might not have even thought of looking for.           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.                   o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o      

                            BLACKOUT
                            By Parker

Copyright 1994 by Parker (me). Feel free to copy and distribute
this story hither and yon, but be discrete.
=================================================================

     The West Side Projects.
     Irregular clumps of grey, concrete structures surrounded by
torn and twisted chain link. Each cluster of three buildings
encloses a concrete playground, where the skeletal remains of
slides, see-saws, parallel bars cast long shadows in the setting
sun. Rusted swings sway like hunched gibbets in the wind. A
stubborn drinking fountain, cracked porcelain and weed filled,
still bleeds a small trickle of brackish water...

     "... by then, the cunt was moanin' and whinin' like a bitch
in heat. Humpin' up and down on my black cock and screamin' like
she didn't know if it was the best or worst thing she'd ever
felt."
     "Shit, man..."
     "Best fo sure..."
     Laughter.
     The tall man looked around before continuing, enjoying the
attention of his audience. "You'd think she'd never had a cock up
her cunt before, the way she was carry'n on, bouncin' and
squealin'..."
     "Like that bitch Taylor owned a couple years ago..."
     "Fuck, she probably hadn't," one of the listeners - a fat
kid named DJ - interrupted again. "Stuck up college bitches..."
     "Yeah. Think their cunts are made've gold or somethin'."
     "Well she wasn't no fuckin' virgin," the tall man laughed.
"C'n tell ya that."
     "Not after that party," another man called out.

     Bright splashes of color - promises, threats, questions,
names and dates - scrawl wildly across the uniform grey in futile
explosions of illiterate anarchy. The rusting, empty aerosol cans
dot the weed and broken-glass fields that surround, separate and
enclose the concrete deserts.
     Roads erode...

     "Hell no," the storyteller laughed. "By the time we was done
with her, she'd fucked more brothers than one of Taylor's bitches
on a busy night. Bitch had more cocks in her that night than a
rich whore."
     Catcalls and jeers momentarily interrupted the story.
     DJ spoke up: "Then what happened?"
     "Ahh, not much. Tommy put one of Marcie's party dresses on
the bitch, drove her a couple'a blocks n' booted her outta the
car."
     "Fuck... on 49th?"
     "Yeah." The speaker grinned knowingly. "She got out OK,
though. Lannie and a couple of guys porked the bitch in behind
the gas station - said she barely put up a fight she was so badly
fucked up - then she got a cab."

     The black metal door had been built for safety.
     For security.
     It remained at its post, but just barely, hanging on by a
rusted hinge. The landing inside was dark, the empty light socket
staring down like a blind eye. The elevator door is jammed open,
and the elevator - a cruel joke even when it was new - hung a
long step downward, filled with debris.
     Piss-soaked stairs led upward...

     "A cab? On 49th? Fuck off."
     "Yeah," the tall man laughed. "Right outta fuckin' nowhere,
the only fuckin' cab on the West Side. It was Jackson, though.
Word is she offered to blow him for a ride to the fuckin' campus.
Said she had a talented mouth."
     The men all laughed.
     "Said the bitch was drippin' cum all the way home..."
     "Wooooeeee..."

     The third floor landing leads down a debris and graffiti
hallway to an open door. A group of men - all black - are seated
in a circle in a room that has been informally enlarged through
the destruction of two walls. A lucky few are sitting on the
holed remains of furniture; the rest are perched on crates or
milk cartons.
     All are listening...

     "Had ta wipe it off the seats with a fuckin' rag."
     The men laughed again. Some clapped and whistled. Best story
they'd heard all night.
     "Not bad, bro. Not bad."
     The men turned, still laughing.
     The man who had spoken walked into the room, closely
followed by two or three others.
     "Hey Darrell," the man who had been telling the story
grinned over at his friend. "Whad'ya mean 'not bad'. Fuckin' 'not
bad'? Y'can't top that."
     Darrell grinned back. "I can." He reached the circle of men.
"C'n top that by a long shot." He pulled a box over and sat down,
facing the others.
     "OK." DJ, as usual, spoke up. "Let's hear it, bro."
     Darrell sniffed, leaning forward. "Listen up then. Remember
'bout three weeks ago, that blackout on the West Side?" Most of
the men nodded; that particular blackout had led to a bonanza of
burglary and looting. They'd all made too much money to forget
it.
     "OK." Darrell continued his story. " Me'n few brothers were
ridin' the T-Rail south, just after Burnside Station, where it
goes into the tunnel..."

                              *****

     The woman looked up from her paper when the five black men
got on the T-Rail at Burnside Station. Her pretty face creased
for a moment in a look that was part fear and part anger (and
part guilt at feeling this way), but a quick glance around the
inside of the compartment revealed enough other passengers -
*safe* passengers - so that trouble seemed unlikely. Still, she
felt more than a little uncomfortable when she saw that the black
men had taken seats between her and the other passengers. She ran
a nervous hand through her blonde hair and looked back down at
the newspaper; best just to ignore them. The train would be at
McLellan Station soon enough, and she would be safe there. If the
black men stayed on, she would get off and catch the next train.
     The T-Rail jerked forward, letting out a loud screech as it
left Burnside Station. Picking up speed, it rounded a corner,
went over Sherman Street and plunged into the mile long tunnel
which ended at the next station.
     The woman glanced up as she rocked back and forth in her
seat, still uncomfortable. Was one of the black men staring at
her? She dropped her eyes downward, frightened to attract
attention. In her expensive business suit and skirt, she felt
like a target. Instinctively, she reached down to touch her
briefcase. Still there.
     Her decision was made. She was definitely getting off at
McLellan. There was no way she...
     The lights went out and the T-Rail ground to a halt.

     "Fuck, I remember that," DJ interrupted.
     "Remember that fuckin' jewellery store?" Another man spoke.
"We musta scored..."
     "Hey." The other men fell silent. "Do you wanna hear the
story, or what?"
     "Sure, Darrell."
     "Yeah. What happened?"

     Silence.
     Then a low rumble followed by the quiet hum of the fans
starting up again. There was a collective sigh of relief in the
compartment as the air started flowing again. A few people began
to talk and there was some nervous laughter.
     The woman started. Was that movement beside her? She
strained to see in the pitch blackness, but it was no use.
Frightened, she began to get to her feet, to move across to the
other end of the compartment. It would be...
     A large hand wrapped itself around her mouth and dragged her
back down into her seat. She let out a muffled squeal and brought
her own hands up to free herself, but froze when she felt a cold,
metallic edge on her throat.
     A knife!
     "Jus' relax," a voice whispered to her. The knife blade dug
a little deeper into her throat, not yet cutting, but not far
from it. "Fight'n I'll cut you 'nother mouth."
     The woman dropped her hands and relaxed back in her seat,
almost paralysed with fear. She felt other hands, grabbing at
her, touching her... One of them took hold of the shoulder strap
of her purse and jerked it away from her. She almost felt relief
at that; maybe once they'd robbed her they would let her go.
     Robbery she could handle.
     The hand left her mouth, but the knife remained at her
throat.
     "Jus' sit quiet," the voice ordered softly. "Make a sound'n
your dead. Got it?"
     The woman nodded her understanding, too frightened to speak.
     The hand that had been at her mouth now moved down the front
of her body, slipping under the top of her blouse and cupping her
breast through the bra. She stiffened in panic, but the knife
kept her from moving. The hand moved from one breast to the other
under her blouse, squeezing her breasts through her bra,
pulling... pinching...
     "Nice tits, bitch."
     The woman squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, trying not
to cry out.
     "Stand up," the voice told her. "Nice'n slow."
     Trembling, she obeyed, pushing herself up out of her seat
and standing with her hands by her side. The knife stayed at her
throat as she moved. The hand pushed her a step forward and she
felt the man move around to stand directly behind her. She felt
his body push close against her from behind as the hand slipped
around over her shoulder and down under her blouse to resume
fondling her breasts.
     "Good bitch." She felt warm breath at her ear as the man
licked and nibbled at her earlobe. "Nice bitch."
     "Uh..."
     She let out a quiet gasp as she felt the presence of another
man right in front of her. The knife pressed down for a moment in
warning and she managed to control herself. The unseen figure in
front of her moved closer until she felt his breath on her face.
Closer... then his lips touched her's.
     "Mmmm..."
     She pressed her lips tightly together and turned her head,
but a hand grabbed a fistful of her thick blonde hair and turned
her head forwards.
     "C'mon bitch," the voice whispered in her ear. "Give m'
brother a kiss."

     "Jeez'... I don't fuckin' believe it..."
     "You guys did this on a motherfuckin' T-Rail?"
     Darrell grinned. "It get's better..."

     Reluctantly, she kept her head steady and parted her lips.
The man in front of her immediately pressed his face closer and
slid his tongue into her mouth. She fought to keep from gagging
as she felt his stubble burn her chin and hot, fetid breath
invade her mouth. After a few moments, the man pulled his mouth
away, giving her lips one last lick with his tongue.
     The woman panted, almost hyperventilating with fear,
fighting back the urge to bring her hand up to wipe the man's
spittle from her lips. She waited in silence for the next
humiliation. She didn't have to wait long. There was a quiet
snick, and she felt the cold steel of a second knife slide down
her chest and under her blouse. She held her breath as it slipped
under the front strap of her bra and cut it. The front of her bra
fell open, exposing her breasts to the man behind her. He let out
a quiet chuckle as his hand pushed away the torn remnants of her
bra and directly fondled her breasts.
     The knife was taken away from her chest, but before she
could feel any sense of relief, a hand pulled at her skirt,
tugging it downwards. At first, she thought they were trying to
pull it off, but it was just held tight. Then there came a quiet
tearing sound. What was...
     "Spread your legs, bitch" whispered a voice from low down in
front of her. "Or you'll be cut."
     With a quiet moan of fear, the woman realized what was
happening. They were using a knife to cut a slit up the front and
back of her grey skirt. Moving awkwardly, she obeyed, widening
her stance so the knife wouldn't cut her leg. Then she stood,
shivering, while the man in front of her made a long cut up the
front, and then the back, of her skirt.
     After the second cut was made, a hand slid up the inside of
her thighs up to her crotch. Her eyes watered and a tear trickled
down her cheek as she felt a hand on her pussy, cupping it and
rubbing.
     "P-please," she whispered.
     "Jus' relax," the voice whispered at her ear. The man gave
her breast a little squeeze, tweaking the nipple. "Be a good
little bitch."
     The blade of the second knife was slid under the waist band
of her panties. With a flick, the thin elastic material was
sliced and the panties pulled away. Her pussy was now exposed to
the groping fingers; they rubbed up and down, playing and teasing
as she squirmed helplessly, and then, inevitably, slipped inside.
She let out a gasp, but it was stifled as the man in front of her
brought his face against her's for a kiss. This time, she didn't
try to turn away; she just parted her lips and accepted his
tongue in her mouth.
     There was no use in fighting.

     "Sounds like one hot bitch..."
     "Sure beats your story all to hell," DJ gave the tall man a
shove.
     The tall man just shrugged his shoulders. "Dat's a fact,
jack." He grinned. "If it's true."
     Darrell smirked. "Oh, it's all true."
     "Then what happened?"
     "OK. While Steve was given her some tongue..."

     The T-Rail lurched forward. A cheer rose up from the trapped
passengers, but it quickly died away as the train ground to a
halt again.
     The woman felt the man's fingers slide out of her pussy as
both her and the man behind her were thrown back onto a seat. For
a brief moment she considered screaming for help, but the knife
never left her throat. When the T-Rail stopped moving, she was
sitting on the man's lap.
     She felt something...
     The man's cock was rubbing up against her ass. He must have
taken it out of his pants, because she felt it directly against
her flesh where the skirt had been cut away. She shivered at the
touch of it, long and hard against her flesh.
     And wet.
     "OK bitch." The man's mouth was close up against her ear.
"You wanna get outta this, you do what I say. Got it?"
     The woman nodded.
     "Good bitch. I'm take'n the knife away, but it's right here
beside me." The blade left her throat; she let out a sigh. "You
fuck up and I'll cut your heart out." The woman trembled at these
words, but didn't cry out or try to escape.
     She believed him.
     Every word.
     "Now, spread your legs."
     She obeyed, opening her legs until her knees were spread
further apart than the man's, pulling apart the long slit in her
skirt. As she did so, she felt a second hand - the hand that had
been holding the knife against her throat - slip around and cup
her other breast.
     "Reach down between your legs and grab my cock."
     She let out a quiet moan, hesitating.
     "Do it," he hissed, tightening his grip on her already sore
breasts. Whimpering, she reached down through the long slit in
her skirt and touched his cock. It was long and rock hard where
it stuck up between her thighs. Sensing what he wanted, she
wrapped her fingers around it and began sliding her hand up and
down, masturbating it between her thighs as if it were her own.
The woman was resigned to it now, and the quicker he came, the
quicker it would be over with.
     "Ohhh, you hot bitch." The woman felt his tongue on the side
of her neck. She twisted her head away, but that only gave him
more room to lick and kiss up her neck to the side of her face.
"Ohhh yeah..."

     "This is gettin' stupid."
     "Yeah... you guys didn't..."
     "Shut up and listen."
     The men fell silent.

     One hand left her breast and dropped down to her exposed
pussy. She let out a small gasp, squirming on the man's lap, but
was unable to avoid his fingers and they rubbed up and down the
outside of her pussylips and then slid inside. Still masturbating
his cock, she fought it for as long as she could, but after a
minute or two of the man's fingers exploring her pussy... and her
clit... she felt herself begin to get moist. As much as she hated
what was happening to her, her body couldn't help but respond. It
was purely a physical reaction, but a reaction nonetheless.
     She prayed he wouldn't notice.
     "Juicin' up nicely, bitch." Her face burned with humiliation
as her fingers, sticky with pre-cum, continued their work. "Just
'bout time to finish up." The man shifted his weight so that her
feet reached the floor on either side of the chair. "Now, I want
ya to stand up and sink your juicy cunt down on my black cock.
Got it?"
     Again, the woman nodded. She was at the stage where she
would do *anything* just to end the ordeal. Moving slowly,
careful not to give the impression that she was trying to escape,
she gathered her legs under her and pushed herself up off his
lap. His hands tightened on her breasts, but she had no intention
of doing anything stupid. She had come too far for that. Her
fingers, which had been busy masturbating his cock even while she
stood, stopped pumping and pulled the cock forward. She let out a
small moan as she realized just how large the cock was. Still,
she had no choice; as slowly and gently as she could, she let
herself sink down, her fingers guiding the man's cock into her
unwilling pussy. First the head slipped in... then one inch...
two inches... (for the first time, she was thankful for the
moisture which made this relatively painless) four inches...
     "Ahhh..."
     She let out a little cry as the man lost patience with her
slow descent and used her breasts to drag her back down onto her
lap. With one brutal thrust, his massive cock was buried to the
hilt in her spasming pussy.

     "Shit. You fucked th' bitch right on the fuckin' T-Rail?" DJ
looked sceptical. "Don't fuckin' believe..."
     Others, however: "What was she like?"
     "Well," Darrell answered, grinning, "I'll tell ya..."

     "Whew," the man sighed. "This is one tight-cunt bitch."
     The other men laughed softly as the woman hung her head,
face burning with humiliation.
     "OK bitch. Start ridin'."
     She knew what he meant.
     With a quiet moan, she gathered her legs under her and began
riding his cock, pushing up and down... up and down... sliding
her now-sopping pussy up and down on the unwelcome intruder,
unwillingly serving his pleasure.
     "Faster, bitch."
     Sweat broke out on her brow, matting her blonde hair to her
forehead and trickling down her face onto her chest where the
man's hands mauled her breasts, as she began to move faster and
faster: up and down, riding his long, hard cock in and out of her
stretched pussy. She began to pant and emit quiet grunting sounds
in time with her movement as she bounced up and down on his lap
like some kind of whorish puppet. After a while, the muscles in
her leg started to cramp up, but she kept moving.
     Up... down... up... down...
     In... out... in... out...
     Against her will, her pussy began to spasm around the
invading cock as her body trembled, betraying her...

     "You mean she liked it?" DJ again.
     "Always the same; white bitches love black cock. They can't
fuckin' help themselves."
     "Thas' a fact, jack."
     "Straight up," Darrell agreed. "And then..."

     "Jeez Darrell," came a voice from in front of her. "I want
some a' that."
     "Stop for a second, bitch."
     She fought back a groan of frustration as the man forced her
to be still on his lap. She panted as she sat there, feeling his
cock buried deep within her burning pussy... just a little
more...
     "Bitch's mouth's free."
     The feeling of pleasure fled as she realized what the man
had said. Her mouth? Oh, no...
     A hand clutched at her face, pulling her forward. "You
heard'm," a voice whispered. "Open wide."
     The tears streamed down her at this new humiliation, but she
obeyed without question, parting her lips to accept this new
invasion. She just wanted to get it over with. Immediately, she
felt a long, hard cock slip into her mouth. She gagged at the
bitter taste of the pre-cum, but didn't pull away. With a quiet
moan, she began to suck at it, bobbing her face up and down and
using her tongue to...
     "C'mon bitch." She felt the hand tighten on her breasts.
"Not done here yet."
     Once again, being careful not to bite down on the that was
cock being fed into her mouth, she began to move, sliding her wet
pussy up and down on the man's cock. In her bent over position,
it seemed to penetrate even deeper, but she had no choice. Using
her hands to brace herself, she began to pick up speed. And
slowly, ever so slowly, the pleasure began to build again as her
tight ass bounced up and down on the man's lap while her mouth
sucked hungrily at the other man's cock. Faster and faster she
moved, picking up speed as the feelings built towards orgasm,
humping and bucking and sweating and grunting like a practised
whore. Just a little more and...
     The T-Rail let out a loud screech and jerked forward a
couple of feet. The lights flickered...
     The woman's feet slipped out from under her and her pussy
was violently jammed down on the man's cock as she fell back onto
his lap. At the same time, the man whose cock she was sucking
lost his balance and fell forward, driving his cock straight down
her throat.
     All three came at once.
     The man on the chair stiffened and, clutching hard at her
breast, shot his cum out into her writhing pussy.
     The man in front pulled back slightly, ending the
involuntary deep throat, but still shot his load into her mouth,
filling it with his thick, salty cum.
     The taste sent her over the edge. Choking and sputtering
cum, she twisted and writhed on the man's lap, panting and
gasping in ecstasy and humiliation as waves of pleasure crashed
through her sweat-soaked body. It was all she could do not to
scream out loud...
     The lights flickered again.
     "Fuck!"
     "Move it."
     There was a flurry of activity around her as the man behind
her pushed her off his lap and shoved her over onto a seat beside
him. "Listen, bitch," the man hissed, shoving the newspaper back
into her hand. "You sit quietly and get off with us at the next
station." She tried to say something - to protest - but her mouth
was full of cum. Grimacing, she tried to swallow as she heard the
other men take their seats in front of her. She felt his knife
prick her in the ribs. "Any trouble..." He didn't even bother to
finish the threat. She felt him get up and move away.
     The lights flickered and then came back on.

     There was silence in the room. Each man stared at Darrell,
waiting to hear what happened. Darrell just stayed silent,
looking around the room with a big grin on his face. It was DJ
who broke the silence.
     "Fuck, Darrell. What the fuck happened?"

     The passengers had cheered as the T-Rail began to move
again. People had looked around, smiles of relief on their faces,
but no one had noticed anything different.
     Anything wrong.
     And, if anyone noted that the attractive blonde in the
conservative, grey business outfit on the other side of the
compartment looked a little dishevelled, well... they put it down
to nerves. Claustrophobia. More than one passenger looked a
little worse for the wear.
     Still, all's well...
     The T-Rail eventually ground to a stop at McLellan Station.
     The woman lowered the paper and looked at the black men.
They had stood up, and one of them flashed a knife at her. She
glanced at the other passengers, but no one had seen it. No one
knew anything was wrong. She got to her feet, grimacing at the
cold, sticky feeling between her thighs where the man's cum had
leaked out of her pussy, and began to walk towards the exit.
     "Excuse me, lady?" She almost fainted with relief, turning
as a young man at the other side of the train called out to her.
At last, someone had noticed... "You forgot your briefcase." The
man gestured to where her briefcase sat at the back of the
compartment.
     Help me you idiot!
     The man smiled at her and turned back to his paper.
     "Thanks," she muttered. One of the black men stood in the
exit, preventing the door from sliding shut as she slowly walked
back and picked up her briefcase. With a final glance around the
compartment - no help there - she sighed and walked out onto the
platform. The door slid shut and the T-Rail pulled away with a
loud rumble.
     She stood on the platform, now surrounded by five black men.
"C'mon bitch." It was the man who had raped her.
     The man with the knife. "And keep quiet."
     Meekly, broken, she followed the men out of the station...

                              *****

     The men all began talking at once:
     "Fuck, that was hot..."
     "Great story man..."
     "Wheeeoo..."
     Again, it was DJ who asked the question that everyone was
thinking: "What the fuck happened to the bitch, man? Sell her to
Taylor?"
     Darrell laughed. "Fuck no. It's not everyday a white cunt
falls into your lap like that. I fuckin' kept her; she's *my*
bitch now."
     "Fuck off!"
     "No way, man..."
     Darrell turned. "Tina," he called, "hustle your white ass in
here."
     The men all stared at the door as the woman - Tina Swanson -
entered the room, closely followed by one of Darrell's friends.
Darrell watched with satisfaction as the men all gaped. Even *he*
was surprised every time he saw her: all traces of the confident
young career woman he had raped on the T-Rail three weeks ago had
been systematically erased.
     In her place stood a cock-hungry bimbo.
     *His* cock-hungry bimbo.
     She was dressed in a tight, black polyester mini-skirt, just
over a foot long, which barely stretched from her lower abdomen
to the bottom curves of her ass. Her long, slender legs were bare
all the way down to the bright red, six inch pumps. The only
other item of clothing she wore was a half-cup tank top, bright
pink, at least a couple sizes too small. It left her stomach and
upper chest completely bare, hardly sufficing to push up her
smallish breasts. Her upper body was bare, completely exposing a
large tattoo on her upper chest: "DARRELL'S BITCH" it said, in
big red letters, still bright and new. Her face was heavily made
up, lips made thick and pouty with shiny, red lipstick and green
eyes strongly outlined with eyeshadow. Each ear had been triple
pierced, and three heavy, plastic hoops dangled on each side of
her face. Her blonde hair, so stylishly cut the first time he had
seen her, was streaked with purple and teased up in a wild,
sluttish manner.
     Even so, someone recognized her.
     "Motherfucker," one of the men exclaimed. "That's no bitch;
that's a fuckin lawyer. She's a fuckin' DA."
     Darrell grinned again. "Thas' right," he agreed. "I fuckin'
knew it when I saw her on the T-Rail. She put m' brother away a
year ago." He paused for a moment before adding: "'Course, don't
matter, nohow." He turned back towards where the woman stood just
inside the doorway. "C'mere babe."
     Smiling, the woman walked over to him, hips swinging in the
tight miniskirt. She draped one of her bare arms over his
shoulder as she came up beside him. He reached around and
squeezed her ass.
     "Tina babe," he said, "you don' wanna go back to no stuffy
courtroom, now do ya girl?"
     Tina pouted and shook her head uncertainly.
     "Whadya want?"
     She smiled.
     That was an easy one.
     She knew the answer.
     "Wanna stay with you, babe," she giggled, dropping her free
hand to her crotch and lewdly gyrating her crotch towards his
face. "Wanna do the 'wild thing'." Darrell grinned at her and she
sighed inwardly with relief, running her tongue over her thick,
pouty lips. She was getting better at this: pleasing him; acting
the bimbo; being his "bitch".
     Surviving.
     Darrell turned back to the other men and got to his feet.
"Y'see," he leered. "A happy ending for everyone."
     He turned to leave, a giggling Tina on his arm. Just as he
got to the door though, he turned, pulling his blonde bimbo
around until she faced the men. "Before we go," he told her, "you
should say 'hi' to the brothers here. N' be nice; you won't be my
bitch forever, y'know."
     Tina swallowed, catching his meaning. She looked slowly
around the room, catching each man's eye and trying to look as
sexy as possible. If there was one thing she's learned in the
last few weeks, it was that her survival depended on satisfying
black cock. In her mouth; in her cunt; in her ass...
     And there was plenty of black cock here in this room. With a
small shudder - half fear, half lust - she knew that she'd
eventually belong to at least some of these men.
     Just as she now belonged to Darrell.
     "Hi boys," she purred, giving her hips a little wiggle.
"Hope to see ya soon."
     Darrell laughed...

     The West Side Projects.
     Irregular clumps of grey, concrete structures surrounded by
torn and twisted chain link. The skeleton slides and gibbet
swings have disappeared, their outlines swallowed up by the dark,
starless night. Dim light shines out through grimy, boarded
windows, revealing the presence of numerous closed, half-shadowed
rooms. Babies crying... couples fighting or making love...
     And, in one of those rooms, Tina Swanson - Darrell's bitch - takes
another load of cum up her ass, all the while humping her
white ass backwards and crying out in simulated ecstasy...

                             THE END