Hard Time for Rashanta
by Neal


Chapter 2 - Attorney Client Privilege


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.



  
Rashanta-02