This story was inspired by Phoenix Arrow's "Femme Tourmenté."  
I sent him a copy, and he responded that he liked it and that I 
should, by all means, post it. 



                           SISTERS

                              by

                         C. Lakewood



    I sighed and looked at the clock.  Despite the failing light, 
I could read the time clearly: 9:17.  I sighed again.  If I was 
going to do it tonight, finally, I'd better go.  At last, coming 
to a decision, I stood up and downed my drink.  Ugh!  Rye and 
water, no ice.  Sleazy characters in cheap fiction always used 
to drink rye whiskey.  I moved to the front door, pausing only 
momentarily before the hall mirror.  I looked okay, I guess -- 
youthful, especially in the gathering gloom.  Loose blonde hair, 
no makeup (except for a bit of pink lipstick), a pair of tiny gold 
studs in my ears, Bryn Mawr t-shirt, light cotton jacket with a 
sorority pin on the lapel, faded jeans, cheap sandals, and, 
underneath, I was braless.  I wiggled my rump and felt the thong 
panties cupping my freshly shaved pussy.  (Or was it a "cunt," if 
it was shaved?)  In any case, it all added up to "college co-ed" 
-- certainly not to "feminist attorney." 

    I stuffed a wad of cash and a foolproof fake ID into my pocket 
and picked up the little ring with my house key and the key to my 
second car, a nondescript Ford.  That was all.  It would have to 
do.

    I left the house and drove into the city.  Despite the car's 
AC, I was beginning to sweat.  As inevitable as this seemed, I was 
still shaky. 

    On the far West Side, in amongst boarded-up shops and ancient 
brick streets, was a seedy bar, The Bazouki.  I knew that, actually, 
only the cellar and half the ground floor was the bar.  The rest 
of the nondescript three-story building was a whorehouse.  It 
wasn't really legal, but the city tolerated it and a few others 
as long as they kept the girls clean and none of the customers 
complained.

    She worked here, I knew.  I had seen her months ago in court.  
She wouldn't recognize me now -- I had been in the back row, 
waiting on another case, and looking very lawyerly in horn rims 
and power suit.  But I'd known in an instant that tonight would 
eventually come, that she would be the one.  Her working name was 
Shakrah.  Officially, she was 22, and, according to her rap sheet, 
5'4" and 135 pounds.  (Seven years younger than me, 3" shorter, 
5 pounds heavier, and black.)    

    I parked in back of the place and sat for a while, trying to 
compose myself and only partially succeeding.  At last, I bestirred 
myself, locked up the car, and trudged over to the long flight of 
back steps.  My panties were already wet.  I paused at the top of 
the stairs, took a deep breath, and went in.

    I entered into a sort of lounge area, filled with obsolete 
furniture.  Two black men were sitting there, and half a dozen 
women -- white, black, and Latina -- were circulating; all of 
them looked at me curiously.  An older woman, with a tousled mop 
of bright red hair, approached me.  

    "You lookin' for a job or a date, honey?" 

    "A-a date," I murmured.  "Shakrah?"

    "She'll be a few minutes.  Anybody else do?"

    I shook my head and took a seat that was unobtrusive, but 
from which I could watch the stairs.  The two men kept giving me 
sidelong glances, but the whores' curiosity died quickly when 
they learned I was a customer, not competition.  Their lives 
were shit, but simple, uncomplicated shit.  

    Then I saw her, stalking down the stairs, her chocolate skin 
loosely wrapped in a short, tiger-striped robe.  Shakrah.  The 
whore who was going to help me pay back my old debt.

    She sauntered over to the redhaired woman, and they spoke 
briefly.  Then the woman jerked her thumb in my direction.  
Shakrah looked me over and smiled, wolfishly.  

    She walked -- no, stalked -- over to me and gazed arrogantly 
down at me.  Belatedly, I scrambled to my feet like some awkward 
adolescent.

    "So...ya wanna spen' some time with Shakrah, huh?  

    I nodded.  "Y-yes, unh...ma'am...."

    Her smile broadened.  If she'd been in any doubt at all about 
our relative status tonight, that word made things crystal clear.

    As I followed her up the stairs, I had an urge to back out.  
Couldn't I just go home now, return to to my masturbation 
fantasies?  And then I looked at Shakrah's rolling buttocks 
inside her thin, gaudy wrap, and I knew I had to go the distance.  
She did look so much like Celia....

    So I stifled that brief voice of reason. 

    The room was moderately tacky, with faded wall paper, a 
large brass bed, thrift shop quality nightstand and wardrobe, a 
well-used oak pressed-back chair that could have been nice if 
restored, a worn, reproduction red Bokhara on the floor, and a 
framed print of "September Morn" on the wall.  There was a 
bathroom adjoining.

    She sat down on the bed and eyed me.  "Ya wanna quickie or 
sumfin' longer?"

    "Well, it may take some time...."

    "Okay.  Three hunnerd up fron'.  An' wha's yer name?"

    "L-lisabeth," I said, as I rummaged in my pocket.  I handed 
over the money, thinking that it was expensive, but worth it, if 
it exorcized my demons.

    "So.  Whatcha wan', Lizzie?"

    "Well, ma'am, it's about this black girl I knew in college.  
Her name was Celia Hayes, and she was an 'oreo,' a yuppy wannabe.  
She was in school on some sort of affirmative action scholarship, 
and that was okay.  But she also wanted to join our sorority, the 
most exclusive on campus, and the administration forced us to take 
her....  But we wouldn't have to keep her, if she quit voluntarily.  
S-s-so...three of us -- Jennifer, Melanie, and me -- were, well, 
appointed to see to it that she DID quit -- and make it look like 
nothing more than normal pledge training.  Oh, god!  Every day, we 
found some rule or other that she'd broken, and we paddled her for 
it.  We named her 'Head' Mistress and compelled her to scrub out 
all the toilets twice a day.  We poured a glass of pee into her 
bed one day and then 'discovered' that she was 'obviously' a 
bed-wetter -- so she had to wear a disposable diaper and plastic 
panties everywhere.  (And we didn't change the diaper more than 
two or three times every 24 hours.)  She had to shower in cold 
water, wear micro-minis, eat leftovers out of a dog dish...and 
demonstrate masturbation techniques every evening.  I-I was 20 
a-and should have known better, I guess, but I thought I was 
protecting our sorority....  And Celia just took it all...until 
I came up with the idea of making her 'Pledge Health Inspector,' 
and every morning she had to take the temperature of each of her 
fellow pledges -- rectally, using her forefinger as the 
thermometer.... 
 
    A thoughtful look spread across Shakrah's face.  Her mental 
wheels were in motion.  "So wha' then?"

    "She...um...she just quit...de-pledged...transferred to 
another school...without making a fuss.  I don't know what 
happened to her after that."  I found it difficult to swallow.

    "But, a few weeks later," I added, "somebody spray-painted 
across the front of our sorority house, 'TRI-O = RACIST BITCHES.'"

    "Tha's all?  Nobody never get no REAL pay-back?  Nobody never 
teach ya snotty cunts a lesson...up close an' pers'nal?"

    "N-no, ma'am...."

    "An' so?"  

    I wilted under her gaze and lowered my eyes.  "I...well, I 
have a-a s-s-sort of fantasy...."

    "Yeah?"

    "That we...I...um...DO get p-paid back for what happened...."

    She nodded.  "Strip." 

    She seemed so powerful, and I felt so weak, so helpless....  
And so hot!  My nipples were stiffly erect, and my pussy -- my 
"cunt" -- already wet, was rapidly getting wetter.  My throbbing 
clit felt enormous. 

    I glanced at her, breathless, but her scowl told me not to 
dawdle.  I shrugged off my jacket, naively looked about for some 
place to hang it, but then just let it drop to the floor.  I 
skinned out of the t-shirt and dropped that, too.  Jeans and 
panties quickly followed.  

    She regarded my pale, smallish breasts -- my "tits" -- and 
their long, dark nipples with a superior smirk.  For the first 
time in my life I was standing naked and trembling before a black 
woman in authority.

    "Put yer hands on top of yer head.  An' spread yer legs.  
Now, looka me, an' axe me real polite t'do whatcha want me t'do."

    "I...I...."

    "An' the longer I has t'wait, the harder it'll be."

    (Well, I DID want it to be hard...but, then, not TOO hard....)  

    "Please...please, ma'am, will you...would you...please punish 
me?"

    She stood up and stepped in front of me.  Her wrap sagged 
open, and I could see her breasts, which were much bigger than 
mine.  

    "Well I s'pose I could start on yer tits, Lizzie, yer sweet 
li'l white puppies.  Think you deserve to get yer titties smacked 
aroun' some?" 

    "Yes, ma'am.  I deserve it, because...b-because I'm a racist 
bitch."

    Nodding, she began slapping my...my tits, left-right, 
left-right, left-right.  And it really hurt, too.  Then she 
paused and looked at me expectantly.

    "More?"

    "Yes, please, ma'am!" 

    Slap!

    Slap!

    "Is THIS somma wha' ya deserves fer dissin' a sister?"

    I nodded.

    "I axed ya a question.  Ya answer me ou' loud!"

    "Yes, ma'am.  I'm s-sorry.  Yes, it's what I deserve...."

    Slap!

    Slap!

    (Oh, god! Celia....  Please!  I'll be a good girl, I promise!)

    Slap!

    Slap!

    Eventually, I guess she got bored, because she sat back down 
and just watched me weep.  I so wanted to rub my poor reddened 
titties, but I didn't dare break position without permission.  I 
could feel myself getting wetter and wetter between the legs. 

    "Learn yer lesson yet?"

    "N-no, ma'am...."    

    "Then bend over an' grab yer ankles." 

    She moved up behind me.

    "Ya had lotsa fun, bein' mean to that po' li'l black gal.  
Was a real turn-on, hunh?"

    "Yes, ma'am...."

    Smack!

    She hit me across my upturned ass with a strap or belt.  I 
squealed.

    "Hush!  Ya gotta lot more comin'."

    Smack!

    Smack!

    I lost track of the number of times she spanked me with that 
black strap, but, when she finally stopped, she was sweating 
heavily...and my ass was burning.  I was rather proud of myself 
that I hadn't broken position.   

    When she let me up, I saw that, at some point, she'd discarded 
her wrap and was now naked, too.      

    "Okay, now ya been tenderized some...."

    She sat back down and patted her naked thighs.  "Getcher 
white ass up here, bitch!"

    I gingerly draped myself across her lap, wriggling over her 
warm, pungent, sweat-slick skin. 

    "Alla ya white cunts're jes' alike....  Think yer shit don' 
stink!  Think ya better'n any nigger!" 

    Spank!  She swatted me with her bare hand. 

    "Yes, ma'am.  I'm sorry...."

    (She was right.  I did think that back then.  As a matter of 
fact, I STILL thought so.  So why was I there, begging a black 
whore to abuse me?  I knew I was intellectually and socially and 
economically superior to Shakrah (and to Celia)...but I also knew 
that I was inferior to her -- indeed to most black girls -- 
physically and sexually.  And that was what counted right then, 
there in that squalid little room.  But did I dare admit it to 
her, in so many words?) 

    Spank!  

    Spank! 

    Spank! 

    Spank!

    (A familiar fantasy rose up to engulf me: Jennifer, Melanie, 
and I were pledging a sorority in which all the other girls were 
black.  And we were deemed so inferior that we were going to have 
to be permanent pledges, subordinate to everyone...spanked and 
fingered and tormented at will by our betters....)

    Spank!  

    Spank! 

    Spank! 

    Spank!  

    Then Shakrah's voice shook me out of my day-dream.  "Get on 
yer knees, bitch!" she rasped.

    I rolled sluggishly off her lap and struggled into a kneeling 
position.  I could smell my cunt, and I'm sure she could, too.  I 
really needed to cum.

    As if she read my mind, she said, "Need t'cum, bitch?"

    I nodded.

    "Need it BAD?"

    "Yes, ma'am.  Please let me cum."  

    (Oh, god!  Why had I said that?  If she could give me 
permission to cum, she could also withhold that permission....)

    "Wee-ell, may-be," she drawled.    

    Taking a handful of my hair, she pulled my face toward her 
hairless, dripping cunt, with its dark labia and bright pink 
insides. 

    "Ya wanna suck ma jes'-fucked cunt an' lick ma sweaty black 
asshole?" 

    "Yes, ma'am," I whimpered.  "Please." 

    "So.  Ya wanna go down on a black cunt....  Ya wanna be a 
black whore's bitch." 

    "Yesssssss.  Please!  Please, ma'am, I want to be...to be your 
b-bitch."

    (How humiliating!  And what a turn-on!  My mouth was actually 
watering.) 

    Her musky smell closed in on me.  And the taste...disgusting 
and exciting.  I kissed her clit and then began licking and 
sucking her well-used cunt and swallowing the warm slime I lapped 
up.  

    She wrapped her legs around my head to hold me close and just 
lay back and let me tongue-fuck her.  It wasn't long before she 
started moaning...and then, all of a sudden, she went rigid and 
leg-scissored me even tighter for a few minutes, before gradually 
relaxing. 

    She unclasped her legs and sat up slowly.  God help me, I 
licked my lips.  Tiredly, she murmured, "Tha's a good li'l 
bitch....  Okay...ya earned yerse'f a treat....  I guess I'll 
letcha hump ma leg."  

    That in itself was almost enough to make me cum.  Almost.

    Eagerly, I scrambled up, straddled her shin, and shamelessly 
began frictioning my bald, drooling cunt against her smooth black 
flesh. 

    I felt like a bitch in heat, a black whore's bitch.

    Her leg was awash in my juices as I slid myself up and down, 
up and down, humping away until -- at last -- I had an orgasm 
that was so intense that I must have blacked out momentarily.  

    But, once again, Shakrah's voice awakened me.

    "Stupid cunt!  Ya gotcher goo all over ma leg.  Well, ya jes' 
gonna hafta lick it clean."

    So I licked it clean while she smirked down at me.  My "goo" 
tasted salty, of course, but overall fairly bland, and even a 
little sweet -- certainly much different than the rank, mixed 
juices I'd sucked from her cunt.

    After I finished, I sat back on my heels like a good dog and 
waited for her next command.  

    I didn't have to wait long.

    "I'm thirsty, girl."  She handed me a dollar.  "Go get me a 
Coke -- there's a machine jes' down the hall.  It don' take bills, 
though.  Ya'll hafta go on downstairs an' axe the red-haired boss 
lady fer change." 

    I nodded and reached for my clothes....

    "Hunh-unh!  Ya go fetch jes' like ya are -- butt-naked."

    (Oh, god!  Naked?  With those people there?  Whores and 
pimps and johns looking me over, grinning, feeling superior to 
the prissy white sorority bitch, who reeked of Shakrah's crotch, 
showing off her sore red tits and ass and cunt for their 
amusement....)

    Trembling, I obeyed.

    It was excruciating, even worse than I'd imagined it would 
be...the leers and smarmy remarks....  And the worst part of all 
was that I found it so exciting.       

    When I got back with her Coke, Shakrah lounged on the bed 
and drank it slowly, while she watched me do an a cappella go-go 
dance. 

    Afterwards, I was really dying of thirst, so she took me into 
the bathroom and "let" me drink out of the toilet. 


		*******************************
      
    My belly full of toilet water, I spent a few more hours 
serving her and several other whores she called in from time to 
time.  I licked cunts and feet and assholes; I got spanked three 
more times; they finger-fucked me to I-don't-know-how-many orgasms.  
In the end, both Shakrah and I were exhausted.

    Though not through.  

    "Tell me, bitch, jes' how long did...Celia Hayes?...put up 
with that shit?"

    "Oh...um...almost three months...."

    "Almos' three months!  Well, ya sure ain't gonna pay for tha' 
with jes' one night."

    "No, ma'am....  I-I guess not."

    "Then be back here Friday.  Unnerstan'?"

    "Y-yes, ma'am."  (I suppose I did deserve it.)

    "An' ya don' get t'cum 'til then.  Hear?"

    "Yes, ma'am."  (Could I possibly wait that long?)

    "Gotta cell phone?"

    "Um...ye-es, ma'am."

    She tossed me a pen and piece of paper.  "Gimme the number."

    I wrote down a number...THE number...MY number!  I was so 
addled, I just couldn't think of a fake number....    

    And then it was time to go.  

    I dressed quietly and self-consciously, offering her my 
panties as a sort of souvenir...or love-gift.  She accepted, 
with a smug grin.   

    She followed me top the stairs and stood at the top while I 
made my way to the exit, feeling very conspicuous.  At the last 
moment, she called out.

    "An' don' forget our date on Friday, girl.  Hear?"

    I looked at the floor.  "Yes, ma'am," I murmured.

    The other whores giggled.  

		**********************************         

    At home later, I went to bed without showering or brushing 
my teeth.  My tits and ass ached, my cunt was sore, and my mouth 
tasted foul.  But there was a smile on my face as I drifted off, 
satisfied at last...for a while, at least.

    At least until Friday. 


 
