Dark Justice (Part 1)
-- by lightswitch © July 2007

FM, (ir, inter, interracial), (wf, white female,
bf, black female, hispanic female), white male, cheating,
humiliation, (forced, reluc, reluctant), snuff

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

I watched in growing anger as the Mexican bitch fucked my
boyfriend.

The only portions of him that were visible were his feet and his
scrawny, white legs; but I had a clear view of the back of the
brown-skinned slut straddling him, as she ungulated in a slow
rhythm, swaying as if to some unheard music. The rutting pair
hadn’t seen me, yet, intent as they were on their illicit
coupling. If I hadn’t forgotten my notebook and come back to the
apartment, mid-morning, I’d probably have never found out ...

I knew the woman, even from behind. Long dark hair, deep brown
skin, a full, lush body with too much hip and chest … it was
Juanita Lopez, a nobody of a Junior Associate who had already
been causing problems in the office, where I worked. The other
Associates knew who the Alpha Female was in the group and were
appropriately deferential to me.

But then, Juanita had arrived.

She had walked in and, from the very first day, acted as if she
were the department manager. She questioned my directives and
actually took on projects I hadn’t authorized, going over my head
to present them to my boss.  I had already hated her guts, but
this … this elevated my hatred to a whole new level.  My
faithless boyfriend moaned loudly, from the bed, drawing my
attention back to the present.

“Fuck you, Phil!” I whispered, continuing to peer through the
crack in the mostly-closed doorway. I’d kick his cheating ass to
the curb. Truth be told, I really didn’t care about him; it had
been a relationship of convenience. But Juanita … she couldn’t
have known that. Which means she had thought she could steal “my
man.”

That thought made me furious.

“So, Philly,” I heard her pant, “am I better than her? Am I? Do I
fuck better than your stuck-up, blonde girlfriend?” My heart
tightened in my chest. On one hand, I didn’t care what that
bastard thought of my sexual prowess. On the other hand, who
*would* want to hear the response I knew was coming?!?

“Tell me I’m better, Philly!” she demanded, picking up her pace.
“Tell me I’m more of a woman than your bitchy little Marcia!” She
began pistoning herself over him.

The bastard answered like I knew he would. “Yes,” he gasped.
“You’re so much more woman than Marcia could ever be!” I felt my
face flush with shame, even though I knew it wasn’t true and I
didn’t give a rat’s ass about Phil’s opinion. It was obvious that
Phil’s definition of “best sex” was “whatever sex he was having
at that moment.”

“Who’s your goddess?” I heard her demand, as she pinned his arms
beneath her legs. “Who do you love? Who do you worship?!”  She
was riding him like a rodeo bull. Sweat glistened across her
shoulders, as she pummeled him with her pelvis. Phil was
thrashing back, enthusiastically. Even though I detested Phil, I
realized that I was a little envious – I don’t remember him ever
showing such passion in any of our sessions.

“You!” the pinned cheater cried wildly. “You’re the one I love!
You’re the one I …” the rest of his proclamations of adoration
were cut off with a strangled cry as he arched his back high,
actually lifting his brown-skinned rider up into the air. He
froze in that position, shoulders and heels sunk deeply into the
mattress, leaving his ass a good foot above the bed.  Juanita
rode his spasming body expertly.  The slut must have had a lot of
experience keeping her balance in such positions.

“That’s right,” she purred, as Phil’s drained body finally
slumped back onto the bed. “Me. You may live with her, but you
belong to me.” She pulled herself off his now-flaccid cock and
crawled up to straddle his face.

“Clean me,” she ordered.

To my surprise, I heard enthusiastic slurping.

I was livid. “Why you *bastard*!” I thought. Phil had always
refused to eat me, joking that he didn’t want to put his mouth on
something that made his dick throw up.  I had been humiliated and
never asked again.  And now, here he was, not only eating this
bitch out, but doing so even after her cunt had been filled with
his own cum.

“You sick fuck!’ I whispered through gritted teeth. I decided
then and there that they weren’t going to get away with it.
Nobody was going to humiliate me like that and live.

I'd kill them.

I'd kill them both!

But how …? If anything, this humiliating display had given me a
few insights. It was obvious that Juanita was a top – she enjoyed
being in control and dominating others. I had guessed as much
from watching her arrogance in the office.  But I could use this
against her. I figured that if she had a domme personality, that
meant it would be devastating to her to suffer someone else
dominating her.

I couldn’t risk doing it myself – I had a career to think of.
Besides, I wasn’t sure I could overpower a man or maybe not even
this slutty Mexican bitch. Sure, I could just kill them – shoot
them in an alley … slip poison into a drink … But that wouldn’t
satisfy my craving for humiliation and vengeance.

I’d need to hire someone. Someone tough. Someone mean. Someone
who could dish out the dark justice for which my soul yearned.

* * * * * * * * *

It was three days after I'd made my fateful decision that I found
myself at the door to the backroom of a biker bar.  Before I was
able to follow a series of referrals to find the right person. We
met in the backroom of a biker bar, at about 3 a.m.  The only
name I knew her by was “Kitty.”

“So, Blondie,” Kitty said, “I hear you got a job offer for me.” 
It was a statement, not a question. I ran an appraising eye over
the big woman. She was huge – easily over 6 feet tall, and very
thick-bodied.  She wore a sleeveless leather vest, with nothing
underneath, showing off the tattoos on her muscular arms.  Black
leather pants wrapped tightly around her lower body, flaunting
silver zippers that ran up both the left and right sides. One
knee-high black leather boot tapped impatiently, as she wrapped a
fingerless black-leather gloved hand around a Budweiser.

“That’s right,” I affirmed. “I want you to kill two people.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow.  “Kill two people?” she asked. “Now why
would I want to get involved in something like that?”

I opened the briefcase I had brought with me, showing neatly
packed stacks of bills. “Because I’ll pay you,” I told her. “In
two payments: $10,000 per person, up front. Another $5,000 per
person when I confirm it’s done.”

“And why can’t we just take the money now, and dump your body in
a dumpster somewhere,” one of her lackies asked, smiling evilly.

I kept my calm. “Because then you wouldn’t get the final
payment,” I pointed out. “Are you really willing to turn your
back on $10,000 of easy money?”

The big woman seemed to consider for a while. “$20K each,” she
said, finally. “Up front. Another $5K when it’s done.”

I laughed and Kitty frowned, dangerously.

“$20K for both, now,” I repeated. “And another $10K upon
completion.” The biker woman regarded me through narrowed eyes.
“And I’ll tell you what,” I continued, “If you do it the way I
tell you … and if you videotape it so I can watch, I’ll throw in
an additional $20K!”

My assassin seemed impressed. “$50K, total? For offing two
people? She gave a greedy smile and I knew I had her. “What’s
this ‘way’ you want them done in?” she asked.

I smiled. When you get to the point of discussing details, that
means the larger issue has already been accepted. “I want four
conditions,” I said. “First, I want you to beat the hell out of
them. I want them to know pain.” The gang leader nodded,
agreeably.

“Second,” I continued, “I want a sexual component. That’s where
they crossed the line, that’s what‘s going to come back to kill
them. Third, I want you to humiliate and dominate them – the more
the better. I want them broken, before they die.”

Kitty nodded. “And the fourth?” she asked.

I took a deep breath, relishing this.  I had given it a lot of
thought. “The fourth,” I told her, “is the method of death. I
want them to die in the most humiliating fashion I can think of:
Being smothered to death beneath a black woman’s ass.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the women around us and
the room fell silent.  “They must be stunned by the incredible
inventiveness of my plan,” I thought.

I met the big woman’s gaze, evenly. Finally, she nodded. “I’ll do
it,” she said. There was a gasp of surprise from the assembled
women. “Why?” I wondered. “Did they think my payment offer wasn’t
generous enough?”

“Who are the marks?” Kitty asked. I gave her a picture of Phil
and one of Juanita, with their names and addresses written on the
back. My assassin studied the photos and nodded. “Meet me here in
one week,” she said. “I’ll have your video for the first mark, to
prove I’m on the level. Then we’ll meet a week after that and
I’ll give you the video for the second.”

“Or I can give you a post office box number to drop the videos …”
I began. But Kitty cut me off.

“Uh uh,” she shook her head. “We’ll bring the first video to show
 we’re on the up and up. You watch the video, here, and bring the
portion of the second payment – so we know *you’re* on the up and
up.”  I could see the wisdom of that approach and nodded my
agreement.

“On week,” I agreed, heading out the door.

* * * * * * * * * *

The week passed agonizingly slowly, for me. But the day finally
came. The burly gang-chicks guarding the backroom door recognized
me and let me pass.

Inside, a projector had been set up, with a bedsheet hung against
one wall, to serve as a screen. One metal folding chair had been
set up in what was obviously a “place of honor,” near the
projector, in front of the makeshift screen.

“So,” I asked, breathlessly, turning to Kitty. “Is it done?” She
gave me a toothy grin and waved for me to sit. “Which one did you
do first?” I asked, beside myself with anticipation. She merely
chuckled and gently pushed me into the seat.  Someone turned off
the lights and the projector started.

* * * * * * *

On the screen, I saw a long shot of the hallway of my apartment
complex. It was obvious that whoever was manning the camera was
hiding behind a corner, down the hall.  About 30 feet down the
hallway, we could see a big black woman, dressed in familiar
leathers, was knocking at a door.

The door to *my* apartment. It was Kitty, on film. My breath
caught in my throat and my heart hammered as I realized what was
about to unfold.

The door opened.  A disheveled Phil stuck his head out and
regarded Kitty.

“Shit!” I heard him exclaim in obvious disappointment. “Damn that
agency! They know I don’t like black chicks!”  Even from the
distant vantage point, I could see Kitty, on screen, look
surprised, then bristle.  Almost immediately, though, she
regained her composure. He started to close the door.

“Please, suh!” the on-screen Kitty pleaded, in a heavy fake
dialect that sounded somewhere between “Poor South” and “Urban
Detroit.”

“Don’ send me away wif nuffin!” she begged. “Lemme suck ya off,
at least. Ten bucks?! Whaddya say?”

The closing door paused. About 10 full seconds passed. Phil must
have been thinking it over, the greedy bastard.

“Ah, what the hell,” Phil said. “I guess I can fantasize about
someone else while you suck me. Come on in.”

Smiling, my assassin entered the apartment. Instantly, whoever
was holding the camera began running towards the apartment door.
The scene bounced wildly until she finally arrived, framing the
shot to show our living room, from the hallway.

The scene showed Kitty, standing to the side, with her hands on
her broad hips. Phil was sitting  on the floor with a stunned
look on his face, holding his nose.

“What the FUCK!?!” Phil shouted, angrily, checking for blood. The
camera angle moved inside the apartment and I heard the door
close.

And lock.

There was a wide enough shot that I could see both Kitty and
Phil. Kitty was methodically unbuttoning her leather vest. Phil’s
eyes went wide. “What the hell, you crazy bitch!?!” he shouted.
“If you wanted to do more than suck my cock, you should have just
said so! You didn’t have to punch me, you fucking cunt!

Kitty’s smile seemed frozen in place. I sensed she was beside
herself with fury. Good! That would make what was to come all the
better! She dropped her vest, freeing her big breasts to swing
free. Then she began unzipping her leather pants.

Phil’s gaze was locked on her swaying boobs. “Damn, woman!” he
breathed. “OK, maybe I was too hasty, before. I can forgive and
forget! Maybe we *can* have some ‘more substantial’ fun!”  He
began shucking off his own clothes, then paused. “Hey, who’s the
chick with the camera?” he asked, appearing to look directly at
me -- or so it seemed. I could tell from his expression that
suspicion and racial prejudice were battling with lust.

Kitty stripped off all of her clothes, except, to my surprise,
her boots and those fingerless gloves. Almost nude, she was even
more imposing than in her leathers.  The woman was *big*! Her
shoulders were broader than any other woman’s – or most men’s –
that I’d ever seen. She had a huge ass, but, strangely, it seemed
proportionate to her body.  Her waist, though quite thick, was
significantly slimmer than her bust or hips.  Her dark skin
rippled and the muscles beneath seemed to flow when she moved.

Phil seemed mesmerized, as well. I thrilled inside, knowing how
Phil must be conflicted – his basic racist distaste battling his
raw lust.  The lust appeared to have a small edge.

Even though Phil stood around 5’10”, he seemed dwarfed by this
Amazon. He kept himself in relatively good shape, although he was
no gym rat; but sitting so close to this heavily muscled
gladiatrix, he looked downright puny. Kitty slowly walked over
and pulled him to his feet.  Phil eagerly moved to comply.

She pushed him roughly against the wall.

“You ever kissed a black woman before, sugar?” she asked. Before
he could answer, she planted her thick, dark lips over his mouth.
I could see his cheek bulge where her tongue worked its way
around inside his mouth. With one of her big hands, she pinned
both Phil’s wrists against the wall, above their heads. The white
man struggled, at first, but reluctantly began succumbimng to the
aggressive black woman’s savage kiss.

Kitty was pinning Phil’s wrists with her left hand. The camera
angled so her right hand was center-scene.

The burly gang-leader’s fingers on her right hand curled into a
fist. Slowly she drew it back, never breaking the seal her mouth
had over her victim’s.  She pushed her face forward, pinning
Phil’s head against the wall. Her mouth was open and clamped over
his.  She then punched him savagely in his gut.

A woosh of air could be heard exiting Phil’s nose. Evidently, the
lip-lock she had on his mouth was so tight, there had been no
escape for air through that route.  His eyes widened in surprise
and he gave a strangled cry of protest that was all but smothered
under the black woman’s mouth.

She punched him again. And again.  She sank her big, meaty fist
deeply into his gut, time and again.  Phil’s eyes rolled back and
he would have collapsed, had he not been pinned against the wall.

I lost count of the blows she rained down on his exposed
midsection. After maybe two dozen, she jerked back, spitting.
Phil slumped, semi-conscious, to the floor.

“You *bastard*!” Kitty shouted angrily. “You puked in my
*mouth*!”  She kept spitting as she began kicking and punching
the fallen white man, who, though dazed, tried desperately to
curl into a protective fetal position.

After about five full minutes of venting her rage with puches and
kicks, the burly woman stalked off to the kitchen. Her victim lay
semi-conscious on the floor, whimpering and groaning softly.

The kitchen tap was running and I heard Kitty rinsing her mouth
and spitting into the sink. Finally, she returned to the living
room, with her glass. Judging by the color of the “water,” I
guessed she’d found Phil’s bottle of Jack Daniels, while she had
been in the kitchen.

Phil had risen to a semi-prone position, bracing himself with one
arm.  Kitty walked over and flopped him onto his back, then stood
over him, straddling his head between her feet.

“We’re gonna play a little game, Phil,” she said,
conversationally. “We’re gonna find out which of us has more
sexual power.” Phil lay trembling, looking at the big black woman
with questioning, fear-filled eyes.

“Here’re the rules,” Kitty continued. “I’m going to sit on your
face. You are going to lick my pussy and I am going to stroke
your cock. Whoever can make the other cum first … wins.”

I had never seen Phil look so white. It was like every bit of
color had drained out of his face.

“What … what do we win?” he asked, voice quavering.

Kitty gave him a nasty grin. “If you make me cum first, Phil … I
leave. You walk. No more pain. You never see me again.”

Watching this in the bar backroom, I started. What was with this
“out?!?” I gave Kitty a questioning look. “Not gonna happen,” she
reassured me. “I’m a lesbian.”  Relieved, I returned to the film.

A faint look of hope had lit up Phil’s face. But as quickly as it
came, it left. “And if I lose?” he asked, hesitantly.

The big black woman squatted over his face, positioning herself.

“If I make you cum first, Phil, that means I am your sexual
superior. I know you have a problem with blacks – so if a black
woman makes you cum … and if you cum with a black woman sitting
on your face – that means I own you, white boy.”

Phil was trembling again. “And … and what will you do with me, if
you ... own ... me?” he croaked.

Kitty gave him a look that scared even me, sitting far away, days
later, watching it on-screen.

“Then I’ll prove my superiority in the ultimate way,” she sneered
in a whisper. “I’ll smother you under my big, beautiful, black
ass.”

Tears were coursing down Phil’s pale face. “Why?” he pleaded.
“Why are you doing this to *me*?”

Kitty dropped to her knees and straddled his face. She spread her
legs wide so that her thick, black cunt lips parted over the
pinned white man’s face.

“Because Marcia was the better woman,” Kitty said, reaching out
to grab Phil’s flaccid white cock.

Though he could no longer speak, I saw his body tense as the
realization must have hit him. At that moment, I decided that
Kitty had earned her money for this video … and a bonus. I
settled back to enjoy the “climax” of the film.

Kitty began stroking Phil’s cock, but it didn’t seem to be
responding. Instead, he began thrashing around, trying to free
himself.

“Oh yeah,” Kitty announced, lifting herself off the white man’s
face a few inches, to make sure he heard. “I fucked a few guys
before I came over.” Phil struggled beneath his Amazon captor.

“Black guys,” she added, before settling back onto his face.

I sighed in bliss. That woman was going to get a *big* bonus!
Phil went wild, trying to escape Kitty’s well-used slit.

Kitty’s work on Phil’s member was finally having an effect.  It
slowly began stiffening, as she continued to methodically pump
her fist around its swelling shaft. Within a few minutes, it was
fully erect and straining in her grasp.  The pinned white man
continued to struggle desperately under her smothering, dark
crotch.

“You’d better get going, baby,” Kitty warned, “I’ve already got a
big head start on you!”

I could see Phil’s body go motionless, then cease its struggling
as teh full realization hit him. A pleased look came across
Kitty’s face. “That’s right, white boy,” she encouraged. “Lap
that pussy.  Try and push me over the edge before I push you.”

In spite of her claim of lesbianism, a sheen of sweat began to
glisten on Kitty’s body. After another good five minutes of
forced oral attention, her face looked visibly flushed, despite
her dark skin.  Almost as if realizing she was getting into a
danger zone, the black Amazon squeezed her captives cock tighter
in her fist and increased the pace of her stroking. Her hand was
going so fast, it looked as if she was just banging her fist
against his crotch.

Finally, the inevitable happened. Phil gave a loud moan of
despair which was almost completely muffled in the burly woman’s
groin.  His body arched violently and he began spurting wildly.
The first jet hit Kitty squarely on the chin. The next three
spattered her big breasts, shoulders, and her pistoning arm.  She
kept on stroking throughout, milking her victim dry.

Three more strong spurts landed on his chest and stomach.  Then,
two weak spurts wet his navel and lower stomach.  Finally spent,
his rapidly deflating cock merely drooled in Kitty’s
still-pumping fist.

Triumphantly, the big black woman raised herself up a few inches
from the white man’s gasping face. She must have been enjoying
that frantic tongue action.

“Well, will you look at that,” she told him. “Looks like you *do*
have a thing for black women, Phil! Who knew?!?” My former
boyfriend’s face was flushed with shame and his eyes were round
with fear.

“You know what that means, don’t you, Phil,” she said. It was a
statement, not a question. Phil tried to bleat a protest, but his
strength was gone and his will was broken.  The big black woman
resumed her position, straddling the white man’s face. Then she
inched forward until her ass, rather than her pussy, hovered
above him.

“Please!” he croaked. “Don’t! I’ll do anything! Tell Marcia …”

The rest of his false promises were cut off as Kitty reached
back, spreading her immense ass cheeks and settled down on Phil’s
face.  I could hear his muffled moan of despair and his body
shook as if he were crying.  He struggled weakly, but the big
woman had his arms pinned as she sat back, hard.

I marveled at this sight and found my hand creeping into my own
pants, as I watched. My cheating boyfriend’s face was completely
engulfed in the gang leader’s huge, black ass. I knew that Phil
had to be dying – in every way – realizing what his fate was to
be.

Kitty continued sitting on Phil’s face. The pinned man’s
struggles began to weaken. I was rubbing myself furiously, as I
watched.  The big woman released her captive’s arms, which sprang
up to clasp her thick, tree-trunk-like thighs. But I doubt he
could have broken free even had he been at full strength.  The
woman in the film seemed to look right at me, smiling, causing my
heart to race. Her victim feebly drummed his heels on the floor,
obviously frantic, sensing his end was near.

I watched Phil’s pale, white hands clawing at my assassin’s ebony
legs.  They beat futilely against her rock-hard thighs. Slowly,
his desperately clutching pale hands began to falter, until they
finally dropped nervelessly to the floor, cracking their knuckles
on the ground when they hit.

Phil’s body twitched and then went still.

At that, I came. Hard.

A powerful climax washed over me and I didn’t care who knew. My
eyes were riveted on that white bastard’s body that had so
recently been alive, and the Nubian goddess who had dominated
him.  He had been alive. And now he wasn’t. All because he had
crossed me. I let the waves of pleasure sweep over me, relishing
my victory.  Phil had died … and for him, in the most humiliating
way possible.  “Take that, you cheating fuck!” I hissed through
pleasure-clenched teeth, jabbing several fingers deep inside
myself.

The waves finally ebbed and I became self-conscious about my
self-indulgent lapse. Plucking my dampened hand from my panties,
I flushed as I realized all of the assembled gang members were
watching me, their expressions an array of surprise, disgust, and
… lust?!  Only on the faces of some, but ... it was definitely
there.

On the screen, Kitty sat on Phil's face for another 10 full
minutes.

He never moved during that time.

The lights in the barroom came on and I handed over the briefcase
I had brought with me.

“There’s no question you came through on your end,” I
acknowledged, still trying to catch my breath and calm my
throbbing pussy.  I pulled a stuffed envelope out of my jacket
pocket. “And here’s a little bonus.” I saw Kitty smile. “You
earned it!” I assured her.

She took the envelope, grinning in satisfaction. “I thought you’d
like that,” she said. “Took me by surprise, when he first opened
the door. I was going to act like a messenger – who knew he’d
phoned for ‘escort service?' Just went with the opportunity.” 
Her assembled gang cheered her ingenuity.

I nodded, smiling broadly. That had gone even better than
expected.

“And now,” I said, turning towards the door, “we just have one
more to take care of.” The gang leader nodded.

“This one is the Mexican slut,” I reminded her. “I don’t know her
racial or sexual-orientation attitudes, but I daresay that a big,
fat, black ass-smother death should be sufficiently humiliating.”

The room was quiet and everyone’s face seemed to expressionless.
Hearing no objections, I left, eagerly looking forward to next
week.

Now, it would be Juanita's turn.

(To be continued in “DarkJustice2.txt”)
















