Chapter 3
Sam didn't even notice that the front door was unlocked. He entered the house, holding a soiled handkerchief to the bleeding mouth. He had a big knot on his nearly shaved skull and the cock-suckers had taken his zip-gun and burned his eyes with the tear gas. He hated whites and only lived for the day when he could have a real gun and some cats to help him wipe out the fuzz as the sons-of-bitches came on with their hard hats and swinging clubs. At the moment, he was only glad that he'd half deballed the flatfoot who had been escorting him to the paddy wagon and had made it through the sympathetic crowd. He went into the bathroom and spent a few minutes washing the blood and grime from his wounds. Then he went into the kitchen to pop a beer. After that, he went out and sat down on the old, stuffing-feathered sofa; he saw the expensive cloth coat over the back of the chair, then he saw his sister's jacket on the other arm of the sofa. Sam blinked. The coat would bring five bucks from Nigger Jack's pawnshop, and five clams would buy a bindle of Mary. Then he wondered how the coat had come to be in the house. Maybe Bonnie had pinched it somewhere, bill maybe it meant something else. He'd fucking-well go and see what the kid was up to. He rolled his lips. The beer made the cuts smart like goddamnit.
However much he hated whites, he loved white ass and the one spraddled and hunching down to his sister's slobbering mouth and deep running tongue was the best looking butt he had ever seen, black or white. He saw the piles of clothes, the box of cheap face tissues, and the pair of glasses on the chair. Now he stared at the white body on all fours over Bonnie's skinny black nakedness and Sam's prick got so hard so quick it hurt the full seven inches of it's length. He couldn't tell whether or not she was pretty because her face was buried in his sisters bucking crotch and her hair was falling loosely around her bobbing head Behind her clasping anus the full white splay of monstrous pinkly lipped tits deformed around Bonnie's belly.. Her stomach, drawn up so her ass and head could get down to business, showed two flesh wrinkles. Stunned, excited and marveling, Sam Gilbert watched the whitey and his sweat-shining sister play 69, and suddenly he decided to add seven, which would change the name of the game; but it wasn't a game he intended to play.
Sweating with fuck-fire, Sam backed down the hallway and began to shed his clothes. He was nineteen and had been a school athlete before he'd dropped out and turned on. He had wide, sharply muscled shoulders and long strong arms. His thighs were those of a fullback and his belly was a washboard of tight, rippling muscles. He stood up straight, fondling his prick, dragging back the foreskin flexing the giant member and forcing the head into proper hardness. Then on broad bare feet, he cat-footed it back to the door of Bonnie's room.
They were moaning and muttering, wetly, with small strange throat sounds intermingled with the slap of lips and the slosh of tongues. Sam, moving to keep from becoming a shadow in the corner of the white woman's eye, approached the foot of the bed, where the fantastic ass was jerking down on Bonnie's face. In the moment before his sister looked up and saw him, Sam nearly had his jollies just watching how the plump-lipped cunt reacted to his sister's avid caress. The red tongue dragged the flesh open, plunged into it and licked it back into quivering shape his prick longed to distort. New fire speeded his blood; as he saw the tiny, puckered asshole, winking with the fury of her inner passions. It seemed rubbery, and there was a strain of brown; it looked like it had been recently entered, by a thin black finger or a mousecock. Then Bonnie's eyes became round with discovery and Sam held a big finger to his lips for silence. Bonnie stilled, her tongue still curled in the middle of a long, pushed-in lick. Her eyeballs rolled to see his cock, standing high and thick and pulsating in his fingers. She shook her head which was instantly appreciated by the white ass.
Then she screamed, loud and shrill and bubbly, Sam was beyond caring for possible repercussions. He caught the white body as it came up in scrambling. His arms closed around the slim waist, and he twisted her, lifting her from the cradle of Bonnie's thighs and arms and destroying her one chance to brace herself to the floor. Her scream was choked off by the strength of his embrace, and he hauled her close feeling the white heat of her ass with the head of his cock. He smelled her back, felt her tits beating to his arms and her chest and he hardly fell her elbows, jerking back to beat against his rock hard torso. By then, Bonnie had scrambled off the cot and was somewhere against the wall to his left. He twisted the flailing, gasping body again and hurled her to the cot, his cock now lunging like that of a dog after a bitch. He paid no attention to her frantic, halfchoked cries, nor to the futile claw of her hands at his enveloping arms. He went down over her and when she in her struggles, made the mistake of trying to brace by opening her legs, his prick hit the soft wetness in the thick pubic hair and his cock rammed home, hesitating only a second as it ripped and rounded her splitted maidenhead. He went in and in until his wool layered groin was hard and deformed against the soft white cheeks of her tensed ass. Then for a moment, she was still, impaled upon his thundering cock, breathless in his grasp and stunned by the magnificence of his rape.
The iron bonds around her belly were nothing, as were the bruises hard knees inflicted on her legs and the abrasions on her back, caused by a hard, steel-wooled chin on her soft skin. Shock and terror were gone, and all Joan could feel was the monstrous intruder in her ripped and lacerated cunt. Her hips would not move and her belly could not convulse. The rigid pole impaled and held her like a chicken on a barbecue spit. The agony was the worse she had ever known.
"B-Bonnie! God, B-Bonnie!" she managed to plead with what small breath she found.
"Don't fight, don't fight him!" Bonnie's voice camel shrill and strident. "Hell kill you! Let him fuck you M-Miss Gilbert, let him! Oh, you black mother-fucker, did you have to spoil everything, do you?"
The responsive laugh, burning her back with the heat of breath, was like the pronouncement of doom. The pole thrust deep in her cunt was like fire, the feeling of being spitted was as fearful as it was painful. Weeping in short sobs, she knew she was being fucked, by a black man with a penis like a tree trunk. Dropping her head, she could look back and see the muscular thighs and the long wide feet fighting the cot for bracing. She saw his arms, strung from wrist to elbow with bulging muscles, and far back a huge sack of plumb-sized balls in a wrinkled, hairy sack. But these were only half-sights because her inner mind saw only the huge throbbing, stirring column in her sex. The arms around her waist relaxed; she sensed that they were testing and that one quick escape move from her would bring them crushing back. And the moment the pressure eased, giving her needed breath, she began to feel, to think. The prick in her sex sleeve began to move, sliding back, pushing forward, sliding back, and with this relief, no matter how slight, she ceased to fight its thick possessiveness with her inner tensions. Her split hymen burned and hurt, but it was a peculiar hurting, somehow blending with the pain in her mind over being brutally taken. She was filled, irrevocably forced open and entered by a ruthless beast, now coming alive within the sensitive tissues of her cunt. Great thighs pressed her, a hard mobile plank battered her nates and now the arms had relaxed and big strong hands were feeling of her belly and tits, molding briefly, moving in search of other charms and coming back to knead her flesh with oddly pleasant results. The hips over hers came and went, and with this the cock rippled in her cunt and somehow soothed away the first distending shock. And finally, the good places inflamed by Bonnie's tongue and lips responded to the harder, less subtle irritation and Joan groaned with abrupt revival of her passions. Not like the creation of flavor after a bite of sweet, not the enveloping delight of slipping into a hot tub, but the slow, suggestive building of a certainty that it was going to be excruciatingly good before very long. Her head sank low and her eyes closed and after a moment, the piston in her cunt forced her to reciprocate, to move her ass and up-suck her belly to catch the fleeting touches of hot, rasping meat to the swollen end of her clitoris. She tried to push herself into the enveloping heat and the movement was new pain, quickly turned to fire which sent waves of ecstasy to the very center of her mind. She heard her cunt breathe wetly, felt the lavishly flowing juices churn high in her belly.
Then a hot breath was to her cheek and a gentle fluttering hand at her breast. She opened her eyes and Bonnie was kneeling beside the cot, her lips murmuring small endearments, small encouragements.
"It's Sam, my brother," she whispered. "It's all right. He ain't on junk and he ain't beered up. He-he just found us like we were and had to fuck! You're fine-not even bleeding! But t-try to like it, Joan, because he gets awful mad if you d-don't pop your nuts!"
"Shut up and get back in the corner, bitch!" came a rasp just in back of Joan's head.
"I-I'm all right, Bonnie, darling," Joan managed to husk.
And to her surprise, she was. He was fucking steadily now, the long in, slowly as if to enjoy each moment of her expanding vagina walls, the quick out, to lunge again, each stroke taking a half second, giving Joan the chance to twitch and writhe around the massive prick. A feeling of magnificent femininity came to her, a strange feeling of being utterly taken and thoroughly loved. She forgot that it was a black cock in her ruptured cunt, forgot that she was being raped, and gave no thought to fear nor hate nor helplessness. She moved her knees apart and involuntarily thrust her ass high and back, thrilling to the feeling of snugging to the lusty body over hers. The hands were moving now, and she thought Sam had straightened up to lend new whip to his steel corded hips. She felt his fingers squeezing and moving her nates, apart and back, sending promise from her asshole up her spine. Inside she purred because she was a woman being used, adored, brutalized, her saliva drooling lips begged for more and harder and deeper, though the sounds came out as mewling and incoherent gasps.
Then the sweet phantom of approaching orgasm rose out the motled sensations. She knew the feeling well, but now it came with furious size, like a tidal wave moving slowly from some distant shore to inundate her flesh and smash her to some impregnable sea wall. She stilled her rolling ass, letting the pure ram of Sam's cock drag the ecstasy from her knotting nerves and tensing muscles. Again she closed her eyes, sinking slowly toward the electric blue just a few more deep and distending strokes away. She hovered, grunting hard to have it.
"Now, now, now!" she cried. "Come on, nigger! Fuck me g-good, you black son-of-a-bitch, fuck me, fuck me-Ooh, ausch-ah-h!" Her supporting arms turned to water and her thighs seemed to melt. For a moment, she hung on his thrust and holding cock, feeling it nearly in her throat and then the churning, fire-hot jism was beating a sweet tattoo into her thirst cunt and as she dove headlong into momentary oblivion, she wondered what Martha would say when the baby came out as black as coal with a prick a foot long and balls the size of apples. Then her orgasm wrapped itself around his and milked and milked until secret muscles cramped and went soft around the spewing prick. She fell forward, the body and the cock following with relentless ramming. Through the excruciating ecstasy, she heard his murmur; "Goddamn, Goddamn, Goddamn!" then a gruff chuckle of hysteric laughter and she thought, I'll never love a woman again in all my life.
She lay as he left her, lying on her belly, her still pulsating tits squashed out under her chest, her cheek lying on the not-clean blanket. She could feel the jism trickling from her belabored cunt and squeezed down with her stomach to hasten the discharging. After a moment, she opened her eyes and he was standing in an arrogant arch with his sperm-coated prick hanging out in a black rainbow arc.
"All right, cunt, start screaming," he growled.
She managed a small short shake of her head but she could not speak. Nor scream, even if she had wanted to. She fell very very good.
"I bet you hurt her with that roll of tarpaper," Bonnie said from somewhere. "Sam, she'd never been fucked before! A virgin!"
"Yeah. I fell it pop when I went in. Hey, who is she, sis?"
Joan heard herself being explained. "We kind of had a little thing going and we came here-Hey, who beat you up Sam?"
"Fuzz. They came on like kill every nigger in the world I only came home because there wasn't anywhere else to go."
"Bad scene, huh? Miss Gilbert, honey. You okay?"
Summoning all of her strength, Joan raised to one elbow, then slowly turned, wincing with small sharp pain that ran from her ruptured hymen right up to her forehead She stared at Sam, now wiping his huge limp cock with a shirt taken from the pile of unwashed clothes. He was very ugly, she thought, with his puffed lips pouting out from his scraggly beard. She narrowed her eyes-like a sleek ape. He was holding his thick foreskin back and gently wiping his cum and her juice from the dark red shank. She suddenly wanted to do that for him but her mind and body seemed completely detached from one another and the magnitude of her earlier surrender was just beginning to frighten her. Bonnie giggled. "He got you good, didn't he, Miss Gilbert? 1 saw you go, and were you flying! You going to call the fuzz on him?"
"No, no," Joan murmured. "Help me dress, will you, Bonnie. I w-want to go home."
Sam looked at her sternly, then his bruised lips parted and he smiled. "Why blow, babe? Hell, the party has just started!" He shook his cock at her and meaty weight slapped against his hand. "Like you and me can make it, baby!"
"I ought to have you arrested and charged with-with rape!" she blurted, spending her resentment.
"Do that, baby. Come right on with the fucking fuzz. Right after you tell 'em you and Bonnie, here, were sucking cunts when the nasty nigger came on with the meat. Anyway, bitch, you liked it and you know you did! You're just lucky my mink gave me a blow-job this morning or I'd have this up your nice white ass right now!" "You're a beast," Joan decided. "An animal!" "Aw, he's a pretty good cat," Bonnie protested. "Your ass hurt? Mine did the first time he screwed me. 'Course I was only nine and couldn't take as much as he wanted to give me. Hoo boy! I bled for a damned week, didn't I, Sam?"
With a wail, Joan fell back on the cot, her hands going down to cover her throbbingly painful crotch. Bonnie folded over her, kissing and petting, and after a little time, Joan hugged the slim black body to her enlivening white one, and as the ugliness of now faded, she began to laugh, hysterically at first, then with genuine mirth. "She a nut or something?" Sam demanded of his sister. "Fuck her again, Sam. I think she's signifying!"
"No," Joan said.
But when he knelt and took her hand to put it to his cock, the feel of the rubbery tube, hot, loose-skinned and pulsing, was devastating and Joan drew her legs up and apart, unable to control herself. She watched Bonnie manipulate her brother's penis into rigidity and then she lay, trembling, lost and wanting while Sam settled over her, and Bonnie guided his prick into the sore but anxious cavity of her starved sex. The thrill she hadn't expected was from the way the three of them clung together, feeling, kissing and laughing in total abandonment. She even liked the smell of Sam's unwashed armpits and the liberties his fingers took with her ass and the neat pucker between the tensing cheeks. She called herself a nigger lover and held nothing back.
Three steps out of Bonnie's house, the world came tumbling down on Joan with a shattering crash. She hesitated at the curb, leaning against a telephone pole and the dirty street and the ugly buildings went around and around. A taxi cab slid to a halt in front of her and the door flipped open. She entered it, trying not to look at the colored driver, needing only to get away from the curious and seemingly knowing eyes of the Sugartown denizens. She gave the driver an address a block away from her apartment, then settled back, a split second from hysteria and as cold and stiff as a corpse. The smell of Sam was still in her nose and the wet between her trembling legs was his jism. She had bruises from his hand and knees and elbows and her deep belly ached with the dullness of interior hurt The only positive feeling she had was the flat exhaustion the totally soothed and exquisitely satisfied weariness in her vagina.
Walking the block to her apartment stretched some tired muscles and filled her lungs with easy, afternoon air. She did not try to think because her mind was too filled with memories, thrashing twisting images of black skin and rippling muscles and obscenities she had never known could exist. When she discovered that Martha was not yet home, she began to weep and the magnitude of her destruction seemed unbearable. Her first move was to run a tub of hot water. As she stripped, she hurled her clothes into a corner, then naked, her body an ugly, lewd and hateful thing as she passed mirrors and reflective surfaces, she went to the kitchen and obtained a large brown paper bag. Before she climbed into the tub, she stuffed every stitch of clothing she had worn-and they had touched-into the bag and crushed the top closed.
The water was good, too hot but somehow, just right. Joan slumped in the steaming water and decided to think. She stared down at her mauled tits and her still pulsating belly and below that, the haired valley of her crotch, her swollen and inflamed cunt lips shimmering in the slightly distorting water. She had been raped-fucked, fucked, fucked-and that was only an all-encompassing word to describe none of the small, exciting and degrading things she had done, and had allowed to be done to her. She reached down and formed a cup over her vagina and pumped the hot water in and out, watching with horror the fine, curdled remnants of Sam's sperm. She pumped harder, making the water roil, and she tried to remember where one of her faculty had said there was a doctor, or a simulated doctor-who would do an abortion for three hundred dollars. She ceased flushing her wounded cunt only when the pain became too much and the gray-white globs of jism ceased to appear.
Finally, she lay back, her fingers toying lightly with her tits, moving down to press and soothe her exploded virginity, and in the end, lazily tantalizing her sensitized anus. He had wanted to fuck her there but his prick had been too big. Joan sucked in a huge breath and let it moan from her lips.
No matter what the repercussions could be, she had been raped and re-raped and she had enjoyed every minute of it-after the first minute. If the setting had been sordid and the man a beast, she had yet survived, and if she hated herself for such obscene conduct, she nursed the odd inside feeling that she was now a woman, not a Lesbian. More than that, she had been given a swift close-up of a segment of life, sensual, exciting and beyond the social veil. She had seen a man's cock, a black man's prick, held it in her hand, kissed its bloated head and nested it within her surprised sex. She had fondled his balls, finding there a texture and a rolling fullness like no other object she had ever touched. Shocked at the time, she now remembered the profane words dripping from Sam's saliva bubbling lips as brutally exciting, nearly as thrilling as the things he suggested.
It had not been sweet and tender and exhilarating as she had always expected her first surrender to be; it had been fiery lust and ruthless rooting bestiality, with Bonnie watching and giggling and sending her slim hands between them to test a particularly violent meshing. It had been an orgy, a repulsive, senseless plunging into total degradation. Once more the. horror of what she had done overwhelmed her memories, and weeping, Joan departed the cooling water, a hundred fears pummelling her weary mind and a hundred pains torturing her exhausted body.
Dried, she donned a robe and carried the sack of clothing to the garbage chute, then went to her room and stretched out under a quilt. The last conscious dream she had was of herself wandering through a dark forest where each tree was a huge replica of Sam's black prick. She was naked and it seemed to be raining, and when she turned her face up to the freshness, the drops became white and viscid and it wasn't rain at all, merely the downfall of the endless jism spurting up from the throbbing spewing trees.