Chapter 1
My momma always told me when I was a little girl back in Birmingham, "Melody honey, two things you better watch out for. White men and drugs. Both them things will make you boil like oil." Now I think that it might have been better if I had listened to my dear, old, sainted, Birmingham mother. Fact is, two things I could not keep my hands off of were white men and drugs, and they led me to where I am today, being held hostage here in the middle of the fucking jungle.
But wait. I am getting ahead of myself. You don't want to hear about the jungle yet.
And I imagine that you don't want to hear about my dear, old momma back in Birmingham either.
I guess I should start by telling you about Ranee Godwin. He was the one who got me into this.
Ranee Godwin was the guy who lived with Belle Wilson, the madame back there in Ayer, Massachusetts. Ranee was a long, thin drink of water and he had sort of a boyish way about him. He stammered a lot, like he was scared of things. But the truth is that there was not much at all that Ranee Godwin was scared of. When I first met him there at Belle's, he was a little over thirty, and he had already been a gun-runner in Africa and Latin America and sort of a soldier of fortune. He was laying low there in Ayer, Massachusetts, because some deal that he had been working on in Iraq or some such hole-in-the-wall place had fallen through and there was a whole bunch of Arabs after his fine, skinny tail.
He had known Belle back in New York City, and he had come to stay with her because he knew that he could talk old Belle into anything under the sun. That was the strange thing about Belle. She was a madam there in Ayer. She had a house that serviced the soldiers out at the military intelligence base at Fort Devens, and she was as hard as nails most of the time. I remember seeing her hit a soldier over the head with a hammer once and send him to the hospital, just because he made some kind of suggestion to her that she considered indecent. But, when Ranee Godwin showed up, Belle just sort of caved in. She let that skinny man take over and she looked at him like a girl with a crush on a high school football player or something. Belle was pretty and nearly forty and she had been around. She was the toughest white woman I ever met, but Ranee made a change in her and I don't think that I will ever understand how he got so much power over her so quickly. I figure that it must have something to do with what he had done to her back in New York City. I know what Ranee did to her there in Massachusetts. He nailed her to the bed every night and had her screaming for mercy when he fucked her. Come to think of it, I guess that is enough to make any woman melt. It sure enough made me melt when I first looked at that man.
I will always remember the first time that I saw him sitting there in the living room of Belle's house. It was early morning and I had come down to clean the place up. I don't know when he had shown up, but I figure that it must have been sometime during that night, when I had been asleep. Oh, yes, I guess I should tell you that. I worked as a maid a Belle's place. I was not a whore. I was only sixteen years old, and Belle didn't like to work with black whores anyway. She said that the soldiers could get all the black poon-tang that they wanted out on the streets of the big city. In a little town like Ayer, they deserved the best. I guess that she meant that a black whore was not the best. I should have taken offense at that. I had fucked me some men when I was very young and they all told me that I was the best, black men and white men both. But I was only sixteen when I worked there and I needed the job and I figured that I did not want to make Miss Belle angry with me. Miss Belle. That is what she wanted me to call her. She wandered around that fucking house like she was some kind of Southern aristocrat, even though she came from Troy, New York, and that house was nothing but a fucking brothel. I did not call her Miss Belle when I thought that I could get away with it. I used to look at her and wonder when she was going to make me move over to the side of the room and cower there anytime a white whore passed through. I had had enough of that shit in Birmingham. That is why I had had left that city of the
Southland and had come to the North. I was tired of that white man's shit and I was also tired of the heat.
Unless you live in a place like Birmingham, you cannot know the kind of heat that I am talking about. It is a smothering heat. When I came to New England, the only thing I knew was I wanted to do was play in the snow. But I showed up in Boston in the middle of the summer and there was no snow on the ground and I knew that I would have to find a way to support myself until winter came. I got a couple of jobs and then I worked my way out to Ayer and got myself a job in that house as a maid. It was a good job, I guess. The work wasn't that tough and I had me a roof over my head. So I worked there and I waited for the snow to come. I wanted to play in that snow so bad that I could almost taste it.
But Ranee Godwin showed up in August and I never got a chance to play in the snow at all.
Yeah, I had started to tell you about the first time that I ever saw that skinny, sexy, white man. It was that morning in August when I came down to clean up the house and put breakfast on for the girls who worked there. At that time, we had four girls living there with Belle and me and most of them slept late because they had been fucking all night, up until about dawn. But, one of them, this little redhead with a strange, foreign accent named Suzy Q, she always came down about eight o'clock in the morning and demanded a big cup of coffee with plenty of milk in it. Always looked at me and said she didn't like anything black. You know, I think those Massachusetts whores were the biggest racists I had ever met in my life. Every fucking one of them thought that she was some kind of Southern belle fighting off U. S. Grant himself and saving that beautiful civilization. I guess they see too many old movies up there in Massachusetts. Those whores would watch old movies on TV all day when they weren't working. There was not much else a girl could do in Ayer. It is a small town and it would be nothing but a dried up place on the map if it wasn't for Fort Devens. But they get the Boston television stations there and some of those stations run one old movie after another.
Shit, I keep getting off my story. I got to tell you about the first time that I saw Ranee Godwin. I got to keep that in mind. Sometimes I think the big H, the stuff that I have shot in me over the years, has done something bad to my concentration.
Anyway, I came down to the living room that morning and I started to clean up. And then Ranee Godwin sort of roused himself off the couch. He was sleeping under a bunch of old copies of the Boston Globe and he was wearing just his underwear, his undershirt and his boxer shorts. He grinned at me and I just looked at him.
"You better get back to the base, soldier," I said. "I think you are AWOL."
You see, I thought that he was a soldier, some customer who had come to Belle's and had gotten drunk and had fallen asleep there on that couch under those newspapers.
But he just grinned at me and he lifted his hand up to his head and saluted me.
"Sweet stuff," he said, "I ain't no soldier. I am just a man from out of town, come to visit my old friend, Belle."
Well, I did not really care who he was at that moment. I just knew that I had to get that living room cleaned up and that coffee on for Suzy Q. So I turned around and went into the kitchen. I figured that I would give him time to put on some clothes.
But he got up and followed me into the kitchen and stood there in his undershirt and his green boxer shorts and smiled at me. He jumped up on the counter and sat there and said, "I sure could use a cup of coffee. Black with sugar."
And he grinned at me and I knew that he was talking about me, more about me than any fucking cup of coffee.
"Who are you, Mister?" I asked him. "Well," he said, putting his hands around his knee and lifting that knee toward his chest. "I could tell you that my name was Lance Godwin and that I was from New York City. But you would never know for certain, would you, Sweet Drop? I could be Aaron Sparks from Yazoo City, Mississippi, or I could be Joe Ferguson from Wichita, Kansas, or I could be David Conover from Fargo, North Dakota. That is the strange thing about the world today, little lady. You can never believe anyone when he tells you anything."
I was standing there in my maid's uniform, a little, white thing that Belle had bought for me. It had short sleeves. The skinny man looked at one of my arms and then he reached out and pulled it to him and studied the marks on that arm.
"I think that you have been playing the horses," he said. "I think that you have been putting fever in your veins, Sugar."
I nodded my head. I was not ashamed of it. The heroin was the only thing that kept me going some days.
"Yeah," I said. "I shoot up. So what?"
"You clean now?" the man asked, dropping my arm.
I noticed that the coffee was boiling in the pot and I moved toward the pot with a cup.
"I don't have a habit," I said. "I have just done it a few times. It makes me feel better."
"Bullshit," the man said. "Nobody does it a few times to feel better. You either have a habit or you don't shoot at all."
I shivered. Then I took a deep breath to calm down and I poured the coffee.
"Okay," I said. "I shoot most every day. But my habit isn't big. Twenty-five dollars a day will do me."
And then I handed him the cup of black coffee and pointed to the little kitchen table.
"The sugar is over there," I said.
He just smiled at me and sipped on the strong, black brew. He did not use sugar at all.
"You sure are a pretty thing," he said. "I bet the soldiers like you a lot, Blackberry."
"The soldiers don't get a chance at me," I said. "Belle won't let them come near me. She don't like having black girls work in her house. I am just the maid here."
"She is missing out on something sure," the man said with appreciation in his voice.
He sipped on the coffee and I decided that I liked that skinny, white man. There was something about him that made me shiver, something about the way he looked at me. It was like he knew everything about me just by glancing.
"If you are a friend of Belle's, how come you were sleeping in there on the couch?" I asked. "I know that she does not have anybody up there with her this morning. I peeped in and she was just snoring away all by her lonesome."
"Sweet Thing," he said, "the monks of old slept in their coffins."
"That does not answer my question, Mister," I said, and I put my hands on my hips.
You see, early in the morning, I used to think of that house as my house. I was the only one moving around in there most mornings, at least until Suzy Q. got up all grumpy and scratching herself and came downstairs for her coffee. And I thought then that, in a way, that man had invaded my house. And I didn't like it. I didn't like it a bit.
I wanted some straight answers to my questions, even though I could already feel my pussy going a little crazy down there between my legs, even though I already knew that I was sort of turned-on by that guy.
"Well," he said, "you said it right just a minute ago. My old friend, Belle, she snores like a buzz-saw. I was sleeping with her until a little after dawn and then I could not stand that fucking snoring any more. It was like being in bed with some kind of rampaging water buffalo."
And I giggled. I could not help myself. I thought that that was an excellent description of Belle.
The man sipped on his coffee and looked at me and I felt that funny, shivering feeling in my cunt, like I had to go and piss or something. But I just smiled back at him.
"What you into, Little Black Thing?" he asked me.
"Huh?"
"What you get off on? Girls? Boys? Straight Fucking? Enemas? What?"
I made a little face when he mentioned enemas. We had some customers who got off on that. I had heard a couple of the girls talking about those guys, mostly officers. And I thought that that was sick, sick, sick.
I knew that I usually got off on some straight, good, down-home sex. But, when I looked at that skinny man and saw the way that his eyes were burning right through me, I did not want to limit myself. I thought that he could make me like just about anything in the world.
So I just grinned at him. "With you, Stud," I said, "I think that I could like anything that was fiery."
And the man laughed and jumped down off the counter and took my hand.
"Where's your room, Sweet Plum?" he asked.
"Back in the back of the house. It is very small."
"Big enough for two if we stay real close?" he asked.
"Sure. I think I could squeeze you in."
We held hands as we walked back to ray room, and I felt very proud of myself. This man had been sleeping with Belle, I kept thinking. This man had been fucking her and now he was going to fuck me. I did not even snore, although I did not think that this skinny, sexy guy would ever get the chance to find out if I did or not.
I had no intention of falling asleep that morning, not with that stud around me.
When we got in that little room, the skinny man put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down on the bed. I sat there and looked at that bulge in his boxer shorts.
And the man spoke to me softly.
"I will tell you the truth, Honey," he said. "My name is Ranee Godwin and I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland. But I am a man of the world. I have been everywhere but the electric chair and seen everything but the wind."
I giggled again. I liked the way that that man talked. There seemed to be poetry in everything he said. And I looked at that bulge in his shorts and I thought that there was something like poetry in those shorts too. I reached up and I touched those shorts with my hand and Ranee Godwin groaned.
"Pull them down, Black Beauty," he said. "It is time you got yourself a fine feast."
And I put my fingers in the waistband of those shorts and I pulled them down slowly.
His legs were bony and hairy. I pulled those shorts all the way down his legs and then held them while Ranee Godwin stepped out of them.
And then I looked at his cock. It was a big one, big and long and hardening like a spear.
I wrapped my black fingers around that cock and I looked up at him. I had suddenly thought of something that I liked every once in a while, something that I thought would be particularly good if Ranee Godwin did it to me.
"You can call me dirty names and curse me," I said. "I like that sometimes, and I do like the way that you talk, Ranee."
The man just smiled down at me and he pulled his undershirt up his body and over his head and then he stood there naked in front of me.
I felt a little funny when he did that, you know. I still had all my clothes on, and the man was naked in front of me. It was like he did not care if I took off my clothes or not.
I licked my lips and I knew that the only thing that Ranee Godwin was really interested in at that moment was my mouth. He wanted my mouth on his cock. He wanted me to suck him.
And that was what I wanted too.
I don't know why I had asked him to call me dirty names. I don't even know why I had liked that before. I guess that it had something to do with the fact that I came from a poor family, a poor, black, Southern family. It seemed that white men had been calling me nigger all of my life. And, as much as I hated it when they called me that, I also liked it when they said things like that to me while I did sexy things to them. I thought that that was sort of a game, a game that would get all the pain out of me. I also did not really mind when a man knocked me around a little bit. When a man hit me, it felt a little bit like the dope felt when it went into my blood. It felt warm and exciting. And the pain made me feel alive, really alive.
But, of course, at that time I had never been knocked around and hurt in the way that Ranee Godwin would hurt me. I had a lot to learn that morning in Ayer, Massachusetts. And I was going to start learning it at that very moment.
I had not even put my mouth to his cock yet. I still just had my fingers around that rod.
And Ranee Godwin hit me. He slapped me across the side of my head with his hand and knocked me over on the bed. I let go of his cock as I fell, and I felt my head buzzing with the pain. I lay there and looked up at him and I muttered the question.
"Why did you do that?"
"Because you wanted it, Sweet Dumpling," the man said with a grin. "I know it. I know all about your kind. The minute you said that I could call you names, I knew that you really wanted more than just that."
And he continued to grin through that, and that grin did not seem to fit what he had done to me. He had hit me and hurt me. I touched the side of my head and just looked at that grin and thought that this man was crazy or something.
And then I thought that I was the one who was crazy.
You see, as I lay there with that pain buzzing through my brain, I could feel that strange and bubbling feeling in my cunt. It was like something was dissolving down there, something that was sending charges of electricity all through my body. And I knew that that pain was giving me that dissolving feeling in my pussy.
I knew that Ranee was as right as rain on a summer day.
I did like the pain. I did like being hurt, and I wanted to be hurt some more.
But I wondered if I could admit something like that to that man that I had just met. And then I thought that I probably could admit it to him. He seemed to know it anyway. He seemed to know everything about me, things that I did not even know myself.
Ranee looked down at me and said, "Get naked, Nigger."
And those words were like the greatest poetry in the world to me. Those words were the most fascinating and sexy words that any man had ever spoken to me.
My fingers trembled like little moths as I moved them over the front of my white blouse and started to unbutton that garment. I just looked at that naked, skinny man, and I sought strength from the stare that he gave me. I wanted to please him. I wanted to suffer for him, and I had never wanted anything like that before in my life.
Suddenly, a thought dashed across my mind. I wondered if I might be in love with that man. I wondered if I might want to stay with him forever.
I opened my blouse. I was not wearing a bra. My tits are big and black and sexy. A lot of men had complimented me on my tits, but, as I moved to take off that blouse, Ranee Godwin did not say a word. That did not surprise me. After the way that he had hit me, after the way that he had understood my needs in that way, I knew that he would not be the type to give a girl a lot of compliments. And I knew at that instant that I was not the kind of girl who would demand compliments, not from a man like that.
I just wanted him to curse me and make me feel good and sexy with those bad words.
I dropped my blouse on the floor near the bed and then I stalled because I wanted to hear some more of those words. I got more than just words from Ranee Godwin that morning.
He leaned over and he put his fingers on my nipple and he twisted it. I winced in pain and I felt that dissolving thing in my pussy again. Then he snarled at me. Then he cursed me.
"Get the rest of your fucking clothes off, you nigger bitch," he said.
And I reacted to those words as if he were reciting love poetry to me.
I unzipped my skirt and pushed it down my legs quickly. I dropped that little, white skirt on the floor too, and then I kicked off my shoes. I lay there in just my white panties and
I looked up at him.
Ranee Godwin leaned over and drove his fist right into my lower stomach. I jerked and I sighed when he gave me that blow, and I listened to the words that he had to say to me.
"I told you to get naked, you nigger slut," he said.
And I knew then that, no matter how much I loved the pain, I would have to get naked.
I could not stall with Ranee Godwin any longer. He was my skinny, white, wonderful master and he would not allow such a thing from a nigger bitch like me.
I pushed those panties down my legs and took them off. Then I held them there in my hands. I felt the warm juices that were in the panties, and I knew that that soft, white material had soaked up the juices from my excited, nigger cunt.
And I sat up and I offered the panties to Ranee. I raised both of my hands and I held them up to him as if he were some kind of god. And I guess that he was my god at that moment. It was early in the morning in Ayer, Massachusetts, and the snows had not even come yet and I had already found a god.
He took those panties from me and then he snarled at me again.
"Open that mouth, nigger," he said.
And I opened my mouth.
He jabbed those juice-soaked panties into my mouth and gagged me with them. Then he put his hand on my forehead and pushed me back on the bed.
I lay there and trembled with desire for this man.
"Nigger bitch," he muttered.
And I wanted to answer him. I wanted to tell him that he was speaking truth like the gospel.
But I could not talk because I had those panties in my mouth.
So I just lay there and looked at him with eyes of love.
Ranee Godwin looked around and said, "Yep," to no one in particular.
And then he reached down and pulled the panties from my mouth with a jerk.
He smiled at me again, and I could tell that he appreciated something about my nigger soul, something that I had never known was deep in there before. It was like that man had dug down there in the deepest part of me and found something that was ultimate nigger, ultimate bitch, ultimate pain-loving whore.
He dropped the panties on the floor and looked at me as if I disgusted him.
And I thought for a moment that he would turn around and leave me, turn around and go back to that buzz-saw, snoring Belle Upstairs.
But he did not leave me. He reached down and grabbed my head as if it were a sack of manure and he pulled it toward him with that look of disgust on his face.
And he said, "Suck my cock, you fucking nigger bitch."
I thought that we were really back to where we had started. I had meant to suck his cock moments before, before he had hit me. We were back, but we had taken such a sexy detour that I did not mind it at all. It was a detour of fine discovery for me.
I lifted his cock in my hands and moved toward the edge of the bed and I sucked that cock into my mouth. That cock was sweet, like a slap on the head
I worked my mouth back and forth on that cock, and, as I sucked on that sweet thing, Ranee Godwin reached down and twisted on my nipples with a strange sort of glee. He was suddenly like a kid at Christmas, happy and laughing as he gave me that pain and I gave him that blowjob. And I felt like a kid at Christmas too, even though the snow had not fallen in Massachusetts yet, even though Christmas was still months away and I had never really been a kid in my life.
I had to be careful not to bite that dong when he pinched my nipples that way. I knew that a man who was as strong as Ranee would not like having a nigger girl take a bite out of his cock as if it were a watermelon. I used only my lips, my broad, nigger lips, and I sucked on that cock. I moved my head back and forth, and, as that cock grew, Ranee took his hands off my nipples and touched my kinky hair. He rubbed my head hard, like some white men rub a nigger head in order to have good luck.
And then he laughed some more. Ranee was having a fine time treating me like a piece of shit.
And I was surprised that I was having a fine time too. My pussy was bubbling with desire and I felt a heat rushing through me, like the heat that ran through me when I got a nice bit of horse into me. But this heat seemed to want to stay in me. It did not rush to leave me, did not try to get out of my body. I could tell that this heat would be with me for as long as Ranee was around.
When the cock was hard, I sighed and fell back on the bed. I spread my legs and Ranee reached down and patted my wet, sweet pussy. While he did that, I grabbed my own nipples and I pulled on them. I wanted that heat, that pain, that sexy stuff to stay in me, even if I had to give that stuff to myself.
I pulled on those nipples and I sighed and I felt all kinds of things running through me, like a stampede of mares, hot mares through a cool, western valley.
Ranee just stood there and looked at me for a second. And then he moved onto my little, narrow bed.
"You sure got one sweet cunt, you fucking nigger," he said, running his finger into my pussy.
And that combination of insult and compliment drove me almost crazy with hot-mare lust.
If it was this good already, I thought, what would it be like when the snows came to Massachusetts?
I had a vision, a sudden vision. I wanted Ranee with me in the snow. I wanted him to run naked in the snow with me and then turn and have him knock my flat of my back in that snow. I would lie there, black in the white snow, I thought, and I would melt that stuff with my own heat, the heat that that man gave to me.
But Ranee did not stay around for the snows, and I did not stay around either.
I think that I miss the snows most of all. I just wish that I could have seen one bit of white in my black, nigger world.
But, on that day, I planned for the snows. I spread my legs and I let my vision of the future melt away as Ranee moved and knelt between my legs. I looked up at him. The man was so fucking skinny. He looked like straight-up six o'clock. That is the way that my Birmingham mother would have described him. But there was a power in that thin frame, and I worshipped that power with my eyes as Ranee moved between my legs and put his hands under my hips and lifted them. Then he aimed his long, fat cock at my pussy and he snarled at me for good measure.
"I am going to give you the fucking of your worthless, nigger life," he said.
I had no doubt that Ranee could do that. That he could make a fucking heat in my body that was even better than the heat of an expensive, un-cut fix.
And he slammed into me and I whimpered and I surrendered to him.
His cock drove into me like a truck and opened up new things in my cunt. That is the way that it felt, at least. He worked in and out of me and he seemed to catch the fire too. He jiggled his body with that fire and that jiggling made his stiff rod work around in my long, sweet, honey-hole. I sure did love that man. I loved him more than any other man that I had ever met. And I knew that that man was going to be something special to me for a long time to come.
He was fucking away on my pussy and he grinned at me. Then he cleared his throat and he spit at me. A glob of spittle landed on one of my big, nigger tits. I lifted my fingers to that tip and moved that spit around on my hot and loving nipple. And then, for good measure, I yanked on that nipple again, felt the spit on my fingers as I pulled around on that thing.
Then Ranee started to talk to me as he fucked away.
"I am the illegitimate son of a traveling preacher who came through Maryland one summer night and thought that my mother, a teen-aged girl then, had a wonderful singing voice."
He slammed me hard with his cock and I moaned and twisted my own nipple to keep that hot pain coming to my brain.
"That man fucked away on my sweet mother and made her sing while his cock was in her. And then he folded up his tent and went further South, where the people did not believe in dancing and the money was more plentiful. My mother told me that story later, when I was just a teen-ager."
He pulled his long pole back until only the head of the thing was in me. Then he slammed it into me again and continued to speak.
"That preacher came back to Baltimore when I was sixteen years old. And I bought me a gun. I decided that that coon-dog just did not deserve to live. He had fathered me and left me soaking up the juices in that womb. I-went to see him one night in his motel and I waited until he got rid of another sweet-singing girl. I waited until after midnight. And then I went up to his motel room and I knocked on the door. The man opened the door and looked at me and I saw that he was as bald as an eagle, as bald as an egg.
He churned that prick around in me and made me whimper with desire and heat.
"And then I shot him. I put a bullet right through his worthless heart and I ran. Boy, did I run. I ran for joy and I ran, knowing that that son-of-a-bitch would never have the chance to make any other girl sing away while he poked her."
Ranee leaned over my nigger body and drove his fist into my stomach. I grunted and I loved that punch. It was like the fucking in a way and the fucking was like the punching. In my mind, I saw the fucking as a series of long and brutal punches to my cunt, to my nigger soul, to my hot and lusty brain.
And I wrapped my legs around his skinny body and took those punches like a champion in the ring.
And the man groaned to me, and I knew that he was about to come.
"My father would never get the chance to have some sweet-singing girl touch his bald head again. I shot that sucker dead. Shot him dead. Dead! Dead! Dead! Dead!"
And, as he started screaming out that word, I lost track of what he was saying.
I thought for a minute that he was talking about me. But I knew that I was not dead. I had never felt more alive in my life, my worthless, nigger life.
And then Ranee let out a groan that was like something that an animal might make.
And I felt the heat spreading through me and I-figured that he had come right into me.
Ranee stopped yelling about people being dead and pulled out of my cunt and then turned and moved down on the edge of the bed. It was then that we both looked toward the door and saw her standing there, the queen bitch of the house, the woman who hated me, Belle.
And I knew that she had never hated me so much before. I figured that I might lose my job. But I did not care. I had had Ranee Godwin, and I smiled at her and muttered to her.
"He says you snore like a fucking buzz-saw, Belle."
Ranee just cackled. He stood up and started to pull on his undershorts.
Belle did not even look at him. I guess that she knew that she would not be able to do anything to him to make him repent of his sins. She glared at me and then she moved slowly toward my bed.
She was wearing her red, puffy nightgown and her red robe. She looked like someone with a strange disease, all red and bloated with that soft material.
And then she sat down on the edge of the bed and I actually moved over and let her have her room there.
"Fucking nigger," she muttered at me. "Fucking nigger whore and dope addict. I have a good mind to cut off your fucking connection and make you go through cold turkey. I have a good mind to make you go through it in a fucking cage."
If she had said that at some other time, I would have been frightened. I might have even gotten down on my knees and begged her not to take my connection away. But I did nothing at that moment. I just looked at her and then I looked at Ranee. He was leaning against the wall in his green shorts and I thought that he would protect me, that he would make sure that I got my fix. I had bet all my money on that stud, and I guess that that was really a mistake.
But I still am not sure, even now. even while I suffer so badly and know that I will never see the snow.
Then puffy, red, old Belle moved quickly. She grabbed my kinky hair and she pulled me off that bed as she stood up and moved away from it. I tumbled onto the floor and Belle started to kick me. The kicking hurt. She slammed her foot into my ribs and made me roll. I thought for a second of hiding under that bed, and then I remembered that I was a nigger, a nigger whore. I would not have minded the kicking-if Ranee had given me that kind of treatment, I thought. I glanced at Ranee and I saw that skinny, white man smiling at me and I figured that he was enjoying the sight of this. If he enjoyed it, I thought, then I could endure it. I could endure anything for him.
Belle kicked me until she got tired of doing that. And then she started to sob. She turned and looked at Ranee and she fell over me and landed on my bed and beat her hands against the pillow and sobbed and kicked and cried. She was like a child throwing a temper tantrum.
And then I heard Suzy Q. yelling to me. "Where's my coffee? Where's the coffee with the milk?"
Ranee was the one who turned around and yelled toward the kitchen.
"Fix your own fucking coffee, whore!" he said.
And I lay there and ached with the kicking that Belle had given me and I smiled at Ranee.
He smiled back and reached down and took my hand and helped me up.
I knew then that I was protected, that nothing would ever really hurt me as long as that skinny, sexy man was around. He put his arm around me and walked with me out of the little room.
Then he slammed the door behind us.
And that door muffled the sound of Belle's weeping.
We walked naked through the house and I knew that I had found a real man for my nigger heart.
I knew that Ranee would not let anyone hurt me.
He would not want me to suffer pain unless he gave me the pain himself.
We walked through the kitchen and Suzy Q. was standing there, drinking some of her coffee.
She stared at me and she stared at Ranee, but she did not say anything.
I guess she knew that I had someone protecting me then.
Ranee and I walked into the living room and he lay down on all those newspapers on the couch.
And I knelt beside him and felt like a little puppy dog there.
He rubbed my kinky hair for good luck and I felt warm and free and easy for the first time in a long time.
"Don't worry, nigger," he said. "I won't let Belle take your horse away from you."
"Thank you, Master," I said softly.
He had not told me to call him Master, of course.
But it seemed like the logical thing to call a man like that.
We stayed like that all morning and the whores cleaned up the place by themselves.
And that night Ranee went up and fucked Belle once and then came down to my room and slept with me.