Mark Townsend - White captive

Susan tilted her own glass down and took a long swallow. She had to steady herself against the back of Duke's chair to keep from reeling backwards from the table. Her nakedness was almost forgotten now with the greater impact of the drinks she had taken, and she found herself concentrating deeper and deeper on the small pile of money still remaining in front of Duke.

Her eyes were slightly out of focus now and she had difficulty in keeping them riveted to one spot. The table was moving slightly in front of her, revolving slowly around and around, and she had to grasp the back of the chair tighter just to stay on her feet. The alcohol helped, but deep in her mind nothing but total unconsciousness could blot out the horrible truth of her position here. She was nothing but a pawn now in the hands of a wild vicious gang of negroes who would stop at nothing to vent their crazed hatred of whites against her because she was helpless to defend herself.

"Okay, Duke, I raised ya the limit," she suddenly heard Shorty say through her alcoholic daze.

"Ya gotta be kiddin', sittin' over there with a pair of kings. Man, I got that beat a mile. I raise ya ag'in. All I got, mat is if you got the guts, man."

"Yeh, I got the guts, man," Shorty answered with a slight sneer this time. His confidence had grown with each passing hand played, and he could sense victory this time over his leader. His eyes wandered past his cards to Susan's warm naked body leaning against Duke's chair and a small expectant smile played across his lips. His tongue circled them wetly for a moment, and then he continued, "Come on and put 'em up, Duke, baby."

Susan looked down at Duke and for the first time saw the arrogant confidence fading from his face. He hesitated for a moment, and then threw his hand out on the table.

"Lemme see ya beat that ya bastard, you was jist bluffin'. Come on," Duke challenged.

Susan saw the three queens fall to the table from Duke's hand and then a strange expectant glint flickered through Shorty's eyes. A broad grin broke across his thick rubbery lips and his teeth sparkled like the ivory keyboard of a piano in the dim light of the kerosene lamp. His eyes locked on Susan's trembling body as he slowly lowered his hand to the table.

"Read 'em an' weep, baby," he gloated at the vanquished Duke. Three solid kings lay face up next to Duke's queens.

Shorty sat quiet for a moment, as though still unable to believe his luck, and then all of a sudden jumped to his feet.

"Whooooeeeee," he shouted and clapped his hands at the same time. "Some lil honky's gonna get fucked tonight like she ain't nevah been fucked. An' you cats git to watch it all. You can too, man," he taunted down at the dejected Duke.

"Man, it don't bother me none," he lied. "She's jist another honky chick that we gonna git plenty of when we take over. Ya jist better take it light with 'er though, I'm warnin' ya."

"Man, that weren't part o' the deal. I gits all I wants and how I wants it, right, Coke?" he directed at the other jubilant negro.

"That's right, baby. You done won it fair and square, and he ain't got no say. Ya kin even give me some, man, the way I understood the deal."

Duke started to rise from the chair, a menacing look crossed his face, but changed his mind and slumped back down into the chair again. He knew when he had pushed them too far, and if he backed out now, he knew they wouldn't take it. He'd have a revolt on his hands that even he couldn't control.

"Hey theah, honey, how 'bout gittin' me an' the boys a little whiskey, huh," Shorty enunciated his words to stress the harsh, northern negro accent. "You mine for tonight, baby, and don't ya forget it."

Susan hesitated for a moment, still holding tight to the back of Duke's chair where she had frozen when the three kings had been thrown on the table, but moved to follow the ape-ish negro's command when Duke nudged her away with his elbow. He did not look up at her but kept his eyes glued tightly to the center of the table. She went quickly to the kitchen, aware of the three sets of eyes following the slight unintentional sway of her naked buttocks as she walked across the floor. Quivering chills of fear scurried over the paleness of her skin when she heard Shorty's last words just as she passed through the door.

"Crazy, man, crazy. Look at that lil' white ass shake and jiggle. I'm gonna have me a ball punchin' into that."

She poured herself a glass almost full with the thick brown whiskey and drank it down in huge gulps without stopping, until the glass was empty. Her mind ran to all sorts of ways she might escape the cruel ravishment she knew she was going to be subjected to by the squatty negro, but none were plausible. Her situation was hopeless. As her mind raced in desperation, she thought of death, but there was no way to kill herself, even if she could have built up the courage to do so. She gagged on the strong liquid, and thought for a moment she was going to get sick, but even that would not come. Nothing could help her. No one even realized that she was gone from her house, and from the last bitter memory of the scene in her mother's bedroom, she probably wouldn't even be missed until sometime late tomorrow. Even then, they wouldn't have the vaguest idea where to begin looking.

She filled the glass again and drank as much of it in one swallow as she could get down. She gagged, but forced the rest of it down against the rebellion of her stomach. The dulling effect slowly began to take over her body, and she could feel her sense of touch deadening in the tips of her fingers as she clung to the glass. Her eyes rolled slightly in her head and she slammed the glass down on the counter, almost breaking it. As her head reeled, she had to place both hands on the sink to keep from falling. She wished she could get sick. She wished anything would happen that might make her less desirable to them, anything that might save her from this awful fate. It had been bad enough in the car with Duke, but now the shock and surprise that had prevented her from really feeling or understanding the full impact of what she was going through had faded. She was conscious now and fully aware of the things they were going to do to her and the indignities they would force her to accept from them.

As she reached for the glass to pour another drink, she was stopped short.

"What yo' doin' here, chicken," Shorty's rough coarse voice boomed across the narrow distance from the door. "Don't yo' go gettin' outta yo' mind now. I don't won't no dead piece o' white meat under me when I'm gettin' my kicks. D'ya heah me?"

Susan nodded her head dumbly, the reeling in her body intensifying with each second that passed. She had to have another drink though; it was beginning to work. The alcohol was beginning to drive the consciousness from her, helping to blot out the cruel reality that she could not face. She wanted to be dead and unfeeling, and this was the closest thing she could come to it now.

"Now, you git that whiskey like I done told ya and git yo lil' white ass out here. Right now," Shorty said, his eyes working over the full length of her white virginal body.

She waited for a moment until she was sure he wouldn't reappear in the doorway and filled her glass again. She downed it completely, the rough brown liquid burning less now that her senses had been dampened. She had already taken almost a quarter of the bottle and knew they would be certain to notice if she had any more before they became a little more intoxicated themselves. There was no telling what they might do to her if they became really angry.

Susan took the remains of the bottle she had been drinking from, and opened another one from the ample supply they had brought along with them. She wondered how long they intended to stay at the cabin with so many bottles around. There were enough to supply an army, and she hoped against hope they hadn't planned a permanent hideout here. She would never get away in a million years unless they made a move of some kind.