Mark Townsend - White captive

"Hold 'er down," she heard a voice command through the haze, as without warning, a hard fist smashed into the side of her head. She groaned and her arms and legs went limp, her body splayed wide and helpless in a spread-eagle position across the bed. She trembled loose and quivering for a moment, and then tightened the muscles of her body again as she heard Shorty's next foreboding words.

"Gimme the belt outta yo' pants, Stitch. I'm gonna teach 'er a lesson she ain't ever gonna forget."

She cringed down into the lumpy mattress like a child cowering before the beating of an angry and unrelenting parent. And like a small child, there was nothing she could do but lay before her tormentor and take whatever punishment he desired to inflict upon her helpless body.

Shorty took the belt, and holding it by the buckle, twirled it experimentally in the air. He laughed cruelly as he watched her cringe deeper into the bed when she heard it singing threateningly in a small evil circle over her naked back. A vicious grin played on his face, showing his white ivory teeth through the large thick lips that surrounded his mouth. The others haunched close over the bed, their mouths hanging open in undisguised passion at the young helpless form trembling in stark terror before them. Shorty, taking full advantage of his new-found position, commanded them like puppets.

"Duke said not to mark 'er," he grinned. "Put that sheet over 'er and hold her down. One on each end."

Stitch quickly threw the ragged filthy sheet across the length of her body, and then reached through the iron uprights at the foot of the bed, grasping her twitching ankles in a steel-like grip. Coke grabbed her arms through the uprights at the head of the bed and pulled hard, stretching her between them like a helpless victim on an ancient torture rack. Her slender voluptuous body gleamed Goddess-like through the thin veneer of the tattered covering they had thrown over her.

"Now, honky bitch, ya gonna beg ole Shorty for a lil' niggah cock. Ain't that what yo' honkies call us?" he spat at her venomously.

For the first time, Susan managed to cough out a few painfully muted words through the hurt and hopelessness of her situation. She couldn't stand the thought of being punished and used for a prejudism she didn't bear against anyone.

"No, no. I've tried to help you, I've tried to help you," she half mumbled, half shouted up at him, tears of helpless indignation streaming from her reddened eyes.

"How, baby, how?" he tormented back down at her.

"I've marched and everything," Susan moaned, realizing even as she spoke that it was completely useless. All this was an excuse they were using to commit all the vile criminal acts they could get away with in the name of revolution just as the Russians and Cubans had done when they had raped and slaughtered thousands of innocent people in the name of social justice.

"But you ain't had no niggar cock, baby, and that's real integration," he smiled evilly and lashed the belt down hard against her buttocks under the thin sheet. Susan screamed and jerked her body, but she couldn't overcome the strength of the other two negroes holding her arms and legs. The belt raised and descended again and again in the chuckling Shorty's hand, tracing a painful path the full length of her writhing and twisting form.

"Agggggghhhhhh!" her shrill screams reverberated through the room, and the belt continued to lash down against her sensitive skin for a seeming eternity of pain and hurt that she thought would never end. Her dazed and tortured mind was beyond all comprehension of why they were doing this to her. She had tried to help them, she had done all that was possible in a town this small where the problem didn't really exist. She had taken part in the sit-ins against the unfairness of housing laws in the larger cities and supported all the drives for money for the poor in the southern states that were supposed to be starving to death. She had done everything, everything! And suddenly she began to wonder why, as her body jerked again and again beneath the cruel hard blows Shorty was raining down on her squirming back and buttocks.

"Tell me what you want ole Shorty to do to you, baby," he laughed aloud, after the punishment had gone on for a seeming lifetime. "Beg ole Shorty to give you a lil' black cock."

Susan moaned and clenched her teeth tighter together until it seemed as though she would die from the shame and pain of the horrible torture she was undergoing at the hands of the sadistic negro. But, she did not speak. She could not bring herself to this final depth of degradation that he was demanding of her. She had given them everything else and just could not bring herself to this one last act of total subjugation.

"Ooooogggghhh!" she moaned as he increased the intensity of the cruel lashing.

"I'm waiting baby," he tormented again through smiling teeth. "Beg ole Shorty to fuck ya."

"Ohhh, God, please don't, stop it, stop it, you're killing me. Oh God, you're killing me," the poor girl whimpered and screamed beneath the renewed viciousness of his attack.

"Beg me, baby," he chided gleefully as he sensed her weakening before the cruel assault.

"No, I can't, I can't. Oh God, no, don't make me," she screamed on and on until suddenly she could stand it no more. She gave one final long, low whimper and her body went limp on the bed. Shorty held the belt still for a moment listening to the soft pleading mumblings that began rolling from her half-opened mouth pressed tightly into the softness of the mattress.

"Fuck me… fuck me… anything… Oh God, can't stand it… don't care… just stop… please, please."

The negro's wide sadistic grin broadened as he heard the pathetically whimpering Susan's final admission of surrender to him. Breaking the will of this voluptuous young white girl to his own depraved desires gave him a sense of power he had never possessed before. It was something he would not have dared dream of three years ago when he had first joined the gang and to plot against the honkies with the early planners. It was something that was just beyond his wildest dreams… and now… like the revolution… it was happening.

He stepped back and threw Stitch's belt back to him. There was no longer any reason to hold her. She was completely limp, and all the fight had gone from her tortured and aching body. She was his for the taking, and he knew it. So did the others as they gazed down on the prostrate body of the young defeated girl. Shorty reached over and jerked the sheet off her back.

"See man," he smiled proudly at Coke, "Nuthin' but red marks, and they'll go 'way soon."

"Yeah man," Coke answered, a new found admiration for Shorty showed in his voice. "You gonna fuck 'er now?"

"Look at that man," Shorty pointed down to the rising bulge in his pants. "I'm gonna fill that lit' belly o' hers with black power 'till it pours out her ears."

"J-J-Jesus, l-l-look at 'er," Stitch stuttered in excitement, saliva rolling unnoticed from the edges of his mouth. "K-K-Kin I t-t-touch 'er, S-Shorty?"

"Yeah, go ahead while I get my pants off," he answered with a benevolent tone to his voice. He knew his generosity would give him even more prestige in the other's eyes and still wouldn't violate his promise to Duke. He stepped back and began unzipping his pants, while he watched Stitch reach over the side of the bed and almost reverently cup Susan's soft resilient flesh in his hands. His dilated eyes burned bright in the dim light of the lamp as his rough coarse hands moved over the rounded whiteness of her buttocks, twisting and kneading the flaccid globes of soft yielding flesh with an unsatiated lust.

She lay unresisting before him, slim and voluptuously curved at the buttocks and shoulders which flowered out teasingly from her narrow young waist. She moaned low in a half daze, intensifying the erotic picture her innocent, almost unused body presented to the leering dark eyes surrounding her.