Mark Townsend - White captive

"Jesus, Jesus!" he sputtered, "Christ."

As he worked demon-like behind her, his eyes flickered smokily back to her tender lips clasping and unclasping around the growing black cock of the negro in front, who was forcing her to suck him. Susan worked in a daze at the command of his fingers, licking and sucking like a hungry child as he forced her to follow slave-like with her lips, his every thrust into the tender shelter of her mouth. Her ravishment continued on and on at both ends of her bent and tortured body as the crazed Stitch cupped and kneaded her jiggling breasts hanging down beneath her bucking torso with a cruel hard pressure that periodically jerked her mind from the ceaseless rape of her other tender parts.

The saliva in her mouth grew and grew. It was becoming slightly sticky now as small emissions of lubricating fluid seeped from the end of the negro's cock into its warm depths. She could feel his hips writhing and straining below her bobbing head as though he were in the last spasmodic throes of death. His long sensuous fingers were curled tightly in her hair slipping her mouth up and down over the end of his thrusting fleshy instrument as though it were another cunt into which he was venting the full wrath of his animal-like lust. She could feel it stretching and expanding inside her mouth until there was no room left, and moaned piteously around it as it thrust forward hard down to her tonsils as though it were trying to meet the other hard cruel prick skewering deep into her belly from behind.

She had never felt so utterly used and debauched in her life, and sucked with her mouth and wriggled her buttocks from behind wildly to end it as quickly as she could. There was nothing else but that now, nothing but to please them as best her innocent young body could, and pray it would be all they would demand.

The negro in front of her jerked suddenly as though stuck by a pin, and writhed his hips up tight into her face, sinking the full length of his cock deep down into her gasping throat. She fought to breathe, but it was hopeless as suddenly his cock erupted in the warm wet interior of her sucking mouth, unintelligible sounds of profanity rolling from his lips. His hot thick liquid squirted into her mouth like the rush of raging water through a small storm drain, and she sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, her cheeks inflating and deflating all the time from the pressure of the bursting dam of sperm. It lasted for a seeming eternity, her mouth filled with the pungent taste of his sperm and passion, and then it jerked a long last jerk, and softened beneath her swirling tongue. Her senses were gone and she was hardly aware of it when a moment later his cock oozed in a slimy soft mass of flesh from between her lips. His hands pulled her head limply forward to lay trapped against the whole of his trembling loins.

She could still feel its rubbery soft length pressed tight against the cheek of her face, when she heard a grunt from behind her. She felt her thighs and buttocks swept wide apart in one last ass-crushing rush, as the other negro fucking into her mercilessly, shoved it as far as it could go in her belly and began spewing his hot sticky liquid deep up inside her. His mouth opened wide with a loud uncontrolled, "Aaaaaaah," as she felt his lewd sperm filling her vaginal passage with a great rush. She could feel it flooding hotly into her and filling the depths of her womb until she thought she would burst inside. There were several convulsive jerks of his pelvis against the soft cheeks of her ass, a desperate digging of fingers into the soft flaccid flesh of her hips and then he fell forward over her back pushing her face down across the exhausted and satiated negro who had just forced her to suck him dry.

There was no movement except for the stuttering sounds of the moronic Stitch, masturbating by the side of the bed, his eyes rolling wildly in his head as he too approached an orgasm. There was a movement of bodies, and Susan felt herself falling to the mattress as Stitch slipped from under her and Shorty lifted himself exhaustedly from her back. There was a sudden cool rush of air between her legs as his deflated penis withdrew from her ravished and wet loins.

She rolled over on her back and lay still, unable to move and not caring. She had never felt so debased and lost in all her life as a horrible picture formed in her mind of what she must have looked like, being buffeted between the two negroes like a helpless rag doll. Her body ached and she dimly felt hands crawling over the wetness of her thighs, which were still moist from Shorty's sperm. She did not move and felt the lips of her vagina being pressed apart again and looked up through half-slit eyes to see the crazed Stitch kneeling between her open legs, his long hard cock poised in his hand for entry into her. She closed them again, and drifted into semi-consciousness not caring anymore.

Then there was the vague sound of a hand smacking against flesh and then an angry voice.

"Ya stupid son-uf-a-bitch," Shorty snarled, "Duke said ya couldn't fuck 'er."

Then a defeated whimper and a weight lifting from between her thighs. Her eyes flickered open again for the briefest of moments, and she shivered as she saw Stitch standing over her naked body at the side of the bed. He was stroking wildly with his hand at his large black penis, locking his eyes insanely down on the wet moist mound of her loins that glistened in the kerosene lamp as though covered with a light coat of early morning dew. She heard him groan and felt a sudden rush of hot sticky wetness flooding over her naked breasts.

And then, there was nothing. As she drifted down into a welcome protective cloak of sleep and exhaustion, just as she lay, too battered and lost to even put her legs together.

There was no sun the next morning, and the low forest mists surrounding the clapboard shack created an air of dismality that seemed to permeate the atmosphere with a heavy cloak of doom.

Susan sat huddled before the fire, draped in one of the tattered blankets from the bed upon which she had been so brutally ravished last night. Her body ached horribly in all the tender places the three negroes had so mercilessly pressed their attentions upon. Duke had awakened her early, in the same position she lay after the horrible depraved attack, and she was grateful for she had been able to freshen herself a little in the cold water from the kitchen before the others awoke. She had repaired her torn gown in a makeshift way, using several pins she found around the cabin, and Duke had retrieved her panties and brassiere from the car. From these few remnants of cloth, she had covered herself as best she could.

The others had awakened shortly afterwards. She had prepared them breakfast, refusing to look any of them in the eye, though she could feel their arrogant gazes peering right through her all the time she worked. Duke had not mentioned what had happened to any of them, but it was plain he was not happy that he had given her up for the evening. In fact, she felt rather secure in the knowledge that it was not likely to happen again in that way. If she was called upon to give herself, it would be only to him and not the others. Strange, she thought, as she raised her head and looked around the room at the four negroes who held her captive, how the perspective of things changed when one had no other choice. All things in the world were really relative to one another. She had taken her choice of all the boys in high school, and had picked Richard because he was most like her.

Now, she had only the choice between these four brutal criminals, all of whom, except the imbecile Stitch, had ravished her against her will, but she still had to make a choice between them for her protector. She knew it wouldn't take much show of preference on her part to get anyone of them on her side, although Duke was the one she needed. He was the leader because he was the strongest. He may be more brutal than the others, but still he had exhibited a certain tenderness toward her after the rape in the car, and would not have let the others take her last night if he hadn't been so confident of himself in cards. Even then, when he had lost and had disappeared from the room to let the victors have their way with her, she half expected him to return and reclaim her. But, of course, under their code, which she knew she could never understand, he could not, no matter how much he may have wanted to. Life itself meant so little to those brought up in the ghetto jungles, so how could she expect they, the survivors, to care about such a small intimate thing as her lost virginity? She was an object to be used, like a tin can they might suddenly come upon in the gutter and kick along the street until they became bored, and then kick back again into the gutter from which it came. No, her only hope for survival was Duke, and that meant subjugating herself to him completely, until she could find a way to get out of this horrible mess she had fallen into.