Heather Brown: The rape girls

Immediately she could feel the burning head of his prick brushing against the dripping lips of her pussy. Then he eased it into the opening of her cunt and shoved, his monster, black prick slipping into her pussy. The cock kept going in more and more, deeper and deeper. The gigantic prick seemed to be touching and stimulating parts of her body that Gilda didn't even know she had. Her whole body seemed to be in a state of ecstasy, trying mightily to lubricate the throbbing black meat that was filling her cunt.

The Negro propped Gilda against the wall while he fucked her in mid-air, now ramming his cock into her pussy all the way up to his big, black balls.

"Oh, God!" she screamed as she looked at her distended belly. "Please stop. It's all the way up into my stomach! You'll kill me!"

"Scream, baby, scream," he laughed. "When you get home, you can tell all your tight-ass honky friends what it's like to be fucked by a nigger."

Gilda couldn't take her eyes away from his cock as it fucked her pussy. She could see his coal-black prick slide in and out of her pink pussy. Just watching the in-and-out motion of black meat into white flesh was enough to cause her pussy muscles to clench harder and harder, wrapping their sinews around his big cock.

Glenda started to moan louder and louder, until she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her pussy throbbed and spasmed like it had never done when she'd been fucked by college boys. Her orgasm started at her inner core and spread through her body, blinding her with its intensity. When he could feel her coming, he took her by the waist and jammed her cunt down as hard as he could on his mighty shaft, her creamy pussy swallowing his black tower of a prick.

"Oh, my God!" she cried. "You're going to split me wide open!"

"No, baby," he whispered into her ear. "Your pussy was just made for my cock. It fits like a glove."

His cock made wet sucking sounds as it went in and out of her cunt. Then, after about ten massive strokes, he gave one mighty thrust and buried his black cock so far into Gilda that she thought she could feel it in her throat.

She screamed from the shock of the blast of scalding cum that he shot up into her pussy. He started ramming again, spurting another onslaught of bubbling sperm each time. Her cunt couldn't hold it all as she could feel it trickling out between the shaft of his dick and the slimy walls and lips of her pussy.

Then, abruptly, he withdrew, throwing her to the floor as if she were trash, completely discarding her. As she lay with her throbbing legs spread wide, sperm now gushing out of her bruised and aching cunt, she noticed that his huge, black cock was still as big as ever, still standing erect, capped by a huge glob of snowy while semen drooling from the head.

Kitty Jackson stood in front of the mirror and looked at her naked body. She had to admit that all of her was very firm and sexy. She wondered how long she would keep her looks, how long her tits would remain so taut and firm; how long her belly would remain flat and hard, and her legs long and sinewy like a dancer's. Kitty ran her hand softly over her tits and then slid it down across the firmness of her belly and into the tight curls of her pubic region. Her black skin glistened in the mirror as she placed her fingers into the folds of her cunt and squeezed, pulling back the lips of her pussy and revealing its pink interior.

"Got to stop fooling around," Kitty said as she withdrew her hand from her pussy. "Got to get dressed and get moving."

At twenty, Kitty was just a beginner, but already starting to smell the big money in being a call girl. She didn't need any education from school to know that there were a lot of white men willing to pay plenty to sample her dusky charms, to feel her soft, fleshy lips sliding up and down their pricks, and to part her ebony thighs and fuck her young, tight cunt.

Kitty put on a pair of sheer bikini panties, the outline of her pussy in their crotch more than just a suggestion. She didn't wear a bra so that her tits would be more alluring in a mesh tank-top that left very little to the imagination. She put on a wrap-around mini-skirt and some sandals and took one last look in the mirror before she started out the door.

Kitty walked down the teeming street, the hustle and bustle of the ghetto going on all around her. Near the end of the block an ambulance, lights-flashing and motor idling, was flanked by police cars. Kitty saw a young white woman on a stretcher. She was apparently nude and covered by a blanket.

"What's with that honky chick?" Kitty asked a teenage boy next to her who was holding a basketball.

"Some dude done raped her."

"What was she doing down here, anyway?" Kitty asked.

"The story is that she was a welfare worker," the boy said.

An older man with a tired black face which had been creased menacingly by a knife scar scowled, "It's about time. The welfare's been fuckin' us long enough, it about time we fucked them back."

Kitty walked away, thinking, If a stranger wants to fuck me at least I want to say yes or no, and get paid for it.

The one thing Kitty liked about selling her cunt to white men, other than the money, was that in bed she was more than their equal. Once they took off their clothes, she had them captivated by her hot, black pussy that they were willing to pay through the nose to lap their tongues against and stick their white pricks into. The way their pricks stood out the instant they saw her beautiful body made her know that when it came to sex, at least, she had it all over white people. The bus took Kitty to midtown where she got out in front of the city's biggest, most expensive hotel. She walked inside and went to the desk and spoke to the clerk. "I'm here to see Mr. Dumont. Could you tell me his room number, please."

"What is your name and what may I say is your business?"

"My name is Kitty Jackson," she said somewhat defiantly. Then she added, according to an arrangement already made with Dumont over the phone, "I'm a masseuse. I'm here to give him a massage."

The clerk gave her a once-over and said, "I see." He picked up the phone and called Mr. Dumont, who, of course, said to send her right up.

"You can go up now," the clerk said. "He's in room 862."

Kitty could feel the clerk's eyes on her as she walked away, and just to frustrate him she wiggled her ass more than usual.

When she located room 862, Kitty knew it was an expensive suite. She knocked on the door and waited.

"Who is it?"

"Miss Jackson for your, uh, massage, Mr. Dumont," she said.

The door swung open and a fleshy, red-faced middle-aged man with white hair and a pot belly hanging over the shorts that were his only attire said with a smile on his face, "Groovy. Come right on in, baby."

Kitty stepped inside the sumptuous suite and Dumont quickly locked the door behind her.

"Well, you ready to get it on, Mr. Dumont?"

"Sure, baby, sure," he said, almost panting.

"Then show me to the bedroom."

"Right this way," he said, walking across the room toward a closed door.

As they reached the bedroom door, Kitty stopped and said, "Just one thing before we go in, Mr. D."

"What's that?" Dumont said.

"The bread. You know, my money, my professional fee," Kitty said matter-of-factly.

Dumont grinned. "What would happen if I didn't bring you the money?"

"Then you wouldn't get to see my fine tits and big, black, juicy pussy. If you ain't got the cash, then you just might as well lemme go on my way right now and go into the crapper and do a jack-off job on yourself. 'Cause, you better believe it, Mr. Charlie, this black girl don't fuck for free."

"Is that right?" Dumont said in a threatening tone.

"Look. I don't wanna play no games with you, man," Kitty said coolly. "You got the bread, fine. You hand it over and we'll go right in that bedroom and you can stick your prick wherever you dig it. But I'm leaving unless you hand over the cash right now. If I fucked somebody for free, word gets around, and the next thing you know I might as well be just like everybody else – married or living with some dude and fucking for nothing."