The black giant approached me slowly with the whip in his hand.
I just looked at him. I was not afraid of the pain that he would inflict on me.
I loved that pain. I felt like the queen of pain. I wanted that whip to fall on my black flesh. I wanted to feel the cuts and the bruises as I sat there, bound in the chair.
I took a deep breath and the barbed wire cut deep into my big, black tits.
I sighed with sexual enjoyment. This was the only way that I could get off. This was the way that I knew I should be treated.
The black man growled down at me with lust in his throat.
"Nigger bitch," he said.
"Yes," I murmured.
I knew just what I was.
And I tensed my body and I waited for the whip to fall. I felt the pain already, and I felt the joyous juices flowing in my cunt.
When the lash fell onto me, I sighed. The crack of that whip was the best thing in the world for me, I thought. The only thing that I could ever want.
I was the black queen of pain in the middle of that kingdom in Africa.
I was in love with that master who hurt me so well.
CHAPTER ONE
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.
CHAPTER TWO
Right after Labor Day, the soldier showed up. Of course, there was nothing strange about a soldier coming to the door of Belle's place. Most of her customers were soldiers. But this one came in the morning and, when I opened the door, he asked to speak to Ranee Godwin. I just looked at him and wondered if I should even let on that Ranee was there. But then the skinny, powerful man came bouncing out of the back room and yelled.
"Jim Webber!" he yelled. "Is that that worthless Jim Webber of the United States Army?"
I guess that he had heard the man's voice. I moved out of the way and the soldier came into the front room and Ranee dashed toward him and clasped both of his hands around one of the soldiers and shook it and grinned.
"Jim Webber. Captain Jim Webber," he said cheerfully.
"Not for long, Ranee. I am getting out of the army in three days," the soldier said.
But even as he spoke to Ranee the man kept glancing back at me, as if he recognized me from some place back in his history. I did not recognize that man at all, but I thought that he looked good. He was white and he had fine, soft, blonde hair that he combed straight back from his forehead. He looked like someone who was real smart, but I don't know why I thought that then. There was just something about him that told me that this soldier read books and did things like that.
"Honey," Ranee said, "Fix Captain Jim Webber a drink."
"No drink," the blonde man said. "Not this early in the morning."
"Then what about coffee?" Ranee asked, as if being a good host meant everything in the world to him.
"Coffee sounds fine," the soldier said.
"How you take it?" Ranee asked.
"Black, of course," the soldier said.
And, when he said that, he smiled at me. I knew then that he was talking about more than just coffee, and it seemed that coffee was the way that a lot of men communicate their desires to me.
But I left the room and went into the kitchen to fix the coffee.
It was still very early. Suzy Q. was not even up yet. The house was as silent as a tomb, except for the conversation that was going on in the living room. So I listened to that conversation. I felt the need to find out as much as I could about that blonde soldier who seemed to know me.
"What brings you here to Massachusetts?" Ranee asked.
"I came looking for you, old friend," the soldier answered.
"How did you know that I was here. I am sort of laying low."
"I know. But Fatty Krepner told me where you were."
"Fucking Fatty," Ranee muttered.
"Don't get mad at Fatty. I told him that he would either tell me the truth or I would have the Military Police bust his little gambling house down there in Washington, D. C. We have had a lot of generals at the Pentagon complaining anyway. One of them lost four thousand dollars to Fatty one night."
And Ranee chuckled. I heard that. I laughed softly too, thinking of a general losing that much money to one of Ranee's friends.
It seemed right, almost noble to take money from a general, I thought.
And then the soldier continued to talk to my master.
"We need you to help us on a project."
"What kind of project?"
"In Africa."
"Shit fire and save matches, Jim, I am not going back to Africa. I almost lost my fucking head last time I was there."
"That was when you were running guns to Bungo Adi, right?"
"Well-I prefer to think that I was aiding a revolution against tyranny, Jim."
"It helped though that you got paid a lot of money for those guns, right?"
"It was good, American currency that Bungo Adi paid me."
"And Bungo Adi won his little fight and now he is charge there in central Africa. And he is killing people right and left."
"So?"
"Well, that does not really bother the government, but something else does."
"Let me get this straight, Jim. You are here to represent the government."
"In an unofficial way," the soldier muttered.
By then I had the coffee fixed. I brought a cup to the soldier and to my master. And then I turned to leave. Jim Webber spoke up.
"Is this your lady, Ranee?"
"Yeah," my master said softly. "Guess so."
"Maybe she should stay and listen to what I have to say. I think that she might be a great help to us."
I did not understand what help I could be to the United States government, but Ranee motioned for me to sit down on the floor next to his chair and I did. I looked at the soldier. He was leaning forward on the couch. When I had seated myself, he started to explain things again.
"All right," he said. "Bungo Adi has kidnapped the daughter of the ambassador."
"What ambassador?" Ranee asked.
"The American ambassador to the United Nations," Jim said.
"He's a nigger, right?" Ranee asked. "That means his daughter is a nigger too?"
Jim looked at me when Ranee said those words, that word. I guess that the soldier was a little shocked that my master would use that kind of language in front of me. But he did not know what our relationship was based on. I just smiled like a cat and Ranee rubbed my kinky hair.
"Yes," Jim finally answered. "The ambassador and his daughter are both black."
"Well, maybe old Bungo just wants a piece of nigger, American ass. Maybe he will let her go when he has had his fill of her."
"No, that is not what he wants," the solder informed us.
"Arms? Money? What has old Bungo got up his sleeve?" Ranee asked.
"We don't know. We know that he has the girl, but we don't know what he wants for her. There has been no ransom demand, no official communication at all from Bungo's government to ours. We know that the girl went down there on some kind of crazy, teen-aged gig and she got herself wrapped up with some sort of revolutionary action."
"Well, shit, Bungo must like her. He is a revolutionary," Ranee said with a grin.
"Not any longer. The revolutionaries down there now are revolting against Bungo."
"Oh," my master said softly. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."
"That is why we need you. We want you to go to Bungo and find out what he wants. We want you to work with us and try to get that girl out of there in any way possible. I cannot tell you how embarrassing it would be to the United States government to have a black girl, the daughter of a high government official, being held down there. If the word ever leaks out, the press would have a field-day with it."
"Suppose they would," Ranee said softly, thoughtfully.
"And this young lady here might even be able to help us," the soldier added.
"What? Melody?"
Ranee looked down at me and I could tell that he could not understand how I could help anyone do anything. I was just a nigger bitch as far as my master was concerned.
Jim Webber reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to Ranee and then he said, "That is the daughter of the U.N. ambassador. She looks a lot like this girl here."
"Yeah," Ranee said. "The spitting image."
And he pushed the photograph in front of me and I looked at it. It was as if I were looking at a picture of myself.
"Naturally," Jim Webber said. "Word of our mission cannot get out either. I will come with you to Africa after my time in the army is up. We will just be a few civilians down there, trying to deal with Bungo Adi in any way that we can."
"What is in it for me?" Ranee asked, handing the photograph back to the officer.
"Money," the soldier said. "Lots of money. If we can get that girl back, it will be worth a hundred thousand dollars to her father and his friends."
"In cash? You know I always deal in cash, Jim."
"In cash, Ranee. The money is in a safe deposit box in New York City right now, ready for you to pick it up the minute that that girl comes back on U. S. soil safe and sound."
"Hundred thousand dollars," Ranee muttered, as if he were thinking about it.
But, by then, I knew my master, and I knew that he had already made up his mind.
I knew that he would take the job and head off for Africa.
And I figured that he would take me with him. "Okay, Jim," my master said, "but I run the show. I call the shots. I don't want you going Pentagon on me in the middle of Bungo's territory."
"You call the shots, Ranee," the officer agreed.
"And the first shot I call is this: I want to go to South Africa first and talk to Zero Smelling."
"Zero Smelling? That fat man? Why in the world would you want to talk to him?"
"Because Zero Smelling has the best intelligence organization in Africa. He has to have one, running all that stuff across the borders and out of the continent like he does. I want to know what Zero has heard and I may even buy some guns from him. I remember that Bungo is a sucker for guns."
"Okay," the soldier said. "Is the girl going too?"
And the blonde soldier looked at me with those eyes that seemed to know all about me. I shivered and smiled at him as my master spoke.
"Sure. She does anything that I tell her to do. She is my slave."
"Your what?"
"My slave, Jim. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold. We have a lot of plans to make here."
When they started making plans, I saw a side of Ranee that I had never seen before. He fell onto those discussions as if they were a fine feast. I discovered then that my man was the kind who liked to plan things out, who liked to see just how much he could get away with.
They did not mention me in their plans. From time to time, Jim or Ranee would look at me, and I wondered what they had in mind for my part in the expedition to Africa. But I did not have the courage to ask.
And I also knew that I should not ask. A slave does not ask about her master's plans.
That night, Ranee locked himself in Belle's room and worked on some charts, some more plans. He did not even need Jim Webber any longer. He said that he would work out the details by himself and then tell Webber all about them in the morning.
So the soldier moved around the house and talked to the whores that night. He was not wearing his uniform and he looked like just any other customer. But he kept glancing at me as I stood back in the kitchen and I glanced at him too. I wanted him badly, even though I did not know how Ranee would feel about something like that.
All day, Ranee and Jim had been talking about revolutions in Africa and I thought that I was making my own revolution by looking at that blonde man and letting him know that I wanted him. And I figured that it did not even make any difference if I actually fucked him. Just letting him know that I would fuck him would be revolution enough for me.
But it would not be enough for Jim Webber. I could tell that.
I had just had my fix about a half hour before and I was standing in the kitchen flying high.
Finally, the blonde man seemed to work up the courage to come back and talk to me. I smiled at him and knew that I would fuck him, if that was what he wanted. I was too high to do anything else.
Jim stood next to me and looked me over. And then he asked the question.
"What is this shit that Ranee keeps talking about? About you being his slave?"
"I am his slave," I muttered happily, feeling that heat from the fix course through me.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I do anything that he wants me to do. It means that my master makes me suffer and I love it. It means that he hurts me before he fucks me and I love it."
I was swaying back and forth in the kitchen, feeling that horse driving through me.
And I was too hot to lie to Jim Webber. I figured that he would have to find out the truth sooner or later, if we were all going to Africa together. I leaned against him and looked up and felt a little sleepy.
"I love my master," I said. "I love it when any man hurts me."
And the blonde man just looked at me, trying to figure out what he wanted to do to me. I thought that I would help him along. I leaned into him and spoke to his broad chest.
"Would you like to hurt me, Captain
Webber?" I asked.
"What?" the man asked.
But he did not seem really shocked. He did not sound like a man who was totally against the idea.
I looked up into his blue eyes. They were the color of the ocean, I thought, and I wanted to dive right into those eyes.
I asked the question again.
"Would you like to hurt me and fuck me, Captain Webber? I will let you do both, but only if you do both. I will not let you fuck me unless you hurt me just a little bit first."
I figured that he and Ranee had made a deal, a deal that involved me. I wanted to make my own deal with that blue-eyed officer. I blew in his face and I giggled.
And the world seemed to spin around as I looked into those blue eyes.
Only those eyes remained in one place and I thought that I would have to keep my eyes focused on those blue eyes in order to make sure that I did not fall down in that spinning world.
"Where can we go to be alone?" the captain asked me.
"My room. Back here," I said.
I think that I led the soldier back there to my little room, but he may have led me.
I was suddenly so high with the thoughts of revolution and the feeling of that heroin in me that I could not lead anyone anywhere without help.
But I knew that I would enjoy myself with that captain.
I knew that I would enjoy being his slave and his victim, almost as much as I enjoyed it with Ranee. '
When we got to that little room, I stumbled away from Jim Webber and I fell on the bed. I turned over and looked up at him and I suddenly wished that he had worn his uniform that night. I thought that it would be very nice to have the shit knocked out of me by a uniformed officer of the United States Army. But he was standing there in his sports shirt and his slacks and I figured that I would just have to make do with that. I started to unbutton my blouse and I moaned to him softly, tenderly, passionately, moaned to him with a slave-like, nigger voice.
"Beat me, White Man. Beat the living shit out of my nigger flesh."
I had trouble with the buttons on my blouse. Finally, I gave up and ripped that blouse open and showed him my firm, full, nigger tits. I put my hands on those tits and I massaged my big glands.
"like my tits, soldier boy?" I asked in a giddy voice. "Want to slap those tits around a little?"
But the man just stood there and acted like he had not even heard me. I thought that he would give up and turn and leave me, and I certainly did not want that. I was making a revolution, I thought, and I wanted that blue-eyed warrior to join me in that revolution. I twisted my nipples and I begged that man to help me in my revolt against my master.
"Come on, soldier," I said, almost sobbing as the heat grew in my body. "I need relief, soldier. I need to be hurt, just a little."
"I can't believe it," Jim said. "I can't believe that you would ask for such a thing."
"I have a right to ask for such a thing!" I yelled. "I am a nigger bitch!"
And I sat up on the bed and felt my head swimming around and I reached out for the crotch of his pants. When I grabbed for his pants, he moved away from me with a jerking motion, as if I had hurt him. But I did not want to hurt him. I wanted that soldier to hurt me.
The man stood there and shivered with his back against the wall.
Suddenly, I thought, he looked like the victim, the slave. He looked like the man who was going to be tortured. Things were not working out as I had planned. I tried to reach out to him again and I fell off the bed and onto the flopr.
I rolled on that floor and I could not help myself. The dope was giving me the heat and I just had to giggle. But, even as I laughed, I tried to move up to my hands and knees. Even as I laughed, I felt like crying. Something was not working. Something was not working at all.
"Please, Jim," I moaned.
And then it happened quickly, so quickly that I felt a rush that was almost orgasmic in just one split-second.
He kicked me in the chest and sent me tumbling back against another wall of the room.
"Oh, yes," I groaned.
"This is fucking sick," he said.
"Kick me again."
"This is perverted."
"Kick my tits. Kick those nigger tits off my nigger body."
"My god! I did not think that Ranee was this strange," the man muttered.
"Strange?"
The word echoed in my head. It did not seem like the kind of word that should be used in that situation. In fact, at that moment, it seemed like a new word, a word that was not even part of the English language, and I wondered what Jim Webber meant.
"Sick," he muttered. "Strange. Fucking is one thing, but this-"
And then his voice died away and he looked at me.
And something seemed to crack in his eyes. His blue eyes started to burn, and I thought of a fire on a lake, a burning of something like garbage on top of blue water. Was that possible? I remembered a story that I had heard one time of a river near Cleveland that was so polluted that it had caught on fire and burned for days. But it did not seem like Jim Webber's eyes were polluted at all. It seemed like he finally understood something. His mind was finally getting clear.
He moved toward me and he kicked my chest again and he yelled out the word.
"Sick nigger! Sick, perverted, nigger bitch!"
And then he staggered back and looked at me as I pressed my back against that wall and smiled.
"What have I done?" he muttered. "What have I done?"
"You have given a nigger girl some pleasure," I moaned.
My tits were throbbing with the pain. I closed my eyes and I went to sleep as the pain and the dope rushed through me and made me easy and hot and lazy in that little room.
I started to come around when he lifted me off the floor and put me on the bed.
I opened my eyes as I felt Jim unzipping the little skirt that I was wearing and pulling it down my body.
It was like a dream, but it was the kind of dream that could only be real, I thought.
I smiled in a lazy way as he pulled down my panties. Then I was naked before him.
And the horse kept trying to put me back to sleep. I stretched my arms back over my nigger head. I wanted to keep awake a little bit, I thought. I wanted to know what this revolution was like.
And then I saw through the fog of my sleepy, drug-laden mind. I saw that Jim Webber had taken off his clothes too. He was moving toward me and his cock was hard and straight.
He could have fucked me then, but I kept my legs closed.
I was not ready to be fucked at that moment. I wanted something extra, something special.
"Hit me a few more times, soldier boy," I sighed. "Hit me a few more times before you slam that military cock into me."
And, by then, the man was too turned on to deny me.
He slapped my face with a little tap, but that was not enough for me.
"Harder!" I yelled.
And he slapped me harder and made my face tingle with the heat of that blow.
And then Jim Webber seemed to get into it, seemed to understand that there was some joy in this for him too. He slapped me again and again, and I closed my eyes and wallowed in the passion that he gave me with those slaps.
I opened my eyes when the slaps stopped suddenly and the cock slammed into my pussy.
I moaned.
I shivered.
I quaked.
And I lifted my legs and wrapped them around him and I sighed to him.
"Fuck me, soldier. Fuck that sweet, nigger pussy."
By then, Jim was completely lost in the passion of the moment.
He was so lost that he moaned to me too and used that magic, sexy word that I loved so much.
"Yeah, nigger, your pussy is sweet," he said.
And he fucked away on that pussy. He fucked me as if he were digging for gold in my cunt.
And I loved every barging motion that he made into my cunt.
I loved every stroke that he gave me.
And I let the heroin rush through me with the pain and I moved with him, caught his military rhythm and fucked him with a matching rhythm of my own.
We moved on that bed like two wrestlers, like two enemies.
And I closed my eyes and thought of how nice it would be to have a whole army fucking me like that. I imagined myself on bayonets, riding a thousand military bayonets at once, letting all of those sharp, long things slam into me. And I imagined the pain too, the pain that would come when I was cut apart by those soldiers. But I loved the pain as much as the fucking and I tossed under Jim Webber as he rode me and I thought that this was an absolutely marvelous revolution-
The best revolution that a nigger slave could have.
As the man fucked me, I moved my hands between our bodies and I twisted my nipples and I sighed, keeping the pain in me as the fucking continued.
And I thought of armies fucking me and hurting me.
And I felt very patriotic for the first time in my life.
And I wondered what would happen to me once we got to Africa.
Africa, I thought as I fucked Jim. Africa, the land of my forefathers.
And it seemed to me at that time that Africa was the land of my birth.
I would return to the land from whence I had come and I would suffer pain there too. I did not know just what Ranee and Jim had planned for me, but I was almost sure that pain had something to do with it.
Pain seemed to be mixed in my mind with Africa.
And I fucked away on Jim's cock and let that pain, that African pain, that military pain rush through me. It was the best kind of pain that a nigger slave could feel.
And Africa, the dark continent that was filled with niggers, Africa seemed to call me, beckon me with a jungle type of pain.
As I fucked Jim Webber, I could hardly wait to get to Africa.
CHAPTER THREE
While I waited to go to Africa, which I had started to think of as the land of my birth, I sat around and thought about my younger days, the days when I was growing up in Birmingham. You see, this little nigger gal had learned a lot about herself in the last few weeks, since she had met up with Ranee Godwin. I was trying to figure out where this love of pain might have started. I was thinking about the core of that love and that led me to a couple of things that happened in my past, when I was just a hot kid, learning to tuck.
The first guy who fucked me was Bubba Finch, but that does not mean anything to me. I guess that it did not do that much for me except to show me that fucking was sort of fun and nothing to be afraid of. I kept on fucking, not so much because I wanted to, but because I wanted to have something to do. You see, Birmingham was dull for me. My father did not seem to be around most of the time. He worked and slept and watched TV and that was about it. He did not talk to me at all. And my mother was just full of sayings. She kept telling me not to do this and not to do that. She kept telling me that she did not want me to get into trouble, and I kept thinking that trouble might be more exciting than anything else that was happening to me there in Birmingham. The only member of my family that I really liked that much was my older brother, Leroy. I can't tell you how much Leroy meant to me. He was four years older than I was and he was on the school football team. He was a strong, handsome, black god to me. I had worshipped him for as long as I could remember, and, when I started fucking guys, I kept thinking about how good Leroy must be. The girls were always hanging around him at school and I thought that my brother would just have to be a stud. But I knew too that it was not right for a sister to think things like that about her brother, and I felt a little guilty because I had thought those things. I guess that I went out and fucked a lot of other guys because I could not have my brother. I guess that I was really looking for someone who could be as good for me as Leroy probably was for other girls.
And then I got turned on to white boys there in Birmingham. They were a special thrill because I had to sneak around to meet them and they had to sneak around to meet me. I also liked it that they found me attractive because I was a nigger, a sexy nigger, but still a nigger, you know. That is the way that I thought of myself. I was a nigger. Men and women who were white had called my people that for the longest time. I remember when I was growing up sometimes white kids would chase me and call me that name. It would make me cry then, but I sort of got to like it when I started fucking those white boys. One of them told me that I was a special nigger, that I could take more cock into my pussy than any dozen Southern belles. I thought about that and it gave me pride. There was little else that I could be proud of. In all other ways, I thought that I was just a regular nigger, sort of low-class you know.
But then that spring Saturday night changed my life for good, and now that I think about it, I guess that it had something to do with my love for pain. Let me tell you about it.
I got out of the house about six o'clock that night and started walking around. My mother was in one of her super-religious moods and she was telling me what good girls should do and shouldn't do. I don't know why she kept bothering me with her rules and regulations. I know that she never talked to Leroy about good boys and bad boys. I guess that she felt that my father should talk to him, but my father did not talk to Leroy any more than he talked to me.
I started walking around in my neighborhood. I did not have anything special planned. I did not ever have anything special planned. I guess that I was already a bad girl there in my community. I don't remember any guys ever calling me up and asking me out. They would just meet me somewhere and take me out and fuck me. That is all they seemed to care about, but I had grown used to that and I figured that that was about all that I could expect out of life.
I had not started to take the drugs then, but they were not far down the line. When I started to use the drugs, I felt that it did make me feel better about life. But, that night, I remember that I did not feel good about life at all. I just felt sort of lost.
And I was walking around when this big car pulled up. A white boy named Randy Sparks stuck his head out and smiled at me. I could see that there were other boys in that car too. I walked toward the car and I smiled at Randy. He had fucked me before and he had been pretty good. I liked it that Randy had a deep, dark tan. I thought that that made him sort of like a nigger too, but I would never have told him that. I would not have wanted to insult him.
"Hi, Randy," I said. "How you doing tonight?"
"Okay, Melody," he said. "How you doing?"
"Just fine."
"Want to take a ride with me and my friends."
I looked into the car and I saw the other boys sitting there. Randy Sparks had three other white guys with him. They all looked neat and they all looked anxious and I thought that I had never done that before, done it with more than one guy at a time. I thought that it would be fun, that it would make me feel really special.
So I grinned and said, "Sure, Randy. Looks like a nice night for a ride."
Of course, I knew what they had in mind. I knew that they wanted to do more than take a ride with me. They wanted to ride me, to fuck me. And I wanted to be fucked too. I had just come from home, from listening to all that shit that my sainted mother was laying on me.
I was already a bad girl, and I decided that I would be real bad that night.
One of the boys got out of the car and I slid into the front seat between Randy, who was driving, and that other white boy. The other two boys were in the back seat. Randy introduced them all, but I don't remember anyone else's name.
All I remember was that none of them was going to play any games with me. The boy sitting there next to me put his hand on my leg just as soon as I got into the car. I was wearing shorts and I had good legs, black and strong and long. I have always been a tall girl.
I just smiled at him and I kissed The other boys cackled at the way that I had reacted to that. "Didn't I tell you that she was something, fellas?" Randy said proudly.
"We have been driving around for the better part of an hour looking for you," the other boy, the boy with his hand on my leg, said to me.
And that made me feel proud too, really proud and really noble in a way.
"Let's do it!" I yelped like some kind of cheerleader.
And the boys in the car laughed and Randy gunned the motor and headed for the outskirts of the city. I knew where he was going. There was a place out there just before the suburbs started, a wooded area that all the kids went to, the black kids and the white kids. They went out there to fuck and I had been out there too, several times over the last few months. I had even been out there with Randy.
We got out there in just a few minutes and we parked in the section where the white kids always parked. You see, there were two sections of those woods and the black kids used one and the white kids used the other. I guess it is still that way back in Birmingham, but I remember how thrilled I was when I went out there with my first white boy because we parked in the white section of the Fucking Woods. That is what the kids in Birmingham called the place. They called it the Fucking Woods and they had for years, probably since before I was even born.
When we parked the car, the two boys in the back seat leaned forward and started to run their hands over my back and my neck and Randy and the other boy leaned and started to kiss and lick me and put their hands all ove. my tits. That thrilled me, having all those boys touch my nigger flesh at the same time. I sat there and I sighed and then I thought that I would have to take control of that situation. I would have to lead them all in the fucking because there were four of them and only one of me. I pushed the guys back and I sat forward in the seat and I pulled off my blouse. Then I took off my bra. When I did that, when I showed them my naked, nigger tits, they started hooting and shouting like they were at some kind of football game or something.
But I was in control and I thought about how I was going to do that. I finally figured it out. I turned around to the two guys in the back seat and I said, "You boys are going to have to move. I want the back seat and I will fuck all of you back there. While I am fucking one of you in the back seat, the other three can sit up front and wait their turn. Okay?"
"Sounds great," one of the boys in the back seat said.
I was naked by then. I had taken off all my clothes and that boy in the front seat with me and Randy was running his hands over my flesh. That felt so good that I thought that he should be the first. I smiled at him and I said, "You get in this cunt first, white god."
And the others hooted and shouted and laughed some more and the two boys in the back seat got out of the car and I climbed over the seat into the back. The white boy who was going to be first started to strip off his clothes. When he was naked, he climbed back there with me and the other two came into the front seat.
The white boy in the back seat started to kiss my neck and play with my tits. I sighed to him and I said, "Oh, honey, that feels good. Play with those nigger tits. Suck on them, baby."
And the boys in the front seat peered over and listened to me and laughed some more.
You see, I knew that I was putting on a show for them. I knew that I had to keep them happy while they waited their turn. And I did not mind that at all. Thinking of putting on that show for those guys made my cunt all wet and syrupy. I felt very powerful, because I had never before had so many white boys looking at me and waiting for me. And I kept thinking that I was really in control of that.
The white boy who was with me at that moment moved down over my breasts and sucked one of my nipples into his mouth. I sighed and lifted my legs and ran the insides of my thighs over his body.
And, as he sucked on that nipple, he kept his hands moving over me, touching me and tickling me and thrilling me. I don't remember much about that boy's looks. I could not even pick him out if he came into my room and smiled down at me today. But, if he touched me, I think that I would know him for sure. You see, most boys, white boys and black boys, did not know about touching, did not know how much touching could turn a girl on. They played with my tits a bit and then they wanted to put their cocks in me and fuck, but I remember that this white boy was taking his time. He was sucking on that nipple and running his hands over my body and I was sighing and shivering under him. I ran my fingers through his hair and the other guys in the front seat looked at us with their eyes wide. I could feel the boy's hardness, his white hardness, against my body. And I kept touching him too. I wanted him to know that I enjoyed the way that he was treating me. I kept talking to him too, talking to him so that I could thrill him and the other boys, the boys in the front seat, the boys who were waiting their turns with me.
"Oh, baby," I said. "You sure do know how to treat a nigger girl right. You sure do know how to turn a nigger girl on. Oh, baby, I feel all gummy inside. I feel like one ball of nigger heat. I want you to fuck me, baby. Fuck that nigger pussy of mine. Fuck my hot, juicy, nigger cunt."
I noticed then that the other boys in the front seat were not making any noise any longer. They all looked back there in the back seat and they were silent. I guess they were too excited to make any sounds. All the yelling and cheering had gone out of the evening and there was nothing left in that car but hot lust, white and black lust.
Yes, I was turned on too.
I had started to talk to that boy about my nigger cunt to give the other white boys a thrill. But now I knew that that kind of talk was giving me a thrill too. I liked thinking of that boy's whiteness and the way that his white cock would go into me. I liked thinking of myself as a nigger because I knew that I was parked with those white boys in the white section of the Fucking Woods. I felt very honored and I wanted to keep reminding myself that I was a nigger, that I was a special nigger girl that night.
And then that white boy stopped sucking on my tit and I lay back and spread my legs and lifted them a little bit. I looked down at that cock of his and I saw that it was big and hard and strong. I looked at the muscles in his chest too. He was already heaving and sweating and I could tell that he was very hot, hot for my nigger flesh.
He positioned himself over me and I sighed to him to keep that heat moving through his system, as it was moving through mine.
"Oh, fuck me, white stud," I said. "Fuck my nigger cunt. Drive it to me. Fuck that nigger cunt and ram it to me hard."
And the boy just chuckled and he turned and looked at his friends who were looking at me and he said the word in a soft, Southern accent.
"Nigger."
"Yeah," Randy said grinning. "Call her that. She loves it when a white guy calls her that."
And I did not contradict Randy. He knew my nigger soul so well.
The white boy looked down at me and smiled and said it again, said the word right to me.
"Nigger."
And I spread my legs wide as that fire went through me and I sighed to him.
"Oh, fuck me, man. Ram it to me, white stud. Fuck this nigger bitch."
And that man did it. He slammed it right into me. His cock felt like a tower inside of me.
It filled me up and made me squirm and sigh, but I kept saying the words because I knew that he liked them and I knew that the other boys in the front seat liked them. And I knew that I liked those words too.
"Fuck that nigger cunt, you white stud. Fuck me. Fuck this nigger whore."
"Yeah, nigger," he said, grinding away in me. "I am going to fuck you. I am going to fuck the shit out of your nigger cunt. I am going to fuck you like you have never been fucked before in all of your nigger life."
"Nigger," Randy sighed from the front seat of the car.
And the other two up there took up the chant. It was chanted in soft and breathy voices.
"Nigger. Nigger. Nigger."
And I closed my eyes and I seemed to float on that chant, on those soft words of abuse.
That white cock was slamming into me, and the white boy over me was grunting and enjoying himself.
And I was fucking him with all the nigger lust in my system. I kept hearing that word and I loved the way that that word mixed with the cock that was going into me.
"Nigger. Nigger. Nigger. Nigger."
"Yeah, you nigger bitch," the white boy who was fucking me growled. "You nigger whore."
And I fell in love with those words of abuse. I fell in love with the way that the cock felt in me and the way that those words made me float. I was a nigger, and I knew that no white boy in Birmingham would ever have the courage to take me out in public. But they were going to keep coming around, driving around the nigger section of the city, looking for me on Saturday night, and I knew that that made me special to them. I would become legendary in Birmingham, I thought as that white boy fucked me. I would be known as the hottest nigger bitch in the world, the kid of nigger bitch who would do anything, anything at all for some fun. That was even better than my brother's legend. He was known as a good football player and a stud, I figured, but he was only known in the black section of the city, the nigger section. My fame, I thought, would rise up and float over Birmingham.
I was sweating and rocking under that white boy and then he grunted in that special way that always told me that a guy was coming. I sighed and tightened my black, nigger legs around his white body and held him in me and I murmured to him.
"Come in me, white stud. Come in my nigger cunt, you white stud."
And that white boy tensed his body over mine and I held him in me and he came in me.
God, I loved it! I thought that there was nothing better in the world than a good white cock coming in a nigger cunt.
And then that white boy pulled out of me and another shouted, "I am next!"
I lay there, sort of in a daze, and I lifted my hand and beckoned that next white boy to me. "Sure, honey," I said. "Sure, you are next."
I do not remember much about that fucking or the one that came after it. There just seemed to be weights, white weights on my black body. I loved those weights and I loved the way that those guys plowed into me.
But Randy was the last one. I knew, when I finished with those other three and looked at him, that Randy would be something special. He had waited his turn and now he was climbing over to me. I reached out and I touched his tanned flesh and sighed to him.
"Bet you are going to be the best, Randy. Bet you are going to be the best, white stud in Birmingham."
But Randy just sat down in the back seat and looked at his friends. He spoke to them softly and I sensed something dangerous and sinister in his voice when he said those words.
"I told you that she was great. But I also told you that I was going to do something special to her. Right, boys? Right?"
"Right, Randy," they all said together.
I wondered what Randy was going to do to me. I could tell by the way that his friends looked at us there in the back seat that they wondered too.
I reached up and put my nigger hand on his tanned shoulder and I said, "I am yours, Randy. Do anything that you want to this nigger whore."
Randy turned around and smiled at me.
"You are a nigger whore, aren't you, Melody?" he asked.
I grinned at him.
"Sure am, Randy boy," I said, almost happily.
And that was when he hit me. It came out of the blue and shocked me more than it actually hurt me.
He slapped me hard across the face. I lay there and just looked up at him.
"You fucking tramp," he said. "You fucking nigger bitch. Did you really think that I would be the fourth cock in your fucking pussy tonight?"
I had really thought that he would. I knew that I was sweaty and sort of scummy after all that fucking, but I thought that I was still sort of sweet too, sweet with nigger lust.
And then he slapped me again and the other guys in the front seat just stared at him.
"Say you like it, nigger," Randy snarled at me.
"What?" I muttered, my eyes filling with tears.
"Say that you like it. I know that you do. There is nothing that a nigger girl-likes more than being hit by a white man."
And I did not know if the feelings that I had would be like the feelings that all nigger girls had, but I did know that I did like it. I liked it when he slapped me.
And I admitted it in a muttering tone.
"I do like it," I said. "I like it a lot."
I guess I would have said that, no matter whether I liked it or not. But the truth is that I did feel something special happening my body when he slapped me like that. I felt the heat of that slap and the heat rushed down to my pussy.
It was a reminder that I was nothing but a nigger, a reminder that he was a white man and I was nothing compared to him. And something about those slaps made me feel safe. I knew that I could not fail at anything, because I was only a nigger.
All of those thoughts rushed through my head, but I could not put them into words.
The only thing that I could say was, "Hit me again, Randy. Hit me again, you white stud."
And he smiled and looked at his friends and said, "Didn't I tell you? Didn't I tell you that she would like it?"
But I looked at those friends through the tears that flooded my eyes and I could tell by their expressions that he had not told them anything like that. Those three naked white boys were surprised and shocked by what he was doing to me. I could see that. "Yes," I muttered, tossing with the blows that he gave me. "Yes. I love it. Hit me. Slap the shit out of me. Knock the crap out of me. I am nothing but a nigger bitch."
And I did love it. Jesus, how I loved it!
I tossed and squirmed as he hit me again and again. Then he stopped slapping me and he put his hands on my tits and he pulled on my nipples and I yelped with pain. But there was more than just the pain there. My pussy was flowing with juices.
I did not understand it, but I loved it. I loved what was happening to me.
Suddenly, those other three white boys did not even exist in my mind. There was only Randy, Randy with the pain that he was giving me. And I seemed to float on that pain as I had floated before on the word, nigger.
"Yes," I whimpered. "Yes. Yes. Yes."
"Nigger slut."
"Yes."
"Nigger whore."
"Yes."
"Nigger bitch."
And I felt like he was going to rip my nipples off and I did not care if he did.
I just loved giving him this pain. I felt like my pain was vibrating out from my body and meeting him and making him think that he was the special white, wonderful stud. He was even better than his three friends. He was, really. He was.
And then he pulled his hands off my tits and I groaned to him.
"Fuck me. Please. Fuck me. Fuck my nigger whore cunt."
But Randy just laughed at me and slapped me again.
"I told you," he snarled. "I am not going to go fourth into that scummy, nigger pussy. I will go out and find myself a fresh nigger bitch before I do that."
And I felt like my brain was on fire. I could not let him leave me, I thought.
I did not want him to go out and find some other nigger girl.
I wanted to be his special nigger girl always.
I reached out and felt his cock. It was hard. He had gotten that excited by hitting me and hurting me. I sighed to him in a begging tone.
"Then let me suck your cock, Randy," I said. "Let me suck it until you come in my nigger mouth. I have not sucked any of the others. I will suck your cock. Please, Randy. Let this nigger girl suck your cock."
And he seemed to think about it for a moment and then he figured that it was all right.
He moved over me and he put his hand behind my head and lifted my head up.
"Okay, nigger whore," he said. "Suck that white cock."
And I looked at that cock and I could not think of anything that I wanted to do more.
I opened my mouth and I grabbed his white, strong pole, and I pulled his cock to my lips. Then I licked the end of that cock.
"Oh," I moaned. "How sweet. How sweet this white cock is."
And Randy chuckled.
Then I took that white cock into my mouth.
And then I heard the other boys, the ones in the front seat that I was already finished with. They gasped and they spoke to each other in hushed tones, as if they could not believe that I was really doing this.
"She is sucking on his cock."
"My god, look at that black mouth go."
"That looks great. She is going after it as if it were a steak."
"She sure-likes white cock, doesn't she?"
"What nigger whore wouldn't like white cock?"
And then those three guys laughed and
Randy joined them in laughing.
And I kept sucking on his white, strong cock.
I gave him just what he wanted, and I felt an ease come into my body as I gave him that.
Randy had knocked the shit out me, but I felt honored that he was letting me suck on that cock. I felt that cock pulse in my mouth and batter the back of my throat and I worked back and forth on that thing. Randy put his fingers over my kinky, nigger hair and he groaned to me.
"Suck that, you nigger bitch. Suck it. Suck that cock."
And I think that that was the first time that I really felt the poetry of the abusive language. The words that Randy said to me seemed to set my body on fire with lust.
And that lust was even greater because I knew that those other white boys were watching us.
I moved my nigger mouth off that white cock and I held the prick in my hand and licked the underside of the meat. I ran my tongue up the cock with a regular motion and I looked up at Randy. He looked down at me as if he expected me to do all of these things, as if he knew that he was some kind of master of my soul.
And that was the way that I felt about him then too. I felt that he was the master of my nigger soul.
"Get it back in your mouth, bitch," he snarled. "I am going to come soon."
And I clamped my mouth over that rod with pressed my lips around the pulsing flesh.
I wanted him to come soon. I wanted to taste my master's cream as it shot down my nigger throat.
I was sure that there was nothing that could be better for a nigger whore like me.
And then Randy groaned and thrust his body forward and slammed that cock back into my throat.
I accepted that and sighed and touched my own tit. I felt the nipple that he had hurt with his fingers. I twitched slightly with that pain.
And the come shot into my throat like molten lava.
It rolled down my throat and filled me with heat and glee and I took it all in me.
He came with gallons of juice and it all rolled down my throat and went into my gut, my nigger stomach. I sucked on it and caressed the meat and milked it for all that it was worth.
And then, when Randy was finished with me, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and he looked down on me.
"Get dressed, you nigger slut," he said. "Get dressed and get out and walk."
I think that that hurt me a little, but I knew that Randy was right, that I should walk home like the fucking, nigger slut that I was.
A few minutes later, I stood out there in the Fucking Woods and I watched the car tear away. I looked around me and I knew that I was a nigger girl in the white section of the woods. I knew that some white guys in Birmingham would not like it if they found me out there. So I turned and I ran through the woods, ran to the section that had been reserved for niggers.
I ran so that I could be with my own kind. But my horrible and wonderful night was not over yet.
There was still more humiliation to come, and this humiliation was even better.
I went through the woods and came out on the nigger section. There were cars parked there and I knew that other black kids were in those cars, fucking away. I felt more at home there, but I still did not know how I would get home. I sat down under a tree and I looked at those cars. I was in the dark part of the woods and I knew that no one could see me there. I thought that I needed some time to sit there and think about what had happened to me with those white boys, especially with Randy.
I did not understand why I had enjoyed that, but I knew that I did.
I knew that Randy had taught me some things about my life and my needs that night. I knew that I would never be the same again.
And I tried to think of why I would like being knocked about and abused like that.
But I did not have time to think for long.
In just a few minutes, I heard the girl moaning in the car that was close to me.
"Oh, Leroy," she said in a sleepy voice. "Slam it to me, Leroy. You are so good on the playing field, Leroy, and you are so fucking good in my cunt."
I stiffened. I was alert. I knew that my brother, my big brother that I had always worshipped, was there in that car with some girl.
But that was not his car. I studied it, and I tried to remember where I had seen that car before. And then it hit me. He was in the car of Mrs. Mabel Pearson, the mother of one of his good friends in school.
He was not there with a teen-aged girl at all. Mabel Pearson was a beautiful woman of forty or so. I knew her, but I would never have thought that she would have come out there with Leroy and fucked him.
"Slam it to me, Leroy," she said. "Give me that fucking cock, Leroy. Give it to me."
And Leroy slammed away. I could hear him grunting then.
And I felt the need to go up to that car and look.
I stood up very slowly and I felt my legs tremble under me.
I knew that I would have to do it. I knew that I wanted to see my brother fucking away in Mabel's cunt.
I moved quietly from the woods and into the nigger clearing. I slipped up to that car and I knelt there and took a deep breath. Then I slowly raised my eyes up to the window and I saw them there.
My brother was lying on top of Mabel Pearson in the front seat and her black legs were around him. I looked at my brother's muscles as they worked in his back and in his ass.
He was grunting and she was sighing and kissing his neck.
And I remember thinking that Mabel Pearson was a very lucky woman.
"Give it to me, Leroy. Give me that fucking prick. Slam it into me, Leroy. Give it to me. Oh, god, I love it," she said in gasps.
I watched my brother with that woman and studied the muscles that flexed and rippled in the back of his body and I could understand why Mabel Pearson would love it. My brother was a muscled, young, black god, and she was one very lucky black housewife.
And I felt my own pussy tremble and quake as I looked at that. Then I dropped down by the car and I sat there and I put my hand on my tit and squeezed it.
I closed my eyes and I thought about what Randy had done to me.
And, in my mind, Leroy took the place of Randy, the white boy.
That would be the ultimate fever, I thought, the ultimate joy, if my own stud brother would knock me around and make me suck his cock. I thought of what it would feel like, and I imagined Leroy, approaching me, angry and naked. I imagined Leroy slipping toward me out of a fog and glaring down at me and calling me names.
And then he would hit me. Leroy was a big, strong, young man. I knew that his blows would send even more fever and pain through .me than Randy's had.
And I wanted those blows. Oh, god, how I wanted them!
"Yes!" I heard Mabel Pearson cry. "Yes! Yes! Leroy, come in my cunt!"
And I knew that they would soon be finished with their fucking. I knew that I should get out of there before they stopped fucking and looked up. I did not want them to catch me. But I was trembling too much to move. I felt like a fish that was flopping around on dry land, a nigger fish, the kind of fish that no one would actually eat.
And I listened to Mabel Pearson squeal and my brother grunt.
Those were such sexy sounds, animal sounds that came from inside that car, and they fell on my ears and made me even more excited as I listened to those sounds.
"Leroy! Leroy! You are so fucking good!" Mabel Pearson yelled.
And then there was silence, deathly silence. I felt stronger in the silence of the Fucking Woods and I slowly stood up.
And that was when Mabel Pearson screamed.
"My god! Leroy, someone is watching us!"
I turned and I ran for the darkest part of the woods, but I heard Mabel Pearson behind me, moaning and crying.
"Oh, Leroy, if someone finds out-if my husband finds out-Leroy, what will I do?"
"Don't worry. I will catch them," Leroy grunted.
And I heard the car door open and I ran like hell into those woods.
But then I stopped. I stopped and turned around.
I could see my big brother pulling on his pants as he crashed through those woods.
I wanted him to catch me there, you see. I wanted to confront my brother with what I knew and tell him about the other things that I knew-about myself. I wanted my brother to knock the shit out of me with anger.
It was as simple as that. I just felt the need in my mind and I knew that, if I let him catch me, he would hit me good.
So I stood there and Leroy caught up with me. He glared at me.
"Melody. Was that you out there looking into that car?"
"Yes, Leroy," I said, looking at his big, black chest. "I saw all."
I studied the muscles that rippled in that chest. He had not had time to put his shirt on. :
And he was heaving with anger and with tension. He stood there like an overworked animal.
And I moved toward him and touched the crotch of his pants.
"I saw all, Big Brother," I said softly. "I saw all and I liked it."
Leroy backed up from me and looked at me with panic in his eyes, "What the fuck you talking about?" he muttered.
"I want you, Leroy," I said. "I want you just like Mabel Pearson wanted you."
But, actuaDy, even as I said that, I knew that that was not the truth. I wanted my brother in a way that that other woman did not want him. I wanted Leroy to hit me and then fuck me. I wanted both pain and pleasure from that stud that I had worshipped for so long.
And then I thought that I would tell him about what happened to me.
I thought that that would give my big brother some it' as about how I liked to be treated.
"I have been on the other side of the woods with four white boys, Leroy," I said.
"What? White boys?" he muttered. I could tell that he was still not sure of himself.
I could still see the panic and the anxiety in his eyes.
But I would tell him my story, I determined, and that would make everything all right between us.
"I fucked three of those boys. I like to fuck white boys. They always look down on me and call me names while they fuck me, and I like that, Leroy. I really do like it."
"What you talking about, Melody?" he asked. "You should stay away from white boys."
"No, I won't. Not after tonight," I told him. "I have fucked white boys before but tonight was special because one of those white boys-the fourth one and the best one-he wouldn't fuck me. He climbed into the back seat with me and he hit me."
"What?" my brother yelled. "Tell me his name! I will beat that son-of-a-bitch-"
"No, Leroy," I said, holding up my hands. "Don't beat him. I liked it when he beat me and hit me and called me names. Then he made me suck his cock and he came in my mouth and I swallowed all of that come and that felt good. Leroy, it really did feel good."
"Damn it, Melody, you are sick or something," my brother said.
"No," I said.
And then I remembered that one of those white boys had said that Randy was sick for what he did to me. Randy knew that he was not sick and I knew that I was not sick either. I was just different. The beating had answered something that was in the core of me.
And then I remembered that I had to get a similar beating from my brother. I knew that I would not be able to live, now, unless I shared this special thing with my stud brother.
So I threatened Leroy. It was the only thing that I could think of.
"Leroy," I said, "I am going to tell everyone that you fucked Mabel Pearson. I am going to tell Mister Pearson and I am going to tell
Mamma too."
"No, Melody," he said, staggering back. "Don't do that."
"I will."
And then I just stood there and let Leroy have a chance to get really angry. I smiled at him and I let the news sink in. Sure enough, Leroy started to burn with anger.
He started to shake and he muttered to me fiercely.
"You ain't gonna tell nobody nothing, Melody," he said.
"I sure will, Leroy," I said, taunting him.
I could tell that it was working, that he was almost ready to explode with anger.
And I wanted that explosion. I wanted Leroy to get so mad that he hit me. I knew that, one he hit me, things would work out. He would feel the kind of thing that I wanted him to feel and that would make everything worthwhile between us.
"I am going to tell, Leroy," I said. "I really am going to tell."
"No, you're not," he snarled.
And he reached out with both of his hands and he grabbed my shoulders.
He pulled me to him and he shook me hard and I squealed. But the shaking was not enough. I knew that. I wanted him to hit me good. So I taunted him so more, even as he showed me his strength with that shaking. "I will tell. I will. I will. I will."
"No!" he yelled.
And then he moved his hands off my shoulders and slapped me hard.
I fell to my knees and held my face in my hands, but I still muttered it.
"I will tell, Leroy. I will tell them all about you and Mabel Pearson."
And Leroy exploded in rage, just the way that I knew that he would.
He reached down and put his hands around my throat and he pushed me back as he fell on top of me.
He started to choke me, to knock the wind out of my lungs and he snarled at me as he did that.
"You won't tell, Melody. You won't tell. I will make sure that you-"
And then he seemed to come to his senses, and he pulled his hands away from me.
My blouse had fallen open. I was not wearing my bra. I had left that in Randy's car. I had figured that he and the other boys could use it to remember me by.
"God, Melody," my brother said. "God, I am sorry."
I put my hand on my black tit and I smiled up at him.
"Fuck me, Leroy," I said, still gasping for air. "Fuck me and I won't tell."
I knew that I had that stud of a man just where I wanted him. I knew that he would have to fuck me.
But I knew that he would be confused by my request.
So I stopped taunting him and threatening him. I started to tempt him with my sexy body.
I put my fingers on my nipple and I sighed to my brother.
"See, Leroy," I said. "See that sexy nipple. A white boy sucked that nipple tonight and another white boy twisted it and hurt me. And I liked it when he did it, Leroy. I liked the sucking, but I liked the twisting and the hurting more. Go ahead, Leroy. Twist my nipple. It will do you good."
And my big brother reached out and put his hand on my tit.
He just lay that massive, strong hand on my flesh for a second.
I knew that Leroy was still a little confused, a little threatened by the fact that I was his little sister. He was probably thinking that I was sexy, but he was also thinking that I might be sick to want that kind of treatment, especially from my own brother.
But that was the kind of treatment that I desired, and I could think of no better person than Leroy to give it to me. I sighed to him again and put a pleading tone in my voice.
"Go ahead, Leroy. Twist that nipple. Twist that thing and hurt me, Big Brother."
And then, with a bit of hesitation, he put his fingers on that nipple and pinched it.
And I jerked and I sighed with lust. I trembled there on the ground.
"Yes, Leroy," I said. "More. More. More. Try to rip that sucker off."
And I could see that tension in my brother's handsome, broad face.
I knew that he would do it if I would just tempt him some more.
"Do it, Leroy," I sighed. "Rip it. Rip that fucking, nigger nipple off. I am just a nigger whore. Hurt me, Leroy. Hurt your sister. Hurt me. I am just a nigger bitch, a nigger slut, a nigger-"
That was as far as I got. That was all that Leroy needed.
He grabbed that tit and he pulled on it as hard as he could.
And the pain shot through me and I loved it. I squirmed there on the ground as he twisted on that nipple and let the rage show in his face. I reached out and I touched the hardness in his pants. He had just fucked Mabel Pearson, but I knew that I could get him up if I tried. I knew that I could do it because I was his own little sister and what I was demanding of him was too kinky and too wonderful to be denied.
'That's right, Leroy," I moaned. "Hurt this little, nigger bitch and then fuck her. Hurt her and fuck the shit out of her. She is your own little sister, Leroy. Fuck this nigger slut who fucks white boys for fun."
"Shut up!" my big brother yelled.
And he slapped me hard across the face with all of his fury.
"Stop calling yourself that, Melody!" he yelled.
But I knew that I was getting just the kind of treatment that.I wanted from him.
"I am a nigger, Leroy," I said. "I am a nigger bitch, and you are a nigger stud."
I ran my hand over the hardness in his pants and I knew that he could not get up and walk away from me now. His black, brotherly lust would not allow it.
"Fuck me!" I yelled.
But he slapped me again, hard, and then he put both of his hands on my tits and he twisted both of my nipples as he snarled at me.
"Shut up. Shut up. For God's sake, have some self-respect, Melody. Shut up with that kind of talk. Shut up. For God's sake, I am your brother."
He was trying to talk me out of it, but he was giving me the pain that I wanted, and I knew that Leroy would not be able to refuse me now.
When he finally took his hands off my nipples, I reached out and unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. I started to massage it and my brother groaned. He lifted his eyes to the dark, night sky and he seemed to surrender to me.
"All right," he said. "Do it to me, Melody. Just don't use those words any more."
And I knew that I would not have to use those words. I knew that I did not need them now.
I moved across the ground and lifted my head and sucked my brother's big, black cock into my mouth.
I tasted the come that was still on that cock and I tasted a feminine tang too, and I knew that that was the tang of Mabel Pearson's pussy.
But I also knew that I had something that Mabel Pearson did not get. I had my brother's anger.
He had hit me and he had never hit Mabel Pearson, I thought.
And now I was sucking on his cock and it was growing in my mouth, growing and lengthening as Leroy started to moan to me.
At that point, it seemed, the brother in him died and the stud took over. The sexiness of my mouth on his cock gave him something that he liked so much that he lost some of the guilt that he felt.
"Yeah, suck it," he said. "Suck that cock. Suck it good. Yeah, use your mouth on me."
And I did that happily. I sucked on his rod until it was hard and strong again.
And then I lay back and pulled down my shorts and lay there with my legs spread. My pussy felt like it was bubbling. I was that turned on.
"Give it to me, Big Brother." I said. "Fuck my nigger cunt with your nigger cock."
And then he hit me again, slapped me hard.
"I will fuck you, Melody," he said. "But don't say those words again. And don't tell anyone about Mabel and me."
"All right," I said. "All right."
I would agree to any of his demands in order to get him in my pussy.
And then my brother moved over me and I touched his black prick and I pulled it into my cunt. I sighed and lifted my legs around him and Leroy slammed it into me.
That was the night that everything seemed to change. And I kept my promise to Leroy. I did not use the term, nigger, any more in front of him, and I did not tell anyone about his fucking of Mabel Pearson. But he never fucked me again after that night. In fact, he seemed to avoid being in the same room with me when we were at home together.
And that hurt me. As much as I remembered that fucking that he had given me with joy, I was hurt because I knew that I would never have something like that with my brother again.
And Birmingham was still a dull, dull city for me.
So, soon after that night, I packed my bags and left for the north, to see the snow.
It was in New York City that I had found the pleasures of heroin.
But that was another story, another sexy story that made me what I am today.
CHAPTER FOUR
When I got to New York City, I did not know what I would do. I just walked around for the first day. The place was so big, I thought. I had not been prepared for the size of those buildings. I thought that they could have put all of Birmingham into one of those tall, office buildings.
But, as night came on, I started to get a little scared. I did not know where I would spend the night. I checked my money. I had five dollars on me and that was it.
I was sitting in a little coffee shop when I did that, and I knew that I had enough to pay for the coffee and pie that I had ordered but I wondered if this was going to be enough to get a hotel room that night.
And then I noticed this young white man looking at me. He smiled.
He was a tiny guy with long, black hair that fell around his face and seemed to frame it.
And he was white, so white that he almost seemed to be transparent.
But he seemed friendly and I thought that I did need a friend that night. I smiled back at him. I thought that it might be easy to fuck him, if that was what he wanted. I would fuck him and then he would let me stay through the night at his place. I did not even think about what would happen to me the next day. I had already begun to live from day to day, and I knew that I could not worry about tomorrow, not in a place as big and as heartless as New York City.
The little, white man moved over and sat down in the booth across from me. He smiled again and he stuck out his hand.
"Hi," he said. "My name is David. David Jones. Most folks just call me Davy."
"Davy," I said. "My name is Melody."
As I shook his hand, I tried to figure out just how old this guy was. He could have been fifteen or he could have been forty. Who knew for sure? This guy looked so white that he seemed to be ageless.
"You look like you need a place to stay, Melody," David said.
Well, he sure had that right. I smiled and nodded my head.
"Would you like to stay with me for a little while?" he asked.
He was being direct, so I thought that I might as well be direct too.
"Sure," I said. "I would fuck you for a roof over my head."
And the white man laughed and then he watched me while I ate my pie and drank my coffee. Later, he picked up the check for that little meal and he walked outside on the busy street with me.
"I live near here," he said. "Let's go."
I walked with him, feeling good because I had found a friend there in New York City.
And I towered over the little white guy as we walked down the street. I thought that we must look very strange. But no one who passed us seemed to notice anything. It was like there was nothing too strange for New York City. .
David lived in a tall building that had once been a hotel. But now, he said, they rented out the rooms as studio apartments. We went up in the elevator together to the top floor and got out and David led me down the hall to his room.
That room was small but it.looked okay and I thought that I would be comfortable there.
There was a big bed in the corner of the room. It was the biggest piece of furniture there and it looked very inviting. I walked across the room and sat down on the edge of that bed and pulled off my shoes. Then I smiled at him.
"You want to fuck right now, Davy?" I asked, using that boyish name that seemed to fit him.
As I said, I did not know how old he was, but I figured that anyone who was that small and that white had to be like a boy.
"Go ahead and get undressed," he said. "I have to use the john."
And then he went into a little room and closed the door. I stood up and took-off my clothes. There was a fan in the window and it was hot in that room. It was the middle of summer. I turned on the fan and I stood in front of it and let the breeze blow over my black, naked body. That felt good. I smiled and I wiggled in that breeze.
I was still wiggling when David came out of the bathroom. He was naked too. When I turned and looked at him, I noticed the prick first. It was long and meaty, and it certainly did not look boyish at all. I could tell that David was all man. But that prick was just as white as the rest of his body. I studied him and finally I just had to ask the question.
"How come you're all white, David Jones?" I asked.
"Because I am an albino," he said. "I don't have that much pigmentation in my body. My daddy was an albino, and I guess that I am really only half-albino. That is the reason that my hair is black. I got that from my mother. My daddy's hair was all white."
"Really?" I asked.
"Really."
I had known white man before, but I had never known an all-white man.
I suddenly wished that I could have met David's father.
But I figured that I would just settle for the half-albino son.
I sat down on the bed and spread my legs. I thought that David would come to me and start the sex stuff right away, but he didn't. He turned around and walked back into the bathroom.
And, when he came out again, he had all kinds of stuff in his hands.
I noticed the ropes first. I grinned. I thought that ropes would be fun.
"Hope you don't mind, Melody," he said almost sheepishly. "I like to tie girls up."
And I thought that I was very lucky to find a man like that.
"Oh, shit, David," I said. "I don't mind at all."
"You ever been tied up before?" he asked.
"No. Not really. I have been slapped and called names, but never-"
"I thought that you would like it," he said. "I thought when I saw you sitting there that you were my type of girl."
And I wondered if my need for abuse showed in me that much. I remembered that other men, that Randy for example, had known just by looking at me that I would sit still for all kinds of punishment. Maybe it did show, I thought, and, if it did, it would make my sex life a lot easier.
I lay back on the bed and smiled at the white man.
"Well, come and tie me up, David. Tie this nigger bitch up."
When I said that, I could see the way that David's eyes came alive with passion.
He knew that he had a winner then, a real, nigger winner.
He walked toward me with those ropes in his hands and. he moved onto the bed. I lay there and let him turn me just as he wanted me. The ropes were around my body and the white man tied them tightly. He pulled them tight over my tits and tied my hands behind my back and then tied my legs with the same ropes so that I could not close my legs, even if I had wanted too. Within a few minutes, he had me fixed up like a queen.
And then he moved off the bed and stood there and studied his work of art.
"Looks real good," he said. "I like the way the ropes look against your black flesh."
"You mean my nigger flesh, don't you?" I asked.
And the man laughed and corrected himself. "Yes, your nigger flesh."
He leaned forward and slapped one of my tits hard with his hand.
"You sexy, nigger bitch," he said.
And I gasped with delight. I could feel my pussy bubbling with juices already.
I liked the idea that he was going to fuck me like that, fuck me while I was fixed there in those ropes.
But he moved away from the bed and went back into the bathroom and I wondered if he was going to fuck me at all.
"David!" I called. "Davy! Come fuck my nigger cunt, please!"
But he did not come out of the bathroom for a long time. It seemed like an eternity to me.
Then, when he did come out of the bathroom, he was holding a needle in his hand. It was one of those medical things and there was something in it, something that he wantec to shoot into me.
I knew that immediately and I felt a lump come to my throat.
"What is that, Davy?" I muttered with fear. "What is that in that needle?"
"Something to make you feel very good," the young, white man said.
And he moved toward me again and climbec on the bed. I gasped, but I could not escape him. I could not even move that much because he had tied me up with such skill. When trembled, I hurt. It seemed that my shaking made the ropes cut into my nigger flesh even more.
And then David put the needle on my tit and jabbed it into me. He shot the stuff into my system and I felt like I was going to throw up for a moment.
And then he pulled the needle out and he moved off the bed.
"Just let it work, black bitch," he said. "Let it work and you will feel like fucking even more."
He moved back into the bedroom and I felt some kind of fog come over me. I closed my eyes because the room was whirling around. And then I felt as if I was floating or something. And there was a heat in my system, a heat that I loved. It flowed through me so sweetly and made my life seem easy and happy. I floated with that heat and I sighed.
When I opened my eyes, David was standing over me. :
When he spoke to me, he seemed to be speaking from a cloud, high in the summer sky.
"Didn't I tell you that it would make you feel good?" he asked.
"Yes," I muttered. "Yes, and it does make me feel good too."
I closed my eyes and I felt like a flower, a black flower that was opening up to the sunlight.
And then I opened my eyes when I felt the flesh against my mouth.
David was kneeling with his cock against my lips. I looked up at him and he seemed to be five hundred feet tall.
"Suck it," he said, and his voice boomed from the clouds.
I could not refuse a voice like that, not when I was tied up and floating.
I opened my mouth and David put his thing into me and I started to suck on his cock.
That cock was so white, and it seemed cold in my mouth.
But I was hot, hot with the stuff that he had shot into me and hot with the ropes that bound me.
And I thought that I would use that heat, that nigger heat, to warm up that cock and make it hard. I sucked on it with relish, working my mouth back and forth on the thing.
And David groaned to me and ran his fingers over my kinky hair.
"Yeah, nigger bitch," he said. "Suck that thing. Suck it good."
And I thought of all the other cocks that I had sucked, of my brother's cock, of the black cocks and the white cocks. But I knew that this prick would be special to me always. It was my first New York City prick, I thought, and it was the first time that I had ever sucked a cock while floating on a heated cloud.
As the thing grew stiff in my mouth, it also got very warm and I knew that I had defeated the coldness in that cock.
That made me one proud nigger girl. I sucked on it until' it was hard enough to fuck me. Then David pulled the cock out of my mouth and I looked at it. The whiteness was gone. The blood that had rushed into that thing, drawn there by my sucking cock, gave the male flesh a pale rose color that I liked. I raised my head and kissed that rose-colored cock.
And David seemed happy with the way that I had done that for him.
He reached out and he patted my head as if I were a trusty dog.
"Good bitch," he said. "Real good. You suck cock good, nigger."
And those words sent a special fire through my system to match the fire that that stuff had given me. I moaned to him as I lay there, tied on the bed.
"Fuck me, David. Fuck me, white stud. Fuck that nigger bitch cunt of mine."
At least, I think that I said that. I was floating so much that I could not really tell what I was saying and what I was just thinking. I know now that that is the way that heroin works on you. It puts you in a cloud so that you don't know anything except the heat. That heat is in you for sure and that heat is what you really listened to.
David moved around on the bed as I lay there tied. He moved between the legs that I could not close even if I had wanted to. Then he put his hands on my tits. The rough ropes were across my nigger tits and David pressed down on those ropes, making the fibers of those things cut into my flesh. I sighed and moaned and shivered with that new pain, that new heat.
And David Jones slammed his rose-colored cock into my cunt with a great force.
"Take that, you nigger scum," he said. "Take that cock into your worthless cunt."
And I shivered and moaned and tried to move as much as I could. When I bounced my pussy against his cock, I felt the ropes bite into me even more, but I did not mind about that.
I just knew that that heat had to be answered, that that heat gave me a feeling that I had to have fulfilled. I did not mind the ropes or the pain or the abuse. I just lay there and sighed and worshipped the heat.
And David worked back and forth in my' cunt with his cock and pressed those rough ropes into my tits and gave me all the pleasure that I could stand with that fucking and that pain. The heat rushed through my system and I fucked away on that cock. I started to gasp out the words.
"Give it to me. Deeper. Deeper. Harder. Fuck me, David. I love it. I love that cock."
"Nigger," he groaned, and his cock seemed to fill up my insides. I thought that I was going to explode with all that pleasure and that heat and that cock. And I did not care if I exploded or not. I just wanted to give him everything that I could give.
"Nigger," he snarled again. "Nigger bitch, I am going to get you hooked."
And I did not know what hooked meant at that time, but I thought that I would be happy to let David hook me, hook me with his cock and hook me with his heat.
We fucked until we both came, came with excitement and lust for each other.
Later, David explained it all to me. He told me that that had been heroin that he had shot into me and he told me that nothing in the world could feel as good as horse in my system.
And I had to agree with him. I knew that I had felt wonderful with that heat in me that first time. I wanted more. He gave me a shot every other day or so and then he fucked me. He always tied me up too. That New York City white man gave me everything that I could ever want from any man, and I never wanted to leave him, never wanted to be anything except his nigger bitch.
But then things changed for the worse. First, David got all depressed and said that I was beginning to bore him. I tried to do things that would keep him happy. I would crawl to him and lick his feet and beg him to tie me up.
But he did not seem to come out of his depression. He still worked with me a little bit, tied me up and gave me the shots and then fucked me. But he seemed to do it as if he were reciting some poem that he had memorized years before, some poem that did not mean anything to him any longer.
And then one day I came home to that little apartment. I had been out buying some food.
And, when I walked in, I saw him with another girl. She was tied up on the bed and he was naked and he was shooting the stuff into her. She was an Oriental girl, a pretty and tawny girl with big tits.
"Fucking gook," he muttered to her as he gave her the heat that he had once reserved for me.
And I did not have to be told that I was not needed there any longer.
I put the groceries down and I put some clothes in "a suitcase. I moved quietly, but David knew that I was there. I don't think that the girl even realized that I was in the room with her. She was floating on the hot cloud and she did not seem to know that anything was around her at all.
By the time I had packed, she was already sucking on David's cock.
I turned and left and did not look back. I had some money with me, and I went to Boston.
I figured that winter would come there more quickly than it would come to New York City.
And I remembered that all I had wanted to do at one point was see the snow.
I fucked for money in the Combat Zone in Boston and I got enough to get out of that town and I wound up at Belle's in Ayer because someone told me that it was a good place to wait for snow.
I have thought about all this stuff since then, and I think that my whole life seemed to drive me to this place, to drive me into Ranee Godwin's arms. I don't know if it was fate, but I know that something put me there in Ayer, something that was stronger than I was.
And I knew that something would put me in Africa restroom.
CHAPTER FIVE
When we landed in South Africa, a fat man met us at the airport.
Ranee introduced me to that fat man. His name was Zero Smelling and he was an old friend of Ranee. Jim Webber knew him too, but I could tell by the way that Jim Webber kept silent that he did not think much of that fat man.
When Zero Smelling started to talk, I knew that he was a Southerner from the United States.
He had that syrupy kind of voice that certain, Southern politicians get when they are trying to talk the stupid people into re-electing them. It was a voice that was made for promises, I thought, promises that would not be kept.
And, when Ranee introduced me to Zero Smelling, the fat man looked me over and said, "You sure are a fine piece of nigger flesh, little lady."
And he reached out with his fat fingers and pinched me.
I hated him then. I did not like to be called a nigger by a fat man. It was different with the men that I fucked. I thought that studs had a right to call me anything that they wanted, but I knew that that fat man could not be a stud. He was sweating and gasping as he stood there and he was the most disgusting creature that I had ever seen.
Zero Smelling took us out of the airport to where his big, black car was parked.
There was a tall, white man standing by that car in a uniform. He opened the back door for us and Zero huffed as he got in. Then Jim Webber and Ranee got in too. Zero pointed a fat finger at me and said, "You, nigger. You ride in front with Nigel."
The man in the uniform closed the door and moved around the car and opened the front door for me. I got in and thought that I would really rather ride in front with that nice man than in the back seat with that sloppy, sweating mass of fat named Zero Smelling.
The man in the uniform got in behind the wheel and started the motor. I kept my head turned and kept my eyes toward the front. But I listened to what the men in the back seat were talking about. Ranee had still not told me how I was going to work into his plan, and I was becoming very curious. I wondered if there would be some hint of my role in the mission in Ranee's conversation with that fat man.
"So," the fat man said, heaving and gasping, "you are going to see old Bungo, right?"
"Yeah. We are going to try to get that girl out of his country and back to the States," Jim Webber said. "But we need something to deal with. We thought that you might be able to get us some weapons. That way we could make Bungo a nice and fair exchange."
"From what I hear," the fat man said, "old Bungo don't need no weapons."
"Thought so," Ranee muttered.
"What have you heard about Bungo, Mister Smelling?" Jim Webber asked.
And I could sense the distaste in that former army officer's voice as he tried to treat the fat man in the most formal way possible.
"Well, I hear that Bungo is getting ready to make some deal with the Russians. Don't know what kind of deal, but he seems to have something that the Russians want."
"Probably the girl," Ranee muttered.
"Maybe," the fat man said. "Maybe that is it. f just know that Bungo is having himself a fine time there in his own little country. There is talk that Bungo wants to crown himself king or emperor or something. And he is killing off his people so fast that some folks say the bodies just lie around unburied for days. Mass executions. You know how these African niggers are about mass executions. They think that it is a real nice thing to do some mornings. Just line up thirty or forty people and blow them away."
"But the girl is still alive, right?" Jim Webber asked, and I could hear the anxiety in his voice. :
"From what I hear, she is," Zero Smelling said.
Then the fat man spoke to the man in the uniform.
"Nigel," he said, "no use you and that nigger gal hearing this. Put the glass up."
And, without a word, the man in the uniform touched a button near the steering wheel. A thin sheet of glass went up and blocked the sound that came from the back seat. :
That pissed me off something terrible. I had thought that I was going to hear something about my role in this little mission of mercy, but the fat man had blocked me off. So I turned and looked at the man who was driving the car.
He was a good-looking, big man, and I thought that I would try to make conversation with him. I tried to study the countryside but it was flat and boring.
And it did not feel like home to me. I wondered if we were really in Africa, and I wondered how a place like Africa could have men like Zero Smelling in it.
Then I looked at the man in the uniform again and I thought that it could not be too bad here, if men like this Nigel lived in that country.
"Your name is Nigel, right?" I asked.
"Yes. Nigel Greener. I work for Mister Smelling."
"My name is Melody."
And the man glanced at me and smiled.
"How are you, Melody?"
"Just fine. This is my first trip to Africa."
And then there was silence. I thought that the conversation had sounded a little stupid.
And I wondered how I could talk to Nigel about something that would have more meaning, something that would interest both of us. I tried again.
"Tell me, Nigel, how long you have lived here?"
"All of my life," he said.
"Are there a lot of white people here?"
"About a third of the population in this country. They run everything. The blacks have tried to rebel, but the white people run the army and the government and they put down any rebellion that arises."
I studied the way that Nigel talked about blacks and whites. It did not seem that he was either one. But he certainly looked white, I thought. He looked like a very handsome white man.
"Smelling is a racist, right?" I asked.
"Sure. He hates everyone who is black, and he is not that friendly to whites either."
"Are you a racist, Nigel?" I asked. :
And then I thought that it was a silly question. What man would admit to a black person that he was a racist. Only a man like Zero Smelling would be that rude or stupid, I thought.
But Nigel Greener seemed to be thinking about his answer very carefully.
And, after a few minutes, he said, "I am not sure."
I just sat there. I did not know what to say to something like that.
"You see," he explained, "my step-father was black, and my step-sister is a mulatto. I love my sister. I take care of her because she is not very smart. Very beautiful, but not very smart."
"Oh."
"But I always hated my step-father. I don't know if I hated him because he was black or because he was a bastard. He was both."
And then Nigel Greener turned to me and smiled.
I smiled back.
"There is one way to find out if you are a racist or not," I said. "How is that?"
"Would you like to fuck me while I am here?"
Nigel Greener chuckled.
"I sure would, Melody, but that does not mean anything. I imagine old fat-stuff back there would like to fuck you too. You are a very sexy woman."
"Tell you what, Nigel," I said, touching his leg with my black fingers. "Let's just fuck for the fun of it and act like we are solving some big mystery of your life."
And the man laughed out loud and nodded his head. "It will be my pleasure," he said.
"My pleasure."
Zero Smelling lived in a big, white mansion on the top of a hill. It looked like some kind of ice-cream castle to me, and I thought that it figured that a man like Smelling would live in a place that was so white that it almost gave you a headache to look at it.
And I had no trouble being alone with Nigel Greener, once we got to that mansion.
Zero did not seem to pay any attention to me at all, and he invited Jim and Ranee to join him in the library for more talks about this Bungo Adi. I was left standing in the big, white hallway of the house. Nigel came into that hallway when he had put the car up and he smiled at me.
"Would you like a drink, Melody?" he asked.
"Sure. I think that would be nice," I said with a girlish grin.
We had our drinks in the big parlor. We sat on a comfortable couch together and I put my hand on Nigel's knee. He smiled at me and kissed my cheek and then he asked me the question.
"What are you into, Black Beauty?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I would just like to know how best to please you this afternoon."
And he smiled and I thought that that was very nice of him.
I sat there next to him and I felt a little bit like a queen. This man wanted to please me, I thought, even though his boss totally ignored me. I looked at the man's muscular body and I thought that just about anything with Nigel Greener would please me on that day.
But then I decided that I should just be honest with him.
He had asked an honest question and he deserved an honest answer.
I hoped that he would not think that I was strange, but, looking into his eyes, I just had to tell this man the truth about my sexual desires.
"I really like to shoot heroin into me and then have a man tie me up and abuse me," I said.
I tried to sound as matter-of-fact as possible, but I could hear my voice tremble.
Nigel Greener just looked at me for a second and then he smiled.
"Did you bring the horse with you, Melody?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Ranee paid off somebody with the airline. It is right here in my purse."
"Then I guess we should go back to my room and let you get ready for me."
He was really matter-of-fact about the whole thing.
And that made me think that this place might not be so bad after all. Nigel Greener seemed to be used to dealing with women like me. I thought that there might be a lot of pain-loving, nigger girls here in this country. If there were, I might fit in after all.
Nigel and I walked back into his little bedroom. It was very neat. He held the door open for me, like a real gentleman.
And then he said, "Why don't you shoot up and get ready? I will be with you in a few minutes."
I felt a little bit like a girl in a doctor's office, but Nigel was so nice that I knew he would be something special.
He left me there in his room and I took off my clothes. I got the H out of my purse and fixed up the needle. Then I wrapped a cord around my arm and found a vein and shot the stuff into me. I sighed as that heat went into my system.
And then I put the stuff back into my purse and I lay back on the bed and let the heat take over. I moaned a little bit as the heat flushed through me. I thought of those wild mares stampeding through my system again, and I felt happy, very happy.
The fog came down from the ceiling and surrounded me and gave me solace.
I lay there in that fog until the door opened and Nigel Greener came back into the room.
I could just make him out in the fog as he stood there at the door. He closed the door behind him and I tried to concentrate on Nigel, tried to see him clearly.
And then some of the fog cleared and I saw that he was naked.
And I saw the ropes in his hands, and I sighed with pleasure.
I floated in the fog as he tied me up, turning me and twisting me and giving me the roughness of those ropes.
They were good ropes. They rubbed against me and made me feel all warm and soft.
"Yeah," I muttered as I felt the ropes against my flesh. "Yeah."
I wallowed in the roughness and the tightness of those ropes and then Nigel turned me over so that I could look up at him and he bent over and spoke to me softly. The words came through the fog and into my face like little drops of rain.
'This is nothing, nigger," he said. "This is nothing compared to what Bungo will do to you."
"What?" I muttered.
But Nigel moved away from me and slipped back into the fog. Bungo, I thought.
That was the man that we were going to deal with, Ranee and Jim and I.
What would Bungo do to me? I wondered for a second, but I could not really concentrate on that question. That was the future, and, as the horse galloped through my veins, I could not think of the future. There was only the present and the present meant so much to me.
I moaned and moved in the delicious feelings of the ropes.
They were tight and my joints were aching, but it was such a delicious ache that I could not think of anything else. My nigger pussy grew moist with juices and the ropes seemed to put off a fine perfume, a perfume that fdled the air and awakened new senses in me.
And then Nigel moved back to me. He lay down next to me and I turned and saw him smiling to me.
His face seemed to be surrounded by the fog. I smiled back.
And then he flicked the little lighter. The flame shot up from it and I looked at that flame and I felt cold, frozen there on the bed.
The flame died away and I opened my mouth and took a deep breath. The air was suddenly hot, as if that flame had set everything on fire around me.
Nigel smiled.
And he spoke to me softly.
"Nigger," he said. "Nigger bitch."
"Yes," I murmured. "I am a fine bit of nigger flesh."
Nigel flicked the lighter again and the flame burned blue in the fog.
He brought the lighter to my body, to my nigger flesh.
I tensed my body and he let that flame touch the area between my big, nigger tits.
"God," I groaned, feeling the muscles tense in my throat. "God."
And then the flame was gone and the air was filled with a new perfume, the aroma of burned, nigger flesh. I sniffed that perfume and I felt the pain deep in my heart.
I closed my eyes and thought that Nigel had cooked my heart with that flame.
"That is nothing," he said to me as I lay there with my eyes closed. "That is nothing compared to what Bungo will do to you when he gets his black, fat hands on you."
"Bungo," I muttered. "Bungo."
The name sounded familiar to me, but, in the fog and in my pain, I sniffed at the perfume of my own burned flesh and I could not remember where I had heard that name before.
Bungo. For all I knew, Bungo could have been the name of my own father.
But then I thought that that was not right.
Bungo was going to do something terrible to me, and my father had never done anything terrible to me. He had never even spoken to me. Perhaps Bungo was my brother, I thought. I remembered that my brother had done something to me at some time, something that was good and bad.
"Bungo?" I asked softly. "My brother?"
But Nigel did not answer me. He just whispered in my ear.
"Nigger bitch. Nigger whore. Nigger slut. Bungo is going to have some fun with you."
I opened my eyes and looked through the fog and I heard the click and I saw the flame again.
This time, the flame moved down my body and caressed the black, nigger flesh of my lower stomach.
And I kicked and tossed as that flame bit into me. Nigel put his white hand over my mouth so that I could not scream.
And then he took that flame away and took his hand away a few seconds later.
I gasped.
But I loved it. I loved what that man was doing to me.
The fog seemed red around me, red with that perfume of burned, nigger flesh.
I heard the words of Nigel Greener come through the red fog.
"You will like my sister," he said. "She is half-nigger. She is beautiful. But she is not very smart. I have to take care of her."
His sister?
Whose sister?
My sister?
I wondered about all of those things as the fog-the red fog-settled in around me.
And then I remembered that I did not have a sister. I only had a brother, a brother named Bungo or something like that. I had loved my brother once, but something had happened and then we had been torn apart.
Torn apart.
I felt my own body being torn apart as that red fog started to lift. Then the pain that had come with the burning made me sigh and shiver and moan. I jerked with that pain until Nigel Greener put his hands on me and held me down.
I saw that cock in front of my face and I opened my mouth. I sucked in some of the leftover red fog with the cock, and that fog seemed to burn the inside of my mouth.
But the cock cooled my mouth off and I pressed my nigger lips around that flesh.
"I am going to come in your mouth, nigger bitch," the man said. "Keep sucking on that thing until I come in your nigger mouth."
And I did suck on it, thinking that that come from that white man might douse all of my nigger fires, the fires that still seemed to be burning my flesh. I sucked on that cock and felt it harden in my mouth. I lifted my head as much as I could and I moved. And then the snake started to get very tense and hard there in my mouth.
And that hardness made it feel like a club inside me.
The man grabbed my head and held it in his rough hands. He pressed his hands tight against my skull, as if he wanted to break it, as if he wanted to crack it open the way that a nigger cracks open a watermelon. And my brain felt juicy and soft inside my head, just like a watermelon's meat felt.
The only tiling that was hard in me was his hardness, the hardness of a man.
And I accepted that hardness as it rammed deep into my throat and filled up my mouth.
The man continued to curse me as he rammed my watermelon head.
"Nigger. Nigger slut. Nigger bitch. Nigger whore. I am going to fuck your nigger mouth until I come, and then you are going to drink that come and let all of it into your foul, nigger insides."
That was all right, I thought. That was just fine with me.
The cock was so hard in my mouth and throat that I thought it was going to tear my face into pieces.
And that too would have been all right with me.
By then, the red fog had also cleared away, and I could see the man fairly clearly.
He was white and his stomach was muscled. I wished that I could touch those muscles, touch that cock that was going in and out of me.
But I could not do that, because I was tied up.
I tossed there on the bed with the cock in my mouth and I felt the pain of the burning that was still in me. I felt the restraint of those rough ropes. I felt the cock battering the back of my mouth too.
And everything seemed to add up to something in my soul, in my nigger soul.
But I was not certain what that something was.
I was having trouble breathing with that cock jabbed back in me, but I did not mind.
If this man wanted to snuff the breath of life out of me, I thought, then that would be all right.
And then that man started to jerk on me and work his cock around in my mouth. The pain came to me from that mouth, the pain that I loved.
And I knew that this white man was coming in me.
I wanted that come. I wanted to have that come in my system so that it could put out the fire that was still deep inside me. I felt my head tingle and I closed my eyes and then I felt the eruption of that cock into my mouth, the violent eruption that came with the warmth of his fluid.
I swallowed hard and quickly, taking all of that come down into my worthless, foul, nigger guts.
I pressed my lips around the pulsing flesh of the cock and milked it of its good juice.
And then I sighed and felt relieved as the last bit of his man-cream fell down my throat.
That come was putting out some kind of fire down there in my body.
And Nigel Greener moaned and pulled his cock out of my mouth.
I loosened my lips and let it go. I sighed out the words.
"Thank you, white stud," I said.
The man moved off the bed and then he spoke to me.
"I am not finished with you yet. I have to prepare you for Bungo. This is nothing compared to what Bungo will do to you."
I remembered then that Bungo was the man that we were going to meet, the man who held that other girl captive. I had heard talk of exchange, and I knew now that Bungo did not need weapons.
It was then that everything came clear to me. I knew then how I worked into the plans, that Ranee and Jim had made, the plans that they were now discussing with that fat man.
They were going to exchange me for that girl, that daughter of the U.N. ambassador.
And then they were going to leave me there with Bungo.
It seemed like a good plan to me, and I knew that I would not fight the plan.
I kept thinking of what Nigel had said, that this was nothing compared to what Bungo would do for me. I wondered what joys Bungo would have planned for me, what tortures and what passions.
And I knew that I could not fight anyone.
If Ranee and Jim wanted to give me away, I would just have to let them.
Ranee was my master, the best master that I had ever had.
And I found myself looking forward to what Bungo had planned for me, looking forward to something really sexy and painful.
I kept my eyes closed and I sighed. I waited for Nigel Greener to do something else to me. I knew that he would prepare me, prepare me for Bungo and the worst torture of me life.
I had come home to Africa, I thought, home to the place where my people had started.
Home to the start of my life. Somewhere in this land my ancestors were buried. From them I have the blood in my veins. The color of my skin. From them I came!
CHAPTER SIX
As the drugs wore off, I felt a chill come over me. I looked around the room and I wondered where Nigel Greener was. I was still tied up and my body ached. But it was a sweet ache, a very sweet ache.
I closed my eyes and thought about the jungle movies that I had seen as a child in Birmingham. Those had been some of my favorite films in those days, because I felt somehow connected to the natives in the jungle. Now I was in Africa, I thought, and I was even more connected. Soon I would be a native in the jungle too.
Of course, in those old jungle movies that they had shown in Birmingham, the black natives were not that important. They usually just threw spears and mumbled about JuJu or something like that. The heroes were always white and tanned, sometimes jungle men who had been raised by animals, who were natural and handsome beings. I had taken my cue from those jungle men and I had decided that they were better than the natives because they were white and strong and smart as only white men could be. That was the reason that I had found it easy to give up my honor to white boys, to suffer under them. I knew that whites were better than blacks, than niggers from the savage jungles of Africa.
But I lay there in that room and I felt the aches in my body and I remembered one jungle movie that I had seen in which the niggers had been treated with a bit more feeling. That was the movie about a jungle tribe that was being destroyed by white men from a foreign country. The white man of the jungle, the hero, who seemed to be an American, had come to save that jungle tribe from extinction. And he worked with a little, nigger girl, a princess from that tribe. I had identified with that nigger girl. I knew that she and the white hero were friends, and I knew that they could have been lovers too, if it had not been for the rules of Hollywood in those days. They did not even touch. They just looked at each other, and the white hero of the jungle seemed to think of that little, nigger girl as his equal.
And there was one scene that came to me there in that room, the scene where the little, nigger princess had been tied to an altar. The foreigners, the evil white men, had talked another jungle tribe into kidnapping her and that tribe was going to sacrifice her to their gods.
She lay on that jungle altar and the drums beat around her and she was frightened. But she also retained a certain nigger nobility that I had liked. I had thought that I would be noble like that when I was offered up as a sacrifice to the jungle gods.
And then the white man, the hero, had swooped down on the bad niggers and had saved his little, nigger princess. I suppose that I had thought that it would be nice to have a white man save me like that. But I had never found a white man who would save me. All the white men seemed to want to sacrifice me. I thought that that was what was meant for me, continual sacrifice from my white masters.
And then I remembered that even Ranee was going to sacrifice me. He was going to give me to Bungo in exchange for that other nigger girl, the famous one that I looked like. She was the important, nigger princess, I thought. I was just another girl in the jungle, an extra who was not worthy of salvation.
And I knew that I would have to live with that knowledge, that I was unworthy.
When Nigel Greener opened the door and stepped into the room, I looked up at him.
"Save me," I muttered.
But the man did not seem to hear me. He walked around the bed and sat down in a chair next to the bed. He pulled himself up close to me and leaned over me and smiled.
He was wearing a pair of shorts then, but I knew that he was not finished with me.
I knew that he was preparing me for Bungo Adi.
He started to talk to me, as if I were a captive audience, which I guess I was.
I lay there, aching and tied, and looked at him with eyes of love and surrender. I listened to his story.
"All I ever wanted to do," he said, "was be a blues singer. I loved the blues. I grew up listening to all the blues records that my step-father brought into the house, and I had a good voice, a deep voice that seemed to capture all the troubles of my people. But I really did not have a people. My step-father was black, but I was white. I did not fit in here in Africa. So I went to the United States. I thought that the blues had come from there and I would go there and make my name as a singer. But, when I got to the United States, they all laughed at me. They said that I was a white and a white man could not sing the blues. They told me to go back to Africa where I belonged. And I thought that that was strange, because I did not belong in Africa either. I did not belong anywhere."
Nigel Greener took a deep breath and then he smiled.
"But I came back," he said. "I came back when I had heard that my mother and my step-father were both dead. They were killed in a bus accident. Isn't that funny? A bus accident. It is hardly an African way to die, you know."
"I know," I muttered.
But he did not seem to hear me.
"I came back because I knew that Nata needed me. She was my sister, the daughter of my white mother and my black step-father, and she was very pretty. But she was also silent. It is not that she is a mute. She just never learned to talk. She is not very smart and I knew that she would be eaten alive if I were not here to help her. So I came back to Africa and I took Nata out of the home that they had put her in and I came to Zero Smelling. I asked Zero for a job. I told him that I would do anything for him. He looked at me and he smiled. He said that it was nice to have a white man beg for a job here in Africa. And he took me in and he made me his aide and his servant. I have worked with Zero for many years. He has been like a father to me. I know that he is a fat pig and a worthless man, but he has helped me. He even lets me sing the blues while I drive him around the city. He says that I have a nice voice for the blues."
I just stared at that man. I knew that there was some tragedy in his life that he was trying to tell me about, but the words did not come out sounding tragic. They sounded flat, as if he were speaking a language that he did not know very well.
Nigel Greener pushed his chair back and stood up. He smiled at me.
"They are going to make you serve old Bungo," he said. "But first you will serve me and Nata. That is what Zero has agreed to. He thinks that we can prepare you for Bungo."
"You mean Zero and the others know that I am in here?" I asked.
"Of course. I would not do anything without Zero's approval. He is like a father to me."
And then Nigel Greener turned around and walked to the door and opened it. He called to someone outside that door.
"Nata! She is ready for you now!"
I lay there and thought about all the plans that Ranee and Jim and Zero had made for me, plans that they had not told me about. I felt very left out and then I remembered that I was nothing to any of those men. I was just something to be used, something to be taken to Bungo Adi.
And I was also something to be prepared, like a fine meal for the jungle king, Bungo.
I looked toward the door and I saw the girl enter. She looked to be about eighteen or nineteen and she was beautiful, one of the most beautiful girls that I had ever seen in my life.
She was naked and she was thin, like a model. Her tits were high on her body and her skin was tawny. Her cheekbones were high and her eyes were large and black and shining.
She did not smile at me. She just looked at me as if I was nothing.
And she stood there with that patch of dark hair between her legs and waited for her brother to give her some kind of order.
Nigel Greener turned to me. "This is Nata," he said. "My sister. She is beautiful, isn't she?"
"Yes," I muttered. "She is beautiful."
"She is only half-nigger," Nigel muttered. "Yes. I can tell that."
"And she will help to prepare you for Bungo Adi."
I did not know how she would do that. But I knew that I could not refuse such a beautiful, silent young woman.
I lay there and waited for her to move toward me. I did not even notice the way that Nigel was moving around the room. I did not notice it until he handed Nata the whip.
"Beat her," he said to his sister softly. "Beat her nigger flesh."
And the beautiful, half-nigger woman moved toward me like a person who was walking in her sleep.
I lay under her and tensed my body. I sighed to her.
"Yes," I said. "Beat me. Beat my nigger flesh."
I was overcome with passion for this beautiful woman.
I wanted to feel that whip-the whip in her hand-fall on me.
She raised that whip high over her head and she looked down on me, but she still did not seem to see me. Her face was as blank as the night sky.
And she brought that whip down on my naked, nigger flesh.
The lash bit into me and I trembled and tossed on the bed.
But Nata continued to whip me, continued to bring that thing down on my body. She lashed me with a steady, rhythmic motion, giving me what I needed to prepare me for Bungo Adi.
And I tossed on the bed in my ropes and felt the tears of lust coming to my eyes.
That was what I needed, I thought. That was what I wanted more than anything else in the world. The whip felt like hot fire on my flesh and the crack of that whip was the only sound that meant anything in the world to me.
Nata continued to whip me with that rhythmic lashing, and I think that she would have kept on whipping me for all eternity if Nigel Greener had not stepped up and caught her hand.
"That is enough of the whipping, Sister," he said softly. "She has suffered enough."
And I wanted to cry out to him that I had not suffered enough. The whipping had caused my pussy to fill with juices, had set me on fire with lust again. I wanted that whipping to continue forever and ever and ever. I looked at that silent woman's beautiful face and I wanted nothing more than her whip and her love.
But then Nigel Greener took the whip away from the woman and he whispered to her.
I did not hear what he told her, but I saw the young woman move toward my bed.
And I sighed as she climbed onto that bed and moved over my face.
Soon I was looking up into her snatch, her pink gash, her sweet hole.
And then Nigel Greener spoke to me softly, almost tenderly.
"You will eat out her cunt. That will help to prepare you for Bungo. You will eat out her cunt because you are a nigger and she is only a half-nigger and that makes a difference. That makes her better than you are, Melody."
And I gulped and nodded my head as I stared up at that gash.
I knew the difference between that girl and me, and I knew that Nigel Greener was correct.
She was only a half-nigger, and she was beautiful and silent.
I was a real nigger, new to Africa, and I was not as beautiful as this young woman. I knew that I could not be as silent as she was either. There was something about that silence that made her even more delectable. It was an African silence and I thought about it and I could hear nothing around me as I stared up into her cunt.
And then she started to lower that cunt down on my mouth.
I had never done anything like this to a woman before, but I was more than willing to do it now.
I stuck out my tongue and the beautiful, tawny woman reached down and spread her pussy lips.
Then she eased herself onto my tongue and I drove deep inside of her and that sweetness of her snatch seemed to explode in my head.
I moved my tongue around in that hole.
I felt the syrupy stuff come out of that hole and run over my nigger face. I moaned.
And the girl was silent as she nestled there on top of me.
The aroma of her sweet cunt filled my head and made me sleepy. But I kept my tongue active in her, driving into her and touching the sides of her hole with pleasure. Then the half-nigger woman raised up and spread her pussy lips again and I saw the clitoris, the pink piece of flesh that meant so much to me at that moment. I felt that ache in my body as I tried to move in my ropes. But I lifted my head just a little and ran my tongue over the clitoris, licked her and stabbed her with my warm, wet tongue and felt the tension in that little piece of meat. This was wonderful!
I could feel my body churning and my cunt burning. I could feel the ropes too and the ropes seemed to make it better for me. I licked away on that clitoris and waited for the young woman to moan or gasp. But she was still silent, and that silence drove me on. I thought that I could almost taste her silence on that clitoris.
I pressed my nigger lips against the clit and sucked it into me. I worked on that clit with the same kind of rhythm that she had used when she beat me with her whip.
And the sweetness swelled up in my mouth and in my head and fill me with more sweet desire. :
This silent woman was terrific, I thought.
And then I heard another voice, and I knew that it was not hers.
It was a gasping, male voice, and the accent had a sickening, Southern flavor to it.
"Well, I see the nigger girl is learning a lot here," Zero Smelling said.
And then the beautiful woman jerked on my face and pulled away from me. Her clitoris slipped out of my mouth and she moved off my tied body.
I hated to see her go and I hated Zero Smelling for interrupting me in that way.
But I looked at the fat sweating man as he leaned there against the door. He was laughing with that strange, wheezing sound.
"Bet that nigger cunt is on fire after something like that, don't you, Nigel?" Zero asked.
"Yes sir. I am sure that it is," the white man said with respect.
"Wonder how we can put the fire out in that cunt," Zero said thoughtfully.
But I could tell from the expression on his pig-like face that he had already had something planned, something that would put the fire out in my snatch.
"Get the dildo, Nigel. The white one. We are going to fuck her with a nice, cold, white dildo. White would look good in that nigger cunt."
And, even though I hated that fat man, despised him, I could not let that capture my zealous need for fucking. I spread my legs as wide as I could as I lay there, bound, and I gasped to him.
"Yes, Zero. Yes. Fuck me with a white dildo. A cold, white dildo in my nigger cunt."
Nigel moved into my field of vision and handed the long, white thing to the fat man.
I would have preferred it if Nigel had fucked me, I thought. I would have preferred it if Nigel or Nata had slammed that white dildo up my cunt. But I would take it from anyone, even Zero. I needed to be fucked that much.
That fat man moved to the bed and sat down next to me. He put the dildo to my face and pressed it against my cheek. It was cold, ice cold, and it made me shiver.
"White dildo on nigger skin," he said with a harsh, gasping laugh. "That looks good."
I felt the cold dildo against my cheek and I sighed. I did not want it there. I wanted it in my cunt.
I thought that I could melt that dildo down. My cunt was that hot, that filled with sexy heat.
"Fuck me, fat man," I muttered. "Fuck my nigger cunt, you fat turd."
And that brought the anger out in Zero Smelling.
"What did you call me?" he hissed. "What did you call me, nigger?"
And he brought that dildo back a bit and then slammed it into my face.
That cold blow hurt and made me wince, but I loved it.
I wanted more of his anger. I thought then that the only thing about that man that was any good was his fat anger, his wrath. I wanted him to hit me and fuck me with that anger.
So I screamed out to keep that anger working in his system.
"Fat turd! Fat piece of shit! Slimy, fat Pig!"
And I saw Zero Smelling's eyes close to just a slit and his face got very red.
And then he hit me with that cold, hard dildo again and again, slammed it against both of my cheeks with his fury. Then he pressed that dildo against my lips.
"Suck it," he snarled. "Suck it you nigger bitch."
And I opened my mouth and he jabbed that dildo far back into me, battering the back of my throat with that cold hardness.
And I trembled there on the bed and felt my pussy quaking as I lifted my legs again and again.
I felt the coldness and the hardness in my mouth and that was good.
But I wanted that in my pussy more. I wanted that fat pig to fuck me with his anger.
When Zero yanked the dildo out of my mouth, I gasped and then I started to call him names again.
I did not want him to forget that I was a nigger bitch and he was a fat pig of a white man.
"Fat slob. Fat piece of shit," I muttered. "You are nothing but a big ball of sweating fat."
And Zero did just what I wanted him to do.
He moved that dildo between my outstretched nigger legs.
And he growled at me with a fury and slammed that cold cock-shaped, white thing into my pussy.
I sighed and fucked against it. That coldness came up from the dildo and seemed to spread through me. :
And I fucked the dildo to battle that cold with the heat of my cunt.
I worked against it as best I could as I lay there bound, and Zero Smelling rammed the white thing into me, penetrating me with that deep and brutal chill.
"You nigger slut," he snarled. "You nigger. You worthless nigger."
And I matched his insults with my own. I gasped as he fucked me with that thing.
"Fat man. Fat turd. Fat tub of guts. Fat piece of shit. Fat. Fat. Fat."
And Zero Smelling wheezed over me as he worked hard to batter my cunt with that dildo.
"White into nigger black," he muttered. "White dildo into nigger pussy."
"Fat pig. Fat scum. Fat shit. Fat tub of guts."
I watched as Zero's face grew red with fury and I listened to his gasp. He was sweating like an overworked, farm animal. But he kept working in my cunt.
It had turned into a battle of wills, and I was going to make sure that I did not lose.
I heaved against the pistoning dildo and sighed and muttered, to myself and to the fat man.
"Zero Smelling," I said, "you stink. You sweat. You are nothing but a pig."
I wanted to keep that anger working in him and I wanted to make sure that that anger was used when he slammed into my cunt. And then I started to gasp. I could not even get the insults out. I was too turned-on. I churned there in my ropes and I whimpered and I knew that I was going to come.
The man continued to slam that dildo into me with one hand. With the other hand, he touched his fat chest and I looked at that and I thought for a minute that he was having a heart attack. This was probably more work than he had done in a long time, I thought.
But he was not having a heart attack. He was just turned on too.
And he gasped and groaned and yelled out the word.
"Nigger!"
And I came, bouncing my ropes against that cold dildo, feeling that thing slam into me and feeling that the heat of my cunt melt that coldness of that big, white thing.
And then I sighed and relaxed and Zero Smelling carefully pulled the dildo out of me.
I was surprised that he did not want to torture me any more. He just moved away from the bed and stumbled. Nigel Greener stepped forward to help the fat man to a chair.
Zero Smelling sat there in the chair with the white dildo in his hand.
And then he lifted that dildo to his mouth and he stuck out his little, pig tongue. He licked that dildo and tasted the inner sweetness of my nigger cunt.
Then the white man smiled at me and spoke to Nigel Greener.
"Old Bungo is sure going to like her. That nigger gal is something special, Nigel."
And Nigel Greener looked at me and smiled and that silent mulatto woman just looked at me.
And I felt honored. I felt that I had won some contest there in Africa, the land that I would call home from now on.
And I closed my eyes and could not wait to see this Bungo Adi, to show him that African king what I could do. I was sure that Bungo would honor me too, honor me with pain and passion, just like an African king should honor a sexy, wonderful, nigger girl.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ranee and Jim Webber and I flew in a little private plane to central Africa, to the land of Bungo Adi. The trip took several hours, but Jim Webber did not say a thing during the journey. I kept glancing at him and I thought that I knew the reason for the man's silence.
He was, no doubt, filled with guilt because of the things that had happened to me back at Zero Smelling's mansion and because of the things that he knew were going to happen to me when I got to the land of Bungo Adi. I knew that Jim Webber probably still thought that there was a certain sickness in my relationship with Ranee, even though the blonde, former officer had beat me up a couple of times too.
And I knew that Jim Webber was, at heart, an honorable man, a man who did not like to think of the part that he was playing in my tribulation. I sat there and looked at me. I was sitting next to Ranee on one side of the aisle and Jim was on the other side. I tried to think of a way to tell him that I did not mind what was going to happen to me. But I could not figure out a way to put my feelings into words.
I glanced at Ranee. He was reading a novel about spies. The blurb said that the novel was filled with action and intrigue, and Ranee did seem to be very interested in it.
He had not talked to me much since we had left the United States either, and I figured that Ranee already knew that I understood what was called for when we got to Bungo's. I also knew that it made no difference to Ranee. If I had figured out his plan, that was all right with him. That thin man was just sure that I would follow his orders, no matter what he told me to do. That thin man knew that he was still my master.
And I was beginning to look forward to getting to Bungo's. I remembered what Zero Smelling had said, that Bungo would really like me because I suffered so well. I felt that Bungo Adi would offer me the greatest challenge of my nigger life.
But I kept glancing at Jim. He just stared out the window on his side of the plane.
I wanted to help that handsome man get rid of some of his guilt.
So I moved across the aisle and sat down next to him. I smiled at Jim, but he turned his eyes away from me, as if he could not stand to look at me, knowing what was going to happen to me.
That hurt me. I sat there and tried to figure out some way to let Jim Webber know that I was all right.
I glanced at Ranee Godwin. He was paying no attention at all. He just turned the pages in his novel, reading about intrigue. I wondered why he was so interested in fiction. His own life seemed to be a great example of intrigue to me. He had been a gun-runner and a professional soldier, a gun for hire in modern society. And now he was going to Africa to give me up to Bungo in return for a famous, nigger girl. That seemed to be more complex than any novel could be.
But then I remembered that I could not worry about Ranee Godwin. He would get along just fine and I knew it. I had to think about Jim Webber now. Jim was the one who was filled with guilt.
And then I got an idea. I moved my hand over the crotch of Jim's trousers.
When I did that, he jerked and looked at me. But then he turned away again and looked down at the ground below the plane. I sighed, but I figured that he could not ignore me forever.
I moved down on my knees in front of his seat and I unzipped his pants. He glanced down again.
"Melody," he said softly, "you don't have to do something like that."
As I pulled his fat cock out of his pants, I smiled up at him.
"But I want to do it, Jim. It would give me pleasure to give you pleasure. I want you to know that I don't mind about anything that is going to happen to me."
And when I mentioned that, the things that were going to happen to me, Jim Webber winced as if I had hit him with a stick. He looked out the window again.
But I was holding his cock in my hands and I would not let go. I opened my mouth and moved down on that rod and pressed my legs around his flesh. I felt the first bit of strengthening come to that cock as I started to work my mouth back and forth on the thing.
And I let my fingers work quickly around the base of the cock, feeling it and massaging it.
And the cock started to grow and harden in my mouth.
I took the prick out of my mouth and pressed it back and ran my tongue up the underside of the shaft. Jim Webber groaned.
I quickly glanced over at the other side of the plane. Ranee Godwin was still reading his book.
I knew that Ranee did not really take any notice of sexual things unless he was involved in them. He had lived at Belle's with whores fucking soldiers all over the place and had never given it a second thought. I also knew that Ranee was not jealous. He knew that he would always be my first master, at least until he turned me over to Bungo and left me there in Africa. He did not mind the way that I was sucking on Jim at all.
But Jim Webber was already moaning and sighing. He was not ignoring me any longer. As I ran my tongue over the piss slit of his cock and kissed that mushroom head, I looked up at him and I could see that he was looking down at me. He put his hand on my head and he smiled. Then I opened my nigger mouth wide and took that cock into me again. I worked down the shaft slowly, taking my time on this long journey to the darkest part of the African continent.
And Jim Webber moaned to me with a deep and husky voice.
"That is good, Melody. You are so good. I am going to miss you."
And those words about missing me made me stop my sucking for just an instant. I was going to miss Jim Webber and Ranee Godwin too. But I knew that I had a job to do there in Africa. I did not want to feel any sorrow at. that moment. All I wanted was the feel of that man's cock in my mouth. I worked up and down on it with skill and speed.
I wanted him to come in my mouth, to come and feel some joy on this trip.
And I felt the man's cock quiver in my mouth and pulse with desire. I worked up and down on it until I heard Jim Webber sigh with that animalistic sound that I knew so well by then.
And then that first spurt of man-cream came out of his cock and into my mouth.
I swallowed that and pulled my lips off the cock. I grasped the flesh with both hands and stroked on it and let the man come on my face, my nigger face. The white stuff spattered with warm passion on my black, nigger skin.
I milked the cock until it was dry and then I looked up at Jim. He reached down and ran his finger through some of the come that was on my cheek.
"I will miss you, Melody," he said. "I will miss you very much."
And I could feel the sadness invade me. I did not want to show that sadness to Jim Webber. I got up and I moved to the other side of the plane and sat down next to Ranee.
He was still reading his novel. I sat there with Jim Webber's come drying on my face and then Ranee nudged me with his arm. He handed me a handkerchief.
"Wipe yourself off," he said, "and then go down on me too."
I wiped the come off my face as Ranee unzipped his pants and pulled out his meat.
He continued to read his novel about intrigue as I moved into the seat in front of him and took his cock into my mouth.
