Caught! (M/f, ir) It was inevitable that I got caught. I was so stupid, but what do you expect from a 13 year-old girl? There was a CD I wanted. The group was gone from public memory in 3 months, but they were hot shit at that moment, and I wanted the CD. The problem was, I'd already spent most of my allowance. I stood in the music store in the mall that day of summer vacation, holding the CD in my hand, knowing that the $10 in my purse wasn't going to get me a $18 CD. But I wanted it so bad! I thought and thought, trying to figure out some way to get that money before my next allowance was issued, but nothing came to me. I was about to give up when I remembered something that my cousin Janice had said. Janice was 15 and a real "bad girl," although her parents didn't know it. She smoked and drank, and snuck out at night to go do stuff with her friends. I'd been admiring a top she was wearing that Sunday morning, as we walked home from church. "Five-finger discount, babe," she said, smirking. "Yeah, I just swiped it from that store on Main Street. Real easy; just stuffed it in my coat when no one was looking and took off." I thought about it. I got better grades than Janice, so if she could get away with it, so could I. I looked around; no one was watching me, and I didn't see any cameras. I was wearing a cropped T and hip-rider jeans, so I'd have to hide the CD somewhere else. Nervously, I slipped the CD into my bag. My heart pounded, and I was sure my face was flushed, but I couldn't make out anyone watching me, and as I wandered nonchalantly towards the store exit, no one stopped me. I was about to step out into the main body of the mall when I remembered the security system. D'oh!, I thought. I'd been so wrapped up in not being watched that I forgot about the little puffy sticker inside every CD case. I moved back in behind a big display, made sure the coast was clear, and put the CD on a random shelf. No alarms, no yells, no looks my way as I stepped out back into the mall. I'd gotten away with it! I figured I should probably leave the scene of the crime, just to be safe. I walked leisurely to the mall entrance where the shuttle bus ran and was nearly there when a deep voice full of authority spoke up behind me: "Excuse me, miss?" I turned around and saw mall security guard addressing me. Unlike most of the security at our little mall, who were generally old retired grandpa types or skinny high-school dropouts, this one was huge. He made me feel absolutely tiny as he towered over me, his hands on his hips. His muscles bulged in his white uniform shirt, which only served to contrast his rich, dark chocolate skin. This man was black! There weren't many black people in our town, so any of them stood out in our community. His bald head gleamed in the flourescent light, and his dark eyes burned with a frightening intensity. One huge hand made a beckoning gesture, and he boomed, "Please come with me." I stood there, petrified. When he saw that I wasn't about to move, he leaned in closer, "Please come with me, or I'll have to call the police." That got me going. He lead me through a side door between storefronts and down into a small, cramped office. There were several video monitors and an array of VCRs off to one side. He asked me to sit down, sat down next to me, and worked a few buttons on the console. Black and white footage from the music store played; this was a corner shot, but I couldn't figure out which one, since I'd seen no cameras. My heart sank as the footage clearly showed me hiding the CD in my purse, then rose a little when it showed me also putting it back. He swiveled his chair to face me. "My name is Darrell Jones," he said, his voice still full of that authority. "I was hired because the store owners were complaining about shoplifting. The first thing I did was to install hidden cameras in every store; I've caught quite a few perps in the month since I moved here." He leaned in closer to me; I shrank back a little. "You could be in very big trouble, little girl. I could call the cops and have them haul you off and call your parents." I was near tears. "Please don't, mister," I begged. "I put it back, I didn't really steal anything. Please don't call my parents, please don't get me in trouble." He considered me for a second. "Little girl, you're the one who got yourself in trouble here. Technically, just putting the CD your purse is enough to prosecute on." He leaned back a little, and sighed. "But you did put it back before leaving store, so I guess you ain't entirely stupid." He thought for a second, then told me to stand up. "Move over to that wall over there," he ordered, and got out a camera from a drawer under the console. He took my picture and printed it out. He asked me some questions, and I answered them, not knowing what my fate was to be. "Linsey Hamilton. 4'10". 80 lbs. Hair: brown; eyes: blue." He wrote down the information on the back of the picture, and put it in a file folder. He stood up, walked over to me, and sighed again. I held my breath, feeling a slight ray of hope. It blossomed when he said, "I'm going to let you go this time," but turned into apprehension as he leaned into me, putting his face a scant inch from mine. I gasped in fright as his face filled my field of view; he seemed to overload my mind and senses, his dark eyes burning into my blue ones and his slightly oily scent filled my nostrils. He growled, and it was all I could hear; "But if I ever - EVER - catch you doing something even half as sketchy as what you pulled today, I will not hesitate to throw your lily-white ass in jail, do you hear me?!" I felt myself flush and my knees weaken; I struggled to stay upright and respond, but my lips were dry. As I wetted them with little darts of my tongue, I felt like I could almost taste him. "Y-yes," I managed weakly. He stayed where he was, and I felt myself flushing even more. My fear was still there, still intensifying, but there was something else, something I couldn't quite process. He growled again. "Say it again, and say it right this time. Say, 'Yes sir, Mr. Jones, I hear you." I managed a hoarse whisper. "Yes sir, Mr. Jones, I hear you." He looked at me, burned into me with those eyes, and then moved away. I was breathing in shallow gasps, feeling faint but *warm*. He moved back to the console and sat down. "Go on, get out of here, girl. Don't let me see you again anytime soon." I walked out of the office on trembling knees and stumbled my way down the hall and back into the mall. I got on the shuttle bus that would take me back to my neighborhood, my safe, white, neighborhood. Darrell Jones had scared the shit out of me, and I would do my best to get him out of my mind. I won't come back for a year, I thought, or at least a couple of months. I'm going to stay away from the mall. *** But I was back on the bus the very next afternoon. I had spent a sleepless night replaying the events of the previous day in my head, whispering to myself, "Yes sir, Mr. Jones," and feeling that heat rise in my face every time. I couldn't get his eyes, his dark burning eyes out of my mind, and I tossed and turned over and over, remembering how he had towered over me. The sound of his voice kept me from slumber, and when I noticed that dawn was lighting my window and that I had spent the entire night thinking about the black security guard, I knew I had to see him again, knew that it was necessary if I was to have this feeling exorcised from within me. I kept my eyes down as I rode in the back of the bus. My hands were folded on my lap, keeping my skirt from being too immodest. I had dressed in a white blouse and a little white skirt that didn't quite cover all of my thighs. I wore white thigh-high tights with these cute little red bows at the top. I looked virginal, but underneath, I had on something that Janice, who was anything but, had given me - a brief black g-string held together with a tie-string. I had carefully shaved myself that morning in the tub and slipped on the thong, trying not to think about what I was doing and knowing full well why I was doing it. Ever so often, I whispered it again - "Yes sir, Mr. Jones," and felt that flush creep up my neck. Finding him was no problem - he was walking around the popular stores, peering in every so often. His dark head contrasted sharply with his crisp white uniform and cocked at a slightly confused angle when his dark eyes found me, standing in front of the music store and looking straight at him. We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and then I turned and walked slowly into the music store. I walked to the back, my heart pounding, and turned my head slightly to look; there he was, just off to the side of me, those dark eyes burning. I found his eyes with mine, the heat rising in my chest, and put my hand out and grabbed the first CD it touched. Looking straight at him, I started to open my bag. He walked the three steps over and clamped his strong hand over my wrist. "Dammit, girl," he said angrily, "you're in a world of trouble." Without another word, he plucked the cd out of my unresisting hand, put it back on the shelf, and led me into the back room of the store. Through another door in that back room, we made our way into through the back hall of the mall into that cramped office again. Almost throwing me in, he locked the door behind him. I sat in the same chair as the day before, with my head down, not daring to look at him, smelling him, and hearing him as he asked, "You done fucked up, little girl." A whisper. It was from me. "Yes sir, M-mr. Jones." His voice again, full of authority. "You know what you did in there." Again, a whisper, but louder. "Yes sir, Mr. Jones." I felt the flush creeping over my body and trembled a little. I kept my modest bus posture and shivered, waiting. There was a pause, and then he stepped closer to me. I didn't raise my head. His shoes - shined to a high polish - and his crisp black uniform pants came into my view. He spoke again, still with authority, but with a questioning note. "You know you're in a lot of trouble, little Linsey Hamilton?" Short breaths from me, warmth still flooding my core. "Yes sir, Mr. Jones." He must have heard a note in my voice that revealed what I wasn't daring to acknowledge, because the next question cut incisively to the heart of the matter. "You did that on purpose. You wanted me to catch you." "Yes, sir, Mr. Jones." A new note in his voice, more positive, more...dangerous? "You wanted me to catch you and bring you in here. You wanted ME to catch you. You put on this little outfit that's white like church but ain't no Sunday dress and came to the mall because you wanted me to bring you..in here." "Yes sir, Mr. Jones." He crouched down in front of me. I swallowed. My heart thudded. I was about to pass out. His huge hand cupped my chin and raised my face to look at his. His eyes, his dark, angry eyes searched mine and took in the flushed color of my cheeks and neck. I looked straight at him, licked my lips, and spoke as clearly as I could. "Yes. Sir. Mr. Jones." He looked at me for a few more long, heated seconds. Then his hand left my chin and moved down swiftly. I felt it touch my knees and part them with only the slightest resistance. They moved up my leg, past my tights and underneath my skirt to cup the crotch of my small - too-small - panties. The heat of his hand sent a wave of something new through me, and I gasped as they rubbed the thin material ever so slightly. His eyes widened a little - some surprise, not much, but some - and he growled that growl that haunted me since the day before. "Little girl," he growled, "you're wet." He rubbed my pussy through the silky panties again, and my hips twitched. "You're so wet you soaked your panties through." I gasped as his fingers found my barely-explored clit through the sodden fabric, and stammered, "Yes sir, Mr. Jones. I wore them for you, Mr. Jones. Yes sir, yes sir, YES SIR, MR. JONES." The pressure built as he rubbed and rubbed and rubbed...but suddenly he stopped, leaving me panting and desperate for something more. He stood up, his huge frame dwarfing mine a good foot and a half. He grabbed a handful of my long blonde hair and yanked my face up. He stared hard at me as I panted and whined, and said, "You came here to be mine, didn't you, little Linsey?" I whined, the pressure in my gut not quite subsiding. "Yes sir, Mr. Jones." He growled again. "You came here to be my little bitch, didn't you?" I sobbed, wanting something so much I couldn't stand it, "Yes sir, Mr. Jones." "Tell me what you want, little white bitch. Tell this here nigger what your white lolita ass wants." I pulled deep within myself, summoning every rap song I'd ever heard and what Janice had confided in me. "I want to be your bitch, sir. I want to your little white slut, sir." I dropped from the chair to my knees in front of him and buried my face in the front of his pants, almost chanting now. "Make me your black cock slut, sir. Make me your little ho." I felt him harden in his trousers and begged, groveled, my hands rubbing my inner thighs, almost leaking on the carpet. "Yes sir, Mr. Jones sir, I want to you to fuck me sir, fuck me with your nigger dick, fuck me with your BIG NIGGER DICK SIR!" He yanked me up by my hair and pulled me over to the console. I yelped and followed, letting him bend me over his knee as he sat on the console's edge. I felt a yank and my skirt ripped away, exposing my 13-year-old ass to a man for the first time since I had been out of diapers. One hand rose and smacked against my pale, firm ass while the other hand muffled me. I screamed and twitched as the pain and heat rose from my buttocks and suffused me entirely. He kept up a litany of filth as he beat me, telling me that I was his slut, his little white slut, that he was going to fuck me and rape me and breed me and that I wanted him to do it because I was just a little bitch for him. I screamed and nodded and writhed in his lap, feeling his length stiffen under my belly and the pressure building from the pain to unbearable heights. I had lost control of myself and was reveling in it, and he knew it. Just as suddenly as he started, he stopped spanking me. His hands grasped me and put me on my back on the console. He ripped off my shirt, buttons flying everywhere, spread my legs, staring at the wet spot on the damp fabric of my underwear (what little was there). He pinched the nipples on my just-budding breasts, and I screamed into my hand, the pressure in my gut needing a release. He quickly undressed, and when pulled down his boxers, I gasped at the sight of his mighty cock. He moved between my legs (which instinctively spread to welcome him), and lay his meat on me, the balls just underneath my crotch. It was long, dark, and HARD, throbbing against my belly. I reached down to touch it, my hands not quite big enough to go around it, feeling the head lay just beneath my heaving diaphragm. He spoke, and I looked at him, hearing him, knowing the essential truth of his words. "You want this, little white girl?" he growled. I nodded and rested my feet on his buttocks. He moved back a little, and looking deep in my eyes, said the words that sealed my fate. "You belong to this black man, white bitch. Do what needs to be done." Without hesitation, I reached down to my hips and untied that flimsy barrier to my enslavement. I pulled it off, wiggling slightly and feeling his cock throb against my belly as I did so. I grasped the hard, ebony length as best as I could, lifted my hips, and guided him to the entrance of my smooth, shaven, virgin cunt (HIS cunt, as I thought of it now). I pressed the head to my wet slippery lips, feeling them spread around the plum-like head, and then pressed him to me by pulling in his buttocks with my feet. I pulled and pressed and rubbed, whining, and trying to get him in; gradually, with enough pressure, his cock head POP!-d into my unused cunny. My eyes widened with pain and pleasure as I gasped, "Aaah!" He took pity on me and just sat there, allowing me to adjust to his immense girth, never taking his eyes off of mine. After a few moments, I was ready for more. It wasn't that I was stretched enough for him; it was that the throbbing in my clit had overshadowed the pain. I wanted more, NEEDED more, and I tried to pull him in further with my long, trembling 13-year-old legs. He got just a tiny bit further inside me, then stopped short. His eyebrows went up; there was real surprise on his face for the first time. "You a cherry, little Linsey," he said. "Yes, Mr. Jones," I whined, wriggling my hips and pulling harder. It was all to no avail. It was then that he took charge, really took charge. He unwrapped my legs from around his waist put them on his muscular chest. My feet barely reached his broad shoulders as he angled himself directly over me. I wrapped my hands around his neck as he swiveled his hips into position, the motion causing my toes to curl. I had given myself to him as best as I could, and now he was going to take ownership of me. I knew this, fully acknowledged this for the first time in my head, and felt my pussy juice even more, fluids running down the crack of my ass. He rested on his elbows, one hand wrapped in my hair behind my head, the other stroking my cheek. We looked straight at each other, that hard gleam still in his eye. A sheen of sweat covered our bodies, and he saw that I was ready for him. He whispered, with surprising tenderness, "Keep your eyes on mine, little Linsey lolita - you're going to remember the second I made you mine." Then he covered my mouth with his hand, took a deep breath, and then DROPPED his hips. The full force of his body on mine alone would have made me gasp. That single motion, though, ripped open my cherry and opened my pussy up entirely to him. I felt a fiery pain race through my crotch and engulf me and I screamed into his hand. I'd never known pain like this was possible. My pelvis strained to hold the pressure of his big, muscular Nubian body while my pussy strained to embrace him. Little by little, the burn passed as he held himself inside me. I felt the walls of my pussy gradually throb less from pain and more from pleasure. My big black lover noticed my tears subsiding and began a slow circling of his hips. My clit was stretched across the wide shaft of his masterful cock, and each rotation ground that rock-hard shaft across my pleasure button. My sobs shifted into moans, and Mr. Jones, his big arms holding me tight, began to slowly fuck me. His huge rod barely moved in the airtight grip of my cunt (my "slutty white cunt," he reminded me), but gradually my natural lubrication overcame suction and his cock, his beautiful, huge, monstrous cock, began moving in and out of me. In and out, in and out, his strokes gradually growing longer and deeper, until he was fucking three-quarters of his horse cock into me. I could feel it fetching up against something at the end of my pussy channel - it hurt but it hurt really *good* - and that pressure made me pant and whine and fuck my little girl hips up to receive every inch of big nigger dick that I could. I was on the verge of SOMETHING - something I couldn't define - and it was going to be BIG - when Mr. Jones stopped fucking me. "No," I pleaded, "no, please, don't stop, don't stop, DON'T STOP -" *WHACK!* The slap caught me across my face and shut me up. "Lolita bitch, you don't ever tell this black man what to do, you hear me?" I sobbed, still writhing underneath him. "I SAID, DO YOU HEAR ME?" "Yes, sir, yes sir, YES SIR MR. JONES, but I need YOU I NEED YOU PLEASE..." "Shut up. You got most of me in, but not all." He pulled out his long, thick log, and I almost burst into tears again. "I'm gonna make you ALL mine, bitch. Too bad you'll be ruined for anything but big black meat from now on." He moved me onto my side and shifted so that his crotch was next to my face. His cock stood out, hot and heavy and veiny, and I could see slime and blood on it. "Open your mouth, slut," he said. He slapped his cock against my lips until I, feeling degraded, feeling humiliated, feeling like a whore and liking the feeling, opened up and received the taste of my first nigger cock - my first cock EVER. I licked and sucked, knowing what was expected of me, and he adjusted my legs so that they were parted and he could fit one massive hand between my thighs. He wiped some of my cunt slime onto his long, thick middle finger, and eased it into my sensitive cunt, causing me to moan around my mouthful of meat. His finger slid deeper and deepr into me until it fetched against the back of my pussy. "That's your womb, little slut," he said, gently pumping his cock in and out of my mouth. "It's stopping you from taking all of me into you." His finger rubbed and probed the back of my pussy, causing me to twitch and grind my clit into the heel of his palm. Slowly, slowly, as my pussy started dripping again from all the pressure, something began to loosen in that wall that had denied him full access. "Your cervix is opening up, little slut," he declared, as his finger somehow forced deeper inside of me. I moaned and sucked harder on his beautiful cock, tasting the pre-cum leaking out of the slit. "Your womb is opening up, and soon I'll be able to get balls deep into you, fucking as deep into you as possible. When I cum, it will shoot into here," as his finger twiddled into my cervix, "and you will be carrying my black seed. Do you want that, little lolita? Do you want my nigger baby in your white cunt?" My only response was to grind my hips upwards and whine. He smirked, eased his finger out of me, and pulled out of my mouth. He sat me up, pulled me off the table, and sat down on a folding chair, drawing me onto his lap. He spread my legs with his knee and positioned his cock at my pussy mouth once more. "I'm going to own you all the way, little white girl," he said. "Sit down on this here nigger dick and sign the deed to your cunt over to me." And with that, he knocked my feet out from underneath me. The sudden invasion knocked the breath out of me. The simultaneous pain and pleasure of being filled with that much meat so suddenly overwhelmed my senses. I couldn't move for a second or ten because I didn't quite know if I should cry or scream or breath or *something.* Mr. Jones took the initiative for me. His cock was only three-quarters in, same as before. I could feel the pressure of my body weight on the head of that massive cock. Mr. Jones threaded his massive bull arms underneath mine, placed his hands on my shoulders, and pressed downwards, all the while punching his hips slightly back and forth in and in small circles. The strain of my clit on his shaft, the rubbing of my G-spot, and my cervix slowly opening and stretching and opening and stretching around the hot head of that magnificent masterful dick made my nipples pop and my juices drip straight down and over our thighs. The way we were positioned, our heads were at the same height, and his tongue filled my mouth just as his cock was filling my cunt. The pressure inside me built and built and built. I stretched and stretched, and just as the head began to force its way into my cervix, I felt ready to explode, to burst, to do something that I didn't know how to express except in the way I was already expressing it, by letting this massively built and hung black man abuse my poor virginal (no longer) cunt. I was edging closer and closer to some cliff I couldn't see, only anticipate, and just at the verge of it, Mr. Jones broke the kiss and said, "Now get ready to be owned by this nigger." His mouth covered mine. His hips punched upwards as he pulled me down. I felt my clit scrape along his shaft as the head of his cock suddenly shot through with brutal force into my womb. I screamed in his mouth as my clit ground against his pelvic bone and his cock filled me the way that no cock was ever supposed to fill a woman. That impact was the final straw; as our pelvises met with crushing pressure, I had my first ever orgasm. I came, and I came hard, my pussy throbbing and pulsing and leaking fluids as it was filled as much as was humanly possible. I screamed, thrashed, whined, and shook, fully impaled on the first cock I had ever seen, fully owned by a black man I had just met the other day. There was no thought, only primal instinct, as that cock filled my womb and fucked me, fucked me like no one else could possibly fuck me and I shook on that magnificent meat. My magnificent black lover choked me with his tongue as I quivered and shook on that majestic black cock. His hands held me in place as my first, my very first orgasm ever, filled my consciousness, filled my perception, leaving no room for anything else. I didn't notice that his hands, which had been holding me in place as I shook like a broken washing machine, had slid down to my hips. I didn't notice that his fingers tightened on my hips hard enough to leave marks that would find in the morning. I only knew that my world centered on his rock hard onyx-like cock piercing into my center, and then suddenly, that world began to shake and explode. Mr. Jones had started grinding my hips back and forth, and the stirring of his massive cock in my stretched cunt mixed with the sudden grinding of my clit on his pubic bone made the pleasure explosions even more intense. I managed to break our kiss and inhale a huge breath of air; he laughed as he saw my eyes rolling back into my head. "Yeah, you like, don't you, little white cunt?" he said, moving my hips in tight, rapid circles. "You like that, don't you? What do you say, cunt? You like that?" "Oh God yes!" I babbled, "Oh God, yes, I like, I love it! I love it! Please Mr. Jones please fuck me!" He laughed and ground me some more. "So tell me, cunt, who do you belong to?" No hesistation, no pause. "You! I belong to you! Oh God, you're inside me so deep and I belong to you!" He laughed, hugged me to him, and stood up out of the chair as if I weighed nothing at all. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my hands around his neck as he started pumping slightly, bouncing me on that thick black log that was stuck inside me, and my cum, which had never stopped, just got more and more intense. I sobbed and twitched and called his name and told Mr. Jones I loved him. He just laughed and said, "That's right bitch, you love me, and you'll never be same after today, because I OWN YOU, and I own your TIGHT LILY-WHITE LOLITA ASS!" With that, he placed me back on the table and just started plowing me. I screamed, feeling that python cock pull out of my womb almost all the way of me before slamming back in and forcing its way back through my cervix. He did once, twice, and a couple of hundred or million times, and I took it all, biting his shoulder, twitching, my toes point straight up at the ceiling in that tiny office. My pussy, stretched and abused, throbbed along that wonderful black cock, trying to hold it in and welcoming it back with each pull and thrust. I didn't think it was ever going to stop. I didn't know if I could take any more pleasure and pain. I didn't know if I WANTED it to stop. But after some unknown period of time, Mr. Jone started shake and groan. His thrusts became faster and harder, making me scream more and more, and then suddenly, he thrust himself as deep as he could into me, his cock well beyond my pussy's capacity and deep inside my womb. He bellowed, sweat dripping off of his chin, and I felt that monster hose inside me swell and swell until pulse after pulse of waved into me. I felt the fiery hot sperm shoot into my womb, into my baby-making place, and my body went rigid as my orgasm finally overwhelmed my system. My breath caught and my heart stopped as my brain simply turned into pure white light and my womb filled with hot black sperm...and then I was finally given reprieve. Mr. Jones rested on his forearms, still looming over me. My thighs ached from holding him for so long, and my legs simply fell to the table. The snake in my guts started to soften some, and as he stopped putting pressure it, my cunt slowly squeezed the monster out. We stayed like that, resting, sweating, and content (for now). He kissed my cheek, and said, "Was it as good as you wanted, little white girl?" I shook my head no. "No Mr. Jones, it wasn't." He cocked his eyebrow, and I explained, "It wasn't as good as I wanted because I didn't KNOW that's what I wanted." He laughed, a harsh bellow that scared me with its sudden volume. "Well, then I guess you got it after all." "Yes, Mr. Jones," I said. "Can I have some more tomorrow?" ---------------------- Hope you enjoyed my story! If you like what you've read, please email me at hotkimmiecutie@yahoo.com!