Reparations -- by lightswitch © June 2007 FF, les; interr, ir; black woman, bf; white woman, wf; reluc, noncon/con, nc; brief S/M; humiliation I turned slowly, breathing in the scent of the old barn. Light shone through countless cracks, illuminating golden motes of straw dust that drifted lazily in thick clouds, hanging in the hot, heavy August air. The irony was not lost on me that my ancestors were probably once slaves on some North Carolina farm – and now I owned one. Sure, it was a modest little spread, but I wasn’t planning on taking up farming, anyway. It was a fair distance from the city, and … it was mine. Secluded, quiet … the perfect place for my writing! That is, if I could ever stop dashing off pieces for ASSTR and focus myself on some serious (i.e., paying) work. During the last (typically frigid) Ohio February, I made the decision to escape the city and its crowding, and seek a more restful (and warmer) sanctuary. After months of searching, I’d found this little farm, nestled at the foot of the Appalachians. Paradise. I knew nothing about farming, but the thought of owning a large tract of land where I couldn’t hear my neighbors flushing their toilet … that was my idea of heaven! I opened a button on my blouse to allow better access to whatever feeble breezes might be wafting through the musty barn. It was late morning, but I was already sweating. Peace. Solitude. Miles away from the nearest human! I perched myself on a barrel, in the shadiest corner I could find. Now this was my idea of living! I saw a tangled contraption of leather hanging on the wall and took it down. For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out what it was. Finally dawned on me: It was a horse’s bridle! Judging from the size of it, it was for a pony or some other very small horse. “I’m such a city girl!” I laughed, although pleased that I had finally puzzled out the device’s purpose. My idyllic reverie was broken by the sound of voices. Female, and fairly close. Part of me was irked that someone was intruding onto my precious solitude. Part of me was pleased at the thought that some of my new “neighbors” may have come to greet me. It was hard to think of anyone as a “neighbor,” since the closest house was at least a half mile away. Before I could heist my butt from the barrel to go investigate, the side door to the barn creaked open. Two figures entered the barn, bathed in bright sunlight. I’d been in the barn for over an hour, this morning, and my eyes had adjusted to the dim light; the brilliant column of sunlight slanting through the door stabbed painfully and I reflexively clenched my eyes shut. temporarily blinded, I was considering whether to complain or greet my “guests” when one of them spoke. “Yeah, ah hear tell that sumun bought the place.” The speaker sounded like a young woman, but the magenta and green spots dancing before my eyes made this impossible to verify. I heard, rather than saw, the door close. What a relief! “Ah dunno, Sally …” The second voice was softer … less forceful … a teenager? Furiously rubbing and blinking my eyes, my vision was slow to returned. Finally, I could make out my two visitors. Two young women stood amid the scattered straw and piled bales of straw. The one who had spoken first was a tall, lanky, white woman – about 5’11” She was about half my age – maybe 18 or 20 and had short, dirty blond hair. She was what we used to call “big-boned,” standing there in dirty, faded denim overalls. A grimy, sweat-stained tank top that may have once been white, sported gaping armholes that did little to hide the swell of her modestly-proportioned bosom. She scuffed one bare foot on the dusty floor. Evidently, this was “Sally,” if I’d heard her friend correctly. “Sheet-it,” the one called Sally muttered, spitting to the side. “Amy, dat’s all we need … some new person moving in. Probably some city fella who wouldn’t know a hoe from a ho’.” The lanky blonde laughed at her “witticism” and slapped her thigh. I almost burst out laughing, myself; but for different reasons. I had always thought that “knee-slapping” was just a saying. The smaller girl – Amy? -- looked troubled and her eyes darted around the barn. I realized that, sitting in the shadows as I was, my dark skin probably hid me from view, especially as they had just come in from the brightly lit field. I knew I should say something … announce myself in some way, but I was overcome by a perverse curiosity. Well, to be honest, I also didn’t really feel like meeting these two – especially not the big, crude blonde. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Amy murmured, hovering near the side door. “If we got caught …” Amy was way shorter than Sally – I was about 5’5” and I estimated Amy would come up to about my ear lobes, so that would make her … what? … about 5’1”? Five-two? Amy was plain-looking, but had the most enormous chest I’d ever seen on a woman. She had on a worn, but clean, white blouse, buttoned to the neck, and a frayed plaid skirt. Her black and white saddle shoes scuffed the wooden floor boards as she uneasily shifted position. I’d estimate Amy was maybe 16 or 17, although her timidity and naivete may have hidden her true age, if she was older. The big blonde laughed. “Hell wid dat, little girl!” she chortled. “Took me three *months* o’ smooth talkin’ t’git you up here. Ah ain’t about to give up on mah rewawd.” The lanky blonde grabbed the mousy brunette and pushed her up against the wall, crushing her mouth down over the other’s. Sally’s big hands roamed over the smaller girls large breasts as Amy struggled feebly. “Sally,” the brunette gasped, twisting her head from the big woman’s hungry lips. “We … we can’t! What if someone …” Sally grabbed the younger girl by the chin and forced her head back. ‘Ain’t nobody gonna fand us,” she said, putting her face so close that their noses almost touched. “An’ ah already done tol’ you – ah ain’t leavin’ until ah’ve had some satisfaction.” She kissed the smaller woman passionately and pulled Amy’s blouse up from where it had been tucked under her skirt. The big blonde’s hands forced their way up inside the brunette’s blouse, cruelly grabbing her huge breasts before reaching back to unclasp her bra. Amy was panting heavily and bleating feebly. She whispered protests, although she didn’t resist, instead leaning heavily against the barn wall. The sight of these two lezzing off like this … it affected me more than I would have thought. Maybe I’d let it go on a little longer … Sally finally had the smaller woman’s bra off – I had never seen such a huge feat of “lingerie engineering!” How many cotton fields died to make *that*?!? The bigger woman was fumbling with the buttons of Amy’s blouse. Amy was still pleading and protesting, but her hands were now clamped firmly on Sally’s denim-clad tits. “Why you little slut,” I thought, chuckling. Looked as if the mousy little brunette got off on being coerced. I could feel myself getting a little moist and began fantasizing about me being the one tormenting the fat-titted little white girl. Amy’s blouse was now on the barn floor, her massive mammaries hung like big, white beachballs, with a bit of the air let out. They heaved with each labored breath and jiggled as the big blonde molested them with her large, rough hands. The big-titted white girl was moaning and had her own hands feverishly working the lanky blonde’s breasts, through the wide, drooping armholes of the dirty tank top. “Evidently, Sally hadn’t seen the need for a bra, today,” I smirked to myself. I was getting hot, and it wasn’t just from the stale, still air of the barn. The grungy blonde stopped long enough to unfasten her overalls and let them drop to the floor, where she stepped out of them. Sally hadn’t worn any panties, either, and her full, wild bush was the same dirty blonde as the hair on her head and the full patches under her arms. “It’s tahm,” the dirty blonde whispered, throatily. “Git on yer knees and give me what ah want.” The mousy brunette moaned “Noooo,” softly, and shook her head … but sank, slowly, to her knees. Damn, but this was getting good! The big redneck was going to make the little hick go down on her? My crotch was slippery wet and I was sure I was staining my jeans. I couldn’t take anymore -- I quietly undid my belt and the top button of my Levis, then slid a hand into my panties. “Oh *yeah*,” I sighed, fondling my slick little love button. The big-titted brunette jerked her head up. “What was that?!” she asked breathlessly, scooping her discarded blouse from the floor and clutching it uselessly to her ample chest. I froze. Damn! Why hadn’t I taken more care to keep quiet?! I had gotten complacent, hidden from view in the shadows. But not hidden from their hearing. “Ah dint hear nuffin’,” the big blonde said, trying to gently push the mousy girl back to her knees. “But I *did* hear something!” Amy asserted. “Over there!” She pointed to my corner. Damn, damn, damn! I reluctantly pulled my hand from my soaked crotch. “Pleeeease?!” Amy whined. “Please … just go check.” The lanky blonde looked pissed. “Alright, fay-un!” she finally snapped. “But if there’s nothin’ there – an’ there ain’t – I’m comin’ back an’ sittin’ on yo face!” Amy turned an even paler shade of white than before, if that was possible and nodded, still clutching her dusty blouse to her big bosom. Sighing with irritation, Sally turned and started plodding, nude, in my direction. “Well fuck!” I thought. No more hiding. Might as well take the initiative. I stepped out of the shadows where I knew they could see me. Amy gave a small squeak of fear and Sally stopped in her tracks, her tirade to the smaller girl temporarily forgotten. Both stared at me, in shock. I have to admit, I was pretty amused by all of this … and not feeling very generous. “Well hello, ladies! What are you doing in my barn? I … oh!” I feigned surprise at their state of undress. Amy’s pale face reddened immediately and she brought her blouse up to hide her face. Sally, to my surprise, didn’t seem at all abashed, and made no effort to cover up. “*Your* place?” the big blonde seemed somewhat taken aback. You own dis spread? The Johnstons sold to a darkie?!?” Her words were like a slap and at that moment, everything changed. The barn seemed deathly silent. “What did you just say?” I asked in a low, deliberate voice. The blonde looked miffed at being questioned and more than a little confused. But realization slowly crept across her stupid face. “Ah said,” she drawled, features hardening, “… darkie.” She towered over me by a good half foot or so, but I had a hunch: This redneck bitch was big, all right, but she was, in essence, just another piece of rural, racist white trash. She probably got her way by bullying and intimidating, rarely having to back up her words. I, on the other hand, had had access to all the city had to offer. I had dabbled with boxing, wrestling, and some martial arts. I worked out three days a week. And … I had an IQ in the triple digits … an attribute I strongly suspected my dirty redneck confronter didn’t enjoy. “That’s what I thought,” I nodded, striding purposefully toward her. As expected, as soon as I got close enough, the racist redneck rushed me, her right arm drawn back to deliver a powerful punch. She couldn’t have telegraphed it more clearly if she had went Western Union. I sidestepped the blow and sank my fist deep into her surprisingly soft gut, just below the sternum, aiming for the diaphragm region. It was a solid punch, sinking into her flabby belly almost to my wrist. I chuckled. With a gut that soft, it was obvious she didn’t work out. As I had suspected, she must have relied on size. Me? I was toned from years of Nautilus. The big blonde’s eyes bugged out comically and she dropped to the ground, making choking sounds and twitching in the dirt and straw on the floor. She lay on her side, jerking and trying to suck air. Just as I thought: She was just a brawler, not a fighter. I was in little or no danger. I pushed her over on her back and sat on her sweaty tits. My nose wrinkled in disgust. Didn’t this chick ever bathe? Grabbing a handful of dirty, blonde hair, I jerked her head so she had to look me in the eye. “I’ll tell you a secret,” I said conversationally. “I loathe racists.” With that, I slapped her hard across her dirty face. Her eyes welled up a bit and an angry red hand print slowly took form on her left cheek. She was still struggling with the after-effects of my blow to her solar plexus. I put my face close to hers. Close enough that I could smell the stink of her breath. “I *really* hate racists,” I whispered. I straightened up and back-handed her. Another red welt started forming on her right cheek. She looked as if she were starting to catch her breath, so I gave a few hard bounces to her chest that knocked the wind out of her again. This bitch was hopeless and helpless. I got off her and gave her a vicious kick to the ribs … just to drive my point home. Maybe this would give her a little … perspective shift. I heard a whimper and turned to see the other one – Amy? -- standing where Sally had left her, still clutching her blouse to her chin. She was trembling and pale as a ghost. I felt a flush of guilt and shame. I hadn’t meant to terrify the poor little country girl – especially since she hadn’t been the one slinging racial slurs. “It’s OK,” I called to her. “I’m not going to hurt you.” The short white girl regarded me with wide, fearful eyes. “Please don’ hurt me!” she whimpered. I sighed. Was she retarded? “I am not going to hurt you.” I told her, speaking slowly. “You can go. Take your big, dumb ox of a girlfriend with you.” To my surprise, the fat-titted white girl lowered her clutched blouse a little and trotted over to me. “Please,” she paused, looking deeply and meaningfully into my eyes, “Don’ hurt me.” I was surprised. What was this little psycho chick going on about? I had just *said* I wasn’t going to hurt her! And if she was so afraid of me, then why walk over and … It hit me. The crazy little cunt *wanted* to get hurt. I thought back to her little roleplay with the still-writhing blonde. Amy got off on being dominated. A strange feeling crept over me. There was something about these two that I just didn’t like. And I suddenly felt very … mean. I had considered the confrontation over, but … now some new opportunities were coming to mind. I gave the brunette my most evil smile and was gratified to see her legs tremble. An inspiration hit me. I reached out and grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of her head, drawing her close. “I’m going to do your friend first. You’re going to watch. Then I’m coming for you.” She moaned deeply and almost collapsed into my arms. Actually, I had no intention of going through with any of that – Amy was obviously a minor, which dropped my interest to zero. And the idea of having sex with the big, dirty, dumb blonde … I shuddered. No way. I wasn’t into “bestiality.” I half-dragged Amy to one of the big wooden columns, supporting the high roof. I wouldn’t have sex with her, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t do a bit of mind-fucking. Grabbing a nearby coil of fat, thick, rough rope, I started looping it about her, tying her to the pillar. The rope gave off a lot of chaff as I tied her, filling the air with dust and dirt, making us both cough and sneeze. I tied her around her somewhat thick waist, so her big, floppy tits hung free. I non-too-gently removed her skirt. A large wet spot darkened the front of her panties. I grinned and slid those off. I held up her panties and pretended to sniff them deeply, then wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Your cunt reeks,” I told her. I pretended to think for a few seconds and then raised my brows in mock revelation. Unzipping my jeans, I pushed them down and stepped out, then slid my panties off. I did this slowly, knowing the submissive little slut would be creaming herself at the sight of my dark, toned body. I took her big panties and slowly rubbed them against my dampening snatch. Her eyes were riveted on the wettening expanse of thin fabric. Slowly, my eyes never leaving her face, I spread my legs and nudged her panties between my cuntlips. Using my forefinger, I gently poked them up all the way inside. “There!” I said, straightening and putting my hands on my hips. I knew I was posing for the little slut and was gratified to see juice trickle down both of her pudgy legs. After a full minute, I bent and pulled the now-sodden panties from my pussy. They were a soggy mess! I advanced and grabbed the brunette by the back of her head. I held the sodden panties up in front of her, pausing. Her eyes widened as she realized what was coming next. “Oh no,” she moaned, struggling against the thick ropes. “Not that. Please d…” I tucked the dripping panties into her mouth and stuffed them in deep. Her cheeks bulged (those *were* some pretty big panties – they had to be to cover her fat ass) and tears welled up in her eyes. Muffled groans of protest soon faded. I gave her dripping pussy a light stroke … just to torment her a bit. “I’ll deal with you later,” I threatened in a whisper. “But now … now I’m going to fuck up your bitchy friend.” I told myself I was only doing a bit of roleplay, to put these racist bitches in their place, but found I had to distract myself from acknowledging how much it was turning me on. I walked over the semi-sitting blonde, who was sitting semi-upright, propped on one arm. Turning, I could see the fat-titted white girl, still tied tightly to the barn post, mouth gagged, watching us with wide, intent eyes. Showtime! I turned to Sally and kicked her arm out from under her. The big woman fell heavily. I stepped over her and turned. I wanted the bound brunette to have a good view. “You like dominating women, don’t you?” I asked conversationally, as I flipped Sally onto her stomach. I grabbed her feet and drag-rotated her so that her head was facing Amy. “Maybe if you spent some time on the other end, you’d get some insights to improve your technique.” I dropped my ass heavily onto the small of the big bitch’s back and heard a gratifying groan of pain. Straddling the big blonde, I pulled my polo shirt up over my head and tossed it aside. Then I reached back and slowly unclasped my bra. I did all this *very* slowly and deliberately, eyes locked on the bound, submissive Amy, across the way. Amy hadn’t really done anything to provoke my anger … I found I just loved taunting her. Amy’s eyes were wide and her body tense … unmoving. Her eyes were locked on my body – which is just what I wanted. The gagged brunette’s eyes bulged even bigger when my boobs swung free. Granted, they weren’t as big as Amy’s, but they were bigger than Sally’s – and firmer and better shaped than either of theirs. I rubbed my now-wet pussy against the small of Sally’s back, leaving a slick trail. The big blonde’s body went rigid, but she wasn’t struggling. Yet. Maybe Sally wasn’t the domme she thought she was. Maybe she had a little latent “bottom” in her. I thoroughly detested this racist bitch, but … the thought of bending her to my will … of forcing my superiority in her face … I was getting hot thinking about it. I reached up and grasped her chin from behind, with both hands. Then I leaned back, gently. The big blonde groaned as her head was pulled back, forcing her head and upper torso to follow. Her back was bent into an unnatural arch, now. I held her there like that for a while, locking eyes with Amy. The mousy brunette looked paralyzed – unmoving against the thick ropes that held her. I knew that if she hadn’t been tied, she’d be masturbating like a monkey, as she watched me dominate her “butch” friend. I leaned back harder, forcing a grunting squeal of protest from Sally. The blonde’s nipples grazed the hard wooden floor, as her boobs swung free. I enjoyed being in control. I enjoyed punishing this racist bitch. I leaned back hard. The big blonde screamed in pain. I held the position for about 20 seconds longer, enjoying her mewling whimpering. I let go suddenly, letting her upper body swing back forcibly. Her forehead banged loudly on the old wooden floor and bounced twice more before I could stop it. She looked dazed and didn’t move. In all honestly, I hadn’t meant for her head to hit that hard. If I had realized, I would have lowered her a bit before letting go. I assumed she’d brace herself with her arms. But she hadn’t. I got off her back and, pulling her by the shoulders, got her into a sitting position. I sat behind her and wrapped my long legs around her waist, locking my ankles. Then I wrapped one arm around her throat, taking care that her windpipe was nestled safely in the crook of my elbow, and laid the other arm up along the side of her head, curling my hand around the back of her head. I kept the pressure from my arms firm, but not intense. First off, I wanted to inflict some pain lower down. My legs squeezed around the big blonde’s midsection. She grunted loudly, but didn’t fully regain consciousness. That was fine by me. I squeezed harder. The pain and pressure brought her around. She began struggling weakly, clawing at my locked, muscular legs, trying to relieve the awful pressure. I put all the strength I could into the scissors … well, all I could without loosening my arms from her. I squeezed so hard that my ass lifted off the barn floor. The stink from the blonde’s armpits assailed my nostrils, but I held on. The big redneck couldn’t even grunt now; my legs were like a bear trap around her waist. Frantically, she grabbed my thigh and tried to pry loose. She was a strong bitch, I’ll give her that. Her thick farmer’s hands wrapped around my thigh and were actually succeeding in loosening my hold. Time for Phase 2. I tightened my arm around her throat and, with my other hand, pushed her head forward. The classic sleeper hold. The big blonde realized much too late what was happening. She flailed wildly for about 10 seconds. Then her movements slowed. And got weaker. And weaker, yet. I locked eyes with Amy again. She was either drooling or pussy juice was leaking from her gag. “Or both,” I thought, grinning maliciously. I could hear a strange, high-pitched keening coming from the bound brunette – a sound to which she seemed oblivious. I viciously tightened my hold on Sally, squeezing harder. The big blonde’s arms slowly lost all strength and went limp, falling heavily to the floor. She sagged against me, unconscious. I heard the big-titted brunette give a long, muffled scream through her gag. Her body spasmed hard against the ropes and she jerked as if she were having an epileptic seizure. This went on for quite some time and I actually started worrying that she might have a medical condition. I was considering going over to release her, when she finally went limp, sagging against her bonds, quivering and moaning. She sucked air noisily through her nose and made little mewling sounds of …pleasure? The inside of her thighs were slick and wet, streaked down to her ankles. “Why you little whore,” I told her. “You came, didn’t you!” She didn’t answer, but her cheeks flushed beet red. “You like this, don’t you,” I taunted her. “You like seeing a black woman top your nasty, racist girlfriend, don’t you!” She gave a small, reluctant nod, lowering her gaze in embarrassment. “Emph,” came the almost imperceptible grunt of affirmation, through the gag. I couldn’t believe how turned on I was from turning *her* on, as well as from dominating the big, smelly blonde. “Let’s just see if we can’t make that the first of many,” I told her. She let out a long, fearful groan of anticipation. I turned back to the unconscious blonde. “Now … what can we do to you, next?” I pondered out loud. I spotted another coil of rope, hanging on a nail – not nearly as thick as I that which I had used on Amy, but still quite serviceable. I dragged the big blonde over to a nearby bale of straw and flopped her, face-down, across the top. Her head hung over one end and her big ass stuck up in the air over the other end – perfect. Grabbing the rope, I tied her right wrist to the post of a horse stall, and her left wrist to another post. Then I looped the rope around her waist, and around the bale. Finally, I went over to Amy and plucked the soggy gag out of her mouth. I gave her a deep kiss, but broke it immediately. “Fuck!” I swore. “Your mouth tastes like pussy!” I slapped her hard across her face and she moaned loudly. I walked back to the bound blonde and stood in front of her, my crotch mere inches from her face. After a few minutes, she stirred and groaned loudly. “Whar …?” she asked groggily. “Wut …?” I cupped her chin and lifted her head. With the other hand, I quickly tucked the reeking panties into her partially-opened mouth. “Whu-WHU?!?” she tried to shout through the thickly wadded gag. Her shrieks of indignation were muffled, as she thrashed about wildly. But the ropes were tight and she could only kick her legs. I squatted in front of her, raising her face by her chin, again. “What’s the matter?” I asked, in mock concern? Don’t like the taste of your little girlfriend’s panties? Don’t like the taste of pussy? How greedy of you … expecting *your* pussy to get licked, but not licking anyone else’s!” I stood, but kept hold of her chin, forcing her to look straight ahead. My throbbing cunt was so close that her nose brushed my pubic hair. “How about it, redneck?” I asked, huskily. “You ever gone down on a black woman?” That got the rise I was looking for: More thrashing and frantic, muffled screams of indignation. I was guessing Sally wasn’t used to being on the “delivering end” of oral sex or on the “receiving end” of domination. Too bad. She’d be *getting* used to it. Grabbing a fistful of dirty, blonde hair, I slowly and lasciviously rubbed my wet pussy in her face. I enjoyed seeing her homely, pale face disappear in my thick, dark bush. She gave a high-pitched squeal of despair, which was all but lost between the gag and my groin. Admittedly, I had only intended to do this to humiliate her – to rub my black cunt in her racist face and smear my cunt juice all over her homely, white features. But … there was something about a white person’s face … their nose, to be specific. It sticks out so much further than most other races’. And it seems to be the absolutely most *perfect* shape to rub a wet slit on. I just couldn’t stop sliding my steaming snatch up and down, along the bound blonde’s nose – the tip catching my clit just right at the end of every downstroke and at the start of every upstroke. Faster … harder … faster … harder …! I was almost shocked when I was wracked with a body-shaking climax. It was long and deep … one of the best I had ever experienced. I felt a pang of shame … until now, I had figured I was mostly roleplaying – acting a part in order to punish these two bitches. I had *never* intended to actually get off by face-fucking the redneck bitch … ! That crossed lines and made it impossible to ignore or rationalize what I was doing, without acknowledging some truths about myself. Was this what I wanted? I had been using the kinky sex play to taunt them -- to use their own vulnerabilities against them … not to gratify myself! But still … that had been one fan-fucking-tastic climax! I regarded the bound blonde, tied to the straw bale. Her face glistened with my juices and sported a dark pink hue, where I had been rubbing it raw. Her eyes were closed and she was sobbing. I felt no pity. The bitch deserved it. And more. My anger and resentment returned. I spotted a large leather strop hanging on the wall, the kind of thing that probably had been used for sharpening straight razors, a century or so ago. I had been fine, before these white bitches trespassed. I had no confusion about my sexuality and had had no anti-social “dominance” issues. Until *they* showed up. This was all *their* fault. And they should pay for it. I plucked the leather strop from the wall and walked over to the helpless blonde redneck. “Well *look* what I found,” I said, holding the strop up where Sally could see it. She had been indignant and furious, but when her eyes focused on my new toy, her face took on a new expression: Abject terror. I casually strolled in a slow circle, in front of her. “I wonder what this could be … and whatever it might have been used for?” I mused aloud, to no one in particular. I wheeled to face her and brought the strop down in a loud, savage slap, in my palm, watching her face for reaction. Pain lanced through my hand. “Damn!” I exclaimed, dropping the leather implement and grabbing my injured left palm. “That hurts like a *sonuvabitch*!” I wasn’t faking, I hadn’t expected it to hurt that much from one little slap! Rubbing my stricken hand, I glanced at Sally. The big blonde was quaking in her bonds, her eyes wide with fear. She was pale, under her farmer’s tan, and rapidly shaking her head back and forth. I ignored the pain and grinned at her. “What’s that, white girl?” I asked. “You say you want me to paddle your nasty, racist ass?” Tears streamed down the dirty blonde’s face as she shook her head from side to side. “Oh Gawd, yes,” I heard Amy moan. “Do it! Spank her! Beat her like the whore she is!” I stopped, briefly. Damn, but that brunette needed therapy! With an evil smile, I strolled back until I was standing behind the bound blonde. Sally was straining against the ropes and trying to scream through the gag. I brushed my hand gently across one asscheek. “Not a bad ass …,” I commended her, “ … for white trash!” Then I brought the strop down hard. Sally screamed loudly, loud enough that it could be heard plainly, even through the gag. Her body tensed and she strained her ass down, against the bale, and torso up, against the ropes. Then the pain must have cascaded through her because she writhed like she was on fire. The ropes kept her in place, but a huge, rectangular purple welt rose immediately, marring most of her comely white ass. I regretted hitting her so hard. The fucking strop was just too much! The huge, angry welt almost seemed to throb -- and it was *so* dark and big! If I hit her again, it would surely draw blood – and that thought turned me off. Sorry, I’m just not into blood. I walked back to stand in front of the sobbing, beaten blonde. Squatting, I tenderly removed the panty-gag from her mouth. “No more!” she choked. “You *hurt* me, OK?! I give up! You win! What do you *want*?!?” I raised her head by her chin, so she could look into my eyes. “I think you know what I want,” I whispered. Still holding her by the chin, I stood, and stepped close. The big blonde shuddered and sobbed a few times. Then she calmed and stared, sullenly, at my dark, black bush – millimeters from her face. With a sigh of revulsion and resignation, she extended her tongue. I moved closer and put one leg up on the crate, to allow her full access. The angle proved to be too problematic – too much strain on her neck and she wasn’t able to reach far enough to where I wanted -- so I dragged over an old kitchen stool and put it almost under her head. Then I sat down on it, leaned back, and guided her face between my widespread legs. She buried her face in my crotch and I felt her tongue working my snatch. I wrapped both legs around the beaten blonde’s head, resting my crossed ankles on her back. I sighed in satisfaction as the racist bitch subjugated herself and serviced my thick-lipped cunt. I heard an agonized groan and turned to see the big-titted brunette spasming in the throes of another orgasm. “Damn, what a *sub*!” I thought. “Coming twice … without ever being touched!” I let the big blonde go down on me for two long, luxurious climaxes. Nicely sated, after my prolonged overheating, I stood, removed the stool, and raised the blonde’s head again. Squatting, I forced her to look me in the eyes. “You ready to serve your superior, white girl?” I asked? She nodded meekly. Satisfied, I dropped her head and untied the ropes. The ropes had been tight, so it took her a while to get feeling back in her limbs. “Fetch that bridle from the wall,” I ordered. Head down, she did as ordered. I fitted the bit in her mouth and draped the reins back over her shoulders. “Something’s missing,” I puzzled. I spotted an old whisk broom. Just what I needed! I found an old can of whitish gel – I assume it was a lubricant for some kind of farm machinery – and dipped the handle of the whisk broom into the lube. “Get down on your hands and knees, bitch,” I ordered. Casting fearful glances over her shoulder, the grime-covered blonde did as she was told. I spread the cheeks of her ass. She wanted to protest, I could tell, but now seemed to know better. Gently, I inserted the whisk broom handle as far as it would go. “There we go!” I said, stepping back triumphantly to regard my inspiration. “A tail! That’s what was missing!!” Tears streamed down my Pony Girl’s face, but she remained on her knees, silently enduring. I straddled her back and lifted my legs. “Take me around the barn, Pony Girl!” I commanded, jerking the reins. The big blonde obeyed, crawling forward on her hands and knees. I laughed as I watched her “tail” twitch with every step. I rode her around the circumference of the barn about three times. My pussy tingled as it rubbed, wetly, against her bare back. I knew she could feel this and periodically ground myself a little harder against her. Eventually, I got bored and got off her. Commanding her to remain on her knees, I walked around to squat in front of her. “Now, then, Sally,” I said, sternly, raising her chin so I could stare directly into her eyes, again, “what do you have to say about my … race?” The beaten Pony Girl lowered eyes, tears streaking her smeared face. “Nothin’, ma’am,” she answered, meekly. “You’s a beautiful, powerful wummin, and I’s just lowly white trash, compared t’you. Ahm only fit to serve you.” I nodded and patted her cheek. “That’s very good, Sally,” I said approvingly. Then I slapped her hard, her wet face amplifying the >smack<. I grabbed her hair and pulled her head up so our noses were almost touching. She reeked of sweat and cunt. “I’m glad you seem to have gotten over your racist tendencies,” I whispered, darkly. “Now, don’t *ever* come around my property again, or I won’t be so merciful.” The big blonde’s eyes widened in fear and she nodded, submissively. I let go of her hair and waved a dismissal. Rubbing her aching backside, Sally plucked out her “tail,” gathered her clothes, dressed, and left without another word. I started to gather my clothes before going back to the house. Maybe a nice long shower, after having wrestled with that dull-witted, smelly white girl … A long, low moan made me remember there was unfinished business. Turning, I saw Amy desperately trying to stretch her hands to her dripping crotch. “Oh please, oh please, oh please …” she muttered, in an endless litany. “Oh damn!!” I thought. I think I went too far – that little white girl looks as if she’s gone off the deep end! Must have been too much for her! I went over and untied the trembling girl. As her bonds loosened, she immediately dropped to her knees in front of me, rushed forward, and buried her face savagely into my crotch. Her tongue worked feverishly, trying to gain entrance. “No way, psycho chick!,” I said, pushing her away. “What are you … 16? 17? You’re underage, and I am *not* a fucking pedophile!” Amy sat on her heels, lower lip trembling. “28,” she said. What was she talking about? “I’m 28,” she said. I looked at her in surprise. “Bull!” I told her. “I don’t believe you.” On hands and knees, she scampered over to her discarded clothes and rummaged through them. Crawling back, she sat up, with a small leather wallet clenched in her teeth. “Damn, but this chick has issues!” I thought. I took the proffered wallet and riffled through until I found her driver’s license. “Amy Stoddard – born in … “ Well, I’ll be! She *was* 28! I regarded the big-titted white girl, kneeling submissively in front of me. “Please!” she pleaded, tears in her eyes. “Make me your slave! I’ll cook! I’ll clean! I’ll do anything and everything you want! Just …” She shuddered. “Just make me feel like you made me feel, today!” she whispered. I sighed. “Me? A slave owner?” I laughed at the irony. “Sure, I guess so – why not.” I straddled the kneeling white girl’s face, my ass almost resting on her big chest. Gripping the back of her head with both hands, I pushed her grateful face deep into my still-dripping groin. I felt her hands cup both my asscheeks and pull me against her face even harder, as her tongue lovingly lapped my slit. I squeezed my thighs hard around her head and she dropped one hand between her own fevered thighs, furiously rubbing her drenched pussy. She had obviously done this before and was one Olympic-level cunnilinguist! “Well, fuck!” I thought, as I lazily rubbed my cunt against my new slave’s face, enjoying the attentions of her hot, talented lips and tongue, “looks as if the real writing is going to have to wait a bit longer. I have *got* to post this to ASSTR!”