|
Squealer - Part 2
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
SQUEALER
(Part 2/3)
By Parker
WARNING: This story contains all sorts of non-consensual
intercourse, bondage, domination, humiliation and all that
kind of stuff. It is not politically correct! If you do not
want to read this sort of material, I suggest you stop now,
before it is too late. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Copyright 1994 by me (Parker). Feel free to reproduce and
disseminate (unaltered, of course) but be discrete.
=================================================================
They did let her go in the end.
The black guy had forced her to suck his cock for a while,
and then, after a little more alcohol, she found herself actually
necking with him in the back seat. That was just about the worst
thing: lying in each other's arms in the back seat - just like
girlfriend and boyfriend - lips pressed up against each other's;
tongues entwined. Eventually, he had leaned back, and she had
been forced to fuck him, legs straddling his thighs, riding his
cock up and down until he came. Fortunately, the cum from the
first rape had provided some lubrication, so it had not been too
painful.
By the time he came, the alcohol had pretty much overwhelmed
her, and she was almost unconscious. Her last recollection before
passing out was of the black man running his cum covered cock
into her mouth.
Sandy was still drunk when she woke up.
It was dark, and she assumed that it was the same night.
She found herself in an alleyway. Her blouse, the front
ripped open, hung over her in tatters, but the bra was nowhere to
be found. Her slacks and panties were still bunched up around her
ankles, so she pulled them up. But when she tried to fasten them,
she found that the front button had come off. In her drunken
state, this somehow seemed utterly crushing, and she began to
sob, lying there in the alley among the trashcans.
After a while, she pulled herself together. At least her
ordeal was over! The bastards had let her go. Struggling to her
feet, she staggered down the alley looking for help. The alley
seemed to go on forever, but she eventually came to what appeared
to be a club or a bar of some sort. A short set of stairs led
downward to a door. Behind it, she could hear music and people
talking.
People.
Someone to help her.
Almost crying with relief, she started to walk swiftly down
the stairs. It proved too much for her, however, and she stumbled
drunkenly, and fell up against the door. It burst open and she
tumbled head over heels into the bar.
Chowder Harris, the bartender and owner of the nameless
little drinking establishment, looked up in fear as the door
crashed inward. His first thought was the police - at any given
time, there was enough prostitution, fencing and drug dealing
going on in his place to fill a small jail - but he immediately
dismissed the thought. He'd slipped money into the right pockets.
And even the police didn't venture into this part of LA. His
conclusion was quickly proved right: it was a girl.
A white girl!
And a real babe too; brown hair, wide blue eyes. The
customers in the now-silent bar watched as the girl struggled
drunkenly to her feet and staggered up against a table. One
pathetic little hand clutched at the front of her torn blouse,
attempting to hold it together over her large breasts, while the
other hand held closed the front of her pants. This girl had run
into some trouble. Harris's conclusion was the same as everyone
else's: a hooker who had chosen the wrong customer. Still...
Harris's instincts kicked in: there was money to be made here!
Harris threw his cloth down on the bar counter and walked up to
where the girl stood unsteadily, peering around the bar.
"Well now," he said, voice gruff and friendly, "you look
like you've had some trouble." Wordlessly, she nodded, trembling.
Feigning sympathy, Harris put his arm over her exposed shoulder
and steered her over to the bar. "Why don't you just sit down
right here and we'll get you some help." Tears began trickling
down the girl's face, but she followed without protest.
Sandy couldn't stop shuddering as the black man led her over
to a bar stool. She had been frightened at first - all those
black faces staring at her as she crashed into the bar - but the
man seemed nice. Friendly.
He would help her.
Shaking uncontrollably, the girl sat gingerly on an empty
bar stool as the bar talk slowly started up again. Harris made
certain that she was securely perched, and then walked back
behind the counter.
"Here you go," he said sympathetically, pouring a shot glass
of whisky, "this'll make you feel better." He placed the glass in
front of her.
Sandy instinctively felt that something was wrong; that she
shouldn't accept the drink, but she was generally unable to focus
through the alcoholic haze. She had almost no previous experience
with being drunk, and was completely incapable of handling
herself. She felt as if all of her willpower had been sapped
away, drowned in the warm numbness that suffused her body.
Slowly, with the exaggerated caution of the truly drunk, the
picked up the small glass and brought it to her lips.
"That's it," the man encouraged her. "Just drink it all
down." Sandy followed his instructions and swallowed it in one
gulp. She shuddered and coughed as the fiery alcohol coursed
through her body. Involuntarily, she brought the glass back down
onto the counter with a large thump.
"Another?"
Obligingly, Harris refilled it. She didn't want any more,
but still she obediently lifted the glass and again downed the
alcohol. It was actually making her feel a bit better; the pain
in her crotch and chest seemed to recede as her body became
increasingly numb. Without realizing it, the tattered remains of
her blouse slipped free of her left hand and fell open, affording
Chowder Harris a clear view of her breasts between the torn
strips of cloth.
Staring openly at her exposed chest, he again refilled her
glass. Harris was about to say something when he was suddenly
pulled aside by a large, angry-looking black woman: his wife.
"What are you do'n?" she asked, furious to have found her
husband so friendly with some scrawny, bare-breasted white slut.
In the middle of the bar! "Are you crazy?"
"Listen," Harris whispered, glancing over his shoulder at
the girl as she downed the third shot of whisky. "It's not what
y'think. She's just some drunken whore who stumbled in. We can
make some money."
Somewhat mollified to learn that his interest in the bitch
was only financial, his wife released his arm. Still, she wasn't
quite sure about it. "The bitch's probably working," she pointed
out. Miles will..."
"You jokin? A white woman around here? For Miles?" Harris
laughed. "That'd be news around here. I'd've heard 'bout it for
sure."
He was right, and his wife grunted in grudging agreement.
"OK. But just you keep your hands off her." Harris nodded, happy
that she'd given in. The girl was attractive, but he knew better
than to get caught fooling around. His wife was a large woman,
and not shy.
He turned back to the girl. The additional alcohol was
already affecting her, and she was swaying perceptibly on the
stool. Harris couldn't help but stare at her breasts - large and
firm - as they jiggled appealingly through the torn front of her
blouse. The girl was no longer even trying to cover them.
Strange, though; she wasn't really dressed like a whore. Too
nice. Still...
This was business.
"That'll be ten bucks," he announced, walking up to stand
directly in front of her. She looked over at him in confusion,
eyes squinting as she tried to focus.
"Wha?"
"Ten bucks," he repeated. "For the drinks. You owe me ten
bucks, girl."
"Ten...t-ten..."
Just as he had thought. "Can't pay?" Confused, the girl
shook her head. Clearly, she didn't understand him, but that
really wasn't important. He just needed - or wanted - an excuse.
And now he had one.
Feigning anger, he walked around from behind the bar and
marched up to where she sat unsteadily on the bar stool. She
tried to swivel her head to follow his movements, but in her
drunken state, she half fell off the stool. He roughly grabbed
her from her perch as she fell and dragged her to the centre of
the room, right in front of the broken-down pool table. She
stumbled along in his grip, barely keeping her footing, her
mumbled protests ignored.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Hey... everyone. Listen up!" The quiet
hum of talk, which had slowly been building up since the girl's
dramatic entrance into the bar, fell away as all the faces in the
bar turned towards where Harris stood holding the girl.
Staring...
Drunk as she was, Sandy still blushed furiously at all those
black faces staring at her. She wanted to cry out - to shout, to
protest that this was all a mistake and she didn't belong here -
but her mouth and tongue felt numb. All she could manage was an
embarrassed gurgle as the bartender jerked her up against the
pool table and began to speak.
"This girl here owes me some money," he cried out, smirking.
"And she can't pay."
A few men in the crowd laughed.
"Luckily," the bar owner continued, "she can still earn it."
"How's that?" came a voice from the crowd, followed by a
round of malicious laughter. They knew what was going on. The
only women that came into a place like these were whores. One way
or the other, they were all whores. Everyone there knew what good
old Chowder was talking about. And no one had ever seen a white
girl in this bar before.
"Well," Harris drawled, enjoying the attention, "just like
any other whore; on her back." He reached down with his free hand
and tore away what was left of Sandy's blouse. The young student
tried to bring her hands up to protect herself, but he slapped
them away. The crowd stared in silence at her exposed breasts.
Harris looked around.
They were ready.
"Fifty dollars a fuck," he proclaimed. "We'll just set her
up for business right here." He grabbed her thick brown hair and
pulled her backwards. Sandy, clumsy in her drunkenness, rolled
back onto the pool table. While her legs were in the air, Harris
grabbed her slacks and pulled them down. She started to kick and
struggle, but it was too late: she was down to her panties. And
those, too, were quickly ripped off. Within seconds, Sandy found
herself stripped naked and lying on her back on the pool table.
She tried to squirm off, but the black man kept his hand in her
hair, pinning her head to the table.
Grinning, Harris bent down and whispered to her: "Just be a
good girl. You've done this before. Try to enjoy it."
Enjoy it?
Once again, Sandy's attempts to protest were sabotaged by
the pervasive numbness in her face and body. She was able to do
little more than mumble incoherently as the black man pulled his
face away. She wanted to tell them that she *was* a good girl -
not a whore. And she didn't belong here.
She did'nt belong here.
She was still trying to articulate this thought when the
first man approached. The large black man wasted little time. He
just pulled his long, hard cock free from his pants and climbed
on top of her. She squirmed and struggled as he brought his beer-
breath mouth down onto her lips and began exploring her mouth
with his tongue. She wanted to scream, but couldn't, with his
mouth covering hers. She could only moan with pain and
humiliation as he started to maul her breasts while kissing her.
The man misinterpreted her moans. "Feels good," he grunted,
momentarily pulling his mouth from hers. "Don't it bitch." He
moved one hand down, positioned his cock, and rammed it into her
with one powerful jerk of his hips. The lubrication from the
earlier rapes had gone, and her pussy was dried and unprepared
for this latest invasion. She grunted with the pain. "Oohhhh..."
The penis felt like it was burning its way into her pussy. Her
cry, however, was cut off as the man brought his lips down
against her mouth and began slobbering on her face and lips. His
hips began pistoning back and forth. Her hands flailed uselessly
at her side as he drove his cock in and out of her...
Harris grinned as the girl, slender legs spread wide,
satisfied her first customer on the pool table. She really was a
beautiful girl; just like those girls wearing bathing suits on
magazine covers. She was goin' to make him a fortune. The whole
bar was watching now, and cheering and the white whore bucked and
whined in lust while the black man fucked her hard. Just what the
stuckup white bitch needed!
Like the two men who had raped her earlier that evening,
this man didn't last very long. Within minutes, he was shooting
his load of warm sperm into her now lubricated pussy. Sandy tried
to kick herself free - anything to get his cock out before he
dumped his sperm inside her - but it was no use. She was pinned
beneath him. When he was done, the man pulled away after giving
her one last kiss.
Sandy lay limp on the table, gasping for breath as the man's
sperm trickled out of her abused pussy and down her ass crack.
She had just started to turn over - trying to curl up into a
fetal position - when the second man climbed onto the pool table,
positioned himself between her still spread legs, and began to
fuck her. It did not hurt so much this time, as her pussy had
been well lubricated with the first man's sperm. The man's cock
slid smoothly in and out of her unprotected pussy. In fact, in
her drunken numbness, it almost began to feel good.
Almost.
As she lay spread on the table being fucked, a thought
occurred to her: the quicker they came, the quicker they would be
finished and leave her alone. In her drunken state, this seemed
to be a good reason to co-operate: to get it over with as soon as
possible.
Get it over with as soon as possible.
And so, lying naked and dripping on a pool table in a bar
filled with yelling, cheering black men, Sandra Little, med
student and beautiful young woman, slipped her long, slender legs
around behind the man and began to fuck back at him; doing her
best to make him come as quickly as possible.
Harris couldn't believe it! Any doubts about the girl's
occupation were discarded. What a little whore! Not that he was
complaining. The crowd went wild as the girl threw her naked arms
around the man's neck and kissed him hard on the mouth, all the
time bucking and heaving beneath him, clearly doing her best to
fuck him back.
Sandy felt the man begin to stiffen inside of her. Quickly,
she brought her face up and began to lick the man on the neck.
Ron, one of her boyfriends from back home, had always loved that.
Panting, half with lust, she licked and kissed and bit the man on
the neck as he came inside of her.
As with the first, he climbed quickly off and was
immediately replaced by another. 'Get it over with,' she told
herself, reaching up to welcome her new lover. The man seemed
interested in her breasts, so she cupped her hands underneath and
offered them up to him. He bent over and began biting and
licking...
The fifth man turned her over. Obligingly, Sandy climbed up
on all fours and spread her legs, ignoring the cum as it streamed
down the inside of her thighs. She wiggled her ass backwards
until she felt the man's cock up against her sopping pussy and
then slid back, moaning slightly as she felt it slide inside of
her. Against her will, she was beginning to feel a slow, steady
build-up of lust in her pussy. The man began slapping her ass as
she fucked herself back against his cock.
Get it over with...
She finally came. It was while fucking the seventh or eighth
guy. By this time, she aware of nothing except the feelings in
her pussy and breasts, and the out-of-focus face hovering above
her on the table.
She wasn't sure how many men had fucked her - she had lost
track - when she felt, through the haze of lust and alcohol, the
cock slap against her lips. She had never given head before -
never even considered it - but she instinctively opened her mouth
and sucked it in. She was now being fucked simultaneously by two
men, one from the front and one from behind. Moaning in
involuntary lust, she did her best to give them as much pleasure
as possible; to bring them off as quickly as she could.
Get it over with...
Chowder Harris's pockets were bulging with money. The girl -
his own little bar whore - had exceeded his greatest
expectations. She had fucked well over a dozen guys and was still
going strong, now taking two at once. Even at only fifty bucks a
shot, he might still clear a thousand bucks! Thoughtfully, he
studied the scene on the pool table. The bitch was on her back
again, taking one man in her pussy, but twisting her upper body
around so she could run her cum-covered lips up and down on
another man's cock. One hand held her body steady, while the
other grasped the base of the cock she was working on with her
mouth.
Harris worked a thought around in his mind. He'd have to
speak with his wife about it, but... but maybe he should keep
her. Keep the girl. No one would miss her. She could clean the
place during the day and fuck at night. He'd make a fortune...
A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Harris turned. It was Miles. Taylor Miles: the most powerful
drug dealer and all around crime lord in the neighbourhood. He
was also, although it was more of a hobby with him than a
significant money making enterprise, a pimp. And a very
successful one. He ran all of the girls on the strip down State
Street and in the surrounding area.
Including Harris's bar.
"Hello Chowder." Miles was not a big man, but then he didn't
need to be. The two gorillas standing behind him took care of
that. And even they were really unnecessary. Miles' reputation
preceded him in a very unpleasant manner. "How's tricks?"
Harris swallowed. This was bad. "F-fine, Mr. Miles," he
stuttered. Really bad.
The drug lord nodded at the pool table where the girl was
sucking back another load of cum from the cock presently jammed
in her mouth. "Bit of a sideline?" he asked. "I didn't know you
ran girls."
W-well..." In panic, Harris began to blurt out the story,
relating how the girl had suddenly appeared in his bar and then
'offered' to pay off the bar tab by fucking the customers. It was
pretty thin, but...
"Well," the drug dealer smiled (an unpleasant sight), "I'll
tell you what I'll do." He stopped smiling abruptly. "And what
you'll do." Harris nodded, willing to agree to anything that
would not involve serious pain to himself. "I'll leave your bar
standing. I'll leave you a hundred dollars of the money you've
made from this whore's ass. I'll leave you in one piece."
Harris gulped.
"In return," Miles continued, "You'll give me the girl. And
not try to muscle in on my business again. Ever. Sound fair?"
Harris nodded, resignedly pulling the wad of money out of
his pocket and handing it over. The drug lord peeled off a
hundred dollars, returned it, and put the rest in his own pocket.
"T-thank you," Harris said, miserable.
Taylor gestured to his two goons. "Get the girl."
Sandy was almost comatose, fucking from instinct and rote,
when she felt the cock slide from her abused pussy without
coming. Dazed, she looked up and saw two huge black men standing
over her.
Get it over with...
Trying to smile, she reached up her hands to welcome them.
As one, they grabbed her arms and jerked her to her feet. The
force of their pull caused her head to snap back against the edge
of the pool table. There was a brief flash of pain and then
everything went dark...
END PART TWO
|
|
