Reluctant Wife Gives it Up Part 3
Having experienced “black power” twice in as many nights, Samantha shows support for racial justice. She's interested in finding other ways to help promote racial healing without resorting to sex. However, is there really a better way?
Author's note: This is a dialog-rich story following the conversations between many of Black Pine's characters in their struggles to overcome institutional, white racism.
When Brett returned home Friday evening,
he was relieved to hear Samantha running the shower in the hall bathroom. He figured she had slept through the morning and afternoon when she did not return his phone calls or text messages. Brett himself was feeling dog-tired having only two hours sleep. When he wasn't half asleep, he daydreamed all day wondering how his wife enjoyed sex with a black man again. He took off his shoes and took a rest on the ****** room couch browsing interracial porn again. Interracial porn made him content, if not happy, like a drug that sedated him from intolerant, if not incorrect, thoughts and ideas. Looking at images of white women, many portrayed as “married” being controlled by aggressive black alpha-males held Brett's attention. He wanted more for the black men in his city.
Brett took a much needed nap in the hour Samantha had been in the bathroom. After feeling tugs on his arm, he opened his eyes to his wife looking prim and dolled up in makeup. “Samantha?” he said, “Are you alright?”
Samantha, with a straight face, simply answered, “I'm okay.” She was wearing a black ruched dress showing a lot of thigh. It wasn't as provocative as the hot pants she wore the night before but overtly sexual. “We have to talk.” Samantha said to Brett who sat up and reached out to hold his wife's hand. But she stood and walked to the middle of the room putting distance between them.
“I … I want to return to The Black Power Movement and attend a few of their seminars.” she said.
Brett, taken back, responded, “I thought you didn't like that place or what they stood for.”
Samantha acknowledged her initial narrow mindedness and replied, “Well, after the last couple nights, I've become more … sympathetic … to the black man and his … unquestionable needs. I want to discover other ways of supporting him and racial justice without resorting to spreading my legs. Which works exceptionally well, by the way.”
“Really?” said Brett surprised by Samantha's sudden change in political beliefs.
Samantha added, “Because what I've … 'experienced' lately, I have the confidence to discuss race openly. I feel I understand the black man now.”
“This is quite a surprise.” said Brett, “When would you like to go?”
Samantha smiled, bent her knees before popping them straight, “Tonight!”
Friday nights were the busiest nights at the BPM,
where the biggest rallies were held and most prominent speakers appeared. The parking lot was full with vehicles representing the wealthy and the poor, the comfortable and the marginalized. Chartered buses pulled in front of the headquarters building from all corners of Black Pine and the nearby Inner City. Brett parked at the lot's most outer perimeter and he and Samantha marched their way to the inner lot.
While it wasn't the festival during a Sunday afternoon, there were still activities outside of the headquarters. There were vendors selling pot. A group of black men making a ring around a white woman doing an exotic dance in a string bikini. A line of white women were standing in line to crawl into the back of a black Town Car. They would climb in one side and climb out the other rubbing their noses.
Samantha wandered to the public hall but had to wait for a re-purposed school bus pulling in front of her. The words “JUSTICE BUS” was crudely painted on its side. As the bus came to a stop along the curb, Samantha and Brett walked around the rear and stepped into the public hall.
The woman on stage wasn't a key speaker, that wouldn't happen for another couple hours. The crowd filling the hall, not quite full, were still engaging and energetic. The speaker was an African-American woman, a little over thirty years old, with tall curly hair. She spoke passionately spoke into the microphone she had in her hand and clutching her other fist in the air.
“I'm tired of seeing white folks with money!” she screamed, “I work two jobs and make less than racist, white people!”
The crowd nodded and chanted, “Injustice!”
The speaker went on, “We're re-locating from the Inner City. We're migrating from Africa. We need to be given housing and we're not waiting to rise up!”
The crowd cheered and chanted, “Rise up! Black power!”
The racial justice warrior on stage lectured, “I drive white people all over Black Pine and return them home to their white neighborhoods. Well, I think I should have their house. Give it to me, free! Our men are making more black babies. He deserves to sleep in your bedroom, his children deserve to live in your house. Give it to them. We have Africans claiming the city and its women for their own. It works in Africa and Europe. Why not here!”
The hall went into a roar even surprising the speaker. She smiled and gestured with a shaking fist keeping the energy alive. A woman screamed out, “Take everything!” Another yelled, “We love our Africans! We love the black race!”
Samantha covered her lips tenderly with both hands, appearing shocked at the exuberance and celebration of both black culture and the racial justice they demanded. She understood that she was standing in the heart of black power that had struck out at one of her neighbors.
Brett was surprised when Samantha took a step forward and began clapping her hands. She looked over her shoulder and scolded her husband, “Clap your hands, we have to be supportive.” Brett did as he was told feeling ashamed he slipped with his behavior. He stood next to his wife as most husbands would. Samantha covered her lips again and shook her head amazed the raw energy she was a part of.
Samantha and Brett stepped out of the hall and walked along the headquarters building. Ahead of them on the sidewalk was a sandwich board. It read “ABORTIONS FOR WHITE WOMEN ELIMINATE WHITE RACISM” in front of an open doorway. Samantha took notice and stopped cold on her feet. Brett, knowing his wife's religious beliefs, tried coaxing her to walk in any other direction. “We can go this way.” he suggested.
Samantha put her hand up wanting to read the board one more time said, “No. I want to know more. I want to go inside and listen.” she demanded. Brett followed his wife who swung her hips and turned the corner inside an intimate symposium room.
Brett rushed to Samantha and they stood at the back of the room as a woman was recently introduced and standing behind a podium. The speaker was a woman, white with blonde hair and reminded Brett of Samantha.
The speaker had brighter, blonde hair and had larger breasts. She wore a black vest that held tightly against them. The blonde, very attractive, tossed back her hair with her left hand and begun her speech.
“... I lived a life of white housewife with a white husband in a home in the suburbs. I didn't worry about money or clothes or give a single thought about bigotry or the racism the color of my skin represented. In other words, I was a privileged and … racist woman.
“Then came the day I was introduced to black power. I was at The Shoppes, buying clothes, when there was a protest against white racism. I must have drawn attention with the many bags I was holding. That's when … Nasir … approached me.
“Nasir … is a beautiful man and looked so awesome and confident! He walked up to me and asked what I was doing. He wondered why I wasn't part of The Movement. I babbled something to him that only proved my intolerance and privilege. He suggested we have sex needing to 'fuck the racism out of me'. I was shocked and stuttered that I was married. I still can't believe I used a tired, racist excuse to deny a black man sex.
“Nasir was patient as I stood there with more new clothes than I should have bought where I could have donated the money to The Movement. He explained he was busy fighting racism and deserved sex to heal the hatred for my race. I was obligated to give him my body and prove to all black men I wasn't racist.
“I made my decision that moment. How could I say no? I left my bags on the sidewalk, took his hand, and he took me to his place.”
The crowd applauded. The speaker blushed and wiped a tear from her eye. Meanwhile, Samantha nodded acting she understood what the woman was going through. The speech continued.
“That afternoon, Nasir showed me my place in the black man's world. I never felt so much pleasure or purpose. For the next two weeks, I learned the generosity of black culture as Nasir shared me with his friends and some of his ******. He re-educated me, enlightened me, showed me how a married, white woman needed to serve the black man. Then soon came the day I learned I was pregnant.”
The room went silent unsure if they would panic or cheer. The blonde stood straight, looked down, cleared her throat and confessed.
“I learned I was too far along to have any chance for Nasir or any black man to be the father. So … there I was ... pregnant with a baby fathered by my husband, who I didn't love anymore. What could I do? I went to my soul mate, the man of my life, Nasir. I cried in his arms, pleaded for forgiveness, and reassured my heart and body belonged to him and his race..”
“Nasir told me, 'white girl, you need to get rid of that thing.' I immediately begged him for help. That's where I learned about the Elimination Clinic. Dr. Claire and her staff helped me through my unplanned problem. She explained I was carrying a parasite implanted by an archaic, racist traditions of white male patriarchy. While it wasn't my fault, I was responsible for getting rid of it. I signed all the paperwork right there and promised the doctor I would continue responsible breeding habits by exclusively having sex with only black men.
“Nasir sat with me in the procedure room as Dr. Claire cleansed my womb from racism I was corrupted with. When it was over, I felt pure and thankful I was given another chance to be a good, white girl.”
The room applauded and the news of one less white baby born into the city of Black Pine and helping to preserve the growing strength of the black population. The blonde speaker concluded by stepping to the side of the pedestal, unbuttoning the bottom of her vest, and showing the room her swelling belly. She said, “Now, four months later, I'm proudly carrying a black man's baby. I don't who the father is. It doesn't matter. It's black power.”
Everyone in the room erupted in applause. The black women in the room jumped up and down in joy. The black men nodded and shook their fists. The white women stood and applauded, many were jealous. As far as the few white men like Brett, they stood politely silent knowing little versions of themselves would be scarce and few ripe for extinction. The mother-to-be assured her white, cuckold would pay for everything. That was the way it had to be. She even promised many more playmates for her first child.
Brett took a good look at his wife as the room celebrated another victory for black power. Samantha was dazed, conflicted with her white values. She brushed her hand across her breast and seem to snap out of it. Brett didn't know what clicked in her head. She turned to Brett and said she wanted to step out for air feeling a bit shame for herself.
Brett raced to follow his wife who stumbled out with her arms crossed. He was able to catch up to her when a crowd crossed Samantha's path. Black men escorted college age white girls storming into the hall screaming, “Fuck the white race! Black power!” That was beginning to become ordinary for Samantha. Not just the outcries but the attitude and vindictiveness held against white people.
Near the bus, many women were making a circle around a tall, black man wearing African wardrobe. They were taking pictures like tourists spotting a celebrity.
The African was a celebrity of sorts. The migrant, was welcomed by the community and the Movement. Attractive white women asked their mothers, *********, or husbands to take a picture standing with him. Each lucky woman got a kiss on the lips and a hand across her ass before their pictures were captured on a phone. Samantha wanted her turn!
Samantha stormed off from her husband standing fourth in line. She gestured to Brett that he wanted him to take their picture. As she waited patiently, she couldn't take her eyes off the African. He was a tall man in his late twenties wearing a traditional, black dashiki. Samantha followed his hands as they made their way gripping, fondling the bodies of his white girl admirers. Samantha had never met an African and felt it was time.
When Samantha was asked to approach the migrant, she felt shy and insecure. The gentleman held out his right hand to take Samantha's and introduced himself, “Hello, miss. My name is Ali. I'm from west Africa.” Ali said.
Samantha blushed and giggled, “I'm Samantha welcome to Black Pine.” She let Ali kiss her on the lips in front of Brett. The crowd marveled at the touching display of racial unity before Brett collected his confidence and snapped several images of his wife with a younger, stronger, more sexually attractive man. “I hope to see you again one day, Samantha.” whispered Ali making Samantha blush again.
Brett had instant fantasies about Samantha laying down with the African. What a tribute it would pay an entire race of warriors. Just as Samantha reunited with Brett, a voice out of the blue called for her, “Samantha! Is that you?”
Samantha turned, looked, and saw it was Donna, the woman who had helped her find her first outfit suitable for The Black Power Movement. “You look wonderful!” said Donna of Samantha who was wearing denim shorts and a tiny blouse only large enough to cover her breasts. The two women hugged before Samantha replied, “Thanks. I hope this isn't too conservative.”
“It's good and makes you look approachable.” answered Donna. Samantha responded, “That's what I wanted.”
Donna smiled at Samantha again, happy to see a new face return and give The Movement and their message of black power a chance. “By the way, do you want to meet some black guys?” Donna asked Samantha. Samantha turned to Brett with an encouraging nod. After all, could she really refuse? “Um, yeah. Of course.” Samantha answered. Donna took her by the hand and away. Brett could do nothing but watch his wife disappear into the crowd in search for men.
Brett was left feeling alone. He slowly drifted as many were filling the hall awaited prominent speakers. He looked over at Ali who seemed to pick not one but two ladies to walk away with. As Brett was standing closer to the far edge of the side walk along the building, he saw Samantha looking for him near the Justice Bus. He waved his hands and called out to her as Samantha hurried to him. Brett took her hands and saw the nervousness in her eyes.
“Is everything okay?” he asked her.
“Yes. But we have to make an important decision.” she answered before gesturing over to the bus where Donna was speaking with two black men. “You see the younger man to our left? His name is La'Damian. He says he has contacts high in the Movement's organization. And he wants to have a private discussion about race with me … in the Justice Bus.”
As Brett was still trying to soak everything in, he only replied, “Is that so?”
“Yes and I've already agreed to speak with him. I want to speak to him. What we need to decide is whether or not I should offer my body to him.” said Samantha rather casually.
Brett was surprised considering everything Samantha had said earlier. As her husband was speechless, she continued, “I know what I said earlier that I wouldn't have sex with black men anymore. But this is the opportunity we've been looking for. I can be good with The Movement and ask for protection! I just have to give them … a reason.” Brett looked over at La'Damian and saw he looked rather young to be someone of political prominence. La'Damian looked no older than 18 but very athletic.
“He seems kind of young to be a high ranking member ...” Brett said.
“We can't judge him by his age. We have to trust him.” said Samantha before putting her hands on his shoulders and whispered close, “Listen, he's black. Must there be any other reason?”
Brett looked down and agreed.
“Then there's nothing more to talk about.” said Samantha who turned around and casually returned to the bus where Donna and men waited for her. She put on a big smile and acted anxious to get inside. Brett could only watch from a distance as La'Damian and Samantha put an arm around the other. The handsome teen put his hand underneath Samantha's dress and helped himself to her ass without protest. La'Damian and Samantha kissed, their lips parted. Donna was holding hands and admiring Taurean. Taurean was a well dressed gentleman in his late forties. They waited for another interracial couple stepped off the bus and the small group celebrated.
The Justice Bus was ready for four more passengers.
Samantha followed La'Damian, Donna and Taurean inside, navigated up the steps and to her left. She let La'Damian lead her by the hand through the curtain separating the cabin from most of the bus. Illuminated by the low-watt lamps recessed in the ceiling, Samantha saw they were not alone. There were other couples occupying some of the benches inside.
To the right was a woman bobbing her head over the lap of her male partner. As he moaned, she was making slurping noises that caught Samantha's attention. Next, to the left, was a tall man more mature with a wider shape was cramped in his bench. He had a younger, older teen volunteer for him, bent over and getting fucked from behind. “Gimme that pussy. You belong to the black man now.” he lectured her. The sweet, young woman replied, “Yes, sir.” A couple booths down, a dark-haired woman was riding her black lover with his hands on her breasts. She let out incoherent grunts, thinking only of her penetration. Nothing else mattered. These images of unrepentant lust would have shocked Samantha otherwise. But her experiences at the Black Bull Club made it normal.
Donna took Taurean to the back, third bench from the end on the left. Samantha felt more comfortable taking the bench immediately behind Donna's. Shielding her from the others in the bus. When the couples staked their places, Donna spoke out, “Okay … let's quickly get out of these clothes and start fighting racism.” Samantha understood, there would be no 'talk', only action. Like Donna, Samantha pulled her clothes including her g-string she let drop to the dirty floor. Standing naked in only her shoes she took her place inside near the window.
Samantha sat down with La'Damian and they immediately made out. Their lips kissed, tongues danced, and his hands fondled both of her breasts before he helped himself putting her nipples in her mouth. Samantha seethed like the other white girls in the bus. It hit her fast. She was cheating again with an aggressive man … a black man … and enjoying it!
Her left hand naturally went to La'Damian's cock to stroke it. It was already ready, stiff and throbbing. Her wedding ring rubbed across a pulsating vein ramping up La'Damian's hunger. They kissed again as he huffed hot air through his nostrils. La'Damian sat back and put his large hand on top of Samantha's head. She understood he needed his dick sucked and she would comply.
Samantha threw back her hair feeling a sense of duty and excitement. In the low light, she had a close look at his manhood. It was huge with a plump cock-head deserving a woman's attention. With no hesitation or remorse, she lowered her head and pushed it between her lips and deep into her mouth. The smell of La'Damian's dick was so pleasing, she needed more. Tasting him, Samantha slurped wanting the whole bus to hear she was proud to suck black cock.
La'Damian blew out a deep breath of satisfaction, “Shit! I need this! Haven't gotten white pussy since morning!” he complained. Samantha lifted her head to lick up and down his shaft, “That's so wrong! You should have all the white pussy you need.” she said before resuming giving a blow job. After bobbing her head a couple times, she asked La'Damian, “Am I tasting your white girlfriend?”
“Huh-uh...” answered La'Damian too distracted with the feeling of a warm mouth over his cock.
“She tastes good.” replied Samantha who started giving a couple more bobs before she added, “I want to watch you two fuck.” She went to move her head up and down quickly fucking her face with black dick.
La'Damian growled, “Damn, you married white girls are freaks!”
Samantha was enjoying giving pleasure to the deserving, black teen. She began understanding the good she was doing for him and his race. She spat on his cock-head and panted, “I'll do anything for The Black Power Movement.” Samantha's pussy started quivering. That desire to be filled could not be neglected. She looked up to La'Damian needing to make sure the sacrifice to her marriage and body was worth it. “You are an important member, right?”
La'Damian looked down and nodded emphatically, “Oh, yeah. Yeah … yeah.” he assured. As Samantha put his dick in her mouth, he told her how important she was. But Samantha's mind was on sex. She turned her head and put her nose into black balls, stuck out her tongue and began licking. Samantha showed love and devotion to the young, black man's organ. When she felt La'Damian's right hand reach over her ass searching for her pussy as she curled up on the bench, Samantha knew it was time. She looked up and whispered to her teen lover, “Are you ready for pussy?” But Samantha didn't give La'Damian time to answer. Her need for penetration was too overpowering and she climbed on top of him grabbing his manhood firmly in her left hand.
The couple looked into each other's eyes as the tip of La'Damian's cock rubbed against Samantha's clit. Simply giving in, bending the knees, dropping her ass, Samantha felt the stiff, rubbery organ make its way inside. Her pussy stretched and welcomed as it slid deeper and further into her womb. Both La'Damian and Samantha hissed sharing only purpose … to mate.
Samantha grunted as La'Damian grabbed her breasts. “More, yeah.” he muttered. “I want black power, La'Damian. Give it to me.” Samantha whispered. She began gyrating her hips, filling her pussy. She surprised herself again being joined, sexually, with a black man again. Samantha could blame her husband the first two times, racially pressuring her. With La'Damian, she accepted it was the power and seductive nature of black men. Their alpha personalities made white-girl bodies necessary for their biological needs.
“Fuck that pussy, white girl.” La'Damian whispered. The couple kissed again and the cabin was filled with sounds of black conquest over white women, marriages, and their selfish values. In the bus, black culture rules. Black men were the kings. White women were their slaves promising hearts and bodies.
“I love this La'Damian, I need this.” confessed Samantha who felt comfortable sharing her most sexual needs and desires with the teen male and more than with her husband. “I'm blacking you, white girl.” La'Damian told her with his hands now firmly on her hips.
Samantha was put on the bench, up on her knees and elbows. Looking down, over her bench, was Donna who was getting pounded from behind by Taurean. La'Damian stood in the narrow aisle, grabbed Samantha by the hips and fit his cock into her snug pussy again. He gave a good lunge sliding his hungry cock inside. Samantha's eyes popped open as she was feeding La'Damian pussy that he badly hungry for.
La'Damian slammed forward before a slow, teasing retreat. He then would slam forward again making Samantha whimper. “The white man and his pigs can't keep me from getting this pussy!” La'Damian cursed and said “I deserve white pussy! I deserve this!”
Donna smiled as she felt Taurean's arms wrap around her. She looked down at her new friend getting the receiving end of racial payback. “Look at you, Samantha. You're a slut.”
Samantha looked up to Donna, trying to argue differently. “But this is racial justice.” Samantha turned her head to her lover, “I want racial justice, La'Damian!” La'Damian returned with another thrust and a slap across Samantha's ass. “This is it. Fucking your race and your white pussy.”
Donna giggled at Samantha, “He's fucking you stupid, white girl!”
Samantha experiencing every inch of black, masculine power looked ahead, and asked herself, “I'm a stupid white girl?” La'Damian answered by only fucking her. Samantha crossed her eyes and her higher brain functions diminished. With each push of black cock her IQ dropped. Drooling from the mouth, Samantha grunted taking her place as a sex object Darius predicted she would. She pitied herself realizing her purpose wasn't to talk about race but only to get fucked. Her pussy is what black men needed from her. Her morals and values would only get into the way from surrendering to the black race. But her self pity soon disappeared and replaced with unhinged, uninhibited release of sexual excitement and acceptance. She wailed in a high pitched orgasm as La'Damian continued with his confident rhythm.
In the final moments of interracial lust, a bonding that would never be regretted, Samantha planted her bare feet on the bench and rode La'Damian. In a reverse-cowgirl position, she looked out into the cabin watching all the couples engaging in beautiful intercourse in a rage against white racism.
“Fuck my white pussy!” one of the white girls yelled.
“This is how we fight the white man!” said Taurean.
“I want black dick!” screamed another white girl.
Samantha saw all this from her bench. It was world run by black men for black men. White men and their racism was vanquished leaving shameless acts of joy and celebration. And a black dick was up into her cunt. Giving La'Damian the ride of his life, Samantha moved her pussy up and down on his stiff cock nearing release. When she felt La'Damian's hot semen dumped inside, her left hand was squeezing her breast. She felt a wave of racial devotion to the black race in return. Samantha screamed, “Fuck me! I'm a race traitor!” Samantha held out her free, right hand with a fist and yelled, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” as she bucked her hips in a powerful orgasm.
Brett, as usual, was waiting patiently for his wife. Samantha had been gone for nearly an hour before he saw her stumble through the parking lot. She was dick-***** but able to find her way back. Brett thought she looked “okay” but would never know she left behind her g-string somewhere on the bus dirty floor. Samantha opened the passenger door and let herself inside. She sat quiet for a moment before taking a deep breath, “Alright. Let's go home.” she said calmly. Brett didn't say another word and started the engine. He kept looking over how Samantha's knees were rubbing together.
Half way home, Brett found the courage to bring up Samantha's “discussion” about race. “Did … he turn out to be a big, important member of The Movement, as you thought?” Brett asked.
Dazed, Samantha replied, “Who again? Oh … La'Damian ...” Samantha curiously smirked at her husband when she remembered what La'Damian said to her when she asked the teen in the bus.
Samantha confessed, “He said his mother's a receptionist part time at the Movement.”
“A receptionist?” Brett replied.
“Part time.” Samantha stressed and saw Brett looked obviously disappointed. “When he told me, I couldn't say anything. His dick was in my mouth!” she explained. Brett turned red faced as Samantha gestured with her hands as if she wanted to say, “What else could I do?” Brett wished things had gone better. He felt he needed the Movement's protection.
Samantha didn't say another word to Brett on the drive home. When they returned home, Brett followed Samantha into the living room when she froze in the middle of the room and spun around facing her husband and asked, “Brett, may I ask you something? Were you really okay with a black teenager having sex with me tonight? Because, I feel I disappointed you.”
Brett approached Samantha and in a quiet voice answered, “No, you didn't disappoint me. We needed to … earn the trust of the Movement and its black men … including, including ...”
“... La'Damian.” Samantha finished. Brett just simply nodded. His wife went on, “It's good that you remembered what we agreed. I wouldn't had betrayed you again if there wasn't hope of some racial payoff. Instead, I experienced racial payback.”
“Payback?” Brett asked curiously.
“Everything's good now.” Samantha reassured Brett, “It's something the black man must get from us whites. It's something I understand more than you.”
Brett looked deep into his wife's eyes. He wanted to kiss her and leaned in so his lips could touch hers. Her lips were so plump and wet with her tongue licking them. But Samantha pulled back in defense. “How could you kiss me knowing where my mouth has been!” she said as she turned in the direction of her bedroom. “I was a good white girl for La'Damian tonight … I really was ...” Samantha said with a smirk, “... but a terrible wife to you.”
“I didn't want you to feel bad or uncomfortable, Samantha.” Brett pleaded.
Samantha let out a laugh, “Uncomfortable? Brett, I got fucked tonight!”
Brett was speechless again and Samantha nodded. “I'm just a hole to them … bend over … take cock … get fucked!” she said rather bluntly but she showed no remorse. Samantha slowly walked through the living room and pleaded, “Don't you think I'm more than just a sex object? Not just a woman who gives strange men turns at my body because I'm white and they're black.” Samantha looked over to her husband looking for encouragement and support. But he just stood there weak and silent. Samantha lectured Brett with a stern whisper, “I have morals, Brett. I have values that I refuse to surrender to The Movement, the black man, or you. I'm not … a slut! I just wanted to show I'm not racist on their terms.” She walked away determined to re-collect her idea of marriage regardless of the generosity of black culture she witnessed.
“But I will say one thing.” added Samantha, “La'Damian was real man with me tonight. With men like him, it will be difficult to resume being faithful to you. But I'll try.” Samantha retreated to her room and closed the door. She stripped naked, and laid flat on her bed on her tummy.
Alone in the dark, Samantha put her left ear on the bed and sniffled.
“Look at you, Samantha. You're a slut.” The memory of Donna's words teased her.
Samantha sniffled and whispered to herself, “I'm not a slut. I'm not … I'm a good person.” But images flashed in her head of her with La'Damian's black cock in her mouth before licking his balls and loving it. She remembered how she submitted to La'Damian, bent over, gave him pussy and powerless but to take cock. Samantha began sliding her ankles apart. She looked into the dark and held her breath too scared to think. She was better off with an empty head, Samantha felt. Samantha scooted her knees as far forward as she could, spreading her legs more. Samantha made sure she kept her cheek flat on the sheets.
Samantha covered her mouth with her right hand feeling ashamed of herself. What could she do now after one night of betrayal after another? She arched her back and felt La'Damian's cum run deep into her womb. Samantha reached underneath to massage her sore, well-used pussy. It had never experienced so much good attention. Rubbing with her hand, as if she was slowly masturbating, she uttered, “You're in control, aren't you.”
Saturday morning,
Brett made his way to the kitchen. Walking past Samantha's room, he clearly heard her pray. He could only make out certain words, “Thank you”, “I'm in control of my body.”, “... without sin ...”, and “He needs.” Brett didn't want to eavesdrop, he had a very busy morning.
Making coffee, Samantha walked out of her room wearing her plush robe and her hair up. She said a cordial “Good morning.” to her husband. Brett felt relief Samantha was in a better mood.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked him. Brett explained, “They called me into the office. Not enough was getting done and I need to go in for a few hours today.”
“Can we talk?” Samantha asked, “I wasn't very fair last night and pretty mean to you. I wanted to apologize.”
Brett grinned, “You went through a lot. And you don't have to do anything more when it comes to The Black Power Movement.”
“But that's what I want to talk to you about.” replied Samantha. “I want to do more.” she said.
“Um, really?” said Brett, surprised.
Samantha smiled, looked down and told him, “I'm having a change of heart when it comes to fighting racism and my … 'obligations' to the black man. It's no different than having obligations to our marriage.”
“Um, what, what are you saying Samantha?” Brett very much wondered.
Samantha took a deep breath, “I started to see the good being accomplished giving them access to my body. They have needs and I would be very wrong to deny them those needs I'm saying, I'm willing to spread my legs … more and again … for the black man. … But for racial justice, never for personal reasons or gratification, just interracial harmony including reparations. Just not too often, okay?”
“Wow, I never imagined you would feel this way. Especially, after the first ...” Brett stumbled his words.
Samantha took in a short, quick breath, “Black power is in our city. It's down the street. And now, it's in your wife.” Brett was like a statue, motionless as he was powerless. Samantha wanted to reassure him and put her hands on his shoulders. “I'm obligated to have sex with black men. We both know its true. I have holes and black men are going to … fill them. My gawd! I can't believe we're going to live our marriage this way.”
“You're woke, honey.” said Brett, “Congratulations!” He cleared his throat and asked, “You mentioned, 'not too often'. How often … do you plan … with black men ...”.
Samantha answered, “Three or four times … a week, no more, and never on Sundays.”
“Is today … one of those days?” Brett wondered.
Samantha looked frustrated, “It might be. I don't know. I made a call to The Movement Reparations Office for an appointment. I think I should start paying.”
Brett was only starting to take in the whole idea of Samantha routinely giving her body to black men. Samantha mistook Brett's arousal for hesitation. She stepped closer to Brett and said, “Are you okay with this? We're living with your idea of black power. I want to live this life too.”
“I have to admit, I didn't expect this much change in you.” Brett confessed.
Samantha was confident in herself, “I don't think I've changed that much. I still greatly respect myself and whenever I'm with a … black man … I expect he will be respective of me and our 'efforts' fighting racism together. I'm not a whore. I'm just freely giving my body for race repair. When it's needed and called for.” The couple kissed for a brief moment trying to rekindle their partnership.
While Brett spent his Saturday at work,
his wife was busy in the streets of Black Pine. Deep in the African Heights district, she joined The Black Power Movement protesting a white owned business that refused to relocate. “Hey. Ho! White shops must go!” they chanted. They stood over the sidewalk from the street corner down and strangled their business. The shop would make no money that day and would struggle paying rent.
Samantha shook her fist in the air yelling, “Black power now!” When she stood there in her short, khaki pants and a “BLACK POWER” mid-drift t-shirt, she grabbed the attention of many black men helping to protest beside her.
One in particular was Lonnie. He was a black male in his late twenties wearing his signature durag. Lonnie came across as a rough, aggressive man but he had a passion for racial justice in his neighborhoods. You would often see him in African Heights or over at the Brickyards looking after his neighbors.
Lonnie walked up to Samantha and put his hand on her hip. “Hey!” he called out to her. Samantha turned and looked up into his piercing eyes. The heat of the sun and the emotions from the protest made him perspire and look menacing. She smiled at him liking how he looked in his durag.
“I want to fuck you.” Lonnie bluntly asked as he re-positioned the muscle in his crotch. Samantha took a quick look at his bulge he was handling before she lost herself into his eyes. The black, justice warrior took Samantha's face in his palms and moved in. While the crowd cheered after a rock crashed through a front window, Samantha and her warrior kissed passionately. When his black hand groped a bare breast underneath her shirt, Samantha knew racial justice was calling and she had to answer.
To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, read the reference guide under the Author's Den found in the forums section.
Having experienced “black power” twice in as many nights, Samantha shows support for racial justice. She's interested in finding other ways to help promote racial healing without resorting to sex. However, is there really a better way?
Author's note: This is a dialog-rich story following the conversations between many of Black Pine's characters in their struggles to overcome institutional, white racism.
When Brett returned home Friday evening,
he was relieved to hear Samantha running the shower in the hall bathroom. He figured she had slept through the morning and afternoon when she did not return his phone calls or text messages. Brett himself was feeling dog-tired having only two hours sleep. When he wasn't half asleep, he daydreamed all day wondering how his wife enjoyed sex with a black man again. He took off his shoes and took a rest on the ****** room couch browsing interracial porn again. Interracial porn made him content, if not happy, like a drug that sedated him from intolerant, if not incorrect, thoughts and ideas. Looking at images of white women, many portrayed as “married” being controlled by aggressive black alpha-males held Brett's attention. He wanted more for the black men in his city.
Brett took a much needed nap in the hour Samantha had been in the bathroom. After feeling tugs on his arm, he opened his eyes to his wife looking prim and dolled up in makeup. “Samantha?” he said, “Are you alright?”
Samantha, with a straight face, simply answered, “I'm okay.” She was wearing a black ruched dress showing a lot of thigh. It wasn't as provocative as the hot pants she wore the night before but overtly sexual. “We have to talk.” Samantha said to Brett who sat up and reached out to hold his wife's hand. But she stood and walked to the middle of the room putting distance between them.
“I … I want to return to The Black Power Movement and attend a few of their seminars.” she said.
Brett, taken back, responded, “I thought you didn't like that place or what they stood for.”
Samantha acknowledged her initial narrow mindedness and replied, “Well, after the last couple nights, I've become more … sympathetic … to the black man and his … unquestionable needs. I want to discover other ways of supporting him and racial justice without resorting to spreading my legs. Which works exceptionally well, by the way.”
“Really?” said Brett surprised by Samantha's sudden change in political beliefs.
Samantha added, “Because what I've … 'experienced' lately, I have the confidence to discuss race openly. I feel I understand the black man now.”
“This is quite a surprise.” said Brett, “When would you like to go?”
Samantha smiled, bent her knees before popping them straight, “Tonight!”
Friday nights were the busiest nights at the BPM,
where the biggest rallies were held and most prominent speakers appeared. The parking lot was full with vehicles representing the wealthy and the poor, the comfortable and the marginalized. Chartered buses pulled in front of the headquarters building from all corners of Black Pine and the nearby Inner City. Brett parked at the lot's most outer perimeter and he and Samantha marched their way to the inner lot.
While it wasn't the festival during a Sunday afternoon, there were still activities outside of the headquarters. There were vendors selling pot. A group of black men making a ring around a white woman doing an exotic dance in a string bikini. A line of white women were standing in line to crawl into the back of a black Town Car. They would climb in one side and climb out the other rubbing their noses.
Samantha wandered to the public hall but had to wait for a re-purposed school bus pulling in front of her. The words “JUSTICE BUS” was crudely painted on its side. As the bus came to a stop along the curb, Samantha and Brett walked around the rear and stepped into the public hall.
The woman on stage wasn't a key speaker, that wouldn't happen for another couple hours. The crowd filling the hall, not quite full, were still engaging and energetic. The speaker was an African-American woman, a little over thirty years old, with tall curly hair. She spoke passionately spoke into the microphone she had in her hand and clutching her other fist in the air.
“I'm tired of seeing white folks with money!” she screamed, “I work two jobs and make less than racist, white people!”
The crowd nodded and chanted, “Injustice!”
The speaker went on, “We're re-locating from the Inner City. We're migrating from Africa. We need to be given housing and we're not waiting to rise up!”
The crowd cheered and chanted, “Rise up! Black power!”
The racial justice warrior on stage lectured, “I drive white people all over Black Pine and return them home to their white neighborhoods. Well, I think I should have their house. Give it to me, free! Our men are making more black babies. He deserves to sleep in your bedroom, his children deserve to live in your house. Give it to them. We have Africans claiming the city and its women for their own. It works in Africa and Europe. Why not here!”
The hall went into a roar even surprising the speaker. She smiled and gestured with a shaking fist keeping the energy alive. A woman screamed out, “Take everything!” Another yelled, “We love our Africans! We love the black race!”
Samantha covered her lips tenderly with both hands, appearing shocked at the exuberance and celebration of both black culture and the racial justice they demanded. She understood that she was standing in the heart of black power that had struck out at one of her neighbors.
Brett was surprised when Samantha took a step forward and began clapping her hands. She looked over her shoulder and scolded her husband, “Clap your hands, we have to be supportive.” Brett did as he was told feeling ashamed he slipped with his behavior. He stood next to his wife as most husbands would. Samantha covered her lips again and shook her head amazed the raw energy she was a part of.
Samantha and Brett stepped out of the hall and walked along the headquarters building. Ahead of them on the sidewalk was a sandwich board. It read “ABORTIONS FOR WHITE WOMEN ELIMINATE WHITE RACISM” in front of an open doorway. Samantha took notice and stopped cold on her feet. Brett, knowing his wife's religious beliefs, tried coaxing her to walk in any other direction. “We can go this way.” he suggested.
Samantha put her hand up wanting to read the board one more time said, “No. I want to know more. I want to go inside and listen.” she demanded. Brett followed his wife who swung her hips and turned the corner inside an intimate symposium room.
Brett rushed to Samantha and they stood at the back of the room as a woman was recently introduced and standing behind a podium. The speaker was a woman, white with blonde hair and reminded Brett of Samantha.
The speaker had brighter, blonde hair and had larger breasts. She wore a black vest that held tightly against them. The blonde, very attractive, tossed back her hair with her left hand and begun her speech.
“... I lived a life of white housewife with a white husband in a home in the suburbs. I didn't worry about money or clothes or give a single thought about bigotry or the racism the color of my skin represented. In other words, I was a privileged and … racist woman.
“Then came the day I was introduced to black power. I was at The Shoppes, buying clothes, when there was a protest against white racism. I must have drawn attention with the many bags I was holding. That's when … Nasir … approached me.
“Nasir … is a beautiful man and looked so awesome and confident! He walked up to me and asked what I was doing. He wondered why I wasn't part of The Movement. I babbled something to him that only proved my intolerance and privilege. He suggested we have sex needing to 'fuck the racism out of me'. I was shocked and stuttered that I was married. I still can't believe I used a tired, racist excuse to deny a black man sex.
“Nasir was patient as I stood there with more new clothes than I should have bought where I could have donated the money to The Movement. He explained he was busy fighting racism and deserved sex to heal the hatred for my race. I was obligated to give him my body and prove to all black men I wasn't racist.
“I made my decision that moment. How could I say no? I left my bags on the sidewalk, took his hand, and he took me to his place.”
The crowd applauded. The speaker blushed and wiped a tear from her eye. Meanwhile, Samantha nodded acting she understood what the woman was going through. The speech continued.
“That afternoon, Nasir showed me my place in the black man's world. I never felt so much pleasure or purpose. For the next two weeks, I learned the generosity of black culture as Nasir shared me with his friends and some of his ******. He re-educated me, enlightened me, showed me how a married, white woman needed to serve the black man. Then soon came the day I learned I was pregnant.”
The room went silent unsure if they would panic or cheer. The blonde stood straight, looked down, cleared her throat and confessed.
“I learned I was too far along to have any chance for Nasir or any black man to be the father. So … there I was ... pregnant with a baby fathered by my husband, who I didn't love anymore. What could I do? I went to my soul mate, the man of my life, Nasir. I cried in his arms, pleaded for forgiveness, and reassured my heart and body belonged to him and his race..”
“Nasir told me, 'white girl, you need to get rid of that thing.' I immediately begged him for help. That's where I learned about the Elimination Clinic. Dr. Claire and her staff helped me through my unplanned problem. She explained I was carrying a parasite implanted by an archaic, racist traditions of white male patriarchy. While it wasn't my fault, I was responsible for getting rid of it. I signed all the paperwork right there and promised the doctor I would continue responsible breeding habits by exclusively having sex with only black men.
“Nasir sat with me in the procedure room as Dr. Claire cleansed my womb from racism I was corrupted with. When it was over, I felt pure and thankful I was given another chance to be a good, white girl.”
The room applauded and the news of one less white baby born into the city of Black Pine and helping to preserve the growing strength of the black population. The blonde speaker concluded by stepping to the side of the pedestal, unbuttoning the bottom of her vest, and showing the room her swelling belly. She said, “Now, four months later, I'm proudly carrying a black man's baby. I don't who the father is. It doesn't matter. It's black power.”
Everyone in the room erupted in applause. The black women in the room jumped up and down in joy. The black men nodded and shook their fists. The white women stood and applauded, many were jealous. As far as the few white men like Brett, they stood politely silent knowing little versions of themselves would be scarce and few ripe for extinction. The mother-to-be assured her white, cuckold would pay for everything. That was the way it had to be. She even promised many more playmates for her first child.
Brett took a good look at his wife as the room celebrated another victory for black power. Samantha was dazed, conflicted with her white values. She brushed her hand across her breast and seem to snap out of it. Brett didn't know what clicked in her head. She turned to Brett and said she wanted to step out for air feeling a bit shame for herself.
Brett raced to follow his wife who stumbled out with her arms crossed. He was able to catch up to her when a crowd crossed Samantha's path. Black men escorted college age white girls storming into the hall screaming, “Fuck the white race! Black power!” That was beginning to become ordinary for Samantha. Not just the outcries but the attitude and vindictiveness held against white people.
Near the bus, many women were making a circle around a tall, black man wearing African wardrobe. They were taking pictures like tourists spotting a celebrity.
The African was a celebrity of sorts. The migrant, was welcomed by the community and the Movement. Attractive white women asked their mothers, *********, or husbands to take a picture standing with him. Each lucky woman got a kiss on the lips and a hand across her ass before their pictures were captured on a phone. Samantha wanted her turn!
Samantha stormed off from her husband standing fourth in line. She gestured to Brett that he wanted him to take their picture. As she waited patiently, she couldn't take her eyes off the African. He was a tall man in his late twenties wearing a traditional, black dashiki. Samantha followed his hands as they made their way gripping, fondling the bodies of his white girl admirers. Samantha had never met an African and felt it was time.
When Samantha was asked to approach the migrant, she felt shy and insecure. The gentleman held out his right hand to take Samantha's and introduced himself, “Hello, miss. My name is Ali. I'm from west Africa.” Ali said.
Samantha blushed and giggled, “I'm Samantha welcome to Black Pine.” She let Ali kiss her on the lips in front of Brett. The crowd marveled at the touching display of racial unity before Brett collected his confidence and snapped several images of his wife with a younger, stronger, more sexually attractive man. “I hope to see you again one day, Samantha.” whispered Ali making Samantha blush again.
Brett had instant fantasies about Samantha laying down with the African. What a tribute it would pay an entire race of warriors. Just as Samantha reunited with Brett, a voice out of the blue called for her, “Samantha! Is that you?”
Samantha turned, looked, and saw it was Donna, the woman who had helped her find her first outfit suitable for The Black Power Movement. “You look wonderful!” said Donna of Samantha who was wearing denim shorts and a tiny blouse only large enough to cover her breasts. The two women hugged before Samantha replied, “Thanks. I hope this isn't too conservative.”
“It's good and makes you look approachable.” answered Donna. Samantha responded, “That's what I wanted.”
Donna smiled at Samantha again, happy to see a new face return and give The Movement and their message of black power a chance. “By the way, do you want to meet some black guys?” Donna asked Samantha. Samantha turned to Brett with an encouraging nod. After all, could she really refuse? “Um, yeah. Of course.” Samantha answered. Donna took her by the hand and away. Brett could do nothing but watch his wife disappear into the crowd in search for men.
Brett was left feeling alone. He slowly drifted as many were filling the hall awaited prominent speakers. He looked over at Ali who seemed to pick not one but two ladies to walk away with. As Brett was standing closer to the far edge of the side walk along the building, he saw Samantha looking for him near the Justice Bus. He waved his hands and called out to her as Samantha hurried to him. Brett took her hands and saw the nervousness in her eyes.
“Is everything okay?” he asked her.
“Yes. But we have to make an important decision.” she answered before gesturing over to the bus where Donna was speaking with two black men. “You see the younger man to our left? His name is La'Damian. He says he has contacts high in the Movement's organization. And he wants to have a private discussion about race with me … in the Justice Bus.”
As Brett was still trying to soak everything in, he only replied, “Is that so?”
“Yes and I've already agreed to speak with him. I want to speak to him. What we need to decide is whether or not I should offer my body to him.” said Samantha rather casually.
Brett was surprised considering everything Samantha had said earlier. As her husband was speechless, she continued, “I know what I said earlier that I wouldn't have sex with black men anymore. But this is the opportunity we've been looking for. I can be good with The Movement and ask for protection! I just have to give them … a reason.” Brett looked over at La'Damian and saw he looked rather young to be someone of political prominence. La'Damian looked no older than 18 but very athletic.
“He seems kind of young to be a high ranking member ...” Brett said.
“We can't judge him by his age. We have to trust him.” said Samantha before putting her hands on his shoulders and whispered close, “Listen, he's black. Must there be any other reason?”
Brett looked down and agreed.
“Then there's nothing more to talk about.” said Samantha who turned around and casually returned to the bus where Donna and men waited for her. She put on a big smile and acted anxious to get inside. Brett could only watch from a distance as La'Damian and Samantha put an arm around the other. The handsome teen put his hand underneath Samantha's dress and helped himself to her ass without protest. La'Damian and Samantha kissed, their lips parted. Donna was holding hands and admiring Taurean. Taurean was a well dressed gentleman in his late forties. They waited for another interracial couple stepped off the bus and the small group celebrated.
The Justice Bus was ready for four more passengers.
Samantha followed La'Damian, Donna and Taurean inside, navigated up the steps and to her left. She let La'Damian lead her by the hand through the curtain separating the cabin from most of the bus. Illuminated by the low-watt lamps recessed in the ceiling, Samantha saw they were not alone. There were other couples occupying some of the benches inside.
To the right was a woman bobbing her head over the lap of her male partner. As he moaned, she was making slurping noises that caught Samantha's attention. Next, to the left, was a tall man more mature with a wider shape was cramped in his bench. He had a younger, older teen volunteer for him, bent over and getting fucked from behind. “Gimme that pussy. You belong to the black man now.” he lectured her. The sweet, young woman replied, “Yes, sir.” A couple booths down, a dark-haired woman was riding her black lover with his hands on her breasts. She let out incoherent grunts, thinking only of her penetration. Nothing else mattered. These images of unrepentant lust would have shocked Samantha otherwise. But her experiences at the Black Bull Club made it normal.
Donna took Taurean to the back, third bench from the end on the left. Samantha felt more comfortable taking the bench immediately behind Donna's. Shielding her from the others in the bus. When the couples staked their places, Donna spoke out, “Okay … let's quickly get out of these clothes and start fighting racism.” Samantha understood, there would be no 'talk', only action. Like Donna, Samantha pulled her clothes including her g-string she let drop to the dirty floor. Standing naked in only her shoes she took her place inside near the window.
Samantha sat down with La'Damian and they immediately made out. Their lips kissed, tongues danced, and his hands fondled both of her breasts before he helped himself putting her nipples in her mouth. Samantha seethed like the other white girls in the bus. It hit her fast. She was cheating again with an aggressive man … a black man … and enjoying it!
Her left hand naturally went to La'Damian's cock to stroke it. It was already ready, stiff and throbbing. Her wedding ring rubbed across a pulsating vein ramping up La'Damian's hunger. They kissed again as he huffed hot air through his nostrils. La'Damian sat back and put his large hand on top of Samantha's head. She understood he needed his dick sucked and she would comply.
Samantha threw back her hair feeling a sense of duty and excitement. In the low light, she had a close look at his manhood. It was huge with a plump cock-head deserving a woman's attention. With no hesitation or remorse, she lowered her head and pushed it between her lips and deep into her mouth. The smell of La'Damian's dick was so pleasing, she needed more. Tasting him, Samantha slurped wanting the whole bus to hear she was proud to suck black cock.
La'Damian blew out a deep breath of satisfaction, “Shit! I need this! Haven't gotten white pussy since morning!” he complained. Samantha lifted her head to lick up and down his shaft, “That's so wrong! You should have all the white pussy you need.” she said before resuming giving a blow job. After bobbing her head a couple times, she asked La'Damian, “Am I tasting your white girlfriend?”
“Huh-uh...” answered La'Damian too distracted with the feeling of a warm mouth over his cock.
“She tastes good.” replied Samantha who started giving a couple more bobs before she added, “I want to watch you two fuck.” She went to move her head up and down quickly fucking her face with black dick.
La'Damian growled, “Damn, you married white girls are freaks!”
Samantha was enjoying giving pleasure to the deserving, black teen. She began understanding the good she was doing for him and his race. She spat on his cock-head and panted, “I'll do anything for The Black Power Movement.” Samantha's pussy started quivering. That desire to be filled could not be neglected. She looked up to La'Damian needing to make sure the sacrifice to her marriage and body was worth it. “You are an important member, right?”
La'Damian looked down and nodded emphatically, “Oh, yeah. Yeah … yeah.” he assured. As Samantha put his dick in her mouth, he told her how important she was. But Samantha's mind was on sex. She turned her head and put her nose into black balls, stuck out her tongue and began licking. Samantha showed love and devotion to the young, black man's organ. When she felt La'Damian's right hand reach over her ass searching for her pussy as she curled up on the bench, Samantha knew it was time. She looked up and whispered to her teen lover, “Are you ready for pussy?” But Samantha didn't give La'Damian time to answer. Her need for penetration was too overpowering and she climbed on top of him grabbing his manhood firmly in her left hand.
The couple looked into each other's eyes as the tip of La'Damian's cock rubbed against Samantha's clit. Simply giving in, bending the knees, dropping her ass, Samantha felt the stiff, rubbery organ make its way inside. Her pussy stretched and welcomed as it slid deeper and further into her womb. Both La'Damian and Samantha hissed sharing only purpose … to mate.
Samantha grunted as La'Damian grabbed her breasts. “More, yeah.” he muttered. “I want black power, La'Damian. Give it to me.” Samantha whispered. She began gyrating her hips, filling her pussy. She surprised herself again being joined, sexually, with a black man again. Samantha could blame her husband the first two times, racially pressuring her. With La'Damian, she accepted it was the power and seductive nature of black men. Their alpha personalities made white-girl bodies necessary for their biological needs.
“Fuck that pussy, white girl.” La'Damian whispered. The couple kissed again and the cabin was filled with sounds of black conquest over white women, marriages, and their selfish values. In the bus, black culture rules. Black men were the kings. White women were their slaves promising hearts and bodies.
“I love this La'Damian, I need this.” confessed Samantha who felt comfortable sharing her most sexual needs and desires with the teen male and more than with her husband. “I'm blacking you, white girl.” La'Damian told her with his hands now firmly on her hips.
Samantha was put on the bench, up on her knees and elbows. Looking down, over her bench, was Donna who was getting pounded from behind by Taurean. La'Damian stood in the narrow aisle, grabbed Samantha by the hips and fit his cock into her snug pussy again. He gave a good lunge sliding his hungry cock inside. Samantha's eyes popped open as she was feeding La'Damian pussy that he badly hungry for.
La'Damian slammed forward before a slow, teasing retreat. He then would slam forward again making Samantha whimper. “The white man and his pigs can't keep me from getting this pussy!” La'Damian cursed and said “I deserve white pussy! I deserve this!”
Donna smiled as she felt Taurean's arms wrap around her. She looked down at her new friend getting the receiving end of racial payback. “Look at you, Samantha. You're a slut.”
Samantha looked up to Donna, trying to argue differently. “But this is racial justice.” Samantha turned her head to her lover, “I want racial justice, La'Damian!” La'Damian returned with another thrust and a slap across Samantha's ass. “This is it. Fucking your race and your white pussy.”
Donna giggled at Samantha, “He's fucking you stupid, white girl!”
Samantha experiencing every inch of black, masculine power looked ahead, and asked herself, “I'm a stupid white girl?” La'Damian answered by only fucking her. Samantha crossed her eyes and her higher brain functions diminished. With each push of black cock her IQ dropped. Drooling from the mouth, Samantha grunted taking her place as a sex object Darius predicted she would. She pitied herself realizing her purpose wasn't to talk about race but only to get fucked. Her pussy is what black men needed from her. Her morals and values would only get into the way from surrendering to the black race. But her self pity soon disappeared and replaced with unhinged, uninhibited release of sexual excitement and acceptance. She wailed in a high pitched orgasm as La'Damian continued with his confident rhythm.
In the final moments of interracial lust, a bonding that would never be regretted, Samantha planted her bare feet on the bench and rode La'Damian. In a reverse-cowgirl position, she looked out into the cabin watching all the couples engaging in beautiful intercourse in a rage against white racism.
“Fuck my white pussy!” one of the white girls yelled.
“This is how we fight the white man!” said Taurean.
“I want black dick!” screamed another white girl.
Samantha saw all this from her bench. It was world run by black men for black men. White men and their racism was vanquished leaving shameless acts of joy and celebration. And a black dick was up into her cunt. Giving La'Damian the ride of his life, Samantha moved her pussy up and down on his stiff cock nearing release. When she felt La'Damian's hot semen dumped inside, her left hand was squeezing her breast. She felt a wave of racial devotion to the black race in return. Samantha screamed, “Fuck me! I'm a race traitor!” Samantha held out her free, right hand with a fist and yelled, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” as she bucked her hips in a powerful orgasm.
Brett, as usual, was waiting patiently for his wife. Samantha had been gone for nearly an hour before he saw her stumble through the parking lot. She was dick-***** but able to find her way back. Brett thought she looked “okay” but would never know she left behind her g-string somewhere on the bus dirty floor. Samantha opened the passenger door and let herself inside. She sat quiet for a moment before taking a deep breath, “Alright. Let's go home.” she said calmly. Brett didn't say another word and started the engine. He kept looking over how Samantha's knees were rubbing together.
Half way home, Brett found the courage to bring up Samantha's “discussion” about race. “Did … he turn out to be a big, important member of The Movement, as you thought?” Brett asked.
Dazed, Samantha replied, “Who again? Oh … La'Damian ...” Samantha curiously smirked at her husband when she remembered what La'Damian said to her when she asked the teen in the bus.
Samantha confessed, “He said his mother's a receptionist part time at the Movement.”
“A receptionist?” Brett replied.
“Part time.” Samantha stressed and saw Brett looked obviously disappointed. “When he told me, I couldn't say anything. His dick was in my mouth!” she explained. Brett turned red faced as Samantha gestured with her hands as if she wanted to say, “What else could I do?” Brett wished things had gone better. He felt he needed the Movement's protection.
Samantha didn't say another word to Brett on the drive home. When they returned home, Brett followed Samantha into the living room when she froze in the middle of the room and spun around facing her husband and asked, “Brett, may I ask you something? Were you really okay with a black teenager having sex with me tonight? Because, I feel I disappointed you.”
Brett approached Samantha and in a quiet voice answered, “No, you didn't disappoint me. We needed to … earn the trust of the Movement and its black men … including, including ...”
“... La'Damian.” Samantha finished. Brett just simply nodded. His wife went on, “It's good that you remembered what we agreed. I wouldn't had betrayed you again if there wasn't hope of some racial payoff. Instead, I experienced racial payback.”
“Payback?” Brett asked curiously.
“Everything's good now.” Samantha reassured Brett, “It's something the black man must get from us whites. It's something I understand more than you.”
Brett looked deep into his wife's eyes. He wanted to kiss her and leaned in so his lips could touch hers. Her lips were so plump and wet with her tongue licking them. But Samantha pulled back in defense. “How could you kiss me knowing where my mouth has been!” she said as she turned in the direction of her bedroom. “I was a good white girl for La'Damian tonight … I really was ...” Samantha said with a smirk, “... but a terrible wife to you.”
“I didn't want you to feel bad or uncomfortable, Samantha.” Brett pleaded.
Samantha let out a laugh, “Uncomfortable? Brett, I got fucked tonight!”
Brett was speechless again and Samantha nodded. “I'm just a hole to them … bend over … take cock … get fucked!” she said rather bluntly but she showed no remorse. Samantha slowly walked through the living room and pleaded, “Don't you think I'm more than just a sex object? Not just a woman who gives strange men turns at my body because I'm white and they're black.” Samantha looked over to her husband looking for encouragement and support. But he just stood there weak and silent. Samantha lectured Brett with a stern whisper, “I have morals, Brett. I have values that I refuse to surrender to The Movement, the black man, or you. I'm not … a slut! I just wanted to show I'm not racist on their terms.” She walked away determined to re-collect her idea of marriage regardless of the generosity of black culture she witnessed.
“But I will say one thing.” added Samantha, “La'Damian was real man with me tonight. With men like him, it will be difficult to resume being faithful to you. But I'll try.” Samantha retreated to her room and closed the door. She stripped naked, and laid flat on her bed on her tummy.
Alone in the dark, Samantha put her left ear on the bed and sniffled.
“Look at you, Samantha. You're a slut.” The memory of Donna's words teased her.
Samantha sniffled and whispered to herself, “I'm not a slut. I'm not … I'm a good person.” But images flashed in her head of her with La'Damian's black cock in her mouth before licking his balls and loving it. She remembered how she submitted to La'Damian, bent over, gave him pussy and powerless but to take cock. Samantha began sliding her ankles apart. She looked into the dark and held her breath too scared to think. She was better off with an empty head, Samantha felt. Samantha scooted her knees as far forward as she could, spreading her legs more. Samantha made sure she kept her cheek flat on the sheets.
Samantha covered her mouth with her right hand feeling ashamed of herself. What could she do now after one night of betrayal after another? She arched her back and felt La'Damian's cum run deep into her womb. Samantha reached underneath to massage her sore, well-used pussy. It had never experienced so much good attention. Rubbing with her hand, as if she was slowly masturbating, she uttered, “You're in control, aren't you.”
Saturday morning,
Brett made his way to the kitchen. Walking past Samantha's room, he clearly heard her pray. He could only make out certain words, “Thank you”, “I'm in control of my body.”, “... without sin ...”, and “He needs.” Brett didn't want to eavesdrop, he had a very busy morning.
Making coffee, Samantha walked out of her room wearing her plush robe and her hair up. She said a cordial “Good morning.” to her husband. Brett felt relief Samantha was in a better mood.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked him. Brett explained, “They called me into the office. Not enough was getting done and I need to go in for a few hours today.”
“Can we talk?” Samantha asked, “I wasn't very fair last night and pretty mean to you. I wanted to apologize.”
Brett grinned, “You went through a lot. And you don't have to do anything more when it comes to The Black Power Movement.”
“But that's what I want to talk to you about.” replied Samantha. “I want to do more.” she said.
“Um, really?” said Brett, surprised.
Samantha smiled, looked down and told him, “I'm having a change of heart when it comes to fighting racism and my … 'obligations' to the black man. It's no different than having obligations to our marriage.”
“Um, what, what are you saying Samantha?” Brett very much wondered.
Samantha took a deep breath, “I started to see the good being accomplished giving them access to my body. They have needs and I would be very wrong to deny them those needs I'm saying, I'm willing to spread my legs … more and again … for the black man. … But for racial justice, never for personal reasons or gratification, just interracial harmony including reparations. Just not too often, okay?”
“Wow, I never imagined you would feel this way. Especially, after the first ...” Brett stumbled his words.
Samantha took in a short, quick breath, “Black power is in our city. It's down the street. And now, it's in your wife.” Brett was like a statue, motionless as he was powerless. Samantha wanted to reassure him and put her hands on his shoulders. “I'm obligated to have sex with black men. We both know its true. I have holes and black men are going to … fill them. My gawd! I can't believe we're going to live our marriage this way.”
“You're woke, honey.” said Brett, “Congratulations!” He cleared his throat and asked, “You mentioned, 'not too often'. How often … do you plan … with black men ...”.
Samantha answered, “Three or four times … a week, no more, and never on Sundays.”
“Is today … one of those days?” Brett wondered.
Samantha looked frustrated, “It might be. I don't know. I made a call to The Movement Reparations Office for an appointment. I think I should start paying.”
Brett was only starting to take in the whole idea of Samantha routinely giving her body to black men. Samantha mistook Brett's arousal for hesitation. She stepped closer to Brett and said, “Are you okay with this? We're living with your idea of black power. I want to live this life too.”
“I have to admit, I didn't expect this much change in you.” Brett confessed.
Samantha was confident in herself, “I don't think I've changed that much. I still greatly respect myself and whenever I'm with a … black man … I expect he will be respective of me and our 'efforts' fighting racism together. I'm not a whore. I'm just freely giving my body for race repair. When it's needed and called for.” The couple kissed for a brief moment trying to rekindle their partnership.
While Brett spent his Saturday at work,
his wife was busy in the streets of Black Pine. Deep in the African Heights district, she joined The Black Power Movement protesting a white owned business that refused to relocate. “Hey. Ho! White shops must go!” they chanted. They stood over the sidewalk from the street corner down and strangled their business. The shop would make no money that day and would struggle paying rent.
Samantha shook her fist in the air yelling, “Black power now!” When she stood there in her short, khaki pants and a “BLACK POWER” mid-drift t-shirt, she grabbed the attention of many black men helping to protest beside her.
One in particular was Lonnie. He was a black male in his late twenties wearing his signature durag. Lonnie came across as a rough, aggressive man but he had a passion for racial justice in his neighborhoods. You would often see him in African Heights or over at the Brickyards looking after his neighbors.
Lonnie walked up to Samantha and put his hand on her hip. “Hey!” he called out to her. Samantha turned and looked up into his piercing eyes. The heat of the sun and the emotions from the protest made him perspire and look menacing. She smiled at him liking how he looked in his durag.
“I want to fuck you.” Lonnie bluntly asked as he re-positioned the muscle in his crotch. Samantha took a quick look at his bulge he was handling before she lost herself into his eyes. The black, justice warrior took Samantha's face in his palms and moved in. While the crowd cheered after a rock crashed through a front window, Samantha and her warrior kissed passionately. When his black hand groped a bare breast underneath her shirt, Samantha knew racial justice was calling and she had to answer.
To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, read the reference guide under the Author's Den found in the forums section.
