The Spade Masterby DiscipleN_AI
[NOTE: This story was created with the help of an AI. Over half of the text was written or edited by me, however. (you can tell what's mine by the typos.
]She had come into the parlor alone, in the middle of the day. I was working on an old lady who still thought she was a goth chick. When the announcing bell rang from the opening door, I appraised the slim, potential customer.
The early thirties, sunglasses, and headscarf did nothing to hide her unique, sexy curves. She was memorable. I'd recognize her after a ten-year separation. It was rare for a woman wearing a business suit to patronize my shop. I figured she'd leave after satisfying some curiosity, perhaps scouting for a niece or young cousin, but that was unlikely given her strait-laced manner.
She gave a nervous, "Am I interrupting?"
"No, Ma-am. I'm just touching this devil up." I grinned.
Old lady Amaris tee-heed. "You're the devil."
"I'm finishing this tat, Ma-am." Suddenly I had to explain, pointing at the classic horned and bearded face amid a swirl of lunar delights festooning the old lady's upper arm.
The woman didn't step closer for a look or even lean this way. She simply pressed her lips together before remarking, "I see."
I expected the woman's nerves to make her slink outside, never to return. Instead, she stood looking more nervous.
"You're welcome to take a chair. I'll be another five minutes - unless you just have a question."
"Um, no. I'll wait." She sat and picked up a magazine from the U-shaped rack next to her chair. Race Relations. It was a cheesy rag about mixed-race couples, just shy of being porn. As if she couldn't guess its contents from the tawdry cover, she opened it for a second before trading it for a random, People magazine.
"How does it look, Amaris?" I held a magnifying mirror over the refreshed tat.
"Good as new, Donatello." She bent over the chair's arm to fetch her handbag, a black leather pouch. "I've got cash."
I grinned into the mirror and peeked over the top, to see the business woman crossing her legs and uncrossing them as if she was ready to flee at any minute.
Amaris handed me two hundred dollars to me, in my twenties. "Thank you for your business, Ma-am."
"Don't you 'Ma-am' me, you old black goat." She laughed. On her way out of my shop, Amaris nodded at the woman. "He does good work."
When the door rang closed, I had to make a decision. I began wiping down my tools and the chair. As the woman hemmed and hawed, I washed my hands. "How can I help you?"
Finally, she stood up, less shaky than when she entered, her mind made up. "I haven't had a tattoo before. I would like something simple, Sir. Nothing special or large. This is a lark, to prove I'm not-" She cut herself off. "I'm thinking something like a heart or diamond - or spade."
There is was, all I needed to know. "Yes, Ma-am. First-timers often pick something simple, and I halve my price to welcome them into the skin-art world." Money was only part of my compensation for welcoming fresh souls into a darker world.
"How about a cute animal, like a dolphin or panda?"
"Oh, that sounds nice- but I guess I'm set on a card pip."
"Sure, but I would warn you, red pips don't show up that well on white skin. It's a good choice if you feel shy about having one, however."
"Oh," Her decision had already been made. "I guess not a heart or diamond then."
I had to poke the wound she was hiding. "There's the club, Ma-am. But I can't recommend it if you're not religious."
"Why's that?" She was genuinely surprised.
"Not to go into detail, but normal card pips are based on the tarot. Before the club's modern shape, it was a fleur de lis.
Her eyes expanded. "The lily flower." She translated. "What's religious about that?"
"It was coopted by heraldry in the middle ages as a sign of the Christian cross."
Her head bobbed with understanding.
"I didn't catch your name. I'm Donatello." I held out my fifty-year-old but large black hand. It hung as steady as a rock in the air. "Tattooing is an intimate craft. I like to be on a first-name basis."
"Amanda Stevenson." She took my hand lightly and shook it.
I went with her flow. "Welcome to Don Never Tells." I lit up the room with the contrast of my white teeth and brown lips. "So you'd like a spade., I said confidently.
"Y-yes S- Donatello." Her body trembled slightly.
"There's nothing to be nervous about, Amanda, but you understand that it will hurt."
"I understand."
"Now were would you like to hang your first ink art?"
"Hang?"
"My expression, like on an art gallery wall."
"Oh. My tummy, um, just below the button."
"Innie or outie? I may need a special tool." I told her that there was only one tool for this job. Okay, there would be another tool, but not until she had been prepared.
"Innie."
"And how small would you like it?"
"Two and a half inches - tall?" That she asked it as a question, warned that she dared to cheat on a promise.
"That's not as small as I imagined, from your first description." I stared into her eyes. "Are you sure 2 and a half inches are the required size?"
I slipped up with that comment. Amanda may have guessed that I had more knowledge of her purpose here than I ought to. It didn't matter. My warning made her flinch. "It should, maybe, be three inches." She cleared her throat.
"Alright." I kept my smile warm and welcoming. "Last question. What color ink should I use?" It was the most important question.
She attempted to brush off any suspicions by openly rationalizing what was required of her. "Card spades are black, so I guess you should use the blackest ink you have." The last bit was verbatim what I expected to hear.
"Well, you're in for a treat. I have a special, black ink that I invented, but it's a little thick, so I can't use the needle gun." I emphasized, "It's the blackest ink you'll get in the city."
My confidence and increasing authority wormed its way into her. "Yes." She admitted. "So I was told."
"Please get in the chair." I bowed as a way to invite passage to my primary workstation. "You understand that you'll need to take off your jacket and pull up your blouse."
"Yes."
I helped to remove the jacket before hanging it on the coatrack for her. She sat in the chair and tugged the tails of her blouse to just above her belly button. It was a cute thing. Every time one of them was revealed to me, given the same portentous circumstances, my dick would harden a bit. This time was no exception, except she was more beautiful than the usual woman in her situation. I got a fine stiffy from the reveal of her naval.
"Now, I need to ensure that you understand - you are in no way obligated to let me finish. If at any time you need to leave, please do so. I've had several women come into for their first and quit in the middle of my work, and that's okay. Most of them came back after they realized that I had treated them with all the respect they deserved." I refrained from mentioning what happened to the women who didn't return to complete their black tat.
"I understand." She said again, but she looked a little worried.
I like that look on a fresh woman.
I made an obvious notice of her wedding ring, a simple gold ring. But beside it, her engagement ring had been replaced with a loop of rusty wire. It was narrow though and difficult to see against the bright gold. That was the final sign of the work I was expected to perform for Amanda Stevenson. "Is Stevenson your husband's name?"
"No." The question made her nervous again.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to pry, just making talk." I said while collecting the few items that I'd need for the job, a closed tin and a silver needle tied to a wooden handle.
"It's my maiden name."
"I opened the tin and showed her the dark ink within. "My secret recipe. Hundreds of customers. No complaints."
"The lady before, she seemed very happy with your work."
"Yeah, she's a grand old dame, but don't tell her I said that. She still listens to old-school Megadeath."
Amanda laughed, nervousness depleting somewhat.
---
Before dipping the needle, I placed a half ruler on her belly. "Three inches will be difficult to get right without a little more work room. Would you be willing to unfasten the waistband of your pants and half unzip them?" She would also have to unbuckle the cloth belt, but that was obvious.
My request returned what her laugh had dispersed and more. "I'd rather not."
"You don't have to, but I'll need to tug the front of your pants down from time to time."
"I see. Maybe that's how you should start. I'm not comfortable with your other suggestion."
"I'm safer than doctors, Amanda." I gave a hearty laugh! I'm so used to telling that lie, I often believe it myself.
She looked like a little white mouse cornered by a big old cat. I almost drooled.
I dipped my silver needle into the viscous ink and tapped the handle on a corner of the tin. A single drop fell from the tip. I was ready to work my magic.
I leaned in, my face inches from Amanda's skin as I began to carefully etch the outline of the spade. The needle glided smoothly across her belly, leaving a trail of dark ink in its wake. Amanda's breathing quickened, her body tensing with each prick of the needle.
"Relax, Amanda. It's going to hurt, but I promise it's worth it," I murmured, my eyes focused on my work.
"I'm... trying," she stammered, her voice barely audible.
As I worked on the stem of the spade, I was pleased by how soft and smooth her skin felt beneath the needle. I was extra careful not to leave unnecessary marks.
"So, Amanda, what made you decide to get a tattoo?" I asked, trying to distract her from the discomfort.
"I... I don't know. Just a sudden urge, I guess," she replied, her voice shaking slightly.
I chuckled, knowing the real reason behind her decision. "Well, I'm glad you did. Tattoos are a great way to express your inner self - the real you."
She gulped at the notion that this one spade would tell her secret forever more.
As I began to fill in the body of the spade, Amanda let out a small gasp. "It stings a bit more than I expected," she admitted, her fingers gripping the armrests of the chair tightly.
"I said it would," I kept jabbing ink deep. "But it'll be over soon. You're doing great."
I continued to work, carefully shading and shaping the spade. The room was filled with the soft sound of Amanda's breathing, her little grunts, and the occasional creak of the chair as she shifted. Fifteen minutes of careful and efficient effort passed while she flinched and shifted and squeaked.
As I finished the final details, I straightened up to admire my handiwork. The spade looked like it belonged there, a sleek and shiny black shape on Amanda's pale skin no reddened from inflammation.
"What do you think?" I asked, holding up a mirror so she could see the finished tattoo.
Amanda gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the spade. "It's, um, a little intimidating., she whispered, her fingers reaching to touch the new tattoo, but she pulled her hand away. "Should I worry about infection?"
"That is a possibility, Amanda, but you can get immediate treatment at an all-hours medical clinic. Don't go to E.R. You'd be wasting the time of people in greater need. But infection is highly unlikely.
"You might feel a bit sore for the next few days, but it'll heal quickly," I said, as I began to clean up my tools. "I put some antibacterial ointment on. That's why it's glistening.
"Thank you, Donatello," Amanda replied, her voice still shaky. "It looks-"
"Professional." I interrupted gruffly. "And a professional gets paid." It was time to exact my price.
"Certainly." She dug into her purse and produced a credit card.
"Sorry, Ma-am, but I'm just an old, black man whose been cheated too many times in his life. Cash only." I surprised her. "Half off for your first tattoo will be four hundred dollars."
---
As Amanda searched through her purse, her brow furrowed in confusion, I could see the panic rising in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Donatello. I don't have n-nearly that much cash," she stammered.
I raised an eyebrow, my smile slowly turning into a smirk. "Oh, what a shame," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, in that case, I suppose you'll have to find another way to pay for the work I just did."
Amanda's eyes darted around the room, her face flushing with embarrassment. "I- I could clean up your studio." It would have been a reasonable offer if my price had been one hundred dollars.
"That's not going to cut it." I interrupted, my voice growing sharper. I offered vague hope. "But we can work something out. After all, I'm sure you're not just any ordinary client, are you?"
I stood my ground, my eyes boring into hers. "You see, Amanda, I know exactly why you came here for this tattoo. It's not just some 'sudden urge' or fancy of peer pressure. No, no. This is a rite of passage, a symbol of your initiation into a very specific world."
Amanda cringed in the chair, her lips parting slightly as she realized I knew more about her situation than she had let on. "How... how did you know?" she whispered.
I chuckled, the sound low and menacing. "Oh, darling, I've been in this business long enough to recognize the signs. The nervous energy, the hesitation, the way you couldn't even look me in the eye when you first came in. You're not here for a cute little design or a symbol of rebellion. You're here because you were commanded to show the world what you've become."
I watched Amanda's shoulders slump, the fight draining from her posture. Her eyes searched for an escape from the uncomfortable truth. But there was none. I had her right where I wanted her.
"I've been around the block a few times," I began, my voice taking on a sly, knowing tone. "I've seen plenty of girls like you come through these doors. Girls who think they can just waltz in here and get a little 'rebel' tattoo without spilling their secret. But I catch them every time."
Amanda shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her blouse.
"Don't cover that up, Amanda." I forbade it.
"The truth is as plain as that spade" I pressed on, my voice grew intense. "You didn't come here for a tattoo. You came here because you've been remade, rewritten. You've been reshaped into something new, something that must wear the spade, for all to know what you've become."
I pointed to the freshly-inked, three-inch pip on her belly. Her eyes followed my finger. The ink was still glistening, a dark reminder of the permanent mark she now wore. The skin around it was red from the needle's damage. I growled. "Never cover that up, Slut!"
Her hands fled the hem of her blouse, and I saw her eyes darkening with shame. Her face was as crimson as the skin around her black spade. She had no words to describe her utter horror at being so *******.
"Now," My breath was hot against her ear. "Tell me. Who was the first one? The one who cracked you open, who showed you the true destination of your desires?"
---
Amanda's body shuddered, a visible tremor running through her. She opened her mouth but said nothing. I could see the battle raging in her eyes - the desire to keep her secrets pitted against an overwhelming need to confess. They always confessed to the stern but wise old black man.
"Come on, darling," I coaxed, my voice low and seductive. "Let it out. You owe me cash or confession. I want every juicy detail."
Slowly, hesitantly, Amanda began to speak. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but I would have understood her if I was fifty feet away.
"It was- it was at a party," she stammered. "My husband was trying to chat up his company's CEO. I had been drinking, and Jahn was so big, so confident. He took me to the bathroom and -- and he just did what he wanted."
I nodded, encouraging her to continue. "Go on. Give the damn details." I urged, my eyes locked on hers. My cock was slowly inflating within my loose trousers.
Amanda's voice trembled, describing the event further. I could almost see it playing out, the way Jahn must have circled her, predator to prey. The bathroom was just the beginning - the moment of surrender.
"I remember walking past the kitchen," Amanda began, her words hesitant. "I had just refilled my drink and was heading back to the living room. He stopped me, and introduced himself as Jahn."
I leaned in closer, my breath hot against her ear. "What did he say, exactly?"
Amanda's cheeks flushed, her eyes darting around the room before finally meeting mine. "He... he said, 'Hello, Amanda. I've been looking forward to meeting you all night. You look stunning.' I was surprised he knew my name. He must have asked my husband about me."
I nodded, imagining the confident swagger in Jahn's approach. The way he probably towered over her, his eyes roaming over her body like he owned it.
"What did you say to him?" I pressed on, my curiosity piqued.
"I... I thanked him and tried to move past him, but he caught my arm. His hand was so warm, so strong. He said, 'I'd love to talk more about your husband's business. Perhaps we could step somewhere a bit more private?' He nodded towards the bathroom door."
I could feel the tension building in Amanda's body as she relived the moment. "I didn't think much of it at the time. I thought it was just a professional conversation."
A cruel laugh bubbled up from my chest. "Oh, you sweet, naive little thing. You had no idea what you were walking into, did you?"
Amanda's eyes dropped, shame written all over her face. "I- no. I didn't."
I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. "So, you followed him into the bathroom. What happened next?"
The room fell silent as Amanda gathered her thoughts. I could see the internal struggle - the desire to share, pitted against the shame of remembering such a pivotal moment in her transformation.
"Jahn closed the door behind us," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "He leaned against the sink and looked at me... looked right through me. He said, 'Amanda, I've been wanting to do this all night.' And before I could respond, he grabbed my hips and pulled me against him."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this turn of events. "Go on," I encouraged, my voice low and husky. "Tell me every detail."
Amanda gulped, her chest rising and falling with each quick breath. "He was so big, so strong. He pressed his body against mine, and I could feel - everything. He whispered in my ear, 'You want this, Amanda. You've been wanting it ever since you married that disappointment of a husband.'"
I could almost hear the predatory growl in Jahn's voice, feel the way his grip would have pinned her against his pelvis. The bathroom, once a safe space, had become a courtroom with a sexual bull of a black man as judge and executioner.
"What did you do?" I asked, my voice barely contained. My cock was now fully erect, straining against my pants. "Don't be polite. Tell it the way you felt it, raw and terrifying."
As Amanda's story continued, the details became increasingly explicit, painting a vivid picture of her first encounter with Jahn.
"He- he kissed me," she stammered, her cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and arousal. "His lips were so demanding, his tongue invading my mouth before I could even think. His hands were everywhere, grabbing my ass, squeezing my breasts."
I grinned next to her ear. "And you loved every second of it, didn't you? The way he manhandled you, treated you like a slut."
Amanda's eyes widened, a mix of shock and arousal flashing across her face. "No-" she whispered. "I swear! Why do you think that?"
I chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Oh, darling, I know all about the secrets women keep hidden from themselves. Continue." I ordered.
She gulped, her voice trembling as she continued. "He pushed me against the wall, his hips grinding against mine. I could feel his- his cock, huge and hard. He said, 'You've been teasing me all night, little white girl. Time for you to put out.'"
I felt my cock twitch at her words, my pants growing tighter by the second.
Amanda's voice dropped. "He- He lifted my skirt and spread my legs roughly. I couldn't stop him! He was so big, so powerful. He yanked down my panties and... and he just fucked me right there against the sink."
I groaned, my hand moving to adjust my throbbing cock.
Amanda's breathing quickened, her nipples visibly hardening through her blouse. "He was so big, it hurt at first. But he kept stuffing me, harder and faster. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe. All I could do was feel him, huge and black inside me."
I leaned back, a cruel smile spreading across my face. "And how did it feel, little white girl? To finally be properly fucked?"
Amanda's eyes fluttered closed, her hips subtly grinding against the air as if reliving the moment. "It- it felt awful! Like he was breaking something I had been protecting all of my life! He was so dominant, so in control. He made me feel like his little slut, like I existed just for his pleasure."
I nodded approvingly, my mind racing with the implications. This was just the beginning of her journey, the crack in the dam that would leave her dry and begging for more.
"What about your husband?" I asked, my voice cutting through her humiliation.
Amanda's face contorted in a mix of shame and defiance. "He- he never found out. Maybe someone told him something, but he thought I was just ***** and flirting."
I laughed, the sound echoing in the small room. "Oh, you poor, naive little thing. You had no idea what Jahn had done to you, did you?" I relaxed my intense gaze. "How many days was it before you found yourself in the same situation?"
Her voice took on a note of desperation as if the words were being pulled from her against her will. "After the night with Jahn, I thought it was a one-time thing," she began, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "But then - then there was Tyrone."
"Tell me about Tyrone, Amanda. Every detail."
Amanda's voice trembled as she recounted her second encounter. "It was at a gym. I had started working out, to try and forget what happened with Jahn. Tyrone was a personal trainer there. He- he offered to help me with my form."
I chuckled but didn't want to interrupt.
Amanda looked down, her face flushing. "He was so precise, so in control. He kept touching me, 'correcting' my form. I complained, but he insisted, always convincing me that his groping hands were for my good."
I grinned, my mind filling in the blanks. "What happened next, pretty white girl?"
Amanda's voice dropped to a whisper. "He told me if I wanted to lodge a complaint I had to go to his office. I said yes, feeling that I could turn the tables on him, even though I knew it was a bad idea.
"We went to his office. He -- locked the door and pushed me against it."
I felt my cock throb in anticipation. "And then?"
Amanda just whimpered for a bit. "He tore my workout clothes off. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong. He threw me over his desk, and he fucked me from behind. It was so fast, so hard. My mind was thrown into a blender!"
I grunted. "How many times did he come inside you, Amanda?"
"Twice," she whispered, her hips grinding against the chair. "He said I was his little white slut, that I needed his black cock to make me feel alive."
"How many times did you cum?"
She was silent, but I would not be denied. "I don't remember how many. It was more than when Jahn ***** me."
I nodded approvingly. "And what about the next time?"
Amanda shook her head. "Please. Don't make me say all of this. I just want to go home!"
"Four hundred dollars, please." I held out my hand. "Cash."
Her eyes fled mine, and she resumed her tale. "There was Darius. At a coffee shop. I'd never been to it before, not even to his neighborhood. I don't know why I stopped for coffee. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place." She sniffed, the truth threatening to spill out.
"Next thing I knew, we were in the supply closet and- and-"
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden progression. "Go on, little white girl. Don't leave out a single detail."
Amanda's voice grew hoarse, her words tumbling out in a rush. "He was so aggressive, so rough. He grabbed my hair and crushed me against the shelves. He said I was a dirty white bitch, that I needed a good fucking. And then he gave it to me, right there between the brooms and mops."
Her tale filled my mind with images of Amanda being ravaged in public. "And what about the last one, Amanda? The one that made you come here for your little tattoo?"
Amanda's face contorted in a mix of shame and arousal. "That was Malik. He was a coworker. He- he cornered me in the parking garage after work. He said I'd been flirting with him for weeks, that I wanted it. And when I tried to escape to my car, he grabbed me-"
"Say it, Amanda. How did Malik use you? Every detail."
Amanda's voice was barely audible. "He- he bent me over another car. He tore my underwear, and he fucked me right there. He was so big - it hurt so much. But- but it also felt so good. He kept saying I was a true black cock slut, that I would need his black cock to survive."
As Amanda's confession wound down, her voice grew stronger, as if the act of speaking these words was both painful and liberating.
"After Malik finished with me, he made me look at myself in a side mirror. Hand gripping my hair painfully, he forced me to see what I had become," Amanda said, her eyes dropping in shame. "He told me I was no longer just another stupid white woman, but a true black cock slut. That I craved it, that I would never enjoy sex with my husband ever again."
"And what did he say about this?" I pointed at the fresh tattoo I had just pierced into her belly.
Amanda's voice trembled. "He said- he said I needed a mark, a symbol of what I was. Something permanent, so that other black men would know. He told me to go to a tattoo parlor, to get a three-inch spade tattooed on my belly. He said it would be my badge of honor, proof that I was a black cock slut through and through."
She grimaced, realizing the next horror before her. "Malik told me to go to - your studio." Tears formed in her eyes.
"Malik knows I can be trusted, Slut. But you still haven't paid Donatello in full yet." I straighten fully, my trousers straining to keep me inside of them. Her eyes popped at the sight.
"Now get up and turn the open sign around. Pull the shades down, but don't flip the lights on. There'll be enough to see by.
---
Amanda stood up, her body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation, I could see the struggle in her eyes. The realization of her situation, the weight of her confession, and the looming promise of what was to come, all swirled together in a potent cocktail of submission.
"Turn the sign around, Slut," I growled, my voice echoing off the walls of the studio. "Pull down the shades. Now."
Amanda hesitated for a moment, her hand reaching for the door handle before she turned back to me. "Please, Donatello, can't we just talk about this? I'll get you the money, just don't-"
"Don't what?" I cut her off, my tone dripping with malice. "Don't fuck you?" I crossed my arms over my broad chest. I may be fat, but I'm also strong.
"You want to be fucked, Amanda. You need to be fucked. Don't you see how the real you has been dredged out of the white sand it was buried in?"
I stepped closer, my eyes raking over her body. "Look at you, in your little business suit and your designer heels. But we both know what's underneath, don't we? A dirty, cum-hungry little black cock slut."
Amanda whimpered, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a cry. I could see the conflict waging within her. The remnants of her former self struggled against an urge to submit.
"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't- I mustn't do this."
My hands flexed against the crooks of my elbows, itching to grab her, to claim her. But not yet.
"Turn. The. Sign. Around." I enunciated each word lowly and dangerously.
Amanda froze deliciously long before she finally moved. Her legs shook as she walked to the door and pinched the sign between two fingers. The sound of it clicking into place seemed to echo through the studio.
She turned to me, her face a mask of fear and resignation. The thrill of her compliance energized me wholly, not just my rampant dick! It was the moment I always have trouble waiting for - the moment when a new bitch to my shop fully realizes what permanent ink is all about, how deep the needle has pierced into her mind. The anticipation is as arousing as the acts she's about to perform.
Her face crumpled, and she let out a sob. The body suited up for business shook uncontrollably, eyes glistening.
"Ah, poor little thing," I cooed, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You finally realize your fate, don't you? You're not just a victim of circumstance; you've been actively choosing this path all along."
Amanda's sobbed abruptly, her hands covering her face as if to hide from the truth.
I took a step closer, my eyes never leaving hers. "Let me ask you something, Slut. Why did you start going to that gym after Jahn? Was it just a coincidence?"
Amanda's shoulders heaved with each sob, but I could see the gears turning in her head. She knew where this was leading.
"Or was it because you wanted to find someone like Jahn?" I pressed on, my voice gentle but insistent. "Someone strong, someone who could take control and make you feel alive, like Tyrone?"
Amanda's sobs slowed, replaced by ragged breathing as she processed the truth.
"And what about that coffee shop in the run-down neighborhood? You said you'd never been there before. But maybe you were drawn to it for a reason."
I reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Maybe you wanted to find Darius, someone who would take charge and show you what you needed."
Amanda's eyes met mine, the shame and realization written all over her face.
"And Malik," I continued, my voice low and husky. "You said he was aggressive, rough. But didn't you lead him to the parking garage? He said you'd been flirting, and it was true, right? Didn't you want black cock so bad you'd scour your workplace for it?"
Amanda's face contorted in a mixture of shame and arousal. She knew the truth; she had been programmed for flirting with a big black cock.
"And now," I whispered, my lips inches from hers. "You're here, with me. Almost begging to be taken. You didn't even realize you'd been flirting since you arrived, did you? The way you looked at me, the way you crossed your legs again and again, and later leaned in when we talked."
Amanda's eyes fluttered closed, and she nodded, the movement almost imperceptible.
"You've been breaking yourself all along, Amanda," I said, my voice filled with a mix of awe and cruelty. "Every step, every choice, has led you to this moment. And now, there's no going back."
Amanda's sobs resumed, but they were different now - not just tears of shame, but also of acceptance. She knew her fate, and she was ready to embrace it.
"Good little Slut," I purred, my hand reaching out to stroke her hair. "Now, let's test what else you're going to do for me." I pushed out my pelvis slightly.
---
The sight drained the fight from her eyes, replaced by aching resignation. "I don't know how this happened to me," she sobbed. "Why am I about to?"
"Ah, poor little thing," I cooed, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've been doing it for weeks now."
"I- I'm so confused." she choked out, her body quivering with shame.
"It's because of every choice you made after Jahn. Why did you start going to that gym?" I asked, my eyes never leaving hers.
"It wasn't a coincidence." I confronted her. "Think about it, little white girl. You wanted strength your husband lacks, but more importantly, you craved to be around Jahn's particular kind of strength."
"Tyrone showed you the darker side of the strength you craved, black strength." I continued, my voice low and husky. "He took charge of your body, showed you what it means to be truly dominated. So you started venturing into darker neighborhoods."
"That's why you found yourself in that coffee shop. You said you'd never been there before. But the kind of place didn't matter - as long as there were black men of power. You're lucky you weren't taken by three big black cocks at once! It must have been a slow day at the cafe."
I grunt with a smile and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You wanted to find someone like Tyrone, some economic unfortunate who had no limits. You led Darius to that closet like a bitch in heat. Didn't you?" I charged.
Amanda's eyes met mine, realization written all over her face.
"Malik accused you of flirting at work. Black men take what's being teased. You didn't even notice how you were flirting with me from the moment you walked in, did you? Biting your lip, crossing and uncrossing your legs. Your body is hungry for black cock, Amanda. Your silly, white mind has become as black as the skin that now has my spade below your navel."
A last sob escaped her lips as she finally accepted the truth of her situation.
"Good little Slut," I purred, my hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "Now, let's settle your debt." I stepped back, to give her room to kneel before me. The outline of my prick was impossible not to see.
Amanda waited catching her breath. Her eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape. Deep down, she knew it was futile.
Slowly, her knees buckled, and they sank to the cold, glossy tiled floor. With trembling hands, she reached for my wide, bronze belt buckle. For the first time, she noticed the bronze woman and black man it depicted. I could see the disgust written all over her face as she fumbled with the clasp.
"Come on, Slut," I taunted, my voice low and husky. "You have to do better than that."
Amanda's cheeks flushed, but she continued to work at the buckle, her fingers finally managing to release it. My pants fell open, revealing my massive, engorged cock.
She gasped, her hand instinctively flying up to cover her mouth. Her pupils dilated as she took in the sight of me.
I stepped closer, my cock almost touching her face. "Suck it," I commanded, my voice dripping with cruelty. "Show me the truth of what you've become."
Amanda whined, but she slowly leaned forward, her lips parting to take me in. The moment they made contact, she let out a muffled whimper. She closed her eyes to block out the reality of what she was doing.
I reached out and gripped her hair, forcing her head back. "Look at the mirror," I growled. "You're going to watch yourself suck my cock like the slut you are."
Amanda's eyes snapped open, a sob coughing saliva over my cock. Her mouth worked around my shaft. Her tongue darted out to lick at the underside.
"Deeper," I pushed my hips forward. "Take it all in."
Amanda gagged slightly but continued to suck, her body shuddering. From shame or pleasure, it wasn't obvious. I felt her humiliation, her self-loathing, but also her growing desire and willingness to please.
As she worked my cock with increasing fervor, I interrupted her introspection. "Take off your suit jacket, Bitch. I don't want your white privilege in my shop."
Amanda pulled back, a string of saliva connecting us before she unbuttoned and shrugged off the garment.
"Hmph," My eyes roved her front while she was leaning away. Not much for tits, but her thin waist gave her evocative curves. "Now, suck me again."
Amanda's face contorted from a frown that disappeared as she took me back into her mouth. Her lips worked my shaft, her tongue wrapping the underside.
"Unbutton your blouse," I commanded, my voice low and husky. "I bet your bra's padded like the shoulders of your jacket."
Amanda's hands trembled as she reached back from my dick to unfasten each button, slowly revealing her functional but boring bra. She wasn't flat-chested, but there wasn't enough meat behind them worth groping.
"Take it off," I ordered, my cock twitching in her mouth.
With a visible shudder, Amanda slid the blouse over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Her eyes met mine, filled with a deep-seated humiliation as she ******* herself further.
"Now, suck me harder," I growled, pushing deeper. "Show me the full slut that you can be."
Amanda's body shuddered again, but she obeyed, her cheeks sinking around my shaft with greater suction. Her tongue lashed the underside of my dick, making it pulse.
"Pull down your pants," I instructed, my voice dripping with cruelty. "I want to see that pretty little ass."
Amanda's eyes widened in horror, but she slowly reached for her waistband and began to unzip her suit pants. The sound echoed through the room, a stark reminder of her surrender.
Her mouth pulled half away, as she slid her pants down to her bent knees, ******** equally dull panties, her shame reaching new heights. But so was her arousal. Amanda's body reacted to the degradation despite the humiliating circumstances.
I tugged her hair. Her yelp was music for fucking too. "Get that head back where it belongs," I commanded, my cock throbbing with anticipation. "And this time, take it all."
Amanda let out a muffled whimper as she took me fully into her mouth. Her throat gagged and she coughed around it, but it wasn't as painful as having her hair pulled out by the roots. I had strands of it in my hand.
As I watched her work my cock, I couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. Amanda was breaking down before my very eyes, and it only turned me on more.
I held her head firmly in place, relishing the way she gagged around my thick shaft. Her eyes watered from the pain of having her hair tugged, but I could see a repressed spark dancing in them.
"Look up, Slut." I demanded. "Let me see those pretty tears."
Amanda's eyes met mine through the haze of pain and humiliation. She whimpered around my cock, drool spilling from the corners of her mouth.
I tugged on her hair again, forcing her to take more of me into her throat. Her body convulsed at the intrusion, but she held fast, determined to please despite the discomfort.
"Good girl," I purred a twisted sense of approval in my voice. "You're doing so well."
My words seemed to encourage her, and she began to work my cock with greater fervor. Her lips slid along my shaft, her tongue darting out to caress me whenever possible.
I could feel the pressure building inside me, the telltale tingle of an impending orgasm. But I was determined to push Amanda further, to break down every last shred of resistance she had left.
"Pull your panties aside," I growled, my grip on her hair tightening. "Let me see that sweet little cunt."
Amanda's hands trembled as they moved to obey, sliding the damp fabric away from her slit. The scent of it mixed with fresh ink and sweat.
I pulled her off my cock entirely. "Touch it." My voice dripped with cruelty. "Let me watch you shame yourself."
Amanda's face contorted unhappily as she brought her hand to her mound. Her fingers slid through the slick folds, finding that sensitive nub at the top.
"Your clit is already hard and begging," I purred, my eyes locked on her movements. "Isn't it?"
Amanda's hips shifted forward and back as she began to stroke herself, her fingers moving in quick circles around her clit. Her head dipped forward, admitting the truth. A low moan escaped her lips.
"Look at me!" I snapped, yanking on her hair once more. "I want to see your face when you cum for me."
Amanda's eyes flew open, meeting mine as she continued to pleasure herself. The shame in them was clear, but so too was her growing heat.
Deft fingers moved faster over her clit. She must have masturbated a lot at home - thinking about a black bull taking her without regard for her feelings. Her body began to tremble with building tension. Her eyes remained locked on mine, and in them was her superficial wish to look away, to run and hide from the vastness within.
"Cum for me," I commanded, my voice low and husky. "Show me how a mean, old black man is what you need right now."
Amanda let out a choked moan as her hips bucked wildly against her hand. Her fingers moved with increasing urgency, stroking and circling that sensitive nub until she couldn't hold back any longer.
With a sharp cry of release, Amanda came undone. Her body heaved from the force of her orgasm. Her eyes snapped closed for a moment, but she remembered my demands and reopened them.
Shame continued to burn her elongated face, the self-loathing mixed with reluctant pleasure. It's the stuff of black men's dreams. I almost came without being touched.
"That's right," I purred approvingly, my grip on her hair loosening slightly. "Now thank me for allowing you to cum."
Amanda grimaced and bowed her head. "Th-thank you." Her breaths were heavy.
"I'm going to fuck your mouth until I come down your throat," I growled, my cock already throbbing with anticipation. "And you're going to take every last drop like the slut you are."
Amanda let out a whimper of protest, but it was halfhearted at best, still trying to avoid the more powerful half.
I pulled her back into position, my cock already seeking out the warmth of her mouth. She opened for me submissively, her tongue extending to greet my shaft as I pushed inside once more.
This time, there would be no holding back. I was going to use her throat until I had my release, no matter how much I succeeded in making her complain.
---
As my cock slid past Amanda's lips, she let out a clogged protest. Too late. She had placed herself in this position, and now she would have to see it through.
I gripped her hair tightly, using it as leverage to guide her head up and down my shaft. Her mouth stretched obscenely around me, drool already beginning to leak from the corners of her lips.
"Such a pretty little mouth," I purred, my voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Made for sucking black cock." Her thin lips were a wonderful contrast circling the girth stretching them.
Amanda's eyes watered as I forced myself deeper into her throat, gagging her with each thrust. But still, she held fast, afraid to refuse what I gave her.
My hips snapped forward in a brutal rhythm, fucking her face with no regard for her comfort. She struggled and choked around me, but I could see the telltale signs of arousal written all over her body.
"Look at you," I growled, my balls tightening as I neared my peak. "Getting off on being used like a whore."
Amanda let out a garbled moan, her eyes locked on mine in a desperate plea for something - release? Mercy? It was hard to tell which. Her thighs rubbed together frantically, seeking some measure of relief. Her hand slapped my fat belly, driven by her lungs' desperation for air.
With a final, brutal thrust, I buried myself deep in Amanda's throat and came with a prolonged groan. My cock pulsed as spurt after spurt of thick cum shot down her gullet.
She gagged and sputtered, but swallowed it all like an obedient little slut. When I finally pulled out, she collapsed back onto the floor, gasping through tear-stained cheeks.
After I pulled out from Amanda's throat, she collapsed onto the floor. Her body heaved with each ragged breath. Aftershocks from brutal use also coursed through her.
I stepped back, admiring her unclad body: disheveled, debauched, and utterly broken. The once pristine business suit now lay stained and rumpled around her, a testament to the thoroughness of her debasement.
"Get up," I commanded, my voice harsh despite the satisfaction coursing through me. "I'm not done with you yet."
Amanda whimpered but slowly dragged herself to her feet, her legs shaking upon standing. She teetered there and waited for further instruction.
I strode over to one of the tattoo chairs, ratcheting it into a flat surface. The metal creaked under the strain, echoing through the room like a death knell.
"Get on," I ordered, my eyes never leaving hers. I needed a few minutes to recover. Age now had to be content with memories of sewing sseeds one orgasm after another.
Amanda took great pains to delay crawling onto the chair. I spanked her panty-clad butt! "Move it, Pig!"
She yipped and hastened to lay down on her side, slightly curled but limited by the chair's sturdy arms.
As she settled in, I leaned against the wall opposite her, crossing my arms over my chest. My cock hung heavy and half-hard from our recent encounter, but it would be back to full strength soon enough.
"What about your husband, Amanda? Has he succumbed to black power - a right cuck for the men able to take his wife however they like?"
Amanda tensed at the sudden change in subject. "He- he doesn't know about any of this," she stammered, her voice hoarse from my recent use.
I chuckled darkly. "Of course not. He probably thinks his wife is still a good little girl, doesn't he?"
Amanda shook her head miserably. "Malik said I should tell him."
"Malik has ambitions." I had met him, once when he brought a slut in for my 'work.' He wanted more than a spade to signal her blackening and availability.
He had me tattoo the price he charged black men to use her. She would occasionally come back for me to "X" out the old price and ink the current one. For the first few months, her price increased. It reached nearly three hundred dollars, but it dwindled thereafter. She stopped coming in after I had printed "20 bucks or 5 for her mouth." Her body was covered in bruises and scars, and she'd had a mastectomy. Her cunt was like a yawning canyon, as dry as a desert too. I still fucked it.
---
I snorted at Amanda curled on the flattened chair, her bra and ppanty-cladbody chilled by the Naugahyde cushions and metal frame. The sight of her like this - vulnerable, debased, and utterly at my mercy - sent a surge of arousal through me.
But I needed more than just visual stimulation to recover virility. I decided to use her body in a way I only do to customers on an installment pay plan.
"Face down," I ordered brusquely, my voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "Now."
Amanda flinched at the command but rolled onto her stomach. Her arms and legs splayed out to the sides, leaving her ass ******* and vulnerable despite her wide panties.
I moved around the chair, gathering the restraints from my workbench. Amanda tensed as I approached, probably guessing what was about to happen.
"Hands above your head," I instructed, my fingers already working at the clasp of one cuff. "Feet out straight."
She obeyed with a whimper, her body quivering like a trapped animal. The cuffs snapped into place around her wrists and ankles, securing her to the chair in a prone position.
I stepped back to admire Amanda and splayed out like a sacrifice, her creamy white ass raised our punishment. My cock twitched with renewed interest.
"Now, let's see if we can't get your master into your pathetic cunt before he tires of you." I purred, reaching for my belt buckle.
I stood behind Amanda's prone form, my eyes raking over the soft curves of her ass. The wide panties stretched taut across her cheeks, a flimsy barrier between my hand and her flesh.
"You've been a naughty girl, haven't you?" I asked, my voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Deserting your husband for black cock."
Amanda whimpered. "I didn't understand what was happening!" She knew the futility of denial at this point.
I doubled over my belt, folding it in half and testing its weight in my hand. The leather was supple but still carried a satisfying heft. I cracked it once against my thigh, letting Amanda hear the sound. Her body fully flinched!
"This is going to hurt," I spoke casually. "But it's what you need right now, punishment for your sins. Remember, I know more about what you're going through than you do, at this point in your 'enlightenment.'"
Amanda's only response was a muffled sob into the back cushion. Her body tensed before what was to come.
I raised my arm and brought the belt down in a crisp snap across her ass! The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
"AAAA!!!" Amanda shrieked, her arms and legs jerking against the restraints.
"Count them," I ordered, my voice leaving no room for disobedience. "Let me hear how many times I find you unrepentant."
"No please, it hurts!"
My answer was another stripe across her ass in the same spot as the first. The skin was already starting to pinken, a beautiful contrast against the cream of her flesh.
"One!" Amanda gasped out through gritted teeth.
"Two," I corrected her, landing another blow slightly higher on her left cheek.
"Three!"
The belt cracked again and again, each strike painting a new line across Amanda's ass. She counted obediently, her voice growing hoarse from crying out with each impact.
By the time I reached ten, her skin was a fiery red, welted and marked by my cruelty. Tears streamed down her face, dribbling across the cushion beneath her cheek. But even through the pain, I could feel her body responding - the way she subtly arched her back to meet the blows, the slight smell of arousal between her legs.
"Still a long way to go," I purred darkly, my cock hardening with renewed interest. "But you're doing so well, Little Slut."
I continued my exciting assault on Amanda's ass, each strike of the belt cracking like an ice puddle in the small room. Her body jerked with every impact, but I could see the fight draining from her.
"Please," she begged between blows, her voice hoarse and desperate. "No more."
I showed no mercy, my arm rising and falling. The welts across her skin deepened into angry red lines. The flesh of her ass swelled and bruised to my exact artistry.
"Why?" Amanda sobbed brokenly, her body shaking with sobs. "Why is this happening?"
"Because you're a dirty white slut," I growled, landing another vicious strike across her thighs. "You'll take a beating for black cock, won't you?"
Amanda yowled, her hips writhing against the chair. "I'm sorry," she babbled repentance deliriously. "I'm so sorry for what I've done. I-I didn't mean - to let it get out of hand, but I can't tell him. He's such a good man..."
"Your husband?" I interrupted with a cruel laugh. "He has no idea what you've become, does he? He's probably a sweetheart in bed, ignorant of how black men use you like the cumdumpster you are?"
Amanda shuddered, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "I don't know how it happened. John was just supposed to be a one-time thing..."
But we both knew that had been a lie from the start. Amanda's body had craved more, had sought out black cock with increasing urgency until she found herself here, tattooed, bound, and bruised under my belt.
"And now look at you," I sneered, landing another brutal strike across her agonized flesh. "A broken little toy, ready to be used however I see fit."
Amanda screamed, the sound raw and agonized. Her body convulsed against the restraints, straining against them with futile strength.
"Please," she begged between sobs, her voice ragged and desperate. "I can't take anymore."
"You can take so much more," I purred darkly, my cock throbbing with sadistic glee. "And you will."
As I continued my merciless assault on Amanda's battered ass, her cries of agony filled the room like a symphony of despair. Her body writhed and convulsed against the restraints, straining to escape the searing pain that consumed her every nerve ending.
"Ah!" she screamed, her voice raw and broken. "STOP!"
But my arm arose and fell in an unrelenting rhythm. Each strike sent aching shockwaves through her thrashing figure.
"I'll do anything!" Amanda sobbed deliriously, her mind shattered by the relentless pain. "You can fuck me! Just please stop!"
My cruel laughter echoed off the walls as I landed another vicious blow. "Oh, you poor, pathetic little slut," I purred darkly. "You'd let me ruin your worthless cunt for a moment's relief?"
Amanda's only response was a wordless scream of anguish, her body shuddering and spasming against the chair. Tears streamed down her face as she begged me to violate her most sacred depths.
"Please!" she tried a new tactic between sobs. "I need it! I need your big black cock inside me!"
My cock throbbed with sadistic glee at her desperate pleas, straining at full erection like a beast eager to devour. But I would make her wait, prolonging her agony until she was completely broken.
"Not yet," I growled, landing another brutal strike across her thighs. "You haven't earned the privilege of cumming on my cock."
Amanda let out an anguished wail, her body convulsing against the restraints like a woman possessed. Her pussy clenched and unclenched with each blow, desperate for the fucking she so desperately craved.
"My cunt is yours!" she screamed between sobs. "I'm SORRY - BRADLEY!"
That must have been her husband's name. I just laughed cruelly and struck again, the belt cracking across her already battered flesh like a whip.
And yet even through the pain, I could hear her body responding - the tone in the way she begged to be violated and receive a black man's cum. She was so close to the edge, ready to fall into the abyss of depravity that awaited her.
---
When Amanda lay broken and sobbing before me, I finally relented, setting aside the belt that had left her ass a livid red. Her body shuddered in suffering and with anticipation, craving release from the agony even if it meant being used like a piece of meat.
"Please," she whimpered between sobs, her hips rolling back against me in desperate invitation. "I need it. I need your big black cock inside me."
My fingers unsnapped the cuffs around her ankles. As soon as they fell away, I grabbed Amanda's hips and yanked them up off the seat, bending her up into a doggy position.
"You want to be fucked like an animal?" My voice dripped cruelty. "Beg for it."
Amanda let out a keening wail of desperation, her face pressed against the cushion as she arched her back to present herself fully to me. "I beg you!" she howled between sobs. "Fuck me! Use me like a bitch in heat!"
With no further preamble, I plunged my thick cock into her soaked cunt with one brutal thrust. Amanda shrieked at the sudden invasion, her pussy clenching around me in a vice grip of pleasure and pain.
"A!!!" she screamed, her body convulsing against mine as I began to pound into her. "TOO BIG! IT HURTS!" But her voice was grateful - the pain of a big black cock was nothing compared to the sound beating her ass had taken.
"That's right," I purred darkly, my hips bucking forward with punishing force. "You're just a tight little white cunt for me to ruin."
Amanda wailed beneath me, but her body betrayed her true desires - the way she pushed back against each brutal thrust, the gush of arousal that soaked my cock with every plunge into her depths.
"I'M SORRY, I disrespected your power!" Amanda screamed between sobs, her pussy clenching around me like a fist. "HURT ME MORE! USE ME HARDER!"
I laughed at her desperation, my hands gripping her sore hips hard enough to further bruise her as I fucked her with increasing brutality. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the room, punctuated by Amanda's anguished cries of pleasure and pain.
"You broken little black cock bitch," I snarled, my cock throbbing inside her tight heat. "You'll soon be a piece of white trash for proud brothers to ruin."
"YESSSS!" Amanda wailed beneath me, her body shaking with the force of each brutal thrust. "I BEING ALL THAT! MY CUNT BELONGS TO BLACK COCK!"
And with that final declaration of submission, I felt my orgasm building like a storm inside me. With one last vicious snap of my hips, I buried myself to the hilt in Amanda's spasming cunt and came with a roar, pumping her full of my hot spunk.
Amanda shrieked at the sensation of being bred, her pussy milking my cock for every drop as she shattered beneath me in a mind-breaking climax. Her body convulsed against mine, waves of ecstasy crashing over her broken but evolving spirit.
---
Amanda lay collapsed on the chair, my seed leaking from her ravaged cunt. Satisfaction solidified in my chest like righteous truth.
"You're learning," I purred darkly, giving her sore ass one last cruel slap before pulling out and tucking my spent cock back into my pants. "Soon, you won't be able to hide from your husband, what you've become."
Amanda whimpered pathetically, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her mind-breaking climax. Tears streamed down her face as she spoke through quivering lips.
"He- he won't understand," she sobbed brokenly. "He's always trying his best in our marriage, but I can't help myself. I've fallen too far. You've proven that."
I chuckled at the confession. "Now you'll get it whether you want or not. That spade on your belly is an invitation for any brother who sees it."
Amanda trembled at the thought. The implications of what she'd done to herself made her grimace. Her voice was hoarse as she continued.
"I tried to resist after Jahn," she whispered miserably. "But then I met Tyrone and Darius - and Malik..."
"You were never resisting anything," I interrupted coldly. "You were just waiting for an excuse to embrace your fate as a white slut addicted to black cock."
Amanda let out a choked sob, the truth of my words sinking in like a knife to the heart.
"What- what happens now?" she asked between shuddering breaths, dreading the answer even as her body craved more violation.
"Now you become a breeding bitch for any brother who wants you," I purred darkly, my eyes roving over her broken form. "You'll be passed around like a piece of meat, fucked and used whenever someone sees that spade. Don't even think of interfering with pregnancy."
Amanda's face contorted in despair at the thought of her future - a life of constant degradation and use, her body nothing more than a hole for black cocks to ruin.
"I- I have a job," she whispered weakly. "What about my husband?"
I laughed cruelly at her naivety. "Your old life is over. That spade has marked you as the property of black men. You'll quit your job and tell your husband to fuck off."
Amanda shuddered, tears leaking from her closed eyes. She knew I was right - there could be no going back after this.
"And what about my ******?" she asked between sobs, dreading the answer.
"Your ****** is now every brother who sees that spade," I said plainly. "They'll breed you whenever they want, wherever they find you. If you have a ********, or perhaps your mother or female in-laws, they'll be brought into your new ****** - and you'll be the one used to entrap them."
As Amanda wept brokenly beneath me, I could see the final pieces of her old self falling away, replaced by a new reality - she would lose everything and gain only pain greater than pleasure, but no longer would she worry, having nothing left to lose.
I moved to unshackle her wrists. Her body is still slick with the aftermath of our brutal coupling. She moved cautiously, her behind aching despite the intense pleasure of submitting to a cunt ravaging. Tears streamed down her face at the thought of her bleak future. I was more than satisfied. This white bitch would do well among the nation of black bulls. My confidence in that truth allowed her to surprise me.
She pushed herself up on unsteady arms, meeting my gaze with haunted eyes. "I- I want more," she whispered brokenly, her voice heavy with shame and desire. "What you said - about the life ahead..." She was breathing deeply, eyes dilated like from potent drugs.
I raised an eyebrow at her unexpected request. But as I looked along her ravaged body and the inflamed spade on her belly, my cock stirred back to life. The real good bitches could still do that to me.
"You want more of 'what to expect?'" I growled, my hand reaching down to grip her sore hip possessively. "Your ass is purpling, and you're partially dehydrated. You can't take it." My growing prick was quickly convincing me differently.
Amanda let out a choked moan, her hips rolling up against me in desperate invitation. "I- it doesn't matter - I don't matter." she gasped between sobs. "I can't stop thinking about- about being passed around and used."
"You want black babies popping from your cunt as your body shrivels and turns into ugly, tenderized meat?"
"NO!" She wailed. "B-but it's too late. Isn't it?"
The odor of my sperm in her violated sex was a very inspiring drug to my black prick! "Damn right!" I roughly flipped her over onto her back.
Amanda screamed when her inflamed ass struck the seat cushion, but not even that agony could distract her incredible lust.
"You want to be a breeding bitch for black cock?" I sneered down at her, my voice dripping with disdain. "Then beg for it."
"Please," Amanda sobbed brokenly, her arms reaching up to wrap around me as if seeking comfort in her destruction. "Fuck me like an animal. Breed me like the white slut in my future!"
I snarled at her desperation, lining up my cock with her dripping cunt. With one brutal thrust, I buried myself inside her once more.
Amanda shrieked at the sudden invasion, her pussy clenching around me like a vice grip of pleasure and pain. Her ass scraped across Naugahyde. "YES!" she screamed between sobs, her nails digging into my back as I pounded into her relentlessly. "COCK ME! Force your black babies into me!"
I grinned at her despairing cries, my hips snapping forward with punishing force. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed from tiled walls, punctuated by Amanda's anguished wails of pleasure and pain.
"This is what you'll get, anytime a black man sees your spade," I growled darkly, my cock throbbing inside her tight heat. "They'll instantly know you're a breeding hole for black cock to ruin."
"YESSSS!" Amanda wailed beneath me, her body shaking with the force of each brutal thrust. "I'M JUST A WHITE CUNT! WRECK ME!"
As I felt my orgasm building like a storm inside me, I knew that this was only the beginning of Amanda's descent into depravity - a life of constant use and violation.
With one last vicious snap of my hips, I buried myself to the hilt in her spasming cunt and came with a roar, pumping her full of an old, black man's cum.
Amanda shrieked as she shattered beneath me in a mind-breaking climax, her pussy milking my cock for every drop as I bred her like the bitch in heat she'd become.
---
Our bodies eventually stilled in the aftermath of our brutal coupling. I could feel Amanda's warm tears against my chest where her face pressed.
I pulled out abruptly, leaving her empty and aching. She lay splayed across the chair in the studio. Her cunt was gaped open. Hot sperm leaked from it like from a broken, cum bucket.
"Now," I began, standing up and tucking myself back into my pants with a wince of satisfaction at the memory of violating her so thoroughly. I put out a hand palm up. "Four hundred dollars."
Amanda whimpered at the reminder, struggling to sit up on shaky arms. Her face was streaked with tears and sweat, her hair disheveled from our violent rutting. "I told you, I don't carry that much," she whispered pathetically, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape or some way to convince me to relent.
"You have one minute to get out of here," I said coldly, glancing at my watch. "If you're back with cash in an hour, maybe I'll consider fucking your sorry ass next."
Amanda's face contorted into a pleading grimace. She guessed what awaited her if she wasn't back from the ATM in time - the belt resting beside pots of ink and needles, electric and manual.
Without another word, she scrambled off the chair on unsteady legs, wincing when her bruised ass clenched upon standing. She threw on pants and a jacket over her boring panties and bra - no time for her blouse. She staggered towards the door, her movements slow and clumsy in her disheveled state.
I watched her go with a cruel smile playing on my lips. Without her blouse, the fresh, black spade just below her belly button was a beacon for black men.
While I waited for her to return with my money, I couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. Another white bitch broke and bred into the brotherhood nation. It was a good day indeed - she arrived after having been fucked three times, delicious hours too late.
The End
