Save the Clinic! Episode 21
This episode is about Kathleen "Kat" Pale and her last hours pretending to be a respectable woman of privilege.
Pulling into the lot with her expensive sports coupe, Kathleen parked in front of The Blossom Boutique. She did exactly as instructed and showed up shortly before closing. Kathleen stepped out dressed in her most professional if not prude, outfit. In her business slacks and sports jacket, she was no-nonsense down to her flat-heeled shoes. No one would have guessed the President and CEO of the Pale Oyster Redevelopment Group was caught in a scandal of sex, prostitution, and blackmail.
The mid-forties blonde looked elegant. Her make-up highlighted her beauty and maintained her dignity while appearing youthful and vibrant. Kathleen ran the playbook in her head a thousand times since she received that damned text message. She would willingly and openly put herself in a most "vulnerable" position and give "the black man" a victory. Afterward, she would tell Tremaine their special relationship would be over and return to a quiet life of real-estate management finding emotional satisfaction only through kicking minorities out of their homes.
The Blossom Boutique sold women's clothes with a modern, progressive, urban appeal. The establishment proudly pushed through the boundaries of your typical white privileged fashion. Sporting a collection of black leather, short shirts, tight shorts, mid-riffs, stripper heels, tiny purses, corsets, collars, bras, and g-string, it had anything that would turn a prude woman into a “proper white girl” whether she would become a stripper, prostitute, or pornstar. The boutique was a gateway for white women to shamelessly show their support for racial justice by appearing sexually approachable and available to meet the needs and entitlements of the black community.
Kathleen stepped inside making the little bell above her door rattle. The high-pitched ringing gave attention to her arrival. She started to feel a little nervous. Normally, Kathleen wouldn't step into a place like this. To dress up properly for her “hobby”, Kathleen had her wardrobe delivered from Inner City shops. Being a customer face-to-face in Black Pine made it feel more intimate and Kathleen felt the butterflies in her belly.
Behind her counter was Monique. She was an attractive, slender woman of mixed race, with long, straight dark hair and smooth skin. In her mid-twenties, she wore outfits making her look hot as a prostitute while demanding respect. Monique looked up and seemed uninterested in Kathleen's conservative and uptight appearance. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Kathleen walked up to the counter and pressed up against it. She cleared her throat, looked around making sure there were no customers to overhear, and answered in a whisper. “I'm here for the 'Package'.” Monique, unimpressed replied loudly, “Cracker, this ain't no FedEx!" Monique let it end there with a long, hard stare. Monique sneered letting Kathleen know her time was being wasted. Kathleen let out a breath of air, looked down, and looked defeated. She confessed to Monique, “I'm here for the… black cock slut package… ”
Monique was in disbelief and said, “Damn! You're the shameless 'hoe? Fuck me!”. She then finished her celebration with a powerful fist. “Leave your credit card on the counter, head to the dressing room, and take off all your clothes. I'm going to close the shop and you're going to spend a lot of money on me!”
As Monique locked the doors, Kathleen stepped into a dressing booth with only a curtain to keep her privacy. Kathleen surrendered all her clothing, shoes, underwear, and all. Monique dumped them in a paper bag and muttered, “You won't be seeing these again! They're going straight to the fucking dumpster.” Kathleen thought it was just a joke … a terse, if not crass, critique of her wardrobe. But Monique wasn't kidding. The bag, with everything inside that, cost Kathleen up to two thousand dollars, was taken outside. Monique dropped it into a bin soon later reclaimed by dumpster divers for a quick sale at the nearest pawn shop. In a weird example of racial karma, Kathleen's expensive clothes would pay for mind-numbing drugs injected into the bodies of white trash and perpetuating the decay of white societies.
Kathleen stood bare naked in her cramped booth rubbing her shoulders to keep herself warm. Hearing Monique's footsteps approach, she envisioned giving a set of trashy, “sluttish” wear appropriate for the eyes of lustful, black men. Instead, Monique told her “Step out. I want to see you, white girl.”
“But… I'm … still nude.” Kathleen complained.
“There's nobody else here. I need to see what I got to work with.” Monique demanded. Not to agitate the black woman any further, Kathleen stepped out as she was told. Monique nodded when she laid her eyes on Kathleen's well-kept body. Regardless of her age, she was tight with beautiful curves, and fair skin unblemished from physical or drug abuse. So much potential!
Monique ran her palms over Kathleen's body and said. “Hmmm, hmm, hm … I can only imagine how my black brothers helped themselves to your white body.” Kathleen kept mum as Monique turned Kathleen on her heels to make her bend and stick out her ass. Kathleen felt Monique's feminine hands caress her ass.
SMACK!
“Gawd damn! I bet your pimp keeps you busy with an ass like that! What a victory for my people!” Monique added. Kathleen pretended she didn't hear anything. Kathleen stood straight. Monique nodded again liking the shaven pussy Kathleen sported. Monique snickered and giggled realizing how much of a race-traitor her customer turned into.
The first thing Monique did was put a dog collar around Kathleen's neck sporting a tag engraved with “BBC Slut”. Monique gladly put Kathleen in her place with a symbolic gesture of racial domination. Kathleen was “the slut” with too much money and pride. The professional-acting white girl owed Monique and her people. Monique then used a measuring ribbon to get Kathleen's various dimensions but didn't need to bother. She would have accurately picked out the sizes without it. Kathleen obeyed, stood quiet, and ignored the several gropes pawing her breasts and ass. Without notice, Monique slapped a leash on Kathleen's color and tugged at it. The air of surprise and humiliation exhaled out of Kathleen's lungs. However, she wouldn't dare show any complaint or resistance. It was Monique's shop.
Up and down the aisles they went. Monique led the way pulling on the leash firmly in her palm. One after the other, Monique picked out clothes for Kathleen. G-strings, mini-skirts, tight shorts, bras, blouses, a corset, and 3 sets of high-heels were just the beginning of Kathleen's spending spree. Kathleen wasn't allowed to wear any of them. Monique preferred to have Kathleen prance around naked. Monique, trying hard not to giggle, constantly reminded Kathleen who was black and in charge. Kathleen was beginning to feel envy of how beautiful and empowered Monique was. The white-bred, privileged professional woman imagined how women like Monique would inherit the city, society, and the world. Black was powerful!
Monique would often smack Kathleen's across her white ass followed by crass, sexual comments. Kathleen never defended herself or deny allegations of being a cum-dumpster whore and white trash sex object. Monique riled herself so much that she squeezed Kathleen's breast accusing her of tempting “good, black men.”
Kathleen didn't realize she was being slowly conditioned, broken down, and domesticated for black use. She accepted her place in Monique's boutique just as she willingly accepted her place servicing black clients at Tremaine's wishes. Now she was just as emotionally vulnerable as she was on the outside. Monique knew it was time to make her racially vulnerable, permanently.
Kathleen was taken to a back room. It was a small parlor with a tiny bench and a salon chair. To her, it looked more like a laboratory than a boutique. Monique removed the leash from Kathleen's collar and said to her, “Ok, white girl! Get in the chair and I'll begin tatting and piercing you!”
Startled, Kathleen covered her breasts with her arms and made her knees touch. She was getting goosebumps all over and her face felt flush. “Um …tattoos? Piercings?” Monique nodded and was impatient, “Yeah, let's get to it. We need to mark you up if you're going to be a black cock whore for my people!”
Sanity and sensibility came to Kathleen's senses. She let out a breath of hot air and blew off this charade. Disavowing her life as “Kat”, Kathleen took a step away from the chair and walked on Monique's toes. She spun around and looked at Monique and explained, “Listen, this was just a fantasy. I'm not going through with tattoos!”
Insulted and offended, Monique was almost speechless. “What the hell, white girl?”
Kathleen said with confidence and privilege, “I'll pay for the clothes. But I won't have any tattoos or piercings.” Monique just stared back and quietly replied, “I see.”
Then out of nowhere ...
“This is Teagan T. Kayce from Inner City 6...”
It was. It was Ms. Kayce from the TV news. She barged into the back parlor dressed like she was about to go live on television. Teagan looked determined and news-hungry. Kathleen recognized her immediately and was frozen scared praying there wasn't a cameraman behind her.
“How do you feel about kicking minorities out of their homes while you're moonlighting as a prostitute?” asked Teagan like a starving street reporter. Kathleen just stood mindless. “What will my viewers say when they learn that the woman pimped out to the black community is closing down our most needed abortion clinic?”
Mortified, Kathleen could not utter a word in her naked defense. Teagan sneered, “Shameless, bitch!” Kathleen let out a gasp of defeat between her quivering lips. Her tongue felt dry and a deep pit cratered in her stomach. Tears ran down her cheek blemishing her no-longer perfect makeup. Monique and Teagan continued giving Kathleen cold steely dagger looks. Kathleen looked down at her feet and sniffled. “Get into the chair. Do it!” demanded Teagan. Monique, who wanted nothing more than mark this whore, whispered calmly to Kat, “Let's get you pierced.” Kathleen acknowledged her racism by nodding. The black race would have its victory.
She went to the chair and sat as Monique instructed. Kathleen didn't hear Monique rummage through a tray for her tools. A gold-colored needle was nestled between the fingers of her slender right hand. Monique fondled Kathleen's breasts and put her plump lips near the left nipple.
SPLAT!
Monique spat a gob of spittle from her mouth covering Kathleen's nipple then she started sucking on it. Kathleen was caught off guard and arched her back. Instead of reacting to get away from Monique's mouth, she had inadvertently pushed her breast into her face. Kathleen was already feeling dejected and racially inferior. She sat there and took it. Soon the nipple became aroused, hard, and erect.
“You deserve this, cracker,” whispered Monique. Before she pierced Kathleen's nipple with the needle. Kathleen let out a cry not understanding what had happened to her. When she looked down she saw the gold needle pierce her with a good three inches on each end e.xposed.
“Oh, fuck!” Kathleen blurted. Monique replied, “Oh, not yet, white girl.” Monique stepped away humming a tune to herself to grab a second golden needle. She returned to the chair and pinched Kathleen's right nipple hard between her left thumb and forefinger.
“Like I said. You deserve this!” Monique said smiling ear to ear before pushing the tip of the needle into Kathleen's inviting nipple-flesh through to the other side. Kathleen complained again. A tear went down her cheek but no one would wipe it for her. She could feel a pin slide through her nipple. It was cold and slick.
“Pig slut!” Teagan cheered. Seeing Kathleen naked and sitting in the chair, collared and pierced made her giggle. It was a beautiful sight… exotic, erotic… sexual!
After Monique dabbled each of Kathleen's nipples with anti-septic, she stepped back and took a good long look at her work. Monique smiled and experienced a natural, racial high. She felt euphoric. Kathleen trembled quietly in her seat. She darted her eyes looking to Monique on occasion for relief. Monique would not give it to her. Instead, she began undressing, stripping down until she was bare nude. The black woman was just that confident in herself!
“You're so beautiful!” said Teagan before letting out an exhaustive sigh. The black girl answered, “I know.” Monique went to work removing the needle one nipple at a time. It was quickly replaced by a thin, gold ring and clasped shut.
“This is made from high-quality African gold! And it ain't cheap. You'll have to wear it all the time, never remove it.” Monique explained. After she clasped the second ring, she took a small tube of epoxy and dropped a tiny bead on the clasp before blowing on it. “This will make sure you'll never take it off.”
“On… forever?” Kathleen whispered.
Monique replied, “We don't want your nipples to close up, do we? You have to show commitment to my people.” It had sunk into Kathleen she was making a life-long promise with her new jewelry. An expression to the black community she now had an agreement with.
“Now, it's time to eat you up!” cheered Monique. She told Kathleen to put her knees on the seat cushion and lean forward over the back of the chair. With her ass stuck out, Teagan and Monique got an intimate view of her shaven pussy. Teagan let out a disgusted scoff at Kathleen's expense. Teagan disapproved of how Kathleen was using her cunt to lure black men and get all that dick she didn't deserve.
Monique began caressing Kathleen's naked body as if she was handling wet clay. They ran over her smooth back, bare ass, and rubbed her fingers across Kat's pussy, and gave the clit some attention. Kathleen felt awkward and uncomfortable with the woman from “Inner City 6” watching her getting groped. Monique was an activist, an artist, and a visionary. Patterns and symbols ran through her head. Kathleen simply stared ahead anxiously waiting to get this over and done with.
“Will anyone see my tattoo?” Kathleen meekly wondered. Monique didn't care much for her question and tersely replied, “Not if you wear that trash you walked in with. But when you're dressed to impress us black folk, we'll all see you're fuck-able. We might just tolerate you.” Then Kathleen heard the tattoo machine buzz behind her. She lowered her head and waited for Monique to defile her body …improving it. As Kat felt the needle penetrate, she reminded herself of all the sins she had committed. She deserved this.
Hours went by ...
Kat stood in front of the full-sized mirror but didn't have the will to look at herself. Monique spun Kathleen on her heels admiring her work. Her permanent works of art. “My gawd! I did a great job on you tonight! I think I deserve quite a large tip.” Kathleen didn't say anything and just accepted a large credit card bill would come out of this. As instructed, she put on a red kimono. It was a very short kimono that went down to her upper thighs. Slipping on short-heeled shoes she stepped out to the front counter. Behind racks of clothes, on the trip up, Kathleen made out the repetitive motion of a white-skinned person kneeling in front of a dark-skinned man grunting and moaning.
“Suck that black cock, white girl! Suck it good!” the man whispered. “Yes, sir.” replied the white girl.
Kat wondered if that was Teagan from Inner City 6 performing her oral “interview” with one of the privileged residents of Black Pine. Kat made out the slurps, the plopping of flesh on the tongue, and heavy panting. Immediately, that taste was in her mouth craving for the real thing. When she reached the counter, Monique had already bagged up her wardrobe and made out an invoice including tattoo and grooming services. Monique even had Kathleen prepay for specific piercings on other parts of her body redeemable when the white girl felt like it. As promised, a hefty tip was tacked on doubling what the receipt would have been otherwise. Kathleen just signed her name, grabbed her bags, and moved on.
Kathleen quickly found shelter in the comfort of her car. She lowered her head and started crying. “How did I get myself into this?” she asked herself. The boutique lights went dark. The ones inside didn't wait very long for her to step out. Kat wondered what the three inside would be up to. The answer was clear … sexual satisfaction. Racial satisfaction! She palmed her left breast underneath her kimono feeling the apparatus attached to her. She was marked as the property of the black race. Kathleen felt a sudden shock. The disbelief and denial were wearing off making her legs wobble. A text message came in followed by another “ding”. It was Tremaine demanding where she was and she needed to get to work. “Not now, Tremaine. Not ever.” Kathleen cried to herself. She started her engine with plans to make it home.
Kathleen was having an emotional breakdown. She drove her expensive car from one street to another. She was far from her affluent neighborhood. The landscape around her was barren and deserted. It was the blight of Black Pine and areas of the city no one talks about. A symbol of failed political leadership, failed white leadership, representing an economic and moral collapse of the racist generations prior. Around the corner, around a bend, Kathleen saw a beacon of lights in the middle of the night. It may have been very late but the streets were active. She had made it to Black Pine's “Red Light District”.
Black men were walking into a gentleman's club with money to burn … money to share in the local economy. Scantly dressed white women took their positions on street corners and sometimes would disappear into the alleyways with an interested black male suitor. Upstanding white women, mostly in their 30s and up, with scarves around their chin and wearing mirrored glasses at night jumped inside the Black Fantasies Video Shoppe. They were likely interested in a private viewing in the back of the establishment.
Tremaine buzzed her again. Little doubt he wanted his 'hoe to work her ass and make him the dollars. Tremaine could send his pretty, white slut anywhere from the penthouse of Black Paradise Hotel to the backrooms in Inner City encouraging the city's most ambitious dealers and gang leaders. However, Kathleen was done whoring behind her husband. She was done with the corporate schemes. The old Kathleen was coming back. Proud and independent Kathleen. Perhaps, it was deep-rooted institutional racism that kept her from appreciating the enlightenment branded on her white skin. Many white girls would love to be black-owned. Kathleen figured she would probably have a final face-to-face meeting with Tremaine … likely in public and wearing professional attire. Nothing from Blossom Boutique and carefully hiding all her new tattoos. She would have to be firm and resist caving to Tremaine's natural and all-so-seductive confidence. His aggression was so sexually appealing. That was another thing racing through her mind, her secret love for Tremaine. Yes, he used her. He took her money and turned her out and put himself over her business and her marriage. But he was handsome and a great fuck her pussy needed! A woman like Kathleen had high sexual demands. Natural instinctive needs that could never be denied. However, just like that, Kathleen ended her lifestyle and her commitment to Tremaine. She ended her obligation to black men everywhere looking for sexual gratification and racial justice.
Kathleen looked down the street corner seeing the white women whoring there. Kathleen reached underneath her kimono and squeezed a breast. How could something her white society frowned upon feel so right? Her right index finger rubbed her bottom lip and she started daydreaming about a recent experience.
It was a very late night, well past 3 in the morning. A blanket of cool air blanketed Black Pine. Parked in front of room number “3”, Tremaine sent Kat to The Black Owned Motel. It wasn't the first time for her as it was a common stopping place for clients traveling from one city to another looking for R&R. She stepped out of her car wearing a hot wardrobe suited for a woman half her age. But Kat made it work. The short mini-skirt, heels, and tight tube top screamed “sex worker”. Swinging her ass, when she reached the door she rapped on it three times. Kat took a deep breath before meeting her new client for the first time. She was out of condoms but it was too late to matter.
The door opened and her client greeted her with a grin and a smile. He was a large, heavy-set black man with a prosperous belly. He was in his late 40's, bald with large hands and large feet. The room was dark, only illuminated by the television playing interracial porn. Porn was the only thing the motel played. Always interracial, always black men and white women. Always promoting black supremacy. The client apologized to Kat for the darkness. Kat put up a smile and said it was “no big deal.” The room's light bulbs were burnt out and only the one in the bathroom was working. The client apologized for that too. Kathleen quickly started getting undressed. She planned to take the initiative and shorten her stay. She had already anticipated Tremaine would send her more “work” before she was allowed to sleep.
Without asking, she approached her customer, kissed him, then dropped to her knees. Kat unbuttoned his fly, pushed down his pants and underwear, and pulled out his fatty, sweaty cock. “Oh … fuck!” he whispered as Kat slurped on his mature manhood making it plumper, hotter, and larger. That black dick must have been cramped in his loins for hours before its release. The stank of pheromones would have overwhelmed a less experienced woman. Kat, who had played the black cock whore, didn't mind it. If anything, she behaved wanting more. At least she put up a good act. “... yeah, yeah … slut.” the black man whispered a cheer to himself. Why shouldn't he celebrate? He had a right to fuck a white woman. He expressed his most basic need to release sexually. A whore for his dick was good for him and for this race. “Suck that cock. Kathleen grabbed her left breast again and gave a short reply, “Yes, sir.”
Kathleen's client was also very hungry. He told her to lie on her back and open her legs. Kat laid back and saw her customer bury his face between her legs. When she felt his slick tongue lap her pussy she seethed and threw her head back. Kat saw the glare bouncing off his black chrome dome thanks to the television broadcast of another interracial scene. Flicker, flicker, flicker she felt her femininity teased, a finger probed inside, A deep exhale, A twist of a finger. Kat let out a curse showing her pleasure giving her body up for another man's pleasure. The black man pushed himself up and crawled on top of her, he was aiming his fat cock over Kat's pussy, then came the push.
The lovers grunted at each other. The large man dropped his body weight burying his dick deep into Kat's pussy. It wasn't gentle or subtle. It was a blunt “fuck” then a pull and a firm push. Kat squealed and squealed some more. With the weight of the aroused male towering over her, she felt powerless and helpless. The black man buried his nose into her neck and snorted hot air. He thrust and thrust and thrust. All the while, he kept chanting to his paid-for-lay “slut… whore … tramp!”
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” he moaned.
“Gimmie that white pussy!” he demanded.
“Fuck!Fuck! Fuck!” he cursed.
RAPP! RAPP! RAPP!
A half-naked prostitute tapped Kathleen's passenger side window snapping out of her daydream.
“Hey, hon! Are you working, tonight? The curb is for pick up!” she yelled through the window. Kathleen turned the key, started the engine, and roared off.
Kathleen returned to her posh home in the Wealthy Corridor. It was close to dawn and she managed to shower and cover herself in the thickest robe owned. She stood by her husband's bed holding Olde's right palm. She felt shallow and empty knowing how she had betrayed him and their business. All for black dick. She walked to a plush chair and took a seat along the far wall near the bedroom door. The chimes from the variety of medical devices were like a fantastical grandfather clock counting down to the inevitable.
Kathleen sat and stared at Olde's general direction with the blankest, mindless look on her face. She lit up a cigarette and started taking puffs. Even in the comfort of her home, she could feel the reach of black activists. What more would they want? What more could they take? Kathleen wondered what would be the easiest way out of this. Legal schemes and money couldn't save her from the progressive demands of The Black Power Movement. There had to be something she could do!
When a thick cloud of smoke billowed in front of her eyes, Kathleen had a vision. She saw herself on Olde's sick bed. She was naked and tattooed. She crawled on top of him facing the opposite “69” direction. Knees firmly on both sides of his decrepit body. She lowered her ass over his face, smothering him with her pussy. Olde shook both his arms and moaned. It was a painful moan. He didn't want more. He didn't want this. Spittle dripped down Kat's chin realizing what she was doing to him. She couldn't stop herself and pulled on one of her nipple rings. Kat let out an orgasmic roar!
“Ding!”
Kathleen snapped out of another daydream. The dawn lights were illuminating the curtains and she had finished her cigarette. The text message shared new instructions giving a time and place for her next and final encounter. Kathleen stood and left the bedroom. She would have a few hours to catch up on her sleep before signing papers and reaching a legal settlement with The Black Power Movement.
To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, please read my other stories.
This episode is about Kathleen "Kat" Pale and her last hours pretending to be a respectable woman of privilege.
Pulling into the lot with her expensive sports coupe, Kathleen parked in front of The Blossom Boutique. She did exactly as instructed and showed up shortly before closing. Kathleen stepped out dressed in her most professional if not prude, outfit. In her business slacks and sports jacket, she was no-nonsense down to her flat-heeled shoes. No one would have guessed the President and CEO of the Pale Oyster Redevelopment Group was caught in a scandal of sex, prostitution, and blackmail.
The mid-forties blonde looked elegant. Her make-up highlighted her beauty and maintained her dignity while appearing youthful and vibrant. Kathleen ran the playbook in her head a thousand times since she received that damned text message. She would willingly and openly put herself in a most "vulnerable" position and give "the black man" a victory. Afterward, she would tell Tremaine their special relationship would be over and return to a quiet life of real-estate management finding emotional satisfaction only through kicking minorities out of their homes.
The Blossom Boutique sold women's clothes with a modern, progressive, urban appeal. The establishment proudly pushed through the boundaries of your typical white privileged fashion. Sporting a collection of black leather, short shirts, tight shorts, mid-riffs, stripper heels, tiny purses, corsets, collars, bras, and g-string, it had anything that would turn a prude woman into a “proper white girl” whether she would become a stripper, prostitute, or pornstar. The boutique was a gateway for white women to shamelessly show their support for racial justice by appearing sexually approachable and available to meet the needs and entitlements of the black community.
Kathleen stepped inside making the little bell above her door rattle. The high-pitched ringing gave attention to her arrival. She started to feel a little nervous. Normally, Kathleen wouldn't step into a place like this. To dress up properly for her “hobby”, Kathleen had her wardrobe delivered from Inner City shops. Being a customer face-to-face in Black Pine made it feel more intimate and Kathleen felt the butterflies in her belly.
Behind her counter was Monique. She was an attractive, slender woman of mixed race, with long, straight dark hair and smooth skin. In her mid-twenties, she wore outfits making her look hot as a prostitute while demanding respect. Monique looked up and seemed uninterested in Kathleen's conservative and uptight appearance. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Kathleen walked up to the counter and pressed up against it. She cleared her throat, looked around making sure there were no customers to overhear, and answered in a whisper. “I'm here for the 'Package'.” Monique, unimpressed replied loudly, “Cracker, this ain't no FedEx!" Monique let it end there with a long, hard stare. Monique sneered letting Kathleen know her time was being wasted. Kathleen let out a breath of air, looked down, and looked defeated. She confessed to Monique, “I'm here for the… black cock slut package… ”
Monique was in disbelief and said, “Damn! You're the shameless 'hoe? Fuck me!”. She then finished her celebration with a powerful fist. “Leave your credit card on the counter, head to the dressing room, and take off all your clothes. I'm going to close the shop and you're going to spend a lot of money on me!”
As Monique locked the doors, Kathleen stepped into a dressing booth with only a curtain to keep her privacy. Kathleen surrendered all her clothing, shoes, underwear, and all. Monique dumped them in a paper bag and muttered, “You won't be seeing these again! They're going straight to the fucking dumpster.” Kathleen thought it was just a joke … a terse, if not crass, critique of her wardrobe. But Monique wasn't kidding. The bag, with everything inside that, cost Kathleen up to two thousand dollars, was taken outside. Monique dropped it into a bin soon later reclaimed by dumpster divers for a quick sale at the nearest pawn shop. In a weird example of racial karma, Kathleen's expensive clothes would pay for mind-numbing drugs injected into the bodies of white trash and perpetuating the decay of white societies.
Kathleen stood bare naked in her cramped booth rubbing her shoulders to keep herself warm. Hearing Monique's footsteps approach, she envisioned giving a set of trashy, “sluttish” wear appropriate for the eyes of lustful, black men. Instead, Monique told her “Step out. I want to see you, white girl.”
“But… I'm … still nude.” Kathleen complained.
“There's nobody else here. I need to see what I got to work with.” Monique demanded. Not to agitate the black woman any further, Kathleen stepped out as she was told. Monique nodded when she laid her eyes on Kathleen's well-kept body. Regardless of her age, she was tight with beautiful curves, and fair skin unblemished from physical or drug abuse. So much potential!
Monique ran her palms over Kathleen's body and said. “Hmmm, hmm, hm … I can only imagine how my black brothers helped themselves to your white body.” Kathleen kept mum as Monique turned Kathleen on her heels to make her bend and stick out her ass. Kathleen felt Monique's feminine hands caress her ass.
SMACK!
“Gawd damn! I bet your pimp keeps you busy with an ass like that! What a victory for my people!” Monique added. Kathleen pretended she didn't hear anything. Kathleen stood straight. Monique nodded again liking the shaven pussy Kathleen sported. Monique snickered and giggled realizing how much of a race-traitor her customer turned into.
The first thing Monique did was put a dog collar around Kathleen's neck sporting a tag engraved with “BBC Slut”. Monique gladly put Kathleen in her place with a symbolic gesture of racial domination. Kathleen was “the slut” with too much money and pride. The professional-acting white girl owed Monique and her people. Monique then used a measuring ribbon to get Kathleen's various dimensions but didn't need to bother. She would have accurately picked out the sizes without it. Kathleen obeyed, stood quiet, and ignored the several gropes pawing her breasts and ass. Without notice, Monique slapped a leash on Kathleen's color and tugged at it. The air of surprise and humiliation exhaled out of Kathleen's lungs. However, she wouldn't dare show any complaint or resistance. It was Monique's shop.
Up and down the aisles they went. Monique led the way pulling on the leash firmly in her palm. One after the other, Monique picked out clothes for Kathleen. G-strings, mini-skirts, tight shorts, bras, blouses, a corset, and 3 sets of high-heels were just the beginning of Kathleen's spending spree. Kathleen wasn't allowed to wear any of them. Monique preferred to have Kathleen prance around naked. Monique, trying hard not to giggle, constantly reminded Kathleen who was black and in charge. Kathleen was beginning to feel envy of how beautiful and empowered Monique was. The white-bred, privileged professional woman imagined how women like Monique would inherit the city, society, and the world. Black was powerful!
Monique would often smack Kathleen's across her white ass followed by crass, sexual comments. Kathleen never defended herself or deny allegations of being a cum-dumpster whore and white trash sex object. Monique riled herself so much that she squeezed Kathleen's breast accusing her of tempting “good, black men.”
Kathleen didn't realize she was being slowly conditioned, broken down, and domesticated for black use. She accepted her place in Monique's boutique just as she willingly accepted her place servicing black clients at Tremaine's wishes. Now she was just as emotionally vulnerable as she was on the outside. Monique knew it was time to make her racially vulnerable, permanently.
Kathleen was taken to a back room. It was a small parlor with a tiny bench and a salon chair. To her, it looked more like a laboratory than a boutique. Monique removed the leash from Kathleen's collar and said to her, “Ok, white girl! Get in the chair and I'll begin tatting and piercing you!”
Startled, Kathleen covered her breasts with her arms and made her knees touch. She was getting goosebumps all over and her face felt flush. “Um …tattoos? Piercings?” Monique nodded and was impatient, “Yeah, let's get to it. We need to mark you up if you're going to be a black cock whore for my people!”
Sanity and sensibility came to Kathleen's senses. She let out a breath of hot air and blew off this charade. Disavowing her life as “Kat”, Kathleen took a step away from the chair and walked on Monique's toes. She spun around and looked at Monique and explained, “Listen, this was just a fantasy. I'm not going through with tattoos!”
Insulted and offended, Monique was almost speechless. “What the hell, white girl?”
Kathleen said with confidence and privilege, “I'll pay for the clothes. But I won't have any tattoos or piercings.” Monique just stared back and quietly replied, “I see.”
Then out of nowhere ...
“This is Teagan T. Kayce from Inner City 6...”
It was. It was Ms. Kayce from the TV news. She barged into the back parlor dressed like she was about to go live on television. Teagan looked determined and news-hungry. Kathleen recognized her immediately and was frozen scared praying there wasn't a cameraman behind her.
“How do you feel about kicking minorities out of their homes while you're moonlighting as a prostitute?” asked Teagan like a starving street reporter. Kathleen just stood mindless. “What will my viewers say when they learn that the woman pimped out to the black community is closing down our most needed abortion clinic?”
Mortified, Kathleen could not utter a word in her naked defense. Teagan sneered, “Shameless, bitch!” Kathleen let out a gasp of defeat between her quivering lips. Her tongue felt dry and a deep pit cratered in her stomach. Tears ran down her cheek blemishing her no-longer perfect makeup. Monique and Teagan continued giving Kathleen cold steely dagger looks. Kathleen looked down at her feet and sniffled. “Get into the chair. Do it!” demanded Teagan. Monique, who wanted nothing more than mark this whore, whispered calmly to Kat, “Let's get you pierced.” Kathleen acknowledged her racism by nodding. The black race would have its victory.
She went to the chair and sat as Monique instructed. Kathleen didn't hear Monique rummage through a tray for her tools. A gold-colored needle was nestled between the fingers of her slender right hand. Monique fondled Kathleen's breasts and put her plump lips near the left nipple.
SPLAT!
Monique spat a gob of spittle from her mouth covering Kathleen's nipple then she started sucking on it. Kathleen was caught off guard and arched her back. Instead of reacting to get away from Monique's mouth, she had inadvertently pushed her breast into her face. Kathleen was already feeling dejected and racially inferior. She sat there and took it. Soon the nipple became aroused, hard, and erect.
“You deserve this, cracker,” whispered Monique. Before she pierced Kathleen's nipple with the needle. Kathleen let out a cry not understanding what had happened to her. When she looked down she saw the gold needle pierce her with a good three inches on each end e.xposed.
“Oh, fuck!” Kathleen blurted. Monique replied, “Oh, not yet, white girl.” Monique stepped away humming a tune to herself to grab a second golden needle. She returned to the chair and pinched Kathleen's right nipple hard between her left thumb and forefinger.
“Like I said. You deserve this!” Monique said smiling ear to ear before pushing the tip of the needle into Kathleen's inviting nipple-flesh through to the other side. Kathleen complained again. A tear went down her cheek but no one would wipe it for her. She could feel a pin slide through her nipple. It was cold and slick.
“Pig slut!” Teagan cheered. Seeing Kathleen naked and sitting in the chair, collared and pierced made her giggle. It was a beautiful sight… exotic, erotic… sexual!
After Monique dabbled each of Kathleen's nipples with anti-septic, she stepped back and took a good long look at her work. Monique smiled and experienced a natural, racial high. She felt euphoric. Kathleen trembled quietly in her seat. She darted her eyes looking to Monique on occasion for relief. Monique would not give it to her. Instead, she began undressing, stripping down until she was bare nude. The black woman was just that confident in herself!
“You're so beautiful!” said Teagan before letting out an exhaustive sigh. The black girl answered, “I know.” Monique went to work removing the needle one nipple at a time. It was quickly replaced by a thin, gold ring and clasped shut.
“This is made from high-quality African gold! And it ain't cheap. You'll have to wear it all the time, never remove it.” Monique explained. After she clasped the second ring, she took a small tube of epoxy and dropped a tiny bead on the clasp before blowing on it. “This will make sure you'll never take it off.”
“On… forever?” Kathleen whispered.
Monique replied, “We don't want your nipples to close up, do we? You have to show commitment to my people.” It had sunk into Kathleen she was making a life-long promise with her new jewelry. An expression to the black community she now had an agreement with.
“Now, it's time to eat you up!” cheered Monique. She told Kathleen to put her knees on the seat cushion and lean forward over the back of the chair. With her ass stuck out, Teagan and Monique got an intimate view of her shaven pussy. Teagan let out a disgusted scoff at Kathleen's expense. Teagan disapproved of how Kathleen was using her cunt to lure black men and get all that dick she didn't deserve.
Monique began caressing Kathleen's naked body as if she was handling wet clay. They ran over her smooth back, bare ass, and rubbed her fingers across Kat's pussy, and gave the clit some attention. Kathleen felt awkward and uncomfortable with the woman from “Inner City 6” watching her getting groped. Monique was an activist, an artist, and a visionary. Patterns and symbols ran through her head. Kathleen simply stared ahead anxiously waiting to get this over and done with.
“Will anyone see my tattoo?” Kathleen meekly wondered. Monique didn't care much for her question and tersely replied, “Not if you wear that trash you walked in with. But when you're dressed to impress us black folk, we'll all see you're fuck-able. We might just tolerate you.” Then Kathleen heard the tattoo machine buzz behind her. She lowered her head and waited for Monique to defile her body …improving it. As Kat felt the needle penetrate, she reminded herself of all the sins she had committed. She deserved this.
Hours went by ...
Kat stood in front of the full-sized mirror but didn't have the will to look at herself. Monique spun Kathleen on her heels admiring her work. Her permanent works of art. “My gawd! I did a great job on you tonight! I think I deserve quite a large tip.” Kathleen didn't say anything and just accepted a large credit card bill would come out of this. As instructed, she put on a red kimono. It was a very short kimono that went down to her upper thighs. Slipping on short-heeled shoes she stepped out to the front counter. Behind racks of clothes, on the trip up, Kathleen made out the repetitive motion of a white-skinned person kneeling in front of a dark-skinned man grunting and moaning.
“Suck that black cock, white girl! Suck it good!” the man whispered. “Yes, sir.” replied the white girl.
Kat wondered if that was Teagan from Inner City 6 performing her oral “interview” with one of the privileged residents of Black Pine. Kat made out the slurps, the plopping of flesh on the tongue, and heavy panting. Immediately, that taste was in her mouth craving for the real thing. When she reached the counter, Monique had already bagged up her wardrobe and made out an invoice including tattoo and grooming services. Monique even had Kathleen prepay for specific piercings on other parts of her body redeemable when the white girl felt like it. As promised, a hefty tip was tacked on doubling what the receipt would have been otherwise. Kathleen just signed her name, grabbed her bags, and moved on.
Kathleen quickly found shelter in the comfort of her car. She lowered her head and started crying. “How did I get myself into this?” she asked herself. The boutique lights went dark. The ones inside didn't wait very long for her to step out. Kat wondered what the three inside would be up to. The answer was clear … sexual satisfaction. Racial satisfaction! She palmed her left breast underneath her kimono feeling the apparatus attached to her. She was marked as the property of the black race. Kathleen felt a sudden shock. The disbelief and denial were wearing off making her legs wobble. A text message came in followed by another “ding”. It was Tremaine demanding where she was and she needed to get to work. “Not now, Tremaine. Not ever.” Kathleen cried to herself. She started her engine with plans to make it home.
Kathleen was having an emotional breakdown. She drove her expensive car from one street to another. She was far from her affluent neighborhood. The landscape around her was barren and deserted. It was the blight of Black Pine and areas of the city no one talks about. A symbol of failed political leadership, failed white leadership, representing an economic and moral collapse of the racist generations prior. Around the corner, around a bend, Kathleen saw a beacon of lights in the middle of the night. It may have been very late but the streets were active. She had made it to Black Pine's “Red Light District”.
Black men were walking into a gentleman's club with money to burn … money to share in the local economy. Scantly dressed white women took their positions on street corners and sometimes would disappear into the alleyways with an interested black male suitor. Upstanding white women, mostly in their 30s and up, with scarves around their chin and wearing mirrored glasses at night jumped inside the Black Fantasies Video Shoppe. They were likely interested in a private viewing in the back of the establishment.
Tremaine buzzed her again. Little doubt he wanted his 'hoe to work her ass and make him the dollars. Tremaine could send his pretty, white slut anywhere from the penthouse of Black Paradise Hotel to the backrooms in Inner City encouraging the city's most ambitious dealers and gang leaders. However, Kathleen was done whoring behind her husband. She was done with the corporate schemes. The old Kathleen was coming back. Proud and independent Kathleen. Perhaps, it was deep-rooted institutional racism that kept her from appreciating the enlightenment branded on her white skin. Many white girls would love to be black-owned. Kathleen figured she would probably have a final face-to-face meeting with Tremaine … likely in public and wearing professional attire. Nothing from Blossom Boutique and carefully hiding all her new tattoos. She would have to be firm and resist caving to Tremaine's natural and all-so-seductive confidence. His aggression was so sexually appealing. That was another thing racing through her mind, her secret love for Tremaine. Yes, he used her. He took her money and turned her out and put himself over her business and her marriage. But he was handsome and a great fuck her pussy needed! A woman like Kathleen had high sexual demands. Natural instinctive needs that could never be denied. However, just like that, Kathleen ended her lifestyle and her commitment to Tremaine. She ended her obligation to black men everywhere looking for sexual gratification and racial justice.
Kathleen looked down the street corner seeing the white women whoring there. Kathleen reached underneath her kimono and squeezed a breast. How could something her white society frowned upon feel so right? Her right index finger rubbed her bottom lip and she started daydreaming about a recent experience.
It was a very late night, well past 3 in the morning. A blanket of cool air blanketed Black Pine. Parked in front of room number “3”, Tremaine sent Kat to The Black Owned Motel. It wasn't the first time for her as it was a common stopping place for clients traveling from one city to another looking for R&R. She stepped out of her car wearing a hot wardrobe suited for a woman half her age. But Kat made it work. The short mini-skirt, heels, and tight tube top screamed “sex worker”. Swinging her ass, when she reached the door she rapped on it three times. Kat took a deep breath before meeting her new client for the first time. She was out of condoms but it was too late to matter.
The door opened and her client greeted her with a grin and a smile. He was a large, heavy-set black man with a prosperous belly. He was in his late 40's, bald with large hands and large feet. The room was dark, only illuminated by the television playing interracial porn. Porn was the only thing the motel played. Always interracial, always black men and white women. Always promoting black supremacy. The client apologized to Kat for the darkness. Kat put up a smile and said it was “no big deal.” The room's light bulbs were burnt out and only the one in the bathroom was working. The client apologized for that too. Kathleen quickly started getting undressed. She planned to take the initiative and shorten her stay. She had already anticipated Tremaine would send her more “work” before she was allowed to sleep.
Without asking, she approached her customer, kissed him, then dropped to her knees. Kat unbuttoned his fly, pushed down his pants and underwear, and pulled out his fatty, sweaty cock. “Oh … fuck!” he whispered as Kat slurped on his mature manhood making it plumper, hotter, and larger. That black dick must have been cramped in his loins for hours before its release. The stank of pheromones would have overwhelmed a less experienced woman. Kat, who had played the black cock whore, didn't mind it. If anything, she behaved wanting more. At least she put up a good act. “... yeah, yeah … slut.” the black man whispered a cheer to himself. Why shouldn't he celebrate? He had a right to fuck a white woman. He expressed his most basic need to release sexually. A whore for his dick was good for him and for this race. “Suck that cock. Kathleen grabbed her left breast again and gave a short reply, “Yes, sir.”
Kathleen's client was also very hungry. He told her to lie on her back and open her legs. Kat laid back and saw her customer bury his face between her legs. When she felt his slick tongue lap her pussy she seethed and threw her head back. Kat saw the glare bouncing off his black chrome dome thanks to the television broadcast of another interracial scene. Flicker, flicker, flicker she felt her femininity teased, a finger probed inside, A deep exhale, A twist of a finger. Kat let out a curse showing her pleasure giving her body up for another man's pleasure. The black man pushed himself up and crawled on top of her, he was aiming his fat cock over Kat's pussy, then came the push.
The lovers grunted at each other. The large man dropped his body weight burying his dick deep into Kat's pussy. It wasn't gentle or subtle. It was a blunt “fuck” then a pull and a firm push. Kat squealed and squealed some more. With the weight of the aroused male towering over her, she felt powerless and helpless. The black man buried his nose into her neck and snorted hot air. He thrust and thrust and thrust. All the while, he kept chanting to his paid-for-lay “slut… whore … tramp!”
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” he moaned.
“Gimmie that white pussy!” he demanded.
“Fuck!Fuck! Fuck!” he cursed.
RAPP! RAPP! RAPP!
A half-naked prostitute tapped Kathleen's passenger side window snapping out of her daydream.
“Hey, hon! Are you working, tonight? The curb is for pick up!” she yelled through the window. Kathleen turned the key, started the engine, and roared off.
Kathleen returned to her posh home in the Wealthy Corridor. It was close to dawn and she managed to shower and cover herself in the thickest robe owned. She stood by her husband's bed holding Olde's right palm. She felt shallow and empty knowing how she had betrayed him and their business. All for black dick. She walked to a plush chair and took a seat along the far wall near the bedroom door. The chimes from the variety of medical devices were like a fantastical grandfather clock counting down to the inevitable.
Kathleen sat and stared at Olde's general direction with the blankest, mindless look on her face. She lit up a cigarette and started taking puffs. Even in the comfort of her home, she could feel the reach of black activists. What more would they want? What more could they take? Kathleen wondered what would be the easiest way out of this. Legal schemes and money couldn't save her from the progressive demands of The Black Power Movement. There had to be something she could do!
When a thick cloud of smoke billowed in front of her eyes, Kathleen had a vision. She saw herself on Olde's sick bed. She was naked and tattooed. She crawled on top of him facing the opposite “69” direction. Knees firmly on both sides of his decrepit body. She lowered her ass over his face, smothering him with her pussy. Olde shook both his arms and moaned. It was a painful moan. He didn't want more. He didn't want this. Spittle dripped down Kat's chin realizing what she was doing to him. She couldn't stop herself and pulled on one of her nipple rings. Kat let out an orgasmic roar!
“Ding!”
Kathleen snapped out of another daydream. The dawn lights were illuminating the curtains and she had finished her cigarette. The text message shared new instructions giving a time and place for her next and final encounter. Kathleen stood and left the bedroom. She would have a few hours to catch up on her sleep before signing papers and reaching a legal settlement with The Black Power Movement.
To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, please read my other stories.
