Love Letters to La'Damian Part 2

Love Letters to La'Damian Part 2

This is second part following La'Damian's adventures as he visits Inner City. Time with his friends doesn't mean he's safe from the shadows of racism and bigotry. When white men steal from the black race, he's there to fight back and take their women.

The afternoon was hot,
but La'Damian couldn't have more fun with his friends Booker and Titus. La'Damian was back to his roots in Inner City. The 18 year-old good-looking young man could put his troubles of Black Pine behind him. He was in his black neighborhood with his tight friends he grew up with. La'Damian missed Booker telling his stories. Booker would raise and lower his voice like a third rate ventriloquist while making funny body gestures. But he was also muscular with bulging forearms. You couldn't help but laugh. It was safer being his friend than otherwise. Titus told his basketball stories again. He was most proud making a three-pointer in the final seconds tying a game at the end of the first half. Few could spin a tale about getting a rebound off the backboards as dramatic as he. Titus also showed disappointment he didn't get recruited, not even by a small university, to continue his education.

It took police sirens to make the young men pivot and duck into the local mini-mart. The piercing wails were from not one, but three, patrol vehicles. The headache-inducing noise was a painful reminder of their authority. The community suspected the ICP of deliberately cracking up the decibels to intimidate the neighborhood. Titus went to the back of the mart to look for his favorite energy drink. Booker wanted a snack. However, La'Damian was more interested looking in the round mirror hanging over the coffee machine. The cashier was a Pakistani and stood by the register, pawing it with his right hand. His head swiveled from Booker to Titus to La'Damian and back to Booker again before repeating his surveillance. La'Damian looked up at the security cameras. They were disconnected with frayed wires.

La'Damian shook off the uneasy feeling and stepped up to the dispenser for a small cup of hot chocolate. He laughed at himself, some drink for a man. La'Damian walked to the counter in unison with Booker and Titus. Each had their favorite snack or beverage in his hands. The cashier pulled at this collar. Sweat ran down his cheek. "What's wrong with that guy?" La'Damian thought to himself of the cashier. La'Damian wiped his own brow and he was sweating too. The air conditioner was off inside and the place was getting warm. The Pakistani rang up the total and La'Damian paid for all. The cashier thanked him, twice. "Thank you, thank you." he said, "Business has been slow recently with the police always nearby." The Pakistani couldn't share more. But it would have broken his heart if he was unable to sell anything to three young men. La'Damian dropped his loose change into the paper cup and thanked him for keeping his business open.

"Let's go there!" suggested Titus as he pointed across the street. It was a pawn shop. It had black, crisscrossed wrought iron in front of the windows and a gate for the front door. The handwritten sign in the window boasted, "GUNS", "ANTIQUES", and "JEWELRY". La'Damian told Titus there'd be no guns there and the old antique to find is some old woman's busted pot. But he and Booker followed him across the street and inside.

A junk store with four walls and a ceiling is what best described the place. The floor was dirty with broken, checkerboard tile. The room was stacked high with tube televisions, boom-boxes manufactured in the 80's, and stacks of yellowing magazines and soda-pop bottles. It may be junk to many but a treasure trove to others. In the back was the esteemed "proprietor" safe behind his chain link fence from counter to ceiling. He was a South American gentleman, in his late 50's, in glasses reading comic books. The proprietor looked over his round spectacles and nodded at the three young men.

La'Damian didn't like pawn shops. This is where black dreams go die, to be traded in for a tiny fraction what their emotionally worth. The business siphoned the last from the neighborhood. The shop and the mini-mart across the street were the closest things to general stores in the community. They weren't even black owned. La'Damian saw the “good stuff” behind the cage. A jewelry case with gold and silver rings and necklaces. There were a couple watches, likely knock-offs of the real thing. Then … La'Damian saw it …

A hand carved, wooden mask. Black hardwood, tall with a pointed top but thin. It had two openings for eyes and a slit for the mouth. It had been ornately painted, its color fading, of white and brown. It was an ancient, African spiritual mask of fertility. Once possessed by shamans, they practiced fertility rituals on women from defeated tribes in show of unity and reconciliation. The mask was worn by the most strong and virile warriors to make the next generation carrying their superior genes. The women, succumbing to the ritual, believed they were laying down with a god and freely surrendered their womb for the tribe's future.

“Where did you get the mask?” demanded La'Damian. The shop-keeper said in a calm voice, “It was sold to me. I have signed receipts.” The keeper then resumed to his comic book pretending no other questions would follow.

La'Damian pulled Booker aside, “That mask belonged to Grand-Memaw!” Booker and Titus, both understood the significance. “Damn!” said Titus.

Grand-Memaw was everyone's great grandmother. She was the block's historian and the most respected centenarian in the neighborhood. She was well over 103 years old and lived in the uppermost level in one of the oldest brownstones in the block. La'Damian's mother, Aggie, would tell him stories about “the mask” in his childhood. It was handed down from generation after generation and lived through slavery, the persecutions, and the decades of racial injustice that followed. It's had fallen into a white man's possession more than once before act of miracles or violence returned to the benevolent hands of descendant of slaves. It wasn't just history, it represented the future where black culture overcomes all adversity by reproducing more black warriors.

La'Damian rushed to the gate and gripped the cold, wire fence keeping him from taking the mask. Gawd-dammit! That's our heritage!” yelled out La'Damian as both his friends gripped their guts from the pain. Again, the shop-keeper repeated. “I have signed receipts.”

“How much do you want for it?” asked La'Damian. But the shop-keeper responded coldly, “It's not for sale ... I have a buyer.”

“We'll pay more!” La'Damian countered. His friends reached into their pockets pulling out every dime and dollar they had. But the keeper replied, “The transaction is already agreed to.”

Booker tried to leverage his physical size by pounding the fence with his fists, shaking the cage. The keeper was not amused and put down his comic-book and looked over his glasses. “Listen, I don't care about your 'heritage'. I made the sale to a private collector. I have signed receipts. Now, kindly leave. The buyer will be here in a half-hour and I don't want to have any … drama. Got it?” Titus raised his hand, made a fist with it, and threw it towards the ground in disgust. Booker slammed the cage again to vent his frustrations while La'Damian sneered. He wanted so much to tear the place apart and burn it down. But he kept a cool head. Besides, burning the place wouldn't save the fertility mask.

The three stepped outside and Titus asked, “What are we gonna do?” La'Damian rubbed his chin, “We're hanging out and wait for the buyer to show up. We'll see ourselves who stole the mask from our people!”


Around the corner,
the three young men finished their drinks and snacks. They had spent the most of the last thirty minutes going over conspiracy theories. Who could have stolen it? Who would have betrayed Grand-Memaw and the racial history of the black people? La'Damian resisted calling his mother with the devastating news. What good would it have done? There wasn't enough time to save the mask and it would be up to him and his two, good friends.

A suspiciously large, white Land Rover came slowly down the street. It approached the pawn shop, pulled in, and went behind the building into the lot in back. La'Damian rapped Booker's chest, “That's gotta be them!” As the SUV pulled behind the building, the three young men ran across the street and down the alley adjacent to the pawn shop.

La'Damian went first down the shadowy alley filled with garbage cans and discarded junk. He peeked around the corner and saw the Land Rover parked dead center on top of the broken asphalt and weeds poking up through its cracks. With the sun glaring off its windshields, La'Damain couldn't see who was inside, until the driver side door opened. It was a middle-aged white man. La'Damian was sick to his stomach.

La'Damian wanted to throw up. He made a fist, a tight clenched fist, with his right hand but grabbed his gut with his left. Titus was curious what had happened to him and went poking his head around. Titus's reaction was just as difficult.

“Shit!” Titus cursed. Booker wanted to rush around and pounce the white man but La'Damian stopped him and told Booker, “Wait until he walks out with it.”

“Why should we?” Booker asked.

“What if we're wrong?” La'Damian countered. But Booker's answered confidently, “Then we're wrong. What difference does it make? He's white!” Titus stood back behind the two and just kept pounding the brick wall with his fist.

The white man had short brown hair. He was wearing a plaid shirt and brown slacks and boring loafers. He was in his early 40's and had too much money for someone with his lack of imagination. The “private collector” acted like he was in a hurry and knocked on his door with his tiny, right hand like a costumed boy on trick or treat. The shop-keeper had let him in and locked the door behind him. La'Damian huddled with Booker and Titus and they had only moments to come up with a plan.

It wasn't thirty seconds until the door popped open again and the collector walked out with the African fertility mask in his left hand and a smug look on his face. When the back door closed behind him, La'Damian rushed out. Booker and Titus followed.

When the collector saw three men of dark, muscular skin, he held the mask tight to his chest. Showing his deep-rooted racism immediately, he froze his feet to the pavement. His eyes widened in surprise and fright. It was pure racial fright as a confident, dark-skinned man approached him with determination for justice. La'Damian was the “quick man” coming close and near. Booker was the “big man” making fists in each hand resembling black hammers. Titus was the “tall man” bringing up the rear. La'Damian confronted the white collector and told him bluntly, “White boy! What are you doing with the mask? That belongs to my people!”

The collector acted privileged and replied, “It's mine, mine!” and pulled the mask away like a child holding back his toy. But La'Damian wouldn't have any of the man's attitude, “You stole it from us. That belongs to our black community.” Booker nodded and slammed his right fist into his left palm. “Give him the mask, white boy!”

“What the fuck is this? What the fuck is this!” yelled the collector.

La'Damian gave the bigoted, white man one more chance for reason, “That mask was taken from our Memaw. It's owned by the black people, not to you or white men!” The collector shook his head in defiance, “But I have receipts!”

“Fuck this cracker up!” yelled Titus. Booker smiled and cracked his knuckles. The collector peed in his pants and his knees wobbled. The ancient mask was violated by the filth from sweat of white palms. Curious about the commotion in his back lot, the shop-keeper popped the door open just enough to see La'Damian and his friends surround the buyer. The shop-keeper stayed inside and locked the door shut. He got his money.

Temper got the best of La'Damian. He whipped up his left hand and smacked the white man across the right cheek. “SMACK” … it was a good, solid score that caught the man by surprise. The strike against white privilege didn't come without further reward or satisfaction. A blonde woman rushed out of the passenger door of the Land Rover. A strikingly, attractive white woman, Helen.

Helen stepped out just as it looked dark for her husband. She was in her early thirties with blond hair that went to the top of her shoulders. She stepped out wearing heels and a yellow, mini-dress that grabbed tight around her waist and showed much of her thighs. With a cute, designer purse strapped around her shoulder, she looked the beautiful white woman in a black man's neighborhood … a black man's world.

“What's wrong, Henry?” she asked with a nervous break in her voice.

“Get back in the car, Helen!” answered the hubby as he tried to cover his face with his free hand. Henry didn't want his wife to see him physically humiliated by young, black men. He should have been more worried about the young, black men seeing his wife.

Booker stepped up and grabbed Henry by the collar. La'Damian strolled to the other side of the Land Rover to get a better look at the white girl. His frustrations over the mask was overshadowed with new frustrations over Helen … very sexual frustrations. The adrenaline, the testosterone racing through his body made his manhood plump and thicken with hot blood and a painful need for release. Helen was quite a sight and La'Damian hummed aloud, “Hmmm, hmmm!” and grabbed his crotch. The sexual attraction was instant and Helen felt it. Whether it was the fear over her husband's well being or something else, the attraction drew her eyes from Henry to La'Damian. La'Damian adjusted his crotch.

La'Damian was worked up over the racial injustice, the bigotry, and the looting of African treasure. But here was an approachable woman ready to mate with a strong man. Her womb made to be stretched by cock of a virile, strong alpha-male. More blood was inflating La'Damian's ready-manhood at the idea of pushing that inside Helen's body. Images flashed through his mind, maybe even Helen's, of having her bent over and taking black dick. Push it inside, push it inside. That is what La'Damian wanted to do to her. He guessed she was an eager cock-sucker with those plump, red lips. Taste of black cock would make her “understand” black culture instead of stealing from it. The images flashing were fantastic and erotic. Flashes of light cutting through the cloak of blackness … a tattered couch … dirty walls … cracked floor … a smoky room … a table with bongs, drugs and alcohol. Helen is there, moaning, groaning like an animal. Her breasts were swollen. La'Damian imagined reaching underneath and feeling her tummy … a round bump there … growing with something precious inside.

In an almost telepathic-bond, Helen felt a wave of self-consciousness and vulnerability. She took a finger off her lower lip to pull down the ends of her short skirt. When she curled her fingers around the end of the fabric, she incidentally raised them a bit. La'Damian thought little of that until Helen raised them again two inches for his benefit before pulling them down and straight. She looked up to make contact with him but quickly turned away and brushed back her hair.

“Hand over the mask, you white-ass punk!” yelled Titus. After Henry refused, Booker gave him a backhand across his left cheek. Each of Booker's middle knuckles felt like brass to Henry's face. When her husband's squealed like a school girl, Helen instinctively rush towards him. But she ran into La'Damian's chest and he put his arms on her waist, holding her, assuring her.

“You're safe with me. We only want the mask.” he calmly said to her.

She looked up into his eyes with a worried look. As Henry held his mask high over his head, Titus rushed in and kicked him in the gut with the flat of his right foot. If it wasn't for his cries, Helen would have been oblivious. Rather than push away from the teen, she remained in his arms drawn by his masculinity and security. Helen looked into his eyes feeling his rough hands on her hips. Those hands could easily cup her breasts. Then what would she do when her husband was about to be fucked up?

“Why does your husband steal our culture?” La'Damian asked. Helen answered unapologetically, “He's a collector … of colonial African artifacts.” There was a moment of dead silence between the two. Perhaps, it was Helen's way of confessing her bigotry participating in her husband's quest to steal black history. As Helen looked at her feet, Henry tumbled to the broken asphalt. “You can't have it!” cried Henry. But Booker and Titus laughed.

“What's your name?” whispered La'Damian. Feeling both shame and fear, Helen muttered “Helen … it's Helen.” As Titus and Booker surrounded Henry, ready to pounce on the mask, La'Damian pleaded to the wife.

“I'm La'Damian.” the confident black man replied with a polite smile. But La'Damian soon turned very serious. “Work with me, Helen. If you don't want to see your husband get fucked up in front of you, tell him to give us the mask.” La'Damian pleaded. Helen shook her head, “He really wanted it. That's all he talks about.” she replied.

“You admit, you're racists?” accused La'Damian as Booker stepped up and began faking punches that made Henry twitch each and every time. “This is cultural appropriation, white girl.” lectured La'Damian, “How would you feel if we take something from you for our enjoyment?” Helen looked over the hood of their SUV to see Titus push her husband back to the ground. Henry had rolled into a ball curling the mask underneath his arms.

Booker stomped on his head in anger. He ground his heel into Henry's ear peeling its skin. It made Booker feel good to see a privileged, white man underneath his foot crying like a wimp. Henry could keep the mask for another few moments in exchange for the pleasure Booker was enjoying. Henry wailed again but no one was coming to help him. Helen was too busy discussing race with La'Damian.

The pathetic helplessness her husband demonstrated snapped her out and she begged La'Damian for reconciliation. “What do you want to take from me?” she pleaded. The tone in her voice signaled sincerity and racial capitulation. Helen knew she had just given La'Damian a blank check and wondered if she would regret her offer. La'Damian was quick with his answer and had his hands behind her back. His lower fingers resting on the top of her ass. “Your panties!” La'Damian demanded, “I want your panties.”

Helen was stunned speechless. She gave La'Damian a huff and that “you're kidding” look. But when Henry got up on his knees, Titus gave Henry a wheelhouse using his right fist striking Henry at his left ear. The pain was sharp sending ringing sounds through his head and out his other ear. Helen panicked and waved her hands conceding, “Okay! Okay!” she agreed. But she made clear she would do it behind the opened passenger door. La'Damian looked over to his buddies, “Keep it cool, we're working this out.” he grinned. Titus and Booker looked appeased for the moment.

Helen took her purse off her shoulder and tossed it on the passenger seat. She stepped safely behind her door for cover, wiggled her ass and grabbed her g-string by its sides. “Helen, what are you doing? You … alright?” Henry blurted out with a knee on the pavement. Answering over Booker and Titus's laughter, Helen simply said, “Please, Henry. Keep quiet. I'm doing what I can so they won't keep hurting you!” La'Damian heard Helen shift in her heels from one foot to the other before she stepped around the door with panties dangling from her extended right hand.

La'Damian stepped up and snatched the g-string with his left hand while using his right to wrap around the white girl's waist so they could be close and comfortable. La'Damian put the g-string to his nose and made a loud, whiffing sound making Helen understand he was enjoying smelling her sex. Helen acted appalled, turning her head towards the direction of her husband. But the taunts directed at him sickened her and she chose to turn back to La'Damian. Helen winced, acting like she didn't approve whatsoever. Helen let out a disgusted gasp but couldn't ignore the excitement felt between her legs. The attraction was unavoidable as with every moment her g-string was at his nose, they bonded more.

“You're white pussy is perfume.” said La'Damian. “So glad you're enjoying it!” said Helen sarcastically. She still hadn't grasped that La'Damian was holding her close because she felt so comfortable with him. La'Damian replied with “I am.” then put the g-string in front of her nose, “Here, take a sniff.” Under the spell of La'Damian's charm and confidence, Helen lifted on her toes and buried her nose to her g-string. The aroma was alluring, captivating, and sexual! She didn't realize how aroused she was until La'Damian made get out of her g-string. He panties were damp from her excited pussy. La'Damian wanted another sniff and he put the tip of his nose to hers. Helen couldn't help herself and took another deep breath. She parted her lips and let out an erotic gasp, It was like a drug to them both. Vapors of bliss, pleasure, and pure sexuality ensnared them. Their lips pressed together. Their mouths opened and tongues danced. La'Damian still had Helen's g-string near their noses and they both breathed in her scent fueling their lust for each other La'Damian's right hand palmed Helen's left breast underneath her dress. He had pulled her shoulder strap was off and she was nearly topless. Their tongues didn't pause exchanging spit and saliva.

Helen felt the hot air snorting out of La'Damian's nostrils hitting her face. Her g-string rubbed her cheekbone. La'Damian's hand was fondling her breast. Helen was weakened. Her will and body was slowly surrendering to this strange, powerful black teen. She leaned backward against the SUV making a “plop” sound. It broke her out of her trance but not released her right tit from La'Damian's grip. “This is wrong!” she said to La'Damian as she waved the g-string from her face. La'Damian was cool and reassuring never pulling his hand from her breast. It was his, he thought. It felt good in his palm as he felt deserving of having it. La'Damian continued to fondle it as he and Helen exchanged silent stares but she made no effort stopping him.

“More wrong than the racism stealing our heritage?” La'Damian asked her. Helen answered for only herself by whispering, “I'm not a racist.” She leaned forward and offered her lips to La'Damian again. The couple resumed making out by the Land Rover.

Meanwhile, Henry managed to his feet and could only see the tops of La'Damian and Helen's heads not quite understanding the passion they were sharing. “What are you doing over there?” he called out.

Helen pulled her head back leaving La'Damian to kiss her neck and suck on her bare nipple. “Shut up, Henry!” Helen said with her eyes rolled impatient with her husband's interference. She put her left arm around La'Damian's back, welcoming him. But her husband wouldn't keep quiet. Henry tried to jump towards the front of his Land Rover to get a peek what La'Damian was up to with his wife. The mask still tucked underneath his arm. Booker blocked him like a defensive tackle. Henry, facing a wall of immovable black flesh, again cried out for his faithful wife, “Helen?” However, Helen was too busy pulling up the seams from the bottom of her dress. La'Damian's left hand helped pull the dress up and over her round ass. He looked up into her eyes after getting a look at her sexy, trimmed pussy. The affluent, rich wife was nearly shaved bare down there. But she had a cute, blonde patch of hair above. The patch was no larger than a size of a half-dollar coin. La'Damian put his right forefinger on her patch feeling the bristles.

“It's beautiful. You wanted me to see your white pussy, didn't you, huh?” La'Damian whispered. Helen turned the other way looking guilty. She took another look at Henry and the La'Damian's friends. The large one, Booker, was pushing Henry back. The tall one, Titus, would sneak in like a boxer and give a upside on Henry's head. Helen had never seen her husband so frightened, brutalized, and alone. She had never felt this … aroused. Helen inhaled a lung full of hot, summer air when a sudden “wet” feeling of euphoria swept over her. Fluttering her eye lashes in the bright sunlight, She lifted her left leg, planting her heel into the side of the SUV. Helen squeezed her breast and let out a moan. She did hear her husband call for her. When Helen reached down with her other hand she felt the top of La'Damian's head. He had gone to his knees and was now looking up licking her wet twat. His nose firmly rubbing her clit … smelling her … taking her.

Helen chirped and chirped again like a happy bird. She pushed on the back on La'Damian's head giving him married pussy to taste. “Yes ...eat that pussy!” she said. La'Damian was neither shy nor modest lapping up her wetness. He coated her pussy with his spit making it feel like thick lather. His hot breath coaxed Helen to spread her thighs further for him. Helen started giving serious thought about giving more of her to La'Damian.

La'Damian whipped his tongue fast like a serpent trying to taste Helen's soul through her hole. He breathed heavy sounded like he had just finished a sprint. The young man was in a sexual high. His hands gripped Helen's ass, squeezing the skin tightly making the wife feel wanted, needed, and possessed. Helen began giggling and bucking her hips. Pulling at her nipples, she smiled and moaned at the bliss La'Damian was giving her.

“Helen! My gawd! Helen!” barked Henry. He tried to get closer to his wife but she was too preoccupied. Helen had a hot tongue in her cunt and she wasn't going to do anything to stop enjoying it. She simply closed her eyes and smiled. With every lick and taste La'Damian took, Helen gave more of her love, her body, her pussy to the black man. It wouldn't be too much longer before she would lose everything to him.

Booker landed an upper cut into Henry's gut. Henry's whining distracted La'Damian. It reminded him they were still in the parking lot. The foreplay had to lead to something more than getting the mask back. La'Damian knew he had to take control of the situation and took a break from eating pussy and stood to his feet to kiss Helen. She licked his lips and tongue wanting him to share the taste of pussy with her. Helen put her arms around his neck as he put both hands on her breasts. La'Damian thought the white girl was fuck-able. She only needed a black man to take control. La'Damian pulled down his pants enough to pull out his long, extended organ. It was time for her to see “it” and make her realize what she was in for. The fat cock sprang out. Its cock-head was hard rubbery, purple, and needy. Helen looked down and quickly covered her mouth in awe … sexual and racial awe. Humbled by the size of black manhood, she whispered to him “It's beautiful!”

La'Damian took Helen's hand away from her lips and put it on his cock. Helen felt privileged to touch it. She exhaled a gasp of air simply amazed by its girth and hardness. It was nothing like the white dick she had seen in her sexual active life. This black dick was bigger, better, and superior.

“Tell your husband to give us the mask and I'll let you put this in your pretty mouth. Give you a taste of black dick.” La'Damian offered Helen. Instead of thinking the entitled young man was arrogant or conceited, she considered it a serious opportunity to resolve the racial animosity her husband was responsible for. Helen stroked La'Damian's cock and nodded, “That sounds fair, actually.” she answered.

“Yeah?” pleasantly answered La'Damian who added, “Let's work this out and you can start.” Helen circled the cock-head with her index finger feeling the rubbery tip. It made her curious how it would feel and taste across her tongue. Her need for oral sex had made the decision. Helen gave La'Damian's cock a good, caring stroke and let out a deep sigh. “Give them the mask, Henry!” she ordered.

Henry could see no more than La'Damian and Helen rest their foreheads against one another, whined out a pathetic “But, no!” Helen was getting more than excited and ready to suck black cock. Spit ran out of her mouth and she let a glob of drool drop and land on La'Damian's cock-head. It gleaned shiny and smooth, like white frosting on chocolate ice cream. “Give them the fucking mask or they'll knock your teeth out. And I won't stop them!” she yelled.

“You heard her, bitch!” said Booker.

While Henry sniffled and handed out the mask to Booker and Titus, Helen squatted to the pavement. Still nearly topless with her dress pushed over her ass and under her bare breasts, she gripped La'Damian's stiff cock with her right hand. She leaned forward and licked his cock-head making circular motions before pushing several inches towards the back of her throat. Without guilt, remorse, or shame, Helen started sucking black dick.

Helen bobbed her head back and forth eager and cock-hungry. La'Damian rested his hand firmly on the blonde's head and curled his fingers through her hair. Helen never let her husband do that because she thought it was too degrading and disrespectful. La'Damian, enjoying the feeling of her warm mouth soothing his aching cock, pulled on her hair encouraging her to go deeper and sloppy. Helen learned she enjoyed how the black teen was treating her. It was deserving and right. With her left hand rubbing her clit, Helen firmly held dick with her right. She started licking it up and down the shaft and mouthing La'Damian's balls. She wanted to make love with the bull's cock and testicles. La'Damian looked down and rubbed his hand through her hair. The white girl's head spun in drunken euphoria at the raw flavor of black man-dick in her mouth. Her mind was popping left and right like firecrackers at the overwhelming sensation of the dirty, nasty taste and smell she was experiencing. Hot dick is what she desperately needed in her life. “Get ***** on that dick.” La'Damian whispered. Helen emptied her head of thought and self-control. She freed herself from white morality, rules made up by racist men.

Booker had the mask tucked underneath his right arm like a golden football. Titus taunted Henry by waving his right hand back and forth laughing at him. Henry jumped to his feet like a clumsy white boy playing basketball for his first time trying to get a glimpse of his wife. He was wondering what she was doing with the black man near the Land Rover. Titus saw what his friend and the white girl was up to and a big smile came to his face.

“Oh-oh! I don't think the white boy is going to like this!” said Titus who laughed aloud enjoying the humiliation the husband was about to suffer. Titus and Booker let Henry come around the front of his vehicle but too much too fast. Booker grabbed Henry's collar with his left hand when he felt he was close enough to watch. But they wouldn't allow Henry to disturb the couple from their fun.

Henry's stomach turned. His heart broke. There was Helen, his wife, squatted down like a street 'ho with her tits out and rubbing her pussy with a big, black cock in her mouth. She bobbed and corkscrewed her head like a piston sealing her lips around La'Damian's shaft as drool dripped down from her chin. What hurt even more was the satisfied look on the 18 year old's face as he turned up to the sky with a big grin on his face brightening the dreary, back lot. He let out a pleasing moan just as Helen moaned with her mouth full. Henry never suspected she was capable of looking and acting this way.

“Helen, what are you doing? ...” Henry screamed, his voice crackling. His next word was an “Umph!” after Booker jabbed him in the ribs when Henry stepped on his shoes. With La'Damian's hand on Helen's head, she was confident that sucking cock without interruption was best. She felt safe at La'Damian's feet. Henry was about the pass out at the interracial eroticism and black dominance playing out in front of him. The mask was inches away in Booker's arm but Henry realized he was losing both the mask and his wife. Henry's eyes were blurred by the tears in them. But he resisted and refused to accept the power of the black man. He lunged forward but Titus was there performing one of his signature moves he performed on the court. This white boy wasn't going to steal any rebound.

“Helen!” Henry complained again. His cries to salvage his masculinity and place in his marriage gave him adrenaline to ignore the pain Booker and Titus had inflicted on him. Henry even managed to knock Titus back a step, catching the high school basketball star off balance. The husband's left elbow jabbed into Booker's sternum. Henry was one step closer to Helen and sharing his disapproval of her. But Booker grabbed Henry by the back of his shirt and yanked him back between he and Titus. Titus was there with another slap across Henry's nose.

Henry snorted blood and defiantly yelled back, “You fuckers!”

Helen was oblivious to the distraction her husband was causing. She stroked La'Damian's cock back and forth with her hand, smiled and told him, “What a beautiful cock!” However, La'Damian noticed the trouble and disrespect the white boy was causing. He calmly asked Helen, “Do you want to see me rough up your hubby so he'll shut up?”
Helen looked up, nodded and let go of La'Damian's organ. La'Damian pulled up his pants but didn't bother zipping or buttoning them. This wouldn't take long. Leaving Helen behind squatting over the pavement, La'Damian snarled and approached the sniffling husband. Henry thought about reasoning with La'Damian by telling him to “listen”. Before Henry could get another word, he was met by a flying right, black fist under his left eye. A left fist landed across Henry's right jaw. Meanwhile, Helen saw all of this. She brought up her left hand, wet from her pussy, to cover her mouth at the demonstration of black masculinity and racial violence. The sight … smell … was so … fucking arousing! The corners of Helen's lips curled up into a wry smile.

La'Damian felt he wanted to fuck up Henry some more. He did. Using his hands to grip him, he raised his right knee to plunge into Henry's gut. Henry was unable to do little more than grunt, groan, and cry. Booker and Titus walked up to Helen and politely introduced themselves. Helen smiled and replied feeling little embarrassment from being nearly naked with a chin covered with her own saliva. “This will be over soon.” explained Titus to which Helen whispered a pleasant, “Good.”

La'Damian returned to his circle of friends where Booker handed the mask to him in celebrating his victory. La'Damian stood in front of Helen who helped herself pulling down his pants. Booker and Titus found amusement how sex hungry Helen turned out to be. Each nodded and grinned when Helen put La'Damian's hard cock back into her mouth. She had little trouble performing a blow job in front of others. La'Damian just nodded and wrapped the mask's headband over his head. In a display of conquest practiced for generations, the African-blooded teen stood wearing the ancient mask as a conquered white girl serviced him. With a hand back on her head, he started bucking his hips, fucking her face, in front of his buddies and in front of her husband.

Henry looked up from the pavement. He clenched both his fists but too weak to do anything about it. Henry shut his eyes and ground his teeth. But he couldn't keep from hearing his thick cock going in and out of Helen's wet mouth making a “sloshing” sound with each thrust.

Booker and Titus started grabbing their crotches. La'Damian knew there was a lot more to do if racial justice would be complete. He pulled the mask off and pulled Helen up on her feet who was disoriented and confused. I'm taking you to our place. You belong to a black man today.” Wiping her chin, Helen answered, “Okay.” before adjusting her dress to cover her ass and breasts.

Helen didn't bother to close the passenger door. She only quickly grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and kept to La'Damian's side. Booker and Titus turned around first. La'Damian held Helen's hand tight with his free hand and escorted her to the alley behind his friends. Helen had to step over Henry crying in a fetal position. She lifted her heels over him and walked away. Helen turned the corner and disappeared into the dark alley with three black men without saying a word to him. She heard her husband call out her name and cry. Helen didn't care.


The walk to Titus's place,
wasn't a long one. However, for a white girl, Helen felt like she was put on parade. Being in the arms of a younger, attractive black man didn't go unnoticed by the neighborhood. They could tell by the way Helen was dressed, how she looked, she was on her way to fuck. The black men on the streets nodded. Some exclaimed out loud, “'bout time!” calling for more examples of racial justice at the expense of whites. The older black women of the community sneered at the white harlot in their blessed neighborhood. Helen was looked at as a whore for disturbing their good black men with her insatiable sexual appetite for black sex. However, the younger, more progressive black women were tolerating. They understood black men fucking white women was essential to their goals for ending white society. Black men must keep whites from breeding by blackening their white wombs. As for Helen, her mind was emptied. All she cared about was getting fucked physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

Titus's brownstone, wasn't too far away. His ****** took a corner unit, a floor plan that had been split into several rental units. Titus's ****** left the place to him that day and night. They have left for work, running errands across state lines, or living their own adventure. It was a good day to bring home a white girl.

By her hand, La'Damian took Helen into Titus's room while his buddies went to the kitchen to distract themselves with drinks from the fridge. They needed anything to cool them down while La'Damian had something hot.

Helen walked into the bedroom first. La'Damian followed. The violet curtains pulled over the window bathed the room in strange, erotic light. Helen realized she was stepping into a palace, a sacrificial chamber where she would surrender her body and her morality. A muted buzz sounded from her purse just as she took it off her shoulder. It was her phone. Henry was calling. Helen looked at her phone and silenced it. Yet, it still displayed “Henry”, the name of her dear husband. Through his phone, his name was screaming at her to stop. He was pleading to not go further and betray him and their marriage. For a solemn moment, Helen had second thoughts. Was it a wave of marital guilt, her institutional commitment to her husband … or racial prejudice? But when Helen looked to La'Damian, he had peeled off his clothes. His pants dropped to the floor releasing his black snake of a cock. It was awakening from its slumber during the walk from the pawn shop. Blood and excitement returned to his organ but most of all … need.

Helen clicked off that part of her inside in exchange to experience black cock. She silenced her phone, returned it to her purse, and began undressing. With a good tug and a wiggle she stood barefoot and naked in front of the black teen. La'Damian felt the weight in his balls. They were packed full of hot cum and looking for escape. He needed to express his sexual needs and was so gawd-damned frustrated. He needed to fight racial bigotry and pointed at his manhood, “Suck this dick.” he said calmly to Helen. Helen approached and quietly dropped to her knees. She answered to him, “Yes, sir.” and placed her hands on La'Damian's muscular thighs. Her fingers were spread wide, wanting a good grip on his muscular legs. Helen put her nose into his balls before licking up his shaft. She put the cock into her mouth and ... slurp …. slurp … slurp …

Helen's eyes looked up and locked on La'Damian's face. She was curious if he would look back at her. Instead, he held his eyes closed, lifted his chin, looking both entitled and satisfied. Helen's mouth tasted the organic, raw flavor again. It was a hit of a powerful drug that Helen had no desire to free her from. She remembered how La'Damian paraded her through the black 'hood and how everyone looked at her like she was a slut.

It didn't feel awful. It felt … liberating.

With La'Damian, Helen could be openly sexual, free of modesty and shame. She was experiencing black dick and enjoyed it. Her right hand reached down and squeezed her right breast. Her left returned to her pussy, caressing it, rubbing it and making her cunt went. “Put your nose in my balls! Smell my nuts!” said La'Damian in his deep voice … growling his demand. Helen did as she was told. Taking a deep breath, a long and extended whiff, Helen let out an erotic moan. She couldn't resist and gave La'Damian's large balls an open mouth kiss and many laps with her tongue. La'Damian reached down a took a swing with his cock like a baseball bat across Helen's face.

“smack” … it surprised Helen who caught on how heavy his dick was when it landed on her face. They made eye contact. La'Damian said nothing and stared at her. Hwas man enough to do it again. Helen, refused to be degraded for her husband's pleasure, accepted it. She spat on La'Damian's cock-head and put several inches of it in her mouth and turned her head over it. The slut accepted her place at her black lover's feet. La'Damian put one hand on top of her head, the other under her chin. He buckled his knees a little before throwing his hips. He started fucking Helen's mouth.

“Mmmpppph!” Helen responded to the onslaught of cock going deep into her throat. Her mouth stretched open like she was swallowing a peach whole. Again and again, La'Damian thrust his loins ignoring Helen's teeth scraping the tops and bottoms of his cock. Instead, he enjoyed her warm tongue and the pleasure releasing his frustrations on the white girl. La'Damian mumbled “Wish your racist husband could see this.” Helen could only answer with a gag and blobs of thick saliva spat out of her mouth. She pulled her head back for a deep breath and coughed. She even surprised herself how she acted pornographic. Her chin and tits were covered with fresh spit.

“You're not racist like your hubby, are you?” La'Damian whispered.

Coughing and shaking her head, Helen answered “No .. (cough) (cough) .. I'm not ...” The young, black man felt it was time for her to prove it. He helped her up on her feet and put his forehead to hers. “It's time you show me how you're not racist.” La'Damian guided the white woman to the bed. Helen knew enough to sit on its edge and scoot back in a submissive position giving her lover room to dominate her. She put her legs back and La'Damian planted his strong arms at the back of her knees making them spread more wide. Helen started panting. The tip of La'Damian's cock brushed against her pussy, touching her clit that went hot to its touch.

“Oh, my gawd! Oh, my gawd!” Helen said to herself realizing she was going to have a strange cock inside her married, white pussy. Would she “transform” like other white girls who gone black? La'Damian firmly put his plump cock-head against her pussy and pushed inside using his body weight as leverage. La'Damian grunted experiencing first hand how inexperienced Helen was with real men. He pushed but only managed a few, short inches. Perhaps, no more than three or four. Her husband must have been small-dicked and pathetic. La'Damian thought how racist it was that a hot-ass white girl like Helen would spread her legs for her white husband. Black men needed this pussy more. They deserved to fuck and pass her around from one black cock to another.

Helen let out short gasps, a quick winded whine while gritting her teeth. “You're so big!” she complained. But La'Damian pushed and cursed himself, “Fuck … your cunt is tight!” He bucked his hips in and out a few inches determined to get more of him inside of her. “Love the black man … want me to fuck you.” he told her. Helen grabbed handfuls of bed sheet and shut her eyes and grunted. “Ugh … aghh … you're splitting me in half!” she told him.

Only a few inches of La'Damian's massive organ made it inside her pussy. “You're getting blacked.” La'Damian told her who then said, “Don't you want your husband to see how woke you are?” But when Helen replied with muted gasps, La'Damian teased with, “You want to see him get beat up again?”

Helen moaned, “Oh, yes! Fuck me!” She gave in to her inner-most desires and need. She opened her heart as wide as she had opened her legs to a man she did not know other than he was aggressive, attractive, and beautifully black. Helen felt La'Damian push more of his cock-meat into her womb. Her wet cunt stretched and she felt every inch and pulsating vein. La'Damian cheered and told her, “We're going to be a nice interracial couple, fucking!” Helen sniffled and arched her back. She put her hands on his chest wanting his masculinity for emotional support.

La'Damian lusted for the blonde, but Helen was a just a hole to deposit his rage into. He hated Henry, that piece of shit. It was only right that he the faithful wife into a slut faithful to the black man. It would just take several inches of cock and a womb full of black seed. La'Damian leaned into his white girl and shoved the rest of his ten plus inches into Helen. Helen had never experienced these new feelings. A confident man, the heavy balls tapping her ass, and a large cock fucking her. “ … you're so deep ...” Helen whispered with a lustful smile. La'Damian gave her his first full, slow thrust and again … and again. The couple were fucking. They were sharing beautiful moments of interracial harmony. Helen was enjoying surrendering her white body to a black man. La'Damian cheered “Yeah … yeah ...” scoring white pussy. Fucking married white woman wasn't just fun but needed to get by day to day if he had to put up with the bigotry from their men.

Push … push … push did La'Damian as he licked Helen's left ear. “Likin' that black dick, girl? Huh?” he teased. Helen moved her hands down and gripped La'Damian's firm ass. His ass felt so muscular and athletic as its muscles tightened and relaxed with each heavenly throw of his loins. It felt so wonderful having a man fuck her. She gasped aloud, “Ahhh … ohhh … ahhh ...” before she was surprised. La'Damian felt her body buck and convulse. Helen let out a cute whine and teethed her right forefinger.

“Cummin' already?” asked La'Damian who didn't let up. He kept fucking and fucking. No white man had ever made Helen orgasm this quick. The couple kissed passionately. Tongues swirled and danced with each other. Spit was exchanged and dripping out of their mouths. “I'm going to make you cum again … ” said La'Damian. Helen looked up dazed and confused without fully understanding what more she must endure.

“Tell me you need black cock.” demanded La'Damian as he slammed his manhood deep into Helen's womb. Helen had never enjoyed talking dirty. It wasn't her and she once told Henry never try it. But she couldn't resist her black lover or her true feelings. “I … I … need … black cock!” Helen said it. She confessed to La'Damian. “Oh, my gawd!” she cried out feeling something erupt in her body and soul, “Ugh … ugh .. aaaaaghhh!” Helen whipped her head back and forth. Her confession sent her into a sexual frenzy La'Damian's steel manhood made inside her.

La'Damian, confident and righteous, continued his pounding of that white pussy. He didn't lose one ounce of stamina showing his superiority, both sexual and racial. “You're becoming a slut.” he told his white girl. Helen rolled her eyes looking at the ceiling. Helen moved her hands back on La'Damian's ass and whispered encouragement, “ … fuck me ...” It did feel good to say it. Helen had to admit that. She even pleaded to La'Damian again, “I need … black cock.”

La'Damian turned and looked into Helen's eyes before his lips met hers. It was a soft, tender kiss. Almost one of gratitude for giving her body to him … almost. Just as she thought they would share longer moments of love making, her black man paused his steady, rocking rhythm. He reared back his ass and slammed forward in a quick, mesmeric plunge. La'Damian made Helen's eyes cross. She winced when her pussy stretched wide too fast. He did it several more times. Each forward motion controlled and determined to be mind fucking. Each lunge came with a word for her.

“slut ... you're … a … black … cock … whore!”

With every word, Helen cried out a primal grunt. She was startled, maybe even a little appalled. No man or woman ever called her a “whore” before. Her husband would be too afraid to spell it in front of Helen let alone call her one. La'Damian had no problems with it and called out Helen as he saw her. In one afternoon, she went from a respectable wife privileged with an affluent life to putting out for a black teen in the inner city. She turned her head and sniffled knowing it was true. Helen stepped over her husband for black cock. She openly betrayed him and realized their marriage was over. He probably wouldn't have anything to do with her now. The feelings were likely mutual. La'Damian was the man in her life now and continued fucking her mind, body, and soul.

“You're a whore now… you know it, white girl!” La'Damian chanted. Helen just gave a blank stare to the walls as her head jerked back with each of La'Damian's thrusts. She was hate-fucked. Helen waited for La'Damian to finish until his 'hate' expressed out of him, no matter how long it took.

Push … push … push … swish… slosh … swish”, in and out went the black sex organ penetrating Helen. Her face kept stone faced. With each expanding penetration into her womb, she found courage to dislike her race a little more.

La'Damian broke out of his rhythm and pulled out of Helen. He pulled Helen's right leg to her left. La'Damian wanted her to spin over and get on her elbows and knees. When she didn't move fast enough, he slapped across her ass. It was good contact making high-pitched “smack”. Helen let out a hot breath brushed her hair back and crawled on the bed with her elbows and knees. She would be compliant and accommodate him since La'Damian was the alpha and in control in the bedroom. He was a true man and going to get anything he wanted.
“You're going to be a race traitor!” said La'Damian as he grabbed Helen by her hips. Helen was taken off guard by his 'request' and answered with a confused, “Huh?” La'Damian rubbed his cock-head against her wet pussy up and down searching for a place to push through. “I'm going to make you cum and you'll be a white-hating race traitor!” answered La'Damian.

Helen took a deep breath a little off-balanced through the shiver of anticipation from cock tapping her pussy. “La'Damian? ...” she said, unsure how to answer him. La'Damian gave Helen another slap across her ass making her chirp. He was a true man in charge. La'Damian guided the first inch of his manhood into Helen's pussy and teased her. “Think you can pay for racism with just a blow job and a little pussy?” La'Damian pushed another inch. Helen gasped again. Her lover demanded more, “This black dick is going to make you cum and hate your race.” La'Damian shoved a few more inches as Helen tried to take in his demands. “Oh … La'Damian … ahhh!” cried Helen.

La'Damian gave Helen a smooth throw from his loins filling her womb deep with cock. The racial contract was written and waited for Helen to do her part and experience another orgasm. In return, she would be loyal to the black man and likely end her marriage. La'Damian reared back to give nearly another foot of cock. It made Helen yelp again. She looked ahead and clenched the sheets below her. She took another “fuck” and gritted her teeth. Helen looked over to the top of the dresser where La'Damian had propped up the mask against the mirror. The fertility mask was staring back at her witnessing the mating ritual blessing it. How many women had it seen surrendered to strong, African males in its time?

Helen thought Henry was a piece of shit for getting them into a racially insensitive situation. He deserved to be roughed up and see his wife walk off with black guys. The marital stress Helen was put through justified stepping out on him. Helen went further than acting like a whore. She started thinking and feeling like one. All that mattered was getting cock, black cock and she would betray any white man to get that dick. She started grunting with each thrust anticipating the next.

Helen let out a moan. La'Damian deserved using her for his pleasure. He deserved to be appeased and satisfied. Helen could not ignore how good black cock made her feel inside her cunt. She covered her mouth, trying to hold back another loud moan. Helen teethed her wedding band when she had her left palm to her mouth. It reminded of her marriage and her commitment to Henry who still might be out there looking for her. She planted both hands flat on the bed and prayed to herself, “Oh, Henry! I'm sorry!” Helen hoped it wasn't too late to reconsider her bargain with the black race. But she arched her back and started panting, “Ah .. ahh .. ahhhh!”

La'Damian just fucked and fucked his white girl and looking at her pretty, pale ass. “You gonna make black men happy!” he told her. Helen heard and gasped because La'Damian was right. A race traitor, white girl fucks one black man after another. She stands shoulder to shoulder in the streets and lays down flesh-to-flesh in the bedroom. Getting 'fucked' racially and mentally felt so gawd-damned good! Losing everything for this big, black cock was beautiful. Helen let out another moan, “Oh … fuck … fuck!” La'Damian reached and pulled her up by the hair like an animal. He put his nose into her neck and told her while slamming his cock inside her, “Hate … your … white … race!”

Helen rolled her eyes and let out a growl. She started bucking her ass with one hand reached behind on La'Damian's hip. The other grabbed a breast. Helen grunted with each buck, “Uh, ugh, … aaahhhhhhgggghhh!”

“Yeah!” said La'Damian!

Helen rolled her head up and around as if she was under a spell or an exorcism. She squeezed her breast hard and screamed, “Fuck, yes!” feeling the relief of sexual tension. She even threw a fist into the air celebrating black victories. It was La'Damian's turn to grunt. With both hands gripping Helen's hips, he slammed forward again and again before an eruption of cum, his semen, sprang out of his cock like a fountain. He splattered the insides of Helen's womb making her feel very warm inside. “Aggh! Fuck the white race!” he cried out. Helen even joined him by screaming, “Yeah, fuck my race, baby!” Helen was now taken and rightfully conquered by the stronger male. She went weak and collapsed flat on the bed. La'Damian followed her and slowly moved his cock in and out of her pussy while it was still somewhat hard. Laying on top of her, he snorted hot air out of his nostrils into her ear.

Helen gasped and tried to recover. She felt La'Damian's weight on top of her. Even after sexually satisfying him, he was still in charge. He was still inside her, using her. She thought to herself, “I'm sorry, Henry … ”

La'Damian slowed his pace. He rested his body on top of hers and kissed her right shoulder. He whispered, “You like black dick, now?” Helen quietly smiled and nodded her head bashful-like. “I do,” she said, “I'm in love with it.” Both laughed feeling comfortable with one another. La'Damian rolled over on his back and Helen put her head on his chest covering them with soft kisses. In their few quiet moments, La'Damian thought how he would need to make it up to his friend for making his sheets wet and sticky. Helen reached for her phone and held it up over her and her black lover. Their heads resting against the other, each smiled at her phone and she took a selfie. She then put her hand on La'Damian's black chest before casually going down to feel his semi-hard cock. Helen began stroking it with her left hand and noticed how good it looked seeing her white hand with a wedding ring glide over his black dick. Helen looked up to La'Damian, smiled, and was about to suggest something.

Knock-knock-knock! “C'mon, bro! We can't wait no more!” griped Titus.

La'Damian and Helen looked at each other. Helen gave an embarrassed look not understanding what was next for her. La'Damian unapologetically answered, “It's their turn.”

Helen, in a sarcastic voice replied, “Since I'm a race traitor whore, I have too … right?” La'Damian quietly responded by jumping to his feet and to the door naked. All Helen saw was his naked butt before he opened the door and exited the room. Titus and Booker, each in their boxers, walked in. Helen thought this was a joke until the two pulled down their underwear and their cocks sprung out.

Feeling thirsty, La'Damian walked to the kitchen for water. As he gulped down a glassful, he heard Helen's voice welcome Booker and Titus in the bedroom.

“You two look ready … I'm your first, married white girl? … I look sexy? … I feel sexy! ...”, Helen giggled before La'Damian heard unmistakable sounds of cock sucking. Titus moaned first, then it was Booker's turn. Helen had given in, as she should have. Her obligations to the young, black men were too great. Funny, how easily her brain re-wired and corrected with some black cock. The traitor-wife bobbed her head over each showing her devotion to them and providing sexual pleasures to the handsome men.

While La'Damian jumped in the shower, Helen embraced the whore she was becoming. She felt lucky and privileged to have a cock in her hand, in her mouth, or across her face. There was so much energy and vitality in the room celebrating black culture and pummeling white racism and its intolerant morals. With sharing a white girl between three black men came true, interracial harmony the world needed.

To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, read the reference guide under the Author's Den found in the forums section.