PARKER8.TXT -- 2/3
SQUEALER
(Part 2/3)
By Parker
an210088@anon.penet.fi
WARNING: This story contains all sorts of non-consensual
intercourse, bondage, domination, humiliation and all that
kind of stuff. It is not politically correct! If you do not
want to read this sort of material, I suggest you stop now,
before it is too late. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Copyright 1994 by me (Parker). Feel free to reproduce and
disseminate (unaltered, of course) but be discrete.
=================================================================
They did let her go in the end.
The black guy had forced her to suck his cock for a while, and then, after
a little more alcohol, she found herself actually necking with him in the back
seat. That was just about the worst thing: lying in each other's arms in the
back seat - just like girlfriend and boyfriend - lips pressed up against each
other's; tongues entwined. Eventually, he had leaned back, and she had been
forced to fuck him, legs straddling his thighs, riding his cock up and down
until he came. Fortunately, the cum from the first rape had provided some
lubrication, so it had not been too painful.
By the time he came, the alcohol had pretty much overwhelmed her, and she
was almost unconscious. Her last recollection before passing out was of the
black man running his cum covered cock into her mouth.
Sandy was still drunk when she woke up.
It was dark, and she assumed that it was the same night.
She found herself in an alleyway. Her blouse, the front ripped open, hung
over her in tatters, but the bra was nowhere to be found. Her slacks and
panties were still bunched up around her ankles, so she pulled them up. But
when she tried to fasten them, she found that the front button had come off. In
her drunken state, this somehow seemed utterly crushing, and she began to sob,
lying there in the alley among the trashcans.
After a while, she pulled herself together. At least her ordeal was over!
The bastards had let her go. Struggling to her feet, she staggered down the
alley looking for help. The alley seemed to go on forever, but she eventually
came to what appeared to be a club or a bar of some sort. A short set of stairs
led downward to a door. Behind it, she could hear music and people talking.
People.
Someone to help her.
Almost crying with relief, she started to walk swiftly down the stairs. It
proved too much for her, however, and she stumbled drunkenly, and fell up
against the door. It burst open and she tumbled head over heels into the bar.
Chowder Harris, the bartender and owner of the nameless little drinking
establishment, looked up in fear as the door crashed inward. His first thought
was the police - at any given time, there was enough prostitution, fencing and
drug dealing going on in his place to fill a small jail - but he immediately
dismissed the thought. He'd slipped money into the right pockets. And even the
police didn't venture into this part of LA. His conclusion was quickly proved
right: it was a girl.
A white girl!
And a real babe too; brown hair, wide blue eyes. The customers in the
now-silent bar watched as the girl struggled drunkenly to her feet and
staggered up against a table. One pathetic little hand clutched at the front of
her torn blouse, attempting to hold it together over her large breasts, while
the other hand held closed the front of her pants. This girl had run into some
trouble. Harris's conclusion was the same as everyone else's: a hooker who had
chosen the wrong customer. Still... Harris's instincts kicked in: there was
money to be made here! Harris threw his cloth down on the bar counter and
walked up to where the girl stood unsteadily, peering around the bar.
"Well now," he said, voice gruff and friendly, "you look like you've had
some trouble." Wordlessly, she nodded, trembling. Feigning sympathy, Harris put
his arm over her exposed shoulder and steered her over to the bar. "Why don't
you just sit down right here and we'll get you some help." Tears began
trickling down the girl's face, but she followed without protest.
Sandy couldn't stop shuddering as the black man led her over to a bar
stool. She had been frightened at first - all those black faces staring at her
as she crashed into the bar - but the man seemed nice. Friendly.
He would help her.
Shaking uncontrollably, the girl sat gingerly on an empty bar stool as the
bar talk slowly started up again. Harris made certain that she was securely
perched, and then walked back behind the counter.
"Here you go," he said sympathetically, pouring a shot glass of whisky,
"this'll make you feel better." He placed the glass in front of her.
Sandy instinctively felt that something was wrong; that she shouldn't
accept the drink, but she was generally unable to focus through the alcoholic
haze. She had almost no previous experience with being drunk, and was
completely incapable of handling herself. She felt as if all of her willpower
had been sapped away, drowned in the warm numbness that suffused her body.
Slowly, with the exaggerated caution of the truly drunk, the picked up the
small glass and brought it to her lips.
"That's it," the man encouraged her. "Just drink it all down." Sandy
followed his instructions and swallowed it in one gulp. She shuddered and
coughed as the fiery alcohol coursed through her body. Involuntarily, she
brought the glass back down onto the counter with a large thump.
"Another?"
Obligingly, Harris refilled it. She didn't want any more, but still she
obediently lifted the glass and again downed the alcohol. It was actually
making her feel a bit better; the pain in her crotch and chest seemed to recede
as her body became increasingly numb. Without realizing it, the tattered
remains of her blouse slipped free of her left hand and fell open, affording
Chowder Harris a clear view of her breasts between the torn strips of cloth.
Staring openly at her exposed chest, he again refilled her glass. Harris
was about to say something when he was suddenly pulled aside by a large,
angry-looking black woman: his wife.
"What are you do'n?" she asked, furious to have found her husband so
friendly with some scrawny, bare-breasted white slut. In the middle of the bar!
"Are you crazy?"
"Listen," Harris whispered, glancing over his shoulder at the girl as she
downed the third shot of whisky. "It's not what y'think. She's just some
drunken whore who stumbled in. We can make some money."
Somewhat mollified to learn that his interest in the bitch was only
financial, his wife released his arm. Still, she wasn't quite sure about it.
"The bitch's probably working," she pointed out. Miles will..."
"You jokin? A white woman around here? For Miles?" Harris laughed. "That'd
be news around here. I'd've heard 'bout it for sure."
He was right, and his wife grunted in grudging agreement. "OK. But just
you keep your hands off her." Harris nodded, happy that she'd given in. The
girl was attractive, but he knew better than to get caught fooling around. His
wife was a large woman, and not shy.
He turned back to the girl. The additional alcohol was already affecting
her, and she was swaying perceptibly on the stool. Harris couldn't help but
stare at her breasts - large and firm - as they jiggled appealingly through the
torn front of her blouse. The girl was no longer even trying to cover them.
Strange, though; she wasn't really dressed like a whore. Too nice. Still...
This was business.
"That'll be ten bucks," he announced, walking up to stand directly in
front of her. She looked over at him in confusion, eyes squinting as she tried
to focus.
"Wha?"
"Ten bucks," he repeated. "For the drinks. You owe me ten bucks, girl."
"Ten...t-ten..."
Just as he had thought. "Can't pay?" Confused, the girl shook her head.
Clearly, she didn't understand him, but that really wasn't important. He just
needed - or wanted - an excuse.
And now he had one.
Feigning anger, he walked around from behind the bar and marched up to
where she sat unsteadily on the bar stool. She tried to swivel her head to
follow his movements, but in her drunken state, she half fell off the stool. He
roughly grabbed her from her perch as she fell and dragged her to the centre of
the room, right in front of the broken-down pool table. She stumbled along in
his grip, barely keeping her footing, her mumbled protests ignored.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Hey... everyone. Listen up!" The quiet hum of talk,
which had slowly been building up since the girl's dramatic entrance into the
bar, fell away as all the faces in the bar turned towards where Harris stood
holding the girl.
Staring...
Drunk as she was, Sandy still blushed furiously at all those black faces
staring at her. She wanted to cry out - to shout, to protest that this was all
a mistake and she didn't belong here - but her mouth and tongue felt numb. All
she could manage was an embarrassed gurgle as the bartender jerked her up
against the pool table and began to speak.
"This girl here owes me some money," he cried out, smirking. "And she
can't pay."
A few men in the crowd laughed.
"Luckily," the bar owner continued, "she can still earn it."
"How's that?" came a voice from the crowd, followed by a round of
malicious laughter. They knew what was going on. The only women that came into
a place like these were whores. One way or the other, they were all whores.
Everyone there knew what good old Chowder was talking about. And no one had
ever seen a white girl in this bar before.
"Well," Harris drawled, enjoying the attention, "just like any other
whore; on her back." He reached down with his free hand and tore away what was
left of Sandy's blouse. The young student tried to bring her hands up to
protect herself, but he slapped them away. The crowd stared in silence at her
exposed breasts.
Harris looked around.
They were ready.
"Fifty dollars a fuck," he proclaimed. "We'll just set her up for business
right here." He grabbed her thick brown hair and pulled her backwards. Sandy,
clumsy in her drunkenness, rolled back onto the pool table. While her legs were
in the air, Harris grabbed her slacks and pulled them down. She started to kick
and struggle, but it was too late: she was down to her panties. And those, too,
were quickly ripped off. Within seconds, Sandy found herself stripped naked and
lying on her back on the pool table. She tried to squirm off, but the black man
kept his hand in her hair, pinning her head to the table.
Grinning, Harris bent down and whispered to her: "Just be a good girl.
You've done this before. Try to enjoy it."
Enjoy it?
Once again, Sandy's attempts to protest were sabotaged by the pervasive
numbness in her face and body. She was able to do little more than mumble
incoherently as the black man pulled his face away. She wanted to tell them
that she *was* a good girl - not a whore. And she didn't belong here.
She did'nt belong here.
She was still trying to articulate this thought when the first man
approached. The large black man wasted little time. He just pulled his long,
hard cock free from his pants and climbed on top of her. She squirmed and
struggled as he brought his beer-breath mouth down onto her lips and began
exploring her mouth with his tongue. She wanted to scream, but couldn't, with
his mouth covering hers. She could only moan with pain and humiliation as he
started to maul her breasts while kissing her.
The man misinterpreted her moans. "Feels good," he grunted, momentarily
pulling his mouth from hers. "Don't it bitch." He moved one hand down,
positioned his cock, and rammed it into her with one powerful jerk of his hips.
The lubrication from the earlier rapes had gone, and her pussy was dried and
unprepared for this latest invasion. She grunted with the pain. "Oohhhh..." The
penis felt like it was burning its way into her pussy. Her cry, however, was
cut off as the man brought his lips down against her mouth and began slobbering
on her face and lips. His hips began pistoning back and forth. Her hands
flailed uselessly at her side as he drove his cock in and out of her...
Harris grinned as the girl, slender legs spread wide, satisfied her first
customer on the pool table. She really was a beautiful girl; just like those
girls wearing bathing suits on magazine covers. She was goin' to make him a
fortune. The whole bar was watching now, and cheering and the white whore
bucked and whined in lust while the black man fucked her hard. Just what the
stuckup white bitch needed!
Like the two men who had raped her earlier that evening, this man didn't
last very long. Within minutes, he was shooting his load of warm sperm into her
now lubricated pussy. Sandy tried to kick herself free - anything to get his
cock out before he dumped his sperm inside her - but it was no use. She was
pinned beneath him. When he was done, the man pulled away after giving her one
last kiss.
Sandy lay limp on the table, gasping for breath as the man's sperm
trickled out of her abused pussy and down her ass crack. She had just started
to turn over - trying to curl up into a fetal position - when the second man
climbed onto the pool table, positioned himself between her still spread legs,
and began to fuck her. It did not hurt so much this time, as her pussy had been
well lubricated with the first man's sperm. The man's cock slid smoothly in and
out of her unprotected pussy. In fact, in her drunken numbness, it almost began
to feel good.
Almost.
As she lay spread on the table being fucked, a thought occurred to her:
the quicker they came, the quicker they would be finished and leave her alone.
In her drunken state, this seemed to be a good reason to co-operate: to get it
over with as soon as possible.
Get it over with as soon as possible.
And so, lying naked and dripping on a pool table in a bar filled with
yelling, cheering black men, Sandra Little, med student and beautiful young
woman, slipped her long, slender legs around behind the man and began to fuck
back at him; doing her best to make him come as quickly as possible.
Harris couldn't believe it! Any doubts about the girl's occupation were
discarded. What a little whore! Not that he was complaining. The crowd went
wild as the girl threw her naked arms around the man's neck and kissed him hard
on the mouth, all the time bucking and heaving beneath him, clearly doing her
best to fuck him back.
Sandy felt the man begin to stiffen inside of her. Quickly, she brought
her face up and began to lick the man on the neck. Ron, one of her boyfriends
from back home, had always loved that. Panting, half with lust, she licked and
kissed and bit the man on the neck as he came inside of her.
As with the first, he climbed quickly off and was immediately replaced by
another. 'Get it over with,' she told herself, reaching up to welcome her new
lover. The man seemed interested in her breasts, so she cupped her hands
underneath and offered them up to him. He bent over and began biting and
licking...
The fifth man turned her over. Obligingly, Sandy climbed up on all fours
and spread her legs, ignoring the cum as it streamed down the inside of her
thighs. She wiggled her ass backwards until she felt the man's cock up against
her sopping pussy and then slid back, moaning slightly as she felt it slide
inside of her. Against her will, she was beginning to feel a slow, steady
build-up of lust in her pussy. The man began slapping her ass as she fucked
herself back against his cock.
Get it over with...
She finally came. It was while fucking the seventh or eighth guy. By this
time, she aware of nothing except the feelings in her pussy and breasts, and
the out-of-focus face hovering above her on the table.
She wasn't sure how many men had fucked her - she had lost track - when
she felt, through the haze of lust and alcohol, the cock slap against her lips.
She had never given head before - never even considered it - but she
instinctively opened her mouth and sucked it in. She was now being fucked
simultaneously by two men, one from the front and one from behind. Moaning in
involuntary lust, she did her best to give them as much pleasure as possible;
to bring them off as quickly as she could.
Get it over with...
Chowder Harris's pockets were bulging with money. The girl - his own
little bar whore - had exceeded his greatest expectations. She had fucked well
over a dozen guys and was still going strong, now taking two at once. Even at
only fifty bucks a shot, he might still clear a thousand bucks! Thoughtfully,
he studied the scene on the pool table. The bitch was on her back again, taking
one man in her pussy, but twisting her upper body around so she could run her
cum-covered lips up and down on another man's cock. One hand held her body
steady, while the other grasped the base of the cock she was working on with
her mouth.
Harris worked a thought around in his mind. He'd have to speak with his
wife about it, but... but maybe he should keep her. Keep the girl. No one would
miss her. She could clean the place during the day and fuck at night. He'd make
a fortune...
A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Harris turned. It was Miles. Taylor Miles: the most powerful drug dealer
and all around crime lord in the neighbourhood. He was also, although it was
more of a hobby with him than a significant money making enterprise, a pimp.
And a very successful one. He ran all of the girls on the strip down State
Street and in the surrounding area.
Including Harris's bar.
"Hello Chowder." Miles was not a big man, but then he didn't need to be.
The two gorillas standing behind him took care of that. And even they were
really unnecessary. Miles' reputation preceded him in a very unpleasant manner.
"How's tricks?"
Harris swallowed. This was bad. "F-fine, Mr. Miles," he stuttered. Really
bad.
The drug lord nodded at the pool table where the girl was sucking back
another load of cum from the cock presently jammed in her mouth. "Bit of a
sideline?" he asked. "I didn't know you ran girls."
W-well..." In panic, Harris began to blurt out the story, relating how the
girl had suddenly appeared in his bar and then 'offered' to pay off the bar tab
by fucking the customers. It was pretty thin, but...
"Well," the drug dealer smiled (an unpleasant sight), "I'll tell you what
I'll do." He stopped smiling abruptly. "And what you'll do." Harris nodded,
willing to agree to anything that would not involve serious pain to himself.
"I'll leave your bar standing. I'll leave you a hundred dollars of the money
you've made from this whore's ass. I'll leave you in one piece."
Harris gulped.
"In return," Miles continued, "You'll give me the girl. And not try to
muscle in on my business again. Ever. Sound fair?"
Harris nodded, resignedly pulling the wad of money out of his pocket and
handing it over. The drug lord peeled off a hundred dollars, returned it, and
put the rest in his own pocket.
"T-thank you," Harris said, miserable.
Taylor gestured to his two goons. "Get the girl."
Sandy was almost comatose, fucking from instinct and rote, when she felt
the cock slide from her abused pussy without coming. Dazed, she looked up and
saw two huge black men standing over her.
Get it over with...
Trying to smile, she reached up her hands to welcome them. As one, they
grabbed her arms and jerked her to her feet. The force of their pull caused her
head to snap back against the edge of the pool table. There was a brief flash
of pain and then everything went dark...
END PART TWO
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All comments/suggestions/observations are appreciated.
I can be reached as P or Parker.
