Black Male

(A note to the reader: I don't usually deal in interracial erotica. In this case, there is no explicit sexual action. The language is a bit charged at times, but it's not gratuitous and is for a purpose that I think to be good. But if it's going to bother you, I might suggest putting this one aside and trying a different story, maybe even one of mine -- I have a bunch to offer.)

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Black Male

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"There. See? Three hundred. Just like I told you. That's all I can get." The tall black man stepped back from the ATM and motioned for his escorts to take a look for themselves.

The younger man brushed his stringy blond hair aside and peered into the console, while the busty dark-haired woman eyed the other man warily. "Don't fuck with me. I *know* you got more'n that in your account." He straightened and stepped back.

"Maybe so, but I can't get at it, after hours. The cash card has a three-hundred-dollar limit. Per day. I tried to get it increased once - bank policy, some kind of federal regulation, that's the max. Here," he said, motioning to the sturdy young female, "see if you can find any way around it." She stepped to the keypad and tried a few things, then shook her head.

"Then, use a differ'nt card. I saw. You got others."

"Won't make any difference. The 300 max applies to them, all together. Credit, debit, all the same."

"Try it anyways."

The man shrugged, pulled a Visa card from the billfold, and inserted it. He typed the PIN, then pointed to the display. "See? It won't even let me log in. It knows I'm maxed out for the day."

"Ron? What about that other bank, across the street," the busty girl suggested.

"Yeah," her companion responded, "let's all just walk over there."

"Won't make any difference. The cash card will just tie into the Wells Fargo account. You maxed me out, I'm telling you."

"Credit, man. The credit card won't have nothin' to do with Wells fuckin' Fargo."

The taller man sighed. "All right," he admitted, "you think you know how these things work? But that machine will have just a $300 limit total too."

The blond man flashed a wolfish smile. "Three hunnert, an' another three hunnert, plus the two eighty you had in your wallet - close enough to the thousand you owe us that mebbe we can call it even." He gestured toward the other side of the street and started walking. The others followed his lead.

"I don't owe you anything. This is blackmail, pure and simple."

"Ain't no blackmail. Services rendered. High end. And I'm doin' you a favor, not calling the police and turning you in for rape."

"A sting operation then. A shakedown. A scam."

The girl chimed in, "call it what you want, sweetie. With those bite marks you put on my titties and the welts all over the place down there, plus your DNA smeared all over my pussy inside 'n' out, you're gettin' off cheap, compared to me filing a complaint."

"That's because, if you get greedy, and try to push this scam past just today, there's no way you won't get tangled up with the law. And I gotta say, Janelle, it's all right for him I suppose. But this is one hell of a way you've picked to make a living for yourself."

"I can handle it."

"You like it?"

She adjusted the straps on the tank top that revealed the upper half of her considerable firm cleavage. "I didn't say I liked it. Said I can handle it. Ever' once't in a while. 'Til him and me gets things squared away again and move to Costa Rica."

"Thought you said you and he were just business partners."

"Me and her's giving it a try again," the other man butted in. "Shut up."

"Just trying to figure out why you're going at it the hard way."

They had arrived at the BofA ATM. "Shut the fuck up, willya?" the younger man said. "Gimme the card. What's the PIN?"

"I'll do it," the black man said, "like I said, you're too smart to try to stretch this out past today. You don't need the PIN. It will only get you in trouble."

"I got friends who can make use of it. Gimme the card, Samuel."

With another sigh, Samuel handed him the Visa card. "8. 1. 6. 9," he said grudgingly.

Ron snickered. "Sixty-nine. Ate one, sixty-nine. I knowed you was a pervert, soon's I laid eyes on you." He typed in the digits, pushed a few menu items on the screen, and took the cash the machine gave him.

Samuel held out his hand for the card. "All right. Let's have it back."

Ron shook his head no. "I told you, man. I got uses for it."

The older man ignored this. "And the cash, Ron. The card *and* the cash."

Ron snorted. "Go fuck yourself. They're mine now."

"The card, the cash, and the cash I gave you at the Wells Fargo. Oh, and whatever cash you had before we started all this. I would take what you had too, Janelle, but you don't have a purse with you - and obviously you don't have any cash tucked into your bra, since you aren't wearing one."

"What the *fuck* are you talkin' about, man?" Ron said, his eyes narrowing menacingly. "I ain't givin' back *nothin'*. Why should I?"

Samuel sighed yet again, this time more theatrically. "I guess I'll have to spell it out for you. You realize, don't you, that every transaction at an ATM is video recorded?"

"So? It's just you makin' witdraws."

"And you're in the video, and so is your girlfriend. You were both at the keyboard. They do this precisely to prevent, and *prosecute*, exactly the kind of transaction that just occurred here and across the street."

"You know what, Samuel? I liked you at first, but I don't like you makin' threats. If you was to go to the police, then we'll press those rape charges, and we both know that that will go worse for you than anything they could pin on me 'n' her. Black man, white woman, small town..."

Samuel glanced over at the man's girlfriend, who was looking very uncomfortable. "He doesn't get it. Maybe you want to explain it to him?"

She shook her head, but said to her man, "Ron, maybe we should, you know, just..."

"Shut the fuck *up*, I said. Both of you. I'm not givin' nothin' back."

"All right," Samuel interrupted, "let me spell this out as carefully as I can. There are three ways this can play out. You could hand me back my card, and the cash, all of it. The bank erases the video every month or two, and nobody will bother you after that. Or... I can call the police and tell them that I was robbed at an ATM by a couple of locals and forced to conduct two withdrawals, for which there is video proof, and a license number for your car. Or, number three, you could press these phony rape charges, and then I explain that I was scammed and blackmailed, which is the truth, and again there is the video proof at two separate banks to back me up versus your story, and then you have both robbery and blackmail charges against you. You can pretend that race will be your Get Out of Jail card, but you'll be wrong. I've got a good lawyer. So. Your choice. What's it gonna be?"

While the skinny blond man pondered, his girlfriend broke the silence. "Ron..."

"Shut up," he repeated.

"Ron, this ain't no good," she insisted.

"Shut *up*," he said to her yet again, then turned to the man. "And if I fuck you up, you ain't telling nothing to the police. 'Cause you won't be able to."

"If something happens to me," Samuel stated calmly, "then they start looking at my activities the past day or so, and the ATM transactions, both of them, are going to come up. Whether I say anything or not. *Especially* if I can't say anything."

Ron went silent for several seconds. Janelle gestured at him, as though about to speak, but he glared at her and she held back. At last, he spoke. "This is bullshit."

"The honest truth," Samuel said evenly. "I bet the local police know you pretty well. I'm sure you've crossed paths, hm? You'll do serious time in jail, if you go through with what you're trying. And her too."

"I think he's right, Ron," Janelle said. "I saw it on Dateline, one time. He's right. Those ATMs, they got little cameras in 'em. We must be on tape now, both of us."

"Give me my card," Samuel told him again. "And the money."

After another pause, Ron shrugged. He held out the card to the taller man, who took it, and then the cash that was in his hand.

"And," he added, "the three hundred from across the street. Plus what I gave you before, from my wallet. And while we're at it, whatever else money you had on you to start with. To cover the ATM fee from using this one here. It's not in network."

"C'mon man. Don't take it all. We got nothin'."

"How are you ever going to learn, if the worst that happens is you wind up with what you had when you started?"

"I told you. I don't like bein' threatened."

"Just like you threatened me?"

"That was... look. We'll just call it even, OK?"

"Even? In what way?"

"You raped my girlfriend. You liked her big tits enough to bite 'em, hit her, and then you raped her. I was there."

"Now you're in complete fantasy land, if you are trying to stick with that story. You're the one who suggested she'd be open to rough sex for a price. But you know what? I still want a blow job from her. Keep what I gave you to start, keep the other three hundred, and you can keep whatever you started out with, but I want that blow job she backed out of doing."

Ron looked at the woman. "What do you think? Just a quickie?"

She stared piercingly at her boyfriend. "Why don't YOU do it, if you think it's such a hot idea, genius?"

"I'm just trying to settle this."

"And it won't be no quickie, neither. He just jizzed inside me, half an hour ago."

The businessman turned to her. "Is it because you don't like blow jobs? Or is it because I'm black?"

The short, round-faced girl, barely past high-school age, scoffed. "I ain't got nothin' 'gainst blow jobs. And it's got nothin' to do with color neither, just so you know. I ain't racist. I just wanna be done with this. It was a mistake. I told him from the start."

"You seemed pretty adamant when I asked you the first time. Before."

"Adabunt?"

"Dead set against."

"'Bout sucking cock? That's 'cause it had to be in my pussy. Right?"

Samuel's face registered sudden comprehension. "Oh. Of course."

"No evidence if it all goes down my throat."

"So you're saying, you *can* deep throat it?"

"I mean, just, if I swallow the jizz."

"But you can deep throat it."

"Not really. I'm just talking about swallowing the jizz. And then it's gone, and it's no use to us."

"You could have spit it out and smeared it on your face, if you wanted the DNA evidence."

"Just easier to prove it's forcible, if it's in my pussy."

"You've done this before, then."

"Nope. Just makes sense."

"Right. So, you DO give good head?"

"I don't wanna talk about this."

He turned to Ron again. "That's my offer. She sucks me off, deep throat I mean, and I let you keep what you started with, plus what I gave you in the first place. Payment for high end services rendered. Just like you said."

"Janelle. Baby." He appeared to do a bit of mental calculation while she pondered. "It's the other three hundred, just for a beejay. We should do this and get it over with."

"We? You mean *I* should do this," she shot back.

"I don't like it any better than you do."

"Hah. Seems to me I'm the one doing all the work here, and you're the one just fucking things up."

Samuel chuckled. "None of my business of course, but I keep thinking you could do a lot better than him."

"Hey," Ron protested, "shut up. You're getting personal."

Samuel put out his hand. "Then give me the rest of my cash. And all of yours."

"Janelle. Baby," Ron repeated, switching his attention back to her.

Samuel reached up and put his index finger to her lips. She turned her head away. "No, hold still, little one," he told her, putting his finger to her mouth again and parting her full lips a little ways.

"Well, I'm certainly not doing it here in a bank parking lot," she protested after turning away again.

"No," the black man agreed, "we'll go back to your place. Just show me, first, how you do it. Using my finger. I want to know your skill level."

Grudgingly, she pivoted to face him and opened her mouth enough for him to insert the finger past her incisors.

"You use lots of tongue action, I hope?" he asked.

"Mmm." She obliged with some sucking motion, as he inserted it more fully.

"Now get down on your knees," he commanded.

She pulled back to remove his finger from her mouth. "I said, I'm not doing it out here."

"No," he soothed, "still just my finger. Demonstrate for me how you do it. I've been wanting a girlfriend who gives great head. Maybe you're the one. You said you're not from here. Wanna move to St. Louis? I like your big titties. You gotta nice ass, too. You wanna be my white girlfriend? On the side? For real? Move up in class? To a bigger prick?" Samuel put his finger into Janelle's mouth again.

Ron bristled. "I told you, man. Don't make it personal about me."

"You're married," Janelle pointed out, having mentioned his wedding band at the very beginning of their encounter.

"So?" he said with a grin. "I'll get you an apartment. Come see you when I'm in the mood. I can afford it."

"I got money too," Ron insisted.

She scoffed again. "Yeah. Forty bucks is money, I guess."

"See what I mean?" Samuel said to the girl. She was still standing, and he inserted his finger in her mouth again. "You can do a lot better than this loser. Assuming you give good head, I'll take you off his hands. Here, get down on your knees, and practice on my finger. Show me how you give blow jobs. If you're good, I'll take you back to my motel with me. Just you and me. Black girls don't suck dick like white girls do. White girls, they crave that black dick. Don't you? Oh, and your boyfriend figured it out earlier, I like to eat pussy too. Shows how stereotypes are wrong, yeah? You'll like what I give you."

Cautiously, she sank to her knees, keeping his finger halfway immersed in her practiced mouth.

"And of course I can afford a few of the finer things in life," he continued, "and you'll get your share of that. I treat my bitches good. My hoes never complain. Come back home to St. Louis with me? Get you a nice place of your own? Blondify you up, at a good salon? Keep that pussy shaved nice and clean? Yeah, I think you might clean up reeeeally good. I can see you as a blonde. Nice thick ass. Nice big titties. Definitely someone I could show off."

She sucked on his finger, looking up at him. "Mmm," she murmured again.

He pushed his finger deeper, making contact with her uvula. She gagged. "Keep demonstrating your talent right here, then you can come on across the street with me for the real thing. And then you can move on with your life and leave this loser behind."

"That's enough," Ron said, stepping to face him directly. "Maybe I need to fuck you up, after all."

"You don't want to do that," the larger man warned, taking his finger out of Janelle's mouth and facing him. After holding his ground for long enough to make his point, he took a step away and re-positioned himself to look downward at the girl.

"Your move, Janelle. You're a hot little piece of ass, even if you don't look it right now. You deserve better. You could be making a lot more money at this. You just need someone older, better set up in life. You know a black man can do things for you a white man can't. Someone who'll excite you, who knows how to treat a white lady right. It's your choice. Let's see if you're as smart as I think you are. Just make up your mind, little one. Quick."

She bit her lip and cast a glance over toward the stoner, and then stood up. "Okay," she said, taking the hand she had been orally servicing just a moment earlier and pressing it to her chest. He slid his palm to the right, directly onto her big nipple.

"You better think this over, Baby," Ron blustered.

With his other hand, the tall black man stroked her hair and then her face, then put its index finger into her mouth yet again. He let her suck for another few seconds, then pressed down at the back of her tongue, once more causing her to gag. But she didn't struggle to make him stop and even managed to control herself without actually heaving.

"A little too deep? It doesn't bother you, does it," he asked, "if this happens by accident, once in a while?" She shook her head no, in a tight little motion that suggested that it might actually bother her a lot but that she didn't wish to dwell on it at the moment.

"She ever done it like that, for you?" he asked Ron with studied casualness. "Down her throat?"

"Shut up."

"Right down on her knees? Reeeeally submissive-like?"

"Shut UP."

He pulled his finger back, so it was still inside but to the first knuckle only. "You wanna come back with me to St Louis tomorrow, little one? Then get down on your knees again, and suck my black dick like you want it. I don't care if we're outside. It's ten o'clock. Nobody's going to see you, in this sleepy little town. Everybody's home. Make me cum again. Work it real good."

She sank back down to her knees and began fiddling with his zipper.

He abruptly took two steps backward. "You're a real piece of shit. You know that, don't you?"

"What?" she asked, her mind running just a half-second slow yet again.

He stepped further away from them both. "I'm not letting you anywhere near my dick again, sweetheart. I wouldn't fuck you even with *his* dick. I'm going back to my motel now. Alone. Don't bother following me."

"What?" she spluttered. "Are you shitting me? You piece of... You fucking piece of shit. *You're* the piece of shit. You're... you're no better than... than..."

"Him? You mean him? No, I'm ten times better than your boyfriend. And I'm a damned sight better than you, too."

"You're..."

"You said you're not racist, but you ate up every racial stereotype I could think up to throw at you. You think I'm a pimp like your boyfriend? Whore you out? You're the piece of shit, far as I'm concerned. It's just that you're not also terminally stupid like your boyfriend here."

"You the one that said all the racist bullshit. I didn't." She was still trying to defend herself from his accusation.

"Whatever. Like I said." He turned to Ron. "Give me back my money."

"Fuck no," the weaselly looking one responded. "You said I could keep it, if she'd blow you. She just offered to. You're the one what backed out."

The taller man paused a moment, then laughed. "Fine. Keep it. It's worth it, to see the looks on both of your faces. We're done here. Don't bother following me. Either of you. Or you'll wish you hadn't. Video. Remember? Safe and sound inside of two banks? Anything happens to me, they'll put two and two together. Don't forget that. Have a nice life."

"You'll be sorry," she spat out, still kneeling on the asphalt.

"You're the one that's gonna be sorry," her boyfriend told her. "St. Louis? What the fuck?"

Samuel turned his back on them and began walking toward the deserted intersection. "You two deserve each other," he said over his shoulder.