Dangerous Liasons
"I trust the numbers are looking good for our latest recruit?"
For a man with such natural, room-filling presence, he certainly could take a person by surprise.
She swivelled round in the chair, looking up to see him gazing intently at the screens, studying the latest analytics. Those eyes of his, though; she almost felt like she was falling as she stared into them, before the man smiled, breaking the spell.
"Very good, sir," she said, regaining her composure, "very good indeed. The second highest we've seen."
He kept looking at the screen, still smiling to himself; reminiscing.
"Yeah, she was a tough act to follow."
It was a high bar indeed.
She'd never met her - the woman had left before she'd joined - but she'd certainly seen the videos. And, by God, were they hot. The brunette was a gorgeous specimen, her dark hair and big dark eyes offset by those lovely dimples. She looked like a real cutie, an innocent. But the things she'd done to tape...
The pinnacle, the one that no one had since topped, well, she knew it very well. Intimately, you could say. She'd cum to it countless times.
It wasn't a sex video - it was a debauched, hour long instructional video on how to permanently rewire a white girl forever. There she was, the gorgeous petite beauty on all fours, being air-tighted by three of the biggest, meanest motherfuckers the club had to offer. She swallowed their cum, she took them in all her tight holes, she rimmed them and begged them to break her, to ruin her forever. The men had not shrunk from the challenge.
By the end, she'd been used as thoroughly as it was possible for a woman to be used. She was a crying, sweating, multi-orgasmic fucktoy, existing for the sole purpose of pleasing her black masters. She'd gone from the demure, elegant beauty who'd first walked into the shot, to the most debased creature it was possible to imagine. And she'd thanked them all the way through.
But the thing that really made it pop, the real clincher... Well, it had been the woman's idea, apparently. Unlike almost all the other things on the site, this one hadn't been shot at the club. This one had been shot in her home. Their home. When the men had finally left, each one pumping their seed deep inside her, breeding her, she'd been left laying on the bed in what was obviously the master bedroom. On the little bedside tables, and in a large picture hung on one wall, were images of the woman and her fiancé, a tall blond man in fine horn-rimmed glasses. She just lay amongst it all, thoroughly used up as images of herself and her fiancé smiled down upon her.
She knew how it had happened. Everyone did. It was a legend within the club, a tale of how a white man could ruin his own life. The woman's fiancé, a man of power, like so many powerful white men before him - like so many still to come - he'd been the one who'd talked her into it. He'd suggested the club. He was used to being in charge, in control. He thought he could watch his fantasy played out in real life, see his gorgeous fiancée blacked, and still be the one calling the shots.
But you play with fire, your fingers get burnt. The man couldn't take it. He'd watched that first time, watched her be taken by a powerful black stud, watched her melt and give herself more completely to a stranger than she ever had to him. And something had snapped inside him. He'd realised he wasn't enough - would never be enough - and he'd told her to stop. What an idiot. How could any person in their right mind expect a woman who'd tried it, tasted the forbidden fruit, how could they expect them to give it up? Pandora's box was best left unopened for a reason.
He'd begged her, he'd pleaded with her, he'd even threatened her. From what she'd heard, the woman had even wavered. But then he'd hit her. Not a slap, in the heat of moment; no, not something recoverable. Something more vile, more violent - a breaking of any chance of a bond ever existing between them again. A betrayal.
That betrayal had been met in kind. Tenfold. That was how a powerful white man drove his fiancée to film her own black gang breeding in their master bedroom.
The sigh from the man stood watching the screens snapped her out of her reverie.
She'd been doing this work for several months now, in the club most weekdays and even some weekends, cutting the video, cleaning it up, tweaking it before posting. She should have been used to him by now; she wasn't. There wasn't anything that stood out, that made it clear just why he had the effect he did on her. But boy, what an effect. She felt like a little girl in his presence, not a highly qualified videographer. She even felt a little scared too, if she was being honest with herself - she knew all about him, his reputation. But most of all, she felt like she wanted to get down on her knees and take his fat black cock into her mouth, to thank him, to please him. To be his.
His eyes shifted from the screen, looking down at her belly, her midriff exposed by the small top. She felt a little shiver of excitement shoot through her as he smiled, taking obvious pleasure in her tattoo. Then a jolt of electricity as his hand reached down, gently stroking her belly.
"You've taken the test?"
"Yes sir - positive!"
She could barely contain her excitement. It was really going to happen. Like the woman in the video.
"Good girl. On the site?"
"Yes sir. My boyfriend was the one who read out the result."
She felt so lucky she had a man who understood her, who knew what she needed, who knew he wasn't enough.
The man nodded, as if acknowledging the world bending to his will, becoming what he wanted it to be.
"Excellent. Another white boy gonna be raising a strong black baby. The way things should be. Another nine months and that tatt's not gonna be a promise - it's going to be a reality."
She looked down at his hand, his dark index finger slowly tracing out the black letters, as the man spelt it out across her pale white skin.
"'Black Baby Maker'. It suits you."
"Thank you, sir."
It made her deeply happy that she could please this man, knowing that he took great pleasure in what she was undertaking.
"And now, I think, now you're earned yourself a reward, white girl."
Amy felt her pussy flood as Mr Clayton unzipped his fly.
****
This was not a good idea. This was really not a good idea at all. If she thought back to just a week ago, this was not something she would ever have even considered - she would have thought it crazy, reckless, dangerous even.
And it was, it was all those things. She knew that. But that was a week ago. A girl's priorities could change a lot in a week and Emma's had undergone a complete 360 transformation. The itch just had to be scratched.
Her phone chimed; Jodie. Again.
"Where are you at, girl? Been calling."
She'd get back to her later. She had business to take care of first.
Putting the phone back into the glove box, she pulled off the leggings then squeezed herself into the black booty shorts she'd worn on the march, pairing them with the same fake leather thigh-high black boots. She stripped off her casual top and bra, swapping them for just the same white half-cut crop-top she'd worn at the demo, the thing still proclaiming in all its glory exactly what she wanted, what she needed. What she hoped to get today, here and now.
Damn the club and its stupid rules. You couldn't dangle that carrot in front of a girl's face then expect her not to jump at it. It just wasn't fair. Besides, as Joanna had said, it wasn't actually enforced - she was a grown woman, with a grown woman's needs, and she was damned if she was going to let some stupid bylaw get in her way. If no one found out, then what would the harm be?
Granted, coming here was a risk. She knew Zeek lived nearby - at least, this is where they'd picked him up - but it was a big estate. She doubted he was even about.
And this was the only place she knew where she could - hopefully - find what she so craved.
She'd driven around the block a few times, just to be sure. They were all there, all those fine young black men, all hanging out on the court, all sweaty, all worked up. She'd give them something to get really worked up about. And they'd give her what she so desperately craved.
Emma took one last look around; there was no one else about. This was it - she was going to do it. Deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Time to show these men what a real woman could do.
Her heart was hammering as she got to the steel fence without anyone noticing. Then one man, mid-dribble, stopped dead, staring straight at her. She took a sharp breath in.
"Yo, come on Asho! We playing ball or what?!" said one of the men who'd not clocked her yet.
"Bro, I might need my eyes checked - 'cos what I'm seeing can't be real!"
The three other men all turned, their eyes following Asho's. It was, all at once, the single most exhilarating and terrifying feeling she'd ever experienced.
"Shit!" shouted the biggest, "Come on, who's birthday is it?"
"Breathe Emma," she thought, "just breathe."
"Damn, girl! You after what that says you after? 'Cos we go it right here for ya!"
The man's hand went straight to his groin, grabbing his stash through the baggy shorts. Emma felt her mouth water at she saw the outline of his big cock through the fabric.
The four of them sauntered casually towards the fence, the biggest one walking right up to it, an inch or two away from her, the thin chain-link the only thing separating them. She had to crane her neck just to keep her eyes on his - Zeek was big, but this man was a colossus; all muscle, tattoos and attitude.
His face creased up into a feral grin as he slowly looked her up and down. She could feel her body respond to exactly what she knew these men could do to her, her nipples poking out hard through the thin fabric of the top.
He reached a finger and thumb through the fence, pinching both her erect nipples and using them to pull her towards him, into the fence. She let out a little gasp as he leaned his face in close to hers.
"You gonna get fucked, little bitch. Fucked proper by big black cock. You want that, white girl? You wanna get that tight little hole of yours resized?"
The arrogance, the take-no-prisoners confidence, hell, the crudeness - she absolutely loved it, feeling her pussy literally soaking the small booty shorts. No bothering with hellos, no small talk, no names - it was just better this way. They were all animals, after all, underneath the clothes, the facade - why not just get straight to it, straight to the raw primal part? Now she knew, knew what it was like to be talked to, to be treated like this - it was all she wanted. But it had to be authenticate; you couldn't fake it. If any of her old boyfriends had tried something like this, spoken to her like this, she'd have slapped them. But these men weren't like the white boys she'd dated before, she had to remind herself - these were strong black men with strong black cocks.
All of them were looking at her like a piece of meat. She knew they didn't see her as a woman, not really. They saw her exactly as she wanted to be seen - a dirty little white girl wanting to get blacked.
"Yes sir," she purred, licking her lips, "I want you to stretch my tight white pussy out and ruin me. Ruin me for white boys forever. I want to be your black cock whore."
