A Turn for the Worse

The further her friend Becky drove the car, the less Stacy liked where they were going. The houses were no longer the 3000 square foot brick McMansions with well manicured lawns like the ones they lived in. These homes had missing shingles on the roofs and bars over the windows. And Stacy was positive there drug deals going on at nearly ever corner they passed.

"Are you sure you know where you are going?" Stacy asked, squirming nervously in her seat.

"Turn left on Martin Luther King drive," said the monotone voice from the GPS.

"Sure," Becky said, popping a pink bubble as the wheels of her car squealed when she took the turn a bit too fast. "It says we are nearly there."

"Did you put the address in right?" Stacy asked. "Maybe you it was Hill Court instead of Hill Street."

"You are arriving at address on the left," said the GPS.

"This is the place," Becky's right two tires ran over the curb as she parked her new Rav 4.

"Even if it's right, maybe we should come back when it's daylight," Stacy said.

"We can't," Becky said. "The party is tomorrow and we have to get the beer tonight."

"I'll wait in the car," Stacy said.

"Suit yourself," Becky popped another bubble and opened her door.

"Hey sweet thing," a very sketchy black man said from porch next door. "You got any money?"

"No," Becky said.

Shit. The guy was coming over. The last place Stacy wanted to be was out here by herself.

"Wait for me," Stacy said. "I'm coming with."

The two white girls walked so quickly to the front door they were practically running.

"You don't want to go in there," the black man said. "Those girls are trouble. Come over here, I got anything you want."

Stacy did her very best not to look in the man's direction, while her friend Becky knocked on the door.

Stacy tugged on Becky's shirt. "Let's just go," she whispered. "Forget the beer."

It was too late. The door opened and there were three tough looking black girls standing there.

"Look what we got girls," the shortest of the three said. "White girls." Then to Becky and Stacy: "What are such pretty white girls doing in the bad part of town?"

"We want to pick up some beer," Becky said, stepping inside the door.

"You coming in or staying out?" the short girl asked Stacy.

"Coming," Stacy stammered, but would have much rather stayed there on the porch to get this over with.

"You got the stuff," Becky asked.

"Sure we got it," the short girl black girl said. "But first..."

There was a click. It was so fast, Stacy didn't even have time to blink. The short girl had pulled a switch blade knife and held it up to Becky's face.

"You owe us for the two dime bags and three eight balls from last week," the short girl said. "Now where's my money."

"I told you, you'll get it," Becky stammered, her eyes wide and she trembled in fear. "But I just need to get some stuff for this party we are having tomorrow night."

"Bitch I know all about parties," the short girl said. "We got a party going on right upstairs. Do you hear 'em up there?"

Stacy could hear all right. God, there sounded like there were at least nine or ten thugs up there.

"Maybe this isn't a good time," Becky said, backing away. "We'll come back later."

It was the first sensible thing the stupid bitch had said all night. Stacy backed up too. She had been ready to leave before they ever stepped foot out of the car.

Both girls found their escape had long since been cut off. The two girls behind them pushed them forward- away from the door.

"Where you you going Becky?" the short girl said. "You just got here. I thought you were ready to party."

"Not anymore Tamara," Becky stammered.

"Well, we ready, ain't we girls?"Cheryl asked her friends.

"Yeah we ready," the girls answered.

"The boys upstairs are ready, ain't they girls."

"Yeah, them boys are ready too. They ain't never seen such pretty white girls as these, have they girls?"

"Only one way to find out."

"I got money," Becky opened her purse.

"I got money too. You - you can have it all." Stacy volunteered. "I don't know anything about this. I just ..I just want to leave."

"Shut up bitch," Cheryl said, turning her attention to Stacy. "I know your friend already. She talks all innocent, but when she gets an eightball, she gone be upstairs ready to to get her freak on. A regular white skank that one. But you I don't know. And that's even more of a problem than a bitch owing me money."

The knife slid up and down the front of Stacy's shirt. She almost passed out from fright. She could be killed right here and now and...there was nothing she could do about it. Worse, she had nothing at all to do with any of this.

"How do I know you ain't no cop?" the girl asked.

"I...I go to...school..." Stacy stammered, her chin trembling.

"So?" Cheryl asked. "You think cops don't go to school? Is there a special cop school? Do I look stupid? Tell you what. Girls, get this bitch some shit. Let's see if she parties."

A girl dug a baggie out of her pocket, along with a spoon and a lighter.

"I...I can't.." Stacy begged. "Look I don't do drugs. We just ..came for beer. Can..we please go?"

"Look at her. I knew she was a fucking cop," a girl accused. "Cut that bitch."

"Please..." Stacy begged, a lone tear falling down her cheek.

"But she's pretty," the short girl said. "Be a shame to cut her for nothin. Tell you what white girl. Show me you ain't wearin a wire and you are okay with me."

"I promise I'm not wearing a wire." Stacy said.

"I said show me bitch." the knife emphasized the girl's point.

Stacy had no choice. She began with the buttons on her blouse.

"I like that shirt." a girl said as Stacy was down to her last button.

"It is nice ain't it," the short girl asked, then to Stacy. "Give it to her."

Stacy reluctantly handed over her shirt, standing there in only a bra and skirt. Feeling more and more vulnerable by the moment.

"Try it on, see if it fit." the short girl said.

The girl stripped off her T-shirt, with no regard to the fact that she was bare breasted as she pulled on Stacy's $80 top.

"This feels good," the girl said, modeling the shirt. lifting up her melons and then dropping them. "A little tight in the chest though."

"You don't want it?" Another girl said. "I'll take it."

"I haven't decided," the girl said. "First I want to see what it looks like with a bra."

"She needs a fucking bra," the short girl said threateningly.

"Please..." Stacy begged. But it feel to deaf ears.

"That bitch is wired for sound," a voice said from behind Stacy. "Cut that bitch."

"I promise - I'm not - I'm not wired," Stacy stammered, her trembling fingers quickly undoing the clasp of her bra and taking it off.

The girl that took Stacy's shirt, snatched the bra from her hands and began putting from inside her new $80 top. "What do you think?" she asked.

"It's nice, but it don't match." another girl said.

"You heard her," the short girl demanded, pointing the switchblade at Stacy's skirt. "Hurry up. I'm tired of playing with your ass."

The skirt followed, and then Stacy's shoes and panties. Every piece of clothing was snatched out of her hands by the same greedy girl, who had no fear of modesty as she stripped down and donned all of Stacy's clothes.

"I'm so rich," the girl wearing Stacy's clothes strutted back and forth, imitating Stacy's voice and mannerisms, pointing this way and that limp-wristed and pretending to twirl a finger through her hair. "I wonder where I should drive daddy's car? Perhaps to the country club? No, I don't want to go there after all, I heard they were going to allow negros to join."

Everyone laughed except for the two white girls.

"Do they have negros in your country club?" the short girl asked.

"Yes..I - I'm pretty sure." Stacy stammered, keeping her hands clutched protectively over her breasts and crotch for modesty.

"She's pretty sure," the short girl said, closing her knife and putting it back in her back pocked. "But she ain't real sure." To Stacy: "Have you ever seen a black person at your club or a mexican? I ain't talking about the help bitch, I'm talking about motherfucking members."

"I..." Stacy wanted to lie, but feared the consequences of such a lie and decided to play it safe instead. "I .. don't remember."

"Let's get this bitch upstairs to party, and see about getting some motherfucking money," the short girl said, taking Becky by the hand, as the other girls followed along. She pointed to one of the girls and gave a final order. "Watch that bitch and keep her out of trouble. I'll call when I'm ready for you to bring her in. Make sure she finishes this while she waits."

The short black girl handed a baggie with several small rocks to the other girl.

"Okay," the girl said.

Poor Stacy was terrified. Her friend Becky walked upstairs with the girls without looking back. Stacy was alone. She was naked. Her purse was with the other girls. She looked around for a phone, but didn't see one. The only thing that caught her attention in the dirty room full of old furniture was a few two by fours that had been nailed together and a dildo was mounted to one side. Another stuck up luridly from the top.

God, what had she got herself into?

Some yells and shouts came from upstairs. Stacy looked up.

"They all doin' drugs right now." the girl offered. "Speakin' of which. I'm supposed to make you smoke this. But you don't smoke rock do you?"

"No..." Stacy replied. She felt a small surge of hope. This girl was talking to her like a person.

"My sister don't do drugs either," the girl said. "If you don't want to, I won't make you."

"Thank you," Stacy breathed a sigh of relief.

"It may be better for you if you did it though," the girl said. "There's some weird shit that goes on up there."

Stacy slim body shivered at the thought.

"You on the pill?" the girl asked.

"No." Oh dear God no. She would be ruined.

"What's your name?" Stacy asked.

"Tamara," the girl offered.

Stacy looked the girl over. Her skin was a dark ebony and she had closely shaved hair. Her clothes were more masculine than feminine. Her dark eyes seemed to have sympathy, but the line of her full mouth said she wasn't going to allow Stacy to walk out the door.

Unless Stacy could convince her.

"Look Tamara," Stacy began. "I..I don't belong here. I'm not a cop. I don't do drugs. I go to school. We just came here to pick up some beer. It..it was a bad idea."

"I know you ain't a cop," Tamara said. "I go to school with you."

Stacy paused. Damned, she didn't remember ever seeing this girl. But, that wasn't a big deal, she didn't see lots of people. But, now she wished she did remember the girl or have talked to her in the past. It would make things so much easier.

"Just let me go..." Stacy begged. "Please...I won't tell. I promise I won't."

"I wish I could help you," Tamara said. "But I can only think of three ways out of here."

"What are they?" Stacy said, her eyes bright at the thought of escape. She'd been wracking her brain to come up with even one idea.

"One" Tamara began. "You smoke this rock. You go upstairs and smoke however many more they want you to smoke and fuck who they tell you to fuck. They get some pictures of you so you don't tell nobody and even if you do, no one will believe you anyway."

That wasn't an option.

"The other?" Stacy asked.

"You get through me and run out the door," Tamara said. "Naked. In a bad part of town. I hope you don't do that because I think you are a nice girl and I'd hate it if no one ever saw you again."

Two options. To do drugs and fuck who knows whoever was upstairs or run out and get raped and kidnapped or worse.

"You said three?" Stacy was running out of hope. Praying that Tamara was listing the options from worst to best.

"Well, you know option one?" Tamara said. "See...they want a video...something embarrassing so that you won't dare tell a soul. We don't always have guys over getting high. When that happens...there's that over there."

Stacy followed the girls eyes to the wood two by fours and the two dildos mounted to it. One on top pointing up vertically like some kind of kinky vase and the mounted on the side pointing horizontally.

"You could just pretend to get high, and I could video you going at it over there." Tamara continued. "But if you ever tell anyone the truth, bitch I'll kill you."

A scream came from upstairs and it sounded like a lamp broke. Stacy jumped. Was her friend still alive. Another sound. This one a moan. Followed by another.

"They are fuckin' right now," Tamara said. "You need to decide soon. If anyone comes out, we can't fake it."

Option three. To pretend to get high and then masturbate using a dildo while this girl video taped her. How could she even be considering such a thing. But not only was Stacy considering it, she was jumping at the chance if only because the alternatives were so bad.

"Please...I don't think I can." Stacy whined.

"Damn, let me finish," Tamara said. "Or why don't I shut up, since you obviously are so smart and know so much."

"I'm sorry," Stacy mumbled. "Please."

"Like I was saying before I was interrupted," Tamara continued. "When we don't have boys over here, we use that over there. A girl has to fuck it while we make a video. Then the girl has to suck one of us off, either a dildo or a pussy. But here's what we can do. See, I was watching this old movie last night and these two guys were fighting. Only they weren't really hitting each other. It was all done with angles. So all you really have to do is pretend to fuck that dildo, only it ain't inside you, unless you want it inside you. Then I'll take off my pants and get in front of you, but I'll put the camera behind me. All you got to do is move your head around and make some noises while I get it on tape. Then when the girls come down for you, I'll say we already did it. Show 'em the tape and that's it for that. Get some beer and some drugs for your friend and it's time to go home."

Stacy wanted to jump for joy. This was the best news she'd heard since arriving at this godawful place. "I'll do it." Stacy said eagerly.

"Let me get the stuff," Tamara got out a camera, a pipe, and a lighter. She handed the lighter and pipe to Stacy. "Now, pretend to take a hit."

Stacy examined the crack pipe. She'd never even held one before, much less used one.

"Damn bitch, you are dumb," Tamara put the camera down and took the pipe and lighter from the cute blond. She flicked on the lighter and held it underneath the pipe. She inhaled and held it. Then she let it go and gave a few fake coughs. "Just like that."

Stacy imitated what she'd seen as best she could. Praying there wasn't any residual drugs or some sort of STD she could catch by sharing the pipe.

"Damn girl," Tamara grew more exasperated. "You gotta act high. Shit, now I have to start over again."

Stacy tried once more, yet Tamara grew even more perturbed.

"You may be pretty, but you ain't no actress that's for damn sure," Tamara said. "Wait, I got an idea. You do drink don't you? Otherwise you wouldn't be trying to score beer."

"Yes..I drink." Stacy was growing increasingly anxious with her every failure taking her closer and closer to the growing moans and shouts she heard coming from upstairs.

"Good." Tamara pulled out a bottle of Yeager and a can of Red Bull. "A few shots of this and they won't be able to tell that you ain't high."

Tamara started the camera back up and handed Stacy the bottle. "You want some of this? You want to party with me?"

"Yes," Stacy answered and took a swallow or two of Yeager and washed it down with some Red Bull. It was stronger than beer, but it was sweet. Not so bad when you washed it down with Red Bull.

"Damn girl, now we gotta do it again," Tamara said angrily. "You are running out of time girl. Stop fucking up. Now let's try it again and you better act like you want to party ... or they'll never believe you smoked a rock for real."

"Sorry," Stacy mumbled. She could act. She really could. She'd taken drama. But, she'd never been under such pressure. Moreover, she'd never been naked for any of her parts.

Tamara started the camera once more. "You like to party white girl?"

"Oh yeah...I like to party," Stacy said and gave a wide fake smile, and prayed it was convincing enough as she took a several swallows of Yeager. She could feel it warm her stomach as she chased it with Red Bull.

"I bet you can't finish that bottle," Tamara said. "If you do, I'll let you take a hit of something special."

"I can finish it," Stacy tried to be convincing as if she were acting on a dare. She was already growing flush from the effects of the alcohol and the acting came easier. She upended the bottle and drank. She'd never had Yeagermeister before. It tasted like candy. There didn't seem to be that much left in the bottle until she tried to drink it all in one try. Wow...it was a lot. She drank more. And more. Then finally she was finished. Or very nearly so. Her stomach was so full, she didn't touch the chaser.

"A promise is a promise." Tamara handed the naked girl the pipe and lighter.

"Mmm..." Stacy fired it and inhaled. She forgot to cough, but from her half-lidded expression, it was obvious the girl was high as a kite.

"You like that shit?" Tamara asked. "Don't you?"

"Oh yeah...that's...good shit..." Stacy slurred. She was buzzing and it felt good. She grew less anxious of her situation. She was going to pull this off.

"It makes a white girl hot though don't it?" Tamara said. "It makes that pussy throb. I see the way you looking at that big dick over there."

Stacy's cheeks grew flush. Her nipples contracted. She'd known in advance that she was going to have to do this, but it suddenly felt much more personal. The way the girl talked to her. As if she were a piece of meat or something. Worse, she was stuck in this role of a loose skank and had to play along.

"Yes." The pretty blond licked her lips.

"Go touch it," Tamara said, zooming in on the girl with the video camera. "I bet you ain't never seen a white boy with a dick that big before."

"Have you?" Tamara said, not letting the question go unanswered.

"No," Stacy breathed, as she reached out her hand and ran it down the cock mounted vertically on the makeshift sawhorse. The bare minimum she reckoned she could get away with.

"You like that?" Tamara asked.

"Yes," Stacy replied in a hushed tone.

"Tough shit," Tamara replied. "That one is for black girls only. The one down there is for white girls. It don't need batteries. It's smaller. And it's old fashioned, so it don't vibrate or nothing, but it gets the job done."

"I don't mind," Stacy said. She was actually thankful not to have to mess with the other dildo. The simpler it was, the easier it would be to get it over and one with.

"You want to try it out?" Tamara said. "Or do you want another swig first?"

Stacy took the offered bottle and down a few more swallows of alcohol for bravery. She handed the bottle back and went to her knees, sizing the dildo up. Doing a little mental arithmetic in her head regarding how she was going to do this. This was pretend, but she still had to make it look real for the camera.

"You got to do it doggie style," Tamara said. "That's how you white girls like it right?"

"Yes." Shit. It was still the best alternative. How she had to do this really made no never mind. Still, as she turned around and looked back at the dildo, she couldn't help but feel an extra measure of humiliation even through the warm buzz she felt in her stomach. It would have to go underneath her and between her thighs. Then with Tamara filming in front and above her, no one would know the dildo never entered her.