Slut A White Bitch Out

A story inspired by a line on a Tweet on the page of someone I follow.

Hen nights were the worst, especially when it wasn't really a friend of yours doing the deed in a day or two. It wasn't like getting married was going to change her life anyway, they'd been living together for ages. She just wanted the big meringue dress and all the attention. I was a spare tonight and felt it. I wished I'd said no when the trip to London was being discussed.

Making it worse was a minor altercation with some black guy with huge dreadlocks that had spilt his drink down my back. He said I'd backed into him and should give him one but, from the look on his face as he leered down at me, the 'one' he was thinking about wasn't beer. His gold-capped teeth glinted brightly under the lights. Bastard. My shoulders and the back of my skimpy dress were soaked in beer. Maybe my hair as well. I'd stink of it all night now.

Sometimes you were looking for attention but, when a group with a sash proclaiming that they were a wedding party turned up, half the guys seemed to zero in and try and hit that as they thought we were all on one last wild night out. I was sick of it, just sick of it. It was always the same in a club, and this one was a real dive. When the small bit of carpet next to the bar was this sticky underfoot that was a real bad sign.

With the right guy, in the right place, I'd like a fuck tonight. That wasn't going to happen here though. This place was cheap and nasty. I felt like going a little wild in bed, but the clientele here, lots of rough-looking black guys and overly clean and fancy-looking white ones made me think I was onto a loser. They were all losers anyway.

He might have been accurate in what he'd said though, in that I had been backing up. He must have seen that and should have moved out of my way though. Right? I'd heard a snippet of conversation over the noise near the bar and had stepped back to eavesdrop if I could.

"Let's slut a white bitch out, consensually of course!"

That had seemed... interesting. I wasn't quite sure why, but it resonated with me. Deep in my stomach there was a strange feeling and I'd wanted to hear more. To find out who was talking without being obvious about it. Hence the slow backup towards the voice. Hence the beer and disagreement with the black creep.

I came out of the toilets having failed to do anything much with my dress. Or my hair for that matter, although I'd rinsed parts of it as best as I could, and then washed my shoulders and back before standing under the hairdryer. No one even gave me a second glance. Stranger things happened in nightclub toilets.

The dress was white -- or at least had been before being stained brown in parts -- and damn short. Strapless, of course, and seeming to defy gravity as it hugged my figure. Without the large boobs that some others had to hold everything in place, it was a wonderful piece of fashion engineering. It was also the shortest thing in my wardrobe. This was the first time I'd dared to put it on out of the house, and I was pissed that it was ruined. Maybe the dry-cleaners could save it.

I got further pissed off when I couldn't find the rest of the group. There had been talk of moving to another club, as we all seemed to agree that this one gave us the shivers, but it looked like they had gone without me. While I wasn't exactly one of the core party, I was still part of the night out, and being forgotten about wasn't great. Not great at all.

Looking around the place to make sure they'd just not moved seats - and they hadn't -- I ended up near the corridor leading back out of the club and to the toilets. I wasn't sure what to do now. I didn't know the city we were staying in for the weekend, other than a few touristy bits, so I had no idea where they'd gone. Back to the hotel seemed unlikely. I wanted another drink -- or three -- a dance, maybe a guy, and a better class of establishment to get all three.

At which point I heard the voice from earlier close behind me. He was talking about the 'booty' on a girl that he could see dancing and was wearing a green dress. About how it was wobbling. How it would wobble as he smacked her ass as he went in from behind if he took her home. Or took her bent over one of the tables in the back of the room.

Fuck! I was horny, and it had been days since I'd been screwed. My wearing a thong with a string of pearls running down into my slit, tight over my clit, had been heightening this feeling as while dancing they rubbed me so nicely. Okay, I'd been slagging off guys that thought they'd get to shag members of the wedding party -- while at the same time getting myself ready for a shag myself. Hypocrite thy name is human!

Hearing this guy talking about the girls in here as pieces of meat was turning me on. He had an interesting accent as well. Not British, although his English was near perfect, if unusually worded in places and a little 'common' in word choice, but there was some sort of twang in there that I didn't quite recognise. I was a Glasgow girl visiting the big city of London, a melting pot of cultures and all of that crap.

It was clear that he'd not got a girl in mind and was just talking about each, rating them as he went. I moved a step backwards, as if to get out of the way of passers-by, and so a step closer to the conversation. I wanted to be able to follow it as they talked more so that I could catch which one was up next and see if I agreed.

"Look the little white bitch. No tits, no fuckin' butt, no fuckin' use. Bro, she's so short my dick would be rammed so far up the slut it would meet yours coming down thru her throat!"

I was looking around to try and work out which of the girls he was talking about in such a derogatory manner. I wanted to picture the scene when what sounded like the two of them spit-roasted her. I wasn't keen on that myself in some ways, but loved it in others. I've got small internal pipes and, while blow-jobs are fine, it can get rougher than I like in a spit. Of course, the humiliation and being totally out of control spoke to me. Spoke to me just fine!

"So, what about it bitch," he said leaning down and speaking into my ear. "Yous wanna suck his dick while I fuck yo ass? Just say it if you want it." There was a wash of a strange scent as his breath passed me. Weed. Marijuana, pot, whatever you called it. Not something I'd used, but I knew the smell.

Oh. Holy. Fuck. He must have realised that I was listening in! His description did fit me perfectly though. Short, just about B-cup boobs that I was trying to make the most of in this dress with a concealed push-up built-in, skinny, no butt. And nothing to lose either. I'd been ditched by my 'friends' and it seemed like I didn't need to look around elsewhere to pull someone for a one-night stand.

His voice was deep, and I liked the timbre of it. There was something of the Caribbean to it (Jamaica maybe), but something else in the mix as well. I liked the feeling it gave me inside when I realised that I was the particular piece of meat that he was looking at. Getting picked up by someone like this in a dive of a nightclub was not my usual scene, but what the hell. You only live once, right?

"So, little bitch, you be hearing us talking and want to find out more do ya?" He put a hand on each of my shoulders, my bare shoulders, and squeezed gently. Possessively. My not saying no, or moving away, seemed to be taken as assent to go further. And it was.

"You bumped my bro when I be talking about slutting a white bitch out. Is that what you wanting? Is that why you come back to find out more?" His hands had slid down the outside of my arms, touched my fingertips, and then moved back up the insides. Palms facing in and making sure to fully connect with my torso as he did. My side boobs -- what I had of them -- getting nudged casually as he went past.

His bro? That was the guy with dreadlocks from earlier? Crap! I wasn't sure what I wanted here, but was enjoying the attention, the feel of his hands passing over my bare skin. Gently caressing it. The idea of sucking that black man's dick while this one took me from behind made me pause though. I'd riled him by spilling his drink earlier. He'd take that out of me given the chance. Most men would.

Getting touched like this was really hot. I'd seen his friend, but had no idea who this was. He was also black though. I'd have guessed that from the voice, but the hands now pulling my hair off the shoulder where his head was gently touching mine told me that. From the angle he was leaning down he was a lot taller than I was, but that wasn't hard.

It was a minor thing, but I'd never been with a black guy. It wasn't that I was opposed to the idea, there just weren't any where I grew up. Asians yes, blacks no. Not that I'd slept with the Asians either mind you, life had just worked out that way. Black guys, though, were meant to be different. The big thing was, well their 'big thing.' I didn't know if that was just a porn trope or real life, but I had a sudden craving to find out.

He finished speaking and breathed softly into my ear, oh, how bloody sexy, and then kissed it. Kissed my ear, and then down to my neck. His hands went around my front and were held cradling my belly. He moved in closer and held me tightly as the kisses progressed. He was swaying a little to the music, and I could feel him pressing up behind me. The top of his head was visible as he kissed further, and I could see his hair was cut short, but he was definitely black as well.

"So, babe, is that a yes? I want to hear you ya say it. Ya wanna be slutted out, eh? Ya wants me bro and me to slut you out?" As he said this one arm had risen, reaching around me so that the forearm was across my chest and the hand pressing my boob on the far side. The other hand had dropped slightly and was gently circling my mons. Any further down my mound and he'd be inside me!

My brain was shutting down at this point. I'd had a fair bit to drink, but the thought of this was intoxicating in itself. My skin was a bit, what we called back home, peely-wally. Pale, very pale. Having this very dark-skinned arm and hand move over me was mesmerising. The thought of us moving together in sex, our different coloured limbs intertwined, was something that I wanted. Needed.

"Yes please, " I said, somewhat breathlessly. It's always good to be polite. "I want to be slutted out by you. I'll be your little white bitch for the night!" Oh hell! It was all so damn dirty that I loved it! I was going to be their slut for a little while. The slut for two black men, one of whom I'd never even seen, but who was now sliding one hand under the top of my dress -- and the other up against the bottom.

I wanted to protest, to say, look, fella, we are in public here. Can this not wait until we get to... to wherever the hell we need to get to? He'd spoken about screwing some girl over a table not long ago, but I didn't think he was serious. I didn't think he'd do that to me. Would he? I'd just agreed to be his slut though, and was wet and horny enough to try it.

There was no protest from me though, and that was a bad sign. When horny Dianne came out to play, she played hard, and she was now in control. I looked down on his black, black, arm, and the hand with the pinker underside, as it popped my boob from the dress. After just a squeeze or two -- checking the merchandise as it were -- he pulled heavily on the fabric to release the other as well.

The material was skin-tight and, with the release of pressure from the top section, didn't just drop an inch or two. It hit belly-button height in seconds. He covered them with his arm again as he played and touched me there. I was torn between watching him do this and watching the others in the club. No one seemed to have noticed I had my boobs out, but that couldn't last!

The hand at the bottom started moving as well, glided down to the top of a leg on the outside, then into the gap between the two. Seconds later, I could feel his fingers moving under my pearl beads - and he stopped kissing me long enough to say something over his shoulder. I didn't catch it, but it was presumably something like, 'the slut is wearing a tiny thong with beads in her pussy.'

The second guy, the beer-spilling guy, moved in so that I had one behind me on either side. He reached around and took the boob from under the other's arm, moving it out of the way, and lifted it. Rolling the nipple as he did so. His other hand came down the back and started rubbing my butt and tugging at the small amount of fabric still in place down there.

Moments later I knew that was gone. As with the upper section, it had been stretched to within an inch of its life to get it into place and, with both of them manoeuvring it at the same time, it didn't hold. As it rounded my buttocks I couldn't hear a snap as it rolled up, but there had to have been some kind of noise. He was now playing with my naked butt and pushing down my crack, circling my rosebud, while his friend covered my pussy with his hand -- and used his middle finger to run through my slit.

The way I'd been facing was into the main area with the bars and the dance floor. Okay, I was slightly off to a side and not quite in the limelight, but my boobs were both out and being played with, my pussy was hidden only by one large hand, which meant my hips would largely be visible, and my backside was concealed only by the two of them pressing tightly against me. My dress was a large belt around my lower stomach.

"Bitch, you a slut for me and my homie now. Tonight, we gonna slut you out likes you want. Yous wanted this, to be our white bitch, so now yous got it comin' okay? It's all on you now." He wasn't whispering in my ear now. He was talking quite loudly. Louder than it needed to be for me to hear him -- or for his friend I thought. Was he talking with others around us as well?

This wasn't the way I'd thought it was going to go, but it was hot as hell! This didn't happen in Glasgow! One of my secret kinks was being controlled by strangers -- that's one reason I'd just got into this -- but that normally happened in a safe online situation where I could always block them, or turn off the device. Doing this with men when I didn't even know their names was lunacy. Which added to the heat I was feeling.

He could feel it as well, no question about it. He swapped his hand from my boob, leaving that hanging out in the open for all to see, and moved it to my pussy, bringing the other up to my shoulder and letting his friend look at it. It was glistening under the club's lights. I was soaked down there, and when he put his hand over my mouth, pressing my juices over the lower part of my face, smearing me, I licked away at his palm like a mad woman.

I had no idea at all what these two were going to do with me -- well, fuck me of course, that was a given, but not how, when or where -- but, having said that they could slut me, then I was up for it. I was like that. Once I agreed to something I found it almost impossible to change that viewpoint. I said yes, so yes it was. I was their slut for the night. And was happy about it!

However, as I was almost naked in a nightclub and licking my juices, then this night was only going to get wilder. His friend said something about 'break it' and I saw him moving his hand from my boobs as well. Both were now obvious as I had no covering above the waist. Below it they each had a hand over me. I considered covering myself, but something told me this was not the right thing to do in this situation. His meaning became clear as they each jerked on a section of my thong -- and broke it.

The small pearl-like beads dropped and hit the floor, attracting attention both with the noise as they hit and as they rolled along into the crowds around. People turned, looked for the source, and saw me. I could see people looking at me, nudging their friends, calling across to others. Getting phones out to record the scene.

Looking at the short white girl with her boobs out and torso uncovered. It was almost certain that at least some of them could see my butt was naked as well. I was wearing a large white belt, and the only thing protecting my modesty (if I had any left at this stage) were the two black hands over my pussy from the men standing behind me and reaching around. The inner one of those was running up and down my slit, making sure to push my clit as it did so. I was mortified and soaking wet.

"She be Dianne Herbert from Glasgow," said someone from close beside me. The music had stopped and his voice rang out loud and clear. I turned my head to see who the hell knew that and saw another large black man -- and he was holding my small clutch bag. I'd not even registered it leaving my hand, but then I'd had other things on my mind.

Oh crap! In the bag was cash for drinks and a taxi if need be, my hotel room key -- and my driving licence as ID. It was from that he was reading! That had my full name and full address on it. He'd just read off the name and city parts, but he now knew exactly who I was. And all of those filming knew enough to locate me via the web as well. This was not going well!

There was then a moment where I tried to use my hands to cover myself, rather pointlessly at this stage in the proceedings, but I was stopped. One left a hand over my pussy, clearly rubbing it, but everything else was available for those now watching us. The men took my wrists and moved them to their groins. To press against their obviously large, very solid, cocks. The remaining hand twisted itself deep into my hair and kept my head up and in place.

He must have known that I was about to look down, to try and shake the hair over my eyes, too (futilely I knew) try and hide myself in that way. No. He wanted me displayed like this. Displayed for all to see, and for me to see them all in return.

Slowly the hand from my pussy was also removed, but only partly. Fingers were opening my slit wide. People were coming closer and he was opening me up for them. Pictures were being taken and he was opening me up for them. Oh, bloody hell! I was afraid of what was going on, but so damn turned on that I was helpless to protest it.

"We gonna slut this white bitch out," one of them said. "Usual rules and rates. Cameras is extra. Consent given and recorded. So, bros, who be in?"

They shook my arms then, which made my whole-body wriggle and my boobs bounce. Pussy open for all and boobs bouncing, head up and hair pulled back. Whatever the hell was going to be happening this was all good advertising. Sex sells, we all know that, I just didn't know what my sex was selling here.

I realised now that I'd made an error, a serious error. When they'd talked about 'slutting' I'd thought it was a misuse of English and they meant to be a slut. I had agreed to be their slut for the evening, for the two of them that was. Now though, now I was thinking that there was an extra meaning, a different meaning, when 'slut out' was used in that way.

Picking up from what he'd just said then the local vernacular seemed to be suggesting that 'to slut out' meant a hell of a lot more than I had intended. I'd said yes though. In fact, I'd said that I wanted to be slutted out and be their little white bitch for the evening. Horny Dianne didn't know what that meant yet, but she had agreed.

Most of the group looking at me were black guys, some of them with girls hanging on their arms and looking hacked off. Most of them had phones out filming me, and I knew this was a bad thing. Potentially very bad. I hated the thought of this footage being out of my control, but it already was. My name and naked body were out there for good. Trying to stop it now was like trying to stop a river with your bare hands.

The only question then, as I was held this way for all who wanted to see, and film, a small naked pale skinned Scot, was would I go through with this. Whatever this was. It was going to be more than sex with the two of them though -- more than the spit-roast and any extra's that I'd been thinking. So then, Dianne, do you go with your agreement -- or do you bail?