Authors Caution- Non consent, Humiliation, Interracial Sex, Rough Domination, Violence... too rough for some... enter at your own risk.
*****
"Stupid assed bitch," Darius said, as Tiffany parked her tiny car right ahead of him, taking his spot. It was dark and Tiffany had not yet learned that some of the longtime apartment residents had unofficially reserved parking spots in order to watch their pimped out rides.
Darius angrily laid on the horn of his Escalade and floored it, roaring to an empty spot near the end of the row.
Nineteen year old Tiffany had just gotten home from yoga class, and was in no mood to take shit from a rude driver. Grabbing her heavy backpack, she ducked under its wide strap and positioned it between her breasts, accentuating her firm C cup bust. Then grabbing her purse and water bottle, she slammed her car door and angled across the parking lot towards her apartment, watching out for the rude jerk that had honked at her as she parked.
"Yo! You know that's my spot right?" yelled Darius as he angled to intercept her.
"Hey Darius! That ho done robbed yo dumb ass!" yelled a brother from the second floor, laughing at his fellow gangbanger for losing his spot to the cute little blonde chick.
Tiffany just ignored them. She would have been more nervous three months ago when she first moved in, but Mikes black boss Jerome had roughly stolen her virginity while she was drunk and had been screwing her blind and beating her with his evil riding crop ever since then. So she was used to black assholes and their filthy mouths.
Darius hurried after her. The stupid white girl had to be told not to take his spot, because he'd already had some mothufuckahs break into his tricked out ride when he didn't park in his personal spot under the light pole.
"Yo bitch, I'm talkin' to you!" said Darius as he caught up to her. "That's my spot baby," he told her again.
Tiffany knew how to deal with jerks now. God knows how many of Jerome's buddies had copped a feel, and much more, before she learned to stick up for herself. Now all it took was a lot of Bitch attitude and then they usually backed off.
Stopping so abruptly that Darius almost bumped into her, Tiffany spun around and let all of her days frustrations come spewing out of her little mouth. "Look ASSHOLE," Tiffany raged, "The fucking parking spots aren't numbered, and if you're too stupid to see that then maybe you should get a fucking pair of glasses!" Then she pivoted on her heel and marched her tight little ass towards her apartment.
Darius stood dumbfounded as his cronies on the second story porch doubled over and howled with laughter, spilling some of the beer from their 40's and shouting jeers at him.
So much adrenaline and blood was pumping through his ears, that Darius only heard "pussy" and "boy" among the jeers.
"You fucking cunt," Darius whispered in white hot anger. He had never been disrespected like that in his life, especially by a 115lb bitch, and now he was a gang leader with serious street creds who just got punked in front of his crew.
Darius flipped his asshole buddies the finger and jogged to catch up to Tiffany as she went between the buildings toward her apartment in the back.
"Hey, whoa!...," ordered Darius as he grabbed her arm harshly, half turning her, and jumped in front of her.
Tiffany was prepared; she pepper sprayed him right in the face.
Darius screamed and choked, stumbled away and fell to the ground in a fetal position, racked in painful agony and retching dry heaves uncontrollably. His eyes were burning so bad that it felt like they were frying in popping grease, his lungs were consumed by hellfire and his nasal passages felt like they were suddenly coated in muriatic acid. He started to drown on dry ground from hyperventilation and a violently closed esophagus. Retching thick frothy slobber from both mouth and nose, his sinew stretched to the breaking point as muscles contorted him in pain until it felt like his bones were cracking. Nothing in his short violent life had prepared him for such instantaneous all-consuming misery.
Tiffany was too close when she peppered him, and some of the overspray drifted back into her own face, turning her stomach inside out and making her cough violently. She screeched and stumbled until she was leaning close to the building, and her eyes watered too much to see her husband Mike when she heard his alarmed voice say, "Honey! Are you alright?!" just before she felt him grab her shoulders.
"He attacked me!" screamed Tiffany, stumbling at a half run to the light flooding out of the doorway, desperate to get to the sink and flush the poison out of her watery eyes.
"What!?" exclaimed Mike, looking over at the skinny black male writhing on the grass. Without thinking, he rushed over and football kicked the guy hard in the stomach, causing the gangbanger to flip over.
Darius had been in two dozen fights, and seen three young black men die when the heavy shit went down. The mean streets of the hood had honed his survival instincts to a razors edge. Blinded by the pepper spray he instinctively pulled his 9mm Glock from his pants as he rolled and fired two quick rounds in the direction of his assailant.
The flash of the muzzle blinded Mike and the roar of the gun at close range sounded like two grenades going off. One round took Mike in the upper leg, mushrooming as it hammered through his femur catapulting him into a half flip that landed him on his face. The second round tore through his muscle just above the elbow doing little harm.
Children screamed and cried inside the apartment walls and lights suddenly went out behind curtains as silence took over the dark courtyard. Only the light flooding from Tiffany and Mike's apartment doorway illuminated the prostrate groaning Mike. Meanwhile a wild- eyed Darius gained his feet and staggered away into the darkness, violently coughing and gagging from the noxious pepper spray.
Tiffany raced outside screaming, "MIKE!!??!!" before she saw him lying in the grass fiercely gripping his badly wounded leg with both hands.
***
(Three Days Later)
The old gun store clerk stared appreciatively down the shirt of the beautiful young blonde in front of him as she bent over the gun case looking inside. Her plump alabaster breasts strained against the dark blue bra and her loose blouse gave him a surprisingly nice view of her bounty. As she moved sideways down the glass case, her plump breasts swung gently like heavy fruit swaying on a branch.
Unaware of the view that she was gifting the old man with, Tiffany pointed at the shiny chrome plated .357 Magnum Colt Python in the gun case, saying, "I'll take that one."
"Are you sure?" queried the old gun store clerk with raised grey eyebrows, "That's a lot of weapon for a pretty young lady...and heavy..." He pointed a bony finger to a short barreled .38 caliber Ruger semi-automatic in the same case. "That is what a lot of my lady customers buy, and it packs a hell of a wallop."
"Ok," conceded Tiffany, too tired and impatient to argue with the old bastard's male ego and air of superiority. "Just show me how to use it and I'll take it and some bullets."
"No problem," the grey haired clerk smiled, glad that the young girl had the politeness and good sense to listen to him, God knows those modern females didn't listen worth a shit most of the time. "I'll get the paperwork and it shouldn't take more than a few days to come back, as soon as your background check is approved by the feds."
Tiffany furrowed her brow at the delay. "Ok... do you have any used ones that you can rent me until I can pick this one up?"
"Nope," the old fart said matter-of-factly, "It don't work that way. Nowadays it's against to law to rent, sell, loan, or even think about a gun without the pointy heads in Washington D.C. giving it their blessing. So give me payment in full and just come back in three days and it'll be ready, then we can go into the back where we have a pistol range and I'll try to show you how to use it."
Tiffany nodded and completed the paperwork, now aware that the wrinkled old turtle was staring down her shirt but not caring enough to button up her blouse. "Let the old bastard have a cheap thrill, as long as I get my gun," she thought. Then she handed over her credit card and soon left the store, bitterly disappointed with the three day wait.
Walking back to her car, she was more aware of the darkness outside than she used to be. She had lingered too long at the hospital visiting Michael, and the paperwork at the gun shop had been enough to choke a horse, especially with ancient "Ichabod Crane" filling it out while she grew old with him.
But darkness or not, she had to go home to her apartment. As she had reminded Mike, his parents had paid the rent a year in advance and all of their things were there. Besides, she couldn't sleep in the hospital bed next to his for another night because he now had a roommate. In truth, she was dying for a long hot shower, decent food, and a fresh change of clothes. So she had promised Mike that she would at least stop and buy a gun for protection, and then go straight home before dark.
Her plan had gone to shit, and as she drove home her biggest concern was that the cops had not yet caught the black gangbanger called "Darius" yet, although they had found over $17,000 cash and enough dope in his apartment to put him away for about 10-15 years.
Of course the predominantly black residents in nearby apartments "hadn't seen a thing" on the night of the shooting, which was evidently an unwritten code in the complex because everyone was wisely afraid of getting involved. So the cops weren't sure that they could convict Darius of the attempted murder even if they caught him, and they seemed too lazy to care either way. The excuse to bust into his apartment and the resulting drug charges had seemed to satisfy them.
Tiffany had answered question after question about whether or not it was a lovers spat or drug payment collection attempt, until she just gave up and stopped talking to the cops. They had spent about half the time staring at her tits and ass anyway, not listening to her.
Tiffany parked on the far side of her apartment complex, hiding her car behind a big truck just in case Darius or his buddies decided to take revenge on it. She couldn't afford a big car repair bill right now.
Looking around carefully, she took the pepper spray out of her purse, and put the rape whistle between her lips. She had been told by the police that an unmarked car would be cruising the area looking for Darius, even though he was probably three states away by now, and she prayed that it was close by, just in case.
Looking all around, she shut her car door, took a deep breath and moved out carefully, every step seeming like an eternity. She could hear her own breathing and heart pounding, the sounds deafening in the still darkness. But after what seemed like a thousand steps through the jungles of Vietnam, with monsters in the inky blackness of every shadow, she was finally within a half building of her apartment door, and she started to relax.
Rounding a corner, she walked past a foul smelling dumpster with a pool of nastiness underneath it, and as she passed it a large shadow suddenly darted out, grabbing the wrist that held the pepper spray and the other rough hand closing over her mouth.
