This story is a work of fiction which contains strong elements of great humiliation, racism, non-consent and abuse. Please do not read any further if any of these elements bother you. Such acts should never be done in real life.
This is the fourth (and end) part in a series. Please read the previous parts to understand up to this point.
*****
With an evil smirk, I look down at my toy. Hard to believe that it's my toy. My Toy. Hard to believe it's been only about a couple of hours since I've had my toy. Even harder to believe all that I've done to my toy. Even harder still to know I was the one that did it. Me. The sweet, nice man that keeps the school clean.
She made me. She made me into this. She made me do this to her. If she didn't act like I was the Devil on earth, I wouldn't have done anything. If she wasn't so pathetic and cowardly, none of this wouldn't happen. If she wasn't so stupid...I would have stopped a long time ago. But I'm not stopping.
Looking at my toy, to which I can honestly say I've forgotten her name, I think of all that I've done to her. Made her painted herself white. Sprayed her naked body with cleaners. Brushed those hard to reach places. Placed mousetraps on her titties. Taped her to the wall and much more. Funny how when I say it out loud, you wouldn't think I was talking about a 18 year old human.
"Get up," I say after I cut free the twine from her ankles and then remove the chains off her so she can move. She's been trapped on the table for so long I don't even know if she knows she can move.
I listen to her feminine groans as she begins to move. Goodness, her body must be sore from everything I've done to her. Good thing she has a darker skin tone. It'll hide the bruises better. Plus, her skin tone fits her.
She keeps groaning as she sits up on the table. With another loud stiff groan, she slides off the table and stands. Then, in what make me harder still, she puts both hands back on top of her head. I feel the tingle in my member build as I see this. She still is so scared of me that she does this. Either that, or she has grown to love what I've done to her.
"Hold still," I order with a smirk. I then take the brush she used to paint herself and paint her back with white paint so it matches the front. I don't have to do this as the front was the most humiliating part for her, but I feel that I must. Like she might expect it. So I move the brush all over, covering her back and legs with a sloppy paint job.
Once I stop, I put down the brush and stay behind her without saying anything. I let silence build as she can't see me, so she doesn't know if I'm laughing, glaring or even looking murderous at her. That's when I notice, I don't even know what I am. I was mad, then happy, then amazed. Now? Now I have a hard on, that won't go away. That's all I know.
"We goin' to the mechanic's shop," I finally say, knowing no one will be in it till last period, so I'll have a few hours with her in there. She doesn't respond to this, just keeps standing there, looking pathetic. I know she's probably wondering what more I can do to her. Sadly, she's bout to find out I have a wild imagination.
"You gonna walk down the hallway, just as you are. All the way to the end, till you reach the shop," I inform. "If someone sees you or stops you, you tell them the truth. You tell them, 'I deserved what happened,' and that's all you will say, understand?" I state again making my voice seem dark and menacing.
"I understand," she says softly. I can tell she wants to say more, but doesn't. Maybe wants to beg for me not to do this, or beg me for clothes, but she won't. She knows if she does, it'll only get worse for her.
"Then," I say and then move to the door. "Get going, the colors won't reach the hill till you dance," I say, going back to crazy man mode as I open the door.
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My skin feels on fire and what's under my skin burns even hotter. It feels like if you put an ice cube on me, it would melt instantly. Yet, the reason why I feel so hot is because...I'm cold and dirty...and must look so horrible. My entire body is naked and abused. It's been worked over and humiliated, yet...I feel so different, so hot, so wanted. I've never felt like this before.
The crazy man opens the door and I start walking. I'm unable to look at him in the eyes as I walk but I feel them boring into me. He said he might kill me. And I believe that to be true. There's nothing I won't believe he would do now.
As I walk, I feel my skin crawling as it's roughly coated in thick paint. It drips off in some places but has also dried in others. Where its hardened, I can feel it breaking apart as my body moves. More so, I feel my breasts. The mousetraps are still firmly attached, swinging with each and every step I take, making my breasts sway more than normal. Worse still, I feel my womanhood, still coated with paint.
Unlike before, I step outside the room without looking to see if anyone was in the hall. I full heartedly walk out, with everything showing. I make sure to keep my hands planted to my had so if someone does see me, they see me in all of his evil, delightful glory. I know he wants someone to see me like this, like his black pussy trophy. To show what happens to those that cross him.
I walk down the hallway, feeling the cold A/C all over, which makes me shiver at some points which feels so weird as my insides burn so much. It is the worst possible thing to want, but I want him to touch me again. To touch me in any way he wants. Maybe a spank, maybe just a touch on my shoulders. I just need to have another release. To be seen like this, to be paraded around, is so humiliating. It makes me almost moan with wanting to be fucked again.
I turn the corner into the main hall, and my heart does stop as I hear noise. But the feeling of horror and hope disappears as I notice it's way down on the other side of the hallway. Where if someone did see me, it would just look like I had a weird white outfit on. Even the windows of each class seem to be covered or no one faces the window.
It occurs to me, no one might see me like this. No one will see what he's done to me, except him. Knowing this makes me want to scream so people will flood the halls to see my abused breasts, painted pussy or my naked painted white body.
Now I've reached the door of the shop. I stay here, looking at the metal door, feeling dejected and quite sad. I stay here for several moments before I realize I'm alone. I thought he followed behind me, but he didn't. I'm alone. This scares me and again that urge to scream comes to me, but this time because he left and won't touch me.
"You look so stupid and pathetic, you know that?" His voice suddenly says from behind. At once I breathe a sigh of relief and also almost cry in shame. I want this to be over, but I still want more. I want him to take me again, to say he can't get enough. Oh god. What is wrong with me? What in the world is wrong with me?
He moves to the door, having walked a different route than I did, probably in case someone did see me. He unlocks it with his keys and opens the door. I start to move forward but he puts out his hand to stop me.
"What you doing ya cow?" He asks angrily. "Just for that, do 10 jumping jacks," he says and then crosses his arms impatiently. Humiliated more, I hop in the hallway, while parting my legs and letting my arms swing over my head. Doing this does just want he probably wanted, lets my pussy lips part, and my swollen breasts bounce. I do one after another, feeling paint fall with each one. After just 5, I feel like I might have a stroke from the tingle and heat inside me.
"Good, now get inside," he growls once I finish, and I do. Entering, the room is strangely wide open. There's a big engine in the middle of the room suspended by a chain, which must be what the students gather around during class. Along all the walls are different workstations filled with the same tools. The lighting is different in this room as well. It's darker here, though that's probably because only one of the overhead lights are on.
"That...is an American made, full tilt, beautiful engine," the crazy janitor proclaims as he moves up to it. "In the darkness of twilight, I like to gloss the fine tuning and piece together the traps," he says, speaking in that nonsensical yet intelligent manner. My mind struggles to understand what he means, but all I get is that he really likes that engine.
"Bend over it," he orders out of the blue, saying it as if he was saying something causal, like what time it was. I glance at him a bit confused but I don't think twice. I move to the engine, which isn't very large or wide, and bend completely over it. At once I feel the cold of the metal press against my thighs and stomach as I bend all the way over. To do this, my knees have to bend slightly to let my feet remain on the floor.
Just as I do this, I feel the engine behind rattled. For a moment I think it's been turned on, but no, he's pulling on a chain in the corner, raising the engine up off the ground. As he does this, I hang onto the hunk of metal for dear life. He stops once my feet are no longer on the ground, so my legs just hang off the end. Since the engine is so short lengthwise, my breasts hang out on the other side as do my arms.
"See the holes?" He asks and I see him pointing down at the concrete ground. True enough, there are several large drilled holes on the ground that have metal covers. They must be used for something to do with the engine, but what...I don't know. Then he reaches in one, and pulls out a heavy chain. Once he knows I've seen it, he lets go and it retracts back into the hole quickly.
