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From: Kylie.X.writes@gmail.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Black Magic Vol. I by Amateur Kylie (M+/F, Coercion, Blackmail, Interracial, Oral, Anal, Mast, Exhibition)
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Date: Mon, 22 Oct 2007 01:10:01 -0400
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Black Magic Vol. I
Copyright 2007 Kylie X all rights reserved. Intended for adults.
Synopsis: Nineteen year old Kylie thinks she's found the perfect way
to live her interracial fantasies, but things aren't always as they
appear and soon the black college coed is forced to examine the
delicate balance between fantasy and reality.
Story Codes: M+/F, Coercion, Blackmail, Interracial, Oral, Anal,
Exhibition

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Black Magic Vol. I
by
Amateur Kylie


He seemed like a nice enough guy. I'd written a couple stories, just
for fun really, because I'd come across a website that had a lot of
them. I'd read some and enjoyed them and wondered if I could do it
too. So I'd written about me and some of my friends, changing names
and places and all that, adding a lot of my personal fantasies into
it. I enjoyed it quite a lot and I was starting to think maybe I was
okay at this writing thing, as long as it was just for fun, you know.

I'd gotten a lot of emails, which surprised and flattered me and I'd
answered most of them, as many as I could. Some people I wrote back
and forth with and I really was enjoying myself. One guy in particular
seemed nice. His emails were generous without being ridiculous in his
praise. He had comments and suggestions, little ones that I
appreciated. It felt honest, that's all I can say about it. I enjoyed
reading his emails a lot.

Eventually we agreed to meet in an internet chat room, not for any
specific reason, but just to say hi and talk, rather than merely
correspond. He was fun to chat with, quick witted and clever and
making me smile and laugh, and time just flies by like that. So we
agreed to meet again...And again. After a few weeks of that we were
meeting online almost daily and I found myself looking forward to
seeing him, as we called it. We were seeing each other, although only
through our keyboards.

He asked me if he could send me some pictures of himself. The man
didn't ask for anything in return, he just wanted to show me who I was
talking to. There was no reason that should have bothered me, so I
soon found myself with a few photos of him, three of them. All of them
normal, nothing strange about them or him. He looked nice, older
perhaps, in his thirties or early forties, but trim and tall with
sandy hair, a little darker than blonde and cut short. A handsome
enough face, with deep blue eyes and a wide smile. He looked nice,
that's all, a nice man posing for snapshots.

Naturally enough, once I had pictures of him I felt an obligation to
show him what I looked like too. He hadn't asked me for a picture, but
I wanted to give him one. So I took a picture of myself in the mirror
with my little digital camera, just me smiling and looking a little
fuzzy maybe, but it turned out okay. I was a little nervous because
he'd read my stories, I mean this guy was a self-professed big fan,
which always made me smile. But he'd read the stories and so he might
have been expecting the Kylie that I described so well and so often in
them. My alter-ego was rather beautiful, the way only fictional people
are, the truth is always a little more mundane.

I'm a black college girl, but not so tall as I wish, only five foot
eight, which sounds good, until you want to be a model. My hips are
too narrow, just 32 inches to go with my 22 inch waist, but at least
my butt isn't huge. I hadn't made that part up, or my breasts. They
really are my best feature, if you're into that stuff. Nicely formed
and firm 34C's which seem a little larger just because I'm so lean
everywhere else. My face is pretty and I had my hair pulled back in
sort of a long, wavy ponytail. Bright brown eyes, a small mouth and an
upturned nose grace my heart shaped face. 

I shouldn't have felt so insecure, I knew that, but the image of Kylie
from my stories was one of perfection and the image in my mirror was
the same one I'd been looking at my whole life. It's hard to compete
with a good imagination and so it was with a deep breath and some
silly apologies that I sent my photo off to him through the ether. 

The guy loved my picture of course, and I felt relieved by that. I
hadn't realized I was so desperate to impress him, but once he
complimented me on my honest appearance, I let out the metaphorical
breath I'd been holding and allowed myself to relax. He told me I was
even prettier than he'd imagined and I returned his compliments. I
told the man how serious I was in my stories about my attraction for
white men, especially men with light hair and blue eyes. It was and
still remains a very real thing for me and one of the reasons I'd
wanted to write stories in the first place. I needed an outlet for my
fantasies.

I was very stuck in a situation with my family, with my mom and dad in
particular, which didn't allow me the luxury of dating just anyone I
wanted. That too was an element my fictional self suffered and I used
her to bend the rules, to find the strength and means to get around
the prejudice in her own family and live my fantasies. I wasn't nearly
so clever or strong in reality and this chatting with a white man over
the internet was my first relationship of any sort with a man who
wasn't black. It was intoxicating, a grand secret that was utterly
safe. It couldn't be found out and that knowledge allowed me to relax
much more than I normally would.

We began talking more openly with each other, and by that I mean
sexually. We started with my stories, since I'd written them and so I
should have been very comfortable with them. I'd posted them so that
people like this man, people who shared my interests, could read them.
It was easy talking about my stories and I only barely appreciated
that we were in fact talking about my personal fantasies. They're one
and the same, afterall. I can't write a story about something that
doesn't interest me, or even about another person it seems. My
character, my narrator, is always me. She's always Kylie.

And so I found myself confessing how much I would like to be with a
white man, romantically or even just sexually. A one night stand would
be fine for me, I'd told this guy, with my patented self-conscious
giggle. If I could just make love with a white man one time, it might
be enough to last me the rest of my life. A dream come true,
literally. We talked long on the subject and I told him everything. I
suppose it was cyber sex, although I'd only masturbate later, in my
bath long after our chats were finished, but that's what it was. I'd
speak of being with an anonymous man in a fantasy setting, but we were
both imagining ourselves in those roles as we talked.

He would tell me how he loved beautiful young black girls. How he
would love me, if it were ever possible. How he would kiss me and
stroke my hair, touch my dark skin and make love to me. He'd begin
slowly and build up, moving his language from romantic innuendo to the
lewd and ultimately blunt slang of pornography. I didn't mind, if
anything it thrilled me. I'd made no secret that during my sex I loved
dirty talk, nasty words whispered in my ear during lovemaking. I'd
used those words often in my stories, and in the same way. Beginning
gently and ending with a rush of brutal sexual passion. I enjoyed
that, I wanted it, and this man was feeding it to me.

After another few weeks, if even that long, we'd reached the point
where the guy wondered if he might not send me some other photos of
himself, pictures of his cock specifically, and when I agreed he
immediately sent me a digital photo of his hard penis laying across a
printout of my photo, the one I'd sent him. He'd printed it out in
color and ejaculated on my face, with his large white cock lying
across it. The ink was slightly smeared and runny around his sperm,
but it was obviously my picture. He told me he'd printed my picture
numerous times and jerked off on them often while we chatted.

I might have felt nervous then, a little afraid perhaps because it did
seem strange, but in truth I was terribly excited. There was a white
cock, still wet with cum, pressed against my face. It was shocking and
thrilling and completely unexpected. I had no response to that and
finally, without suggestion from the man, I took several photographs
of myself nude. One of my full body and some of my sex. A close up of
my vagina, one with my dark labia closed and my clit hidden safely
away, and another when I was aroused and wet, spreading my pussy lips
to show the warm pink inside and my small clit, hard and erect from
her sheath.

I sent those to him, exacting solemn promises that no one else would
ever see them. I trusted him, you see. I was telling him all of my
secrets and he was my accomplice in my wildest fantasies. I was
trusting him with my body now, with my identity as I hadn't tried to
cover my face in anyway. We continued chatting that way for several
more weeks, daily now, sometimes two or three times a day. In the
morning before classes, after school, and at night before I went to
sleep. He knew my schedule and so many other things besides. The
information seeps out of us as we talk, it's unavoidable as our guards
fall and our trust grows, but I was so naive then.

To use the web cam was my own suggestion, but the man told me he
didn't have one. He made it clear that he'd love to see me using mine
though and I was in a headlong rush to excite him. I didn't hesitate,
setting up my small camera so he could see and hear me as we chatted.
I rather enjoyed that and although it was strange, being one way as it
was, with the man seeing me while I could only read his words, I did
enjoy it. There was something of an exhibitionist inside me, perhaps,
one I hadn't been aware of, and I liked the way he would ask me to
point the camera at different parts of my body, making me giggle and
flush as I'd tease him with it.

Eventually I was most often naked, or barely dressed in front of my
computer, letting him see my breasts, or even pointing the camera
lower, offering my sex to the man's eyes. It would make me wet,
exposing myself that way for a white man, enough so that I would rub
myself occasionally, stroking my dark pussy and thumbing my clit while
he told me how sexy that was. 

I sent him numerous photos of myself as well and he was suggesting
things, asking me to wear certain clothes or to play with myself for
him. I took pictures of myself doing things I would have never done
for a boyfriend, but I was doing them for this stranger. I would
finger my pussy for him, taking pictures of my black cunt splayed pink
and wet in a mirror. I'd finger my ass and pinch and pull my large
brown nipples. I used toys on myself, letting him see my pussy filled
with the thick handle of my hairbrush, for example, or the small
vibrator I had.

And he would return my photo's, printed out and dripping with his cum.
It was amazing how exciting that was to me; how it catered to
perversions I didn't know I had. I was hot for it, for our games and
sexy talk and vulgar confessions of lust. When he asked if he could
call me on the phone I hesitated for a day, less than that. He'd asked
me in the morning and by that evening I was in my bed, hearing his
deep voice telling me how he wanted to fuck me. He was going to put
his big white cock in my little black pussy and make me cum all over
it.

I was rubbing myself then, masturbating and describing in detail how I
was rubbing my clit and fingering my horny little hole. How my nipples
seemed to burn cold until I had to punish them with sharp pinches and
soft slaps. He didn't believe me, chuckling at my words, and I held
the phone near my breasts so he could hear the soft spankings I
delivered upon my own flesh. It was fighting fire with fire, I told
him, that my breasts ached painfully when I was aroused and so I had
to hurt them in order to make them feel better.

That seemed to please him a great deal and he asked me if I ever
spanked my pussy the same way, which made me giggle, but at his
suggestion I found myself doing precisely that. I'd spread my legs and
tell him what I was doing, how I was spanking my bad little pussy for
being such a horny slut of a hole. I'd hold the phone close, letting
him hear the soft sounds, the sting of those sticky slaps across my
dripping cunt and it did feel good, amazingly so. 

I wasn't surprised when he told me that he was stroking his cock while
I spanked my tits and pussy. He was going to cum because I was so
beautiful for him, so unbelievably sexy doing those things. He'd never
known anyone like me and I was making love to him over the phone. His
words thrilled me and made it even better, so that I was cumming as
well. I orgasmed many times that first night we spoke, breathing hard
across the wires and moaning just for him. 

I'd beg him to talk me while I was fucking myself, asking the man to
call me names and verbally abuse me. I wanted it dirty, I said, as
obscene as he could get because I loved that so much. He was willing
and I played with my cunt hard while he called me his nigger slut and
his cocksucking whore. I was just a black cunt for him to fuck and use
and I knew it, that's what he'd say, that I knew what I was and he'd
demand that I agree. It was heaven for me then, as close as I would
ever get to my real fantasy, speaking with this unknown white man over
the phone while I fingered myself.

The phone calls too became a nightly thing, calling him three nights
in a row and then four. By this time I'd long since broken up with my
boyfriend. I'd had no more time for him; I was much too busy on my
computer. My schoolwork suffered as well and my relationships with
other friends became strained by my absence. I was becoming obsessed
and very nearly a shut-in, and addicted to this strange man and his
attentions. 

I mentioned it one night, telling him that I needed to slow down. I
said that I had to study harder and spend more time with my family and
friends. He seemed to understand and there was nothing in his voice to
suggest anything but sympathy and concern. I was relieved and grateful
and we had a good session that night. I fucked my pussy hard with my
hairbrush while he told me how he was going to fuck a baby into my
womb, a white child that I couldn't hide. Everyone would know what a
slut I was, what a little black whore I had to be, allowing a white
man to impregnate me. 

The man made me beg for it, telling him breathlessly how badly I
wanted to feel his potent white sperm filling my womb. How I was
ovulating right then and I wouldn't let him use a condom, or even pull
out. I was riding him, fucking him with my fertile black cunt sucking
greedily at his hard white prick. When I was cumming and unable to say
anymore, it was his turn to tell me once again how he was going to
fuck me, and keep his cock inside me all night long. He'd fall asleep
holding me tight and when he awoke with his cock still hard and inside
my nigger cunt, he'd fuck me again and again after that, until my
black belly was swollen with his white child. 

It was a good fantasy for me and I came several times for him before
saying goodnight. We'd talk again in a few days, I promised. I'd email
him and tell him when would be a good time to call and he agreed,
wishing me sweet dreams and telling me he loved me. I slept well that
night, feeling exhausted but happy, content with the way our
relationship had progressed. This was the plateau, I knew that. It was
as high as we could get and we both had to understand that. I'd
explained countless times my situation and how I couldn't possible
think of dating a white man. Internet and phone calls, that was as
good as it would get and for myself, I was actually satisfied by that,
I think.

Several days later I returned home from my afternoon classes and there
was mail waiting for me. A package addressed to me by name and
delivered to my dorm mother, the older woman who babysat the freshman
girls living there. The envelope had no return address and it was
large, brown and thick, rather bulky and taped tightly shut. I puzzled
over it briefly and opened it when I got to my room, staring at the
contents as I spilled the envelope over my bed. 

There were the photos of me, color prints of every picture I'd ever
sent the man. A CD-R that had recordings of all of our phone
conversations, every one of them organized by date and time, and small
movies from my web cam, all of those sessions recorded forever in
living color. There were logs of our chat sessions, complete with my
ISP information, my student account with the university server plain
at the top of each log. It was all there and more. There were other
photos as well, not prints, but actual glossy photographs of me
walking out of my dorm and across the campus. Pictures of me sitting
with my friends or sitting alone. 

I didn't know what it meant. I didn't know who would do this to me. My
first thought was that someone had hacked into my computer somehow,
one of the students here at college. Someone was stalking me and
they'd discovered my relationship with the man I'd met online. That's
what I thought and it was the only thing that made sense. There was no
note, no threats or warnings, no demand for money or whatever. The
only thing in that envelope was me.

"Hello?" I answered my phone.

"Kylie. Hi."

His voice startled me. I was so frightened, thinking it would be
whoever had sent me the envelope, but it was the guy from the internet
and he must have gotten the dates confused. He wasn't supposed to call
for a few more days.

"Hi." I said and then laughed, letting my fear go. "I thought you
weren't calling until Sunday night."

"I know. Did you get the package I sent you?" He asked gently and I
went suddenly cold all over.

"You sent me that?" I asked. "Why?"

"I have a dozen more envelopes just like it. I addressed them to your
parents, your friends, your professors, and the dean of students." He
spoke calmly, quietly. "I even addressed one to your grandparents,
Kylie."

"What?" I couldn't even whisper and my mind was blank.

"Your grandparents? The ones in Chicago?" He said. "I have an envelope
for them too."

"Why?" I swallowed thickly as hot tears flooded my eyes.

"Because I want to see you." He said. "I want to see you tonight at
the Motel Eight, the one on University Avenue downtown, room 303,
Kylie. Can you remember that? I want you there at seven o'clock
sharp."

"I can't...I..." I closed my eyes tightly. "...Why are you doing this?"

"Because I love you." He said and then the phone went dead and I just
sat there staring at it for a long while.

I tried to think. I tried to understand what was going on, but I
couldn't. I didn't know how this guy had found me. I didn't know why
he'd want to hurt me this way. I had to find a way out of it and I
thought about calling the police at first. If I called them and told
them what was going on they could go there. The police could go to
that motel and break down the door and arrest him. 

But what did he do? He'd collected all that stuff, but I'd sent him
the pictures. I'd agreed to talk to him on the phone. It was my voice
on the recordings telling him when to call again, telling him all
those other things as well. I'd used the web cam, no one had forced
me. He'd taken some pictures of me in public and what else? Threatened
to send it all to people I really, really didn't want to see it. But
he hadn't asked for anything except to see me. He hadn't demanded
money or threatened me in anyway. He hadn't even told me not to go to
the police. So could they arrest him for that?

I didn't know, but it seemed unlikely.

And even if they did arrest him for something, what if those envelopes
were someplace else? What if he had a friend who would drop them in
the mailbox if something happened to him? What if they arrested him
and the newspapers heard the story? A black girl flirting with a white
man over the internet gets blackmailed into...What? Meeting him for sex
probably, that's what they'd want it to be. That would be as bad as
the envelopes, maybe worse because the whole world would know. Not
specifics maybe, but enough to humiliate me beyond reason. 

There were so many questions and I had no idea what to do. I thought
about calling my ex-boyfriend. He was big; he had a lot of tough
friends. Maybe they could beat this guy up, find out where those
envelopes were and get them. But I didn't want anyone knowing what I'd
been doing, especially not my old boyfriend. He'd think I dropped him
for that white guy, and he'd be right, in a manner of speaking. He
wouldn't help me; our breakup had come without warning and his pride
was still smarting from it. He'd probably mail the envelopes himself
if he could.

I could get a gun. Yeah right, where was I going to get a gun? And
what would I do with it if I did? Shoot myself? I could...Oh God, what
was I going to do? I could tell my parents. No, even the gun was a
better idea than that. I'd be disowned, kicked out, tossed away like
black trash and I wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not. It's happened
to other people in my family, for a lot less than this. The mere idea
that I was interested in a white guy would have upset my parents to no
end. The fact that I'd flirted with one, talked sexy and sent naked
pictures, pornographic pictures of myself to a white guy...I'd be dead
to them.

All I could do was what the man wanted. I didn't want to. I
desperately prayed that all of this was a bad joke, or a dream, or
something. I prayed to God, promising him anything and everything if
He would deliver me from this mess. I was bargaining with him,
offering God a deal, the way desperate people do. Whatever His answer,
I didn't hear it. I was lost to Him as well it seemed and that made me
feel broken inside. I'd been raised with a lot of faith, a ton of
religion, and I'd never asked God for anything before. I was utterly
alone then and for the first time in my life. 

Seven o'clock was coming fast. I dressed down for the occasion and my
spirits were dim. I wore a dark dress, long and ugly and unflattering.
I left my hair unbrushed and used no makeup. I wore plain underwear
and low heeled shoes. I removed all of my jewelry except my watch, and
then left a note along with that envelope on my desk, explaining where
I was going, when and why, just in case nobody ever saw me again. I
felt like I was dying and I cleaned my dorm room before I left.
Straightening it for the first time since I'd moved in six months
before. I dusted and vacuumed, and made it look nice. I don't know
why. I just needed to do that before I left.

The hotel wasn't too far and I walked it, timing my pace to arrive no
earlier than was necessary. At seven o'clock exactly I knocked on room
303 without knowing what to expect, but deciding it would be terrible
in any event.

"Kylie, come on in, sweetie." The man was there, as I'd known he would
be. He looked nothing like his picture, but the voice was the same.
I'd recognize it anywhere and it sent a chill up my spine.

He wasn't especially large or frightening and not so old, late
twenties maybe. He had brown hair and brown eyes, but he was white, at
least he hadn't lied about that. He wasn't fat or skinny and dressed
in jeans and a t-shirt. He wasn't impressive and if I saw him on the
street I might smile, but I'd forget him five minutes later.

He had three friends with him, all white, all about his age. One was
blonde, with his hair pulled back into a short ponytail. He had blue
eyes, I noticed, and a friendly face, but I was hardly in the mood to
be friends with anyone. He was larger as well, over six feet and
solid. Another guy was fat, like he was six months pregnant and he had
small dark eyes and a sneering lip. I didn't like him very much and he
had a crooked tooth, right in the front. The last guy was better
looking, with an athletic body and a strong, handsome face. He was the
best looking of all of them and he had neat black hair and bright blue
eyes. He reminded me of Christopher Reeves, actually, from the old
Superman movies.

That seemed to be what these guys had in mind. Movies. There were
lights set up on telescoping stands around the one large bed in the
room. A large video camera was set up on a tripod as well, and a
couple smaller ones were laid out on the room's short dresser, like
professional looking handy cams or something. I didn't understand what
was going on yet, but I wasn't stupid, despite my recent track record.

I stepped into the room and the guy closed the door behind me, locking
it tight with a sharp snap of the bolt.

"I'm here. What do you want?" I asked him, just standing there alone.

"We want to make your dreams come true, Kylie." The guy smiled. 

"We want to have a little fun, you know, a little party." The blonde
guy was smiling too.

"A party, huh?" I looked around. "What's all this stuff for?"

"Posterity." The sneering guy laughed.

"We're going to make a little movie, that's all. You're going to be
the star and once we're done, that's it. I'll give you all those
envelopes and you won't ever have to worry again." The guy from the
internet said.

"What if I don't want to have a party, or make a movie?" I asked.

"The door's right there." He shrugged. "We're not kidnapping you
Kylie. We're not going to rape you."

"Yeah right." I breathed.

"Seriously." He turned the bolt and opened the door. "You can leave
right now and never see us again."

"And then you'll mail the envelopes." I said.

"Well, yeah." He shrugged. "But who knows, maybe no one will even
care, right?"

"Where's the envelopes? Give them to me first." I said, trying to be
brave and act like I knew what I was doing.

"They're not here." The guy smiled apologetically. "But they're close.
You'll get them afterwards, I promise."

I thought about that, knowing his promises were worthless, but I had
no other choices. I was trapped and fighting it wasn't going to help.
Kicking and screaming, that would just leave me in the same place ten
minutes later. It was hopeless and I just wanted it over. I wanted to
believe him, since there was little else I could trust. I needed
something to hold onto.

"What do I have to do?" I swallowed hard.

I closed my eyes, feeling like I was going to collapse any second. My
body was weak and my heart was ready to burst. I could barely breathe
I was so scared, but I had to stand there and talk. I had to at least
try and be this guy's equal. Probably it made no difference anyway; he
knew he had me as soon as I showed up, so maybe it was just my pride.
Or what was left of it. I'd told this guy everything about me, and he
wasn't even who he'd said he was.

"Well, first off you need to make yourself beautiful, Kylie." The man
said. "Just like in those pictures you sent me. You're such a little
hottie when you want to be, that's what we need."

"Some of that black magic." One of the guys said and they laughed at
that.

"Good title." One of the others replied and I felt my skin burn.

"Don't worry about clothes, you won't need much and we have some stuff
I think you'll like." The guy continued.

"I doubt it." I breathed, and then spoke louder. "And then what? You
guys are just going to fuck me? Is that it?"

"Something like that." He shrugged. "Yeah."

I laughed then, surprising him I think, but I had to lose some of my
tension and this was ridiculous.

"You did all this just to have sex with a girl?" I rolled my eyes.
"Are you guys totally dysfunctional, or what?"

"Huh?" They all looked at me and then laughed too.

"No, come on, it isn't like that." The guy shook his head. "We're like
you, pornographers. You write stories and we make movies."

"Amateur movies." One of the others said. "Good money in that."

"We're always looking for new talent." Sneering guy nodded. "Gotta
love that internet."

"So I'm not the first girl..." I blinked at them.

"Not going to be the last, either." The handsome guy smiled. "This is
business and we have an investment in you now."

"To make an amateur movie." I snorted.

I thought that was insane. Why didn't they just take out an
advertisement, or hire a prostitute or something? If they wanted a
young college girl, there must be some coed somewhere who would do it
for enough money. This seemed like a lot more trouble than it was
worth.

"Yeah, amateur movies, and I really do love your stories, I wasn't
kidding about that." The guy told me. "And when you turned out to look
like you do, Kylie...Goddamn, girl. I mean, I just had to have you, ya
know? You should be doing porn anyway."

"No." I frowned. "I don't know."

"Well, you'll find out." He said. "We're going to make a movie and
you're going to be in it. That's it. End of story."

"I get no say in it?" I sighed.

"You can walk, I told you that."

"Yeah, right." I laughed ruefully. "I guess I have no choice, but just
so you guys know..." I looked around the room, into their faces, "...
You're seriously fucking lame."

"We get that a lot, don't we?" Sneering guy grinned at his friends.

"All the time." The blonde man agreed. 

"So, if you want to step this way..." The internet guy gestured towards
the bathroom. "You'll find everything you need."

"Do you guys have names?" I asked. "Or do I just have to call you this
guy, that guy, and the other guy all the time?"

"Sure, uh I'm Bill, that's Ted, the good looking one. We call blondie,
um..."

"Blondie." The big blonde guy nodded.

"...Right, Blondie, and...uh, the camera man is...Dick."

"Bill, Ted, Blondie, and Dick..." I went around them nodding and
pointing at sneering guy last. "...He's the cameraman? That means I
don't have to fuck him, right?"

"Not unless you want to..." Bill shrugged.

"Hey...Hold on..." Dick scowled.

"Sorry Dick, let's face it...You're ugly, man." Ted laughed at him.

"His mom dresses him funny too." Blondie grinned.

"So, you ready, Kylie? Let's go in the bathroom then, we have a long
night ahead of us." Bill put his hand in the small of my back, giving
me a gentle push and I shivered.

They did have a lot of makeup, all of it previously used it looked
like, but some stuff that was brand new. I guessed they weren't
kidding about doing this with other girls before me. Bill sat on the
closed toilet, smiling at me as I stood there looking around. There
were some clothes on hangers, hanging from the shower rod and the
little room had been turned into a dressing room it seemed.

"Go ahead and take off your clothes first, Kylie." Bill suggested.
"Then we'll dress you up and you can fix your face."

I thought about protesting that plan, asking the guy for a little
privacy, but how silly was that? He'd seen me naked and more,
masturbating for him, fucking myself while I listened to his voice and
told him all my secrets. Getting naked in front of him, that wasn't
anything now and I just shrugged, undoing the buttons on the front of
my dress slowly.

"You should be happy about this." Bill said conversationally and I
found it odd that a guy who was blackmailing me could be acting so...
Normal.

"Why?" I asked, slipping my dress off my brown shoulders, turning away
instinctively to hide my body.

"It's your fantasy, right?" He chuckled. "You're going to have it, all
of it. You get to do what you always wanted and you don't even have to
feel guilty about it."

I didn't say anything as I let my dress fall around my feet in a dark
puddle. I stepped out of it, feeling his eyes on my back and ass and
long legs. I wore plain white panties and a bra, but nothing else once
I'd kicked off my shoes and removed my watch.

"You can leave your underwear on, it's perfect." Bill said and he was
standing, looking through the clothes. "Here, put on this...And this..."

He pulled two hangers, one with a rather ordinary white blouse, short
sleeved and made of simple cotton; the other had a skirt folded on it,
a short black skirt with pleats and I just kind of looked at them for
a moment. I suppose I was expecting lingerie or a French maid outfit.
Something sexy, but not ordinary clothes.

"These?" I asked, just to be sure and Bill nodded.

"Anyway, that's why I picked you, Kylie." Bill continued with his
original thought while I dressed. "I loved your stories and I've
always loved black girls anyway, so the idea of seeing you..."

"You said you loved me." I laughed derisively, buttoning the blouse
and it was a good fit.

"I do love you." Bill said and he sounded so sincere I had to stare at
him. "That's why I wanted you, why I wanted to make your fantasy come
true. The other guys, they thought I was wasting our time, going to
all this trouble, but I knew..."

"My fantasy isn't to be blackmailed." I told him, feeling my emotions
wanting to get loose and I had to fight for control.

"I know, but..."

"And if you think I'm going to get turned on being forced to have sex
just because you guys are white..." I shook my head. "...You're crazy. It
doesn't work like that, I'm sorry. This isn't some story you read
about a girl who gets raped and loves it. This is fucking with my
life, do you understand me?"

"Kylie..." Bill was holding up his hands, speaking gently. "...I know it
seems that way now, but seriously, this is your fantasy and you'd
never do it by yourself. Not without a reason, would you? I'm just
giving it to you. 

"Giving it to me..." I rolled my eyes, standing there holding the skirt.

"You can spend the rest of your life telling yourself that you had no
choice." Bill continued. "You don't have to feel like you did anything
wrong. You can blame us, blame me, and someday you'll realize that it
was good for you."

"I had a choice." I said. "I shouldn't have talked to you, or sent you
pictures. I shouldn't have believed a single word you said. All you
ever did was lie to me. I'll be guilty forever now."

"You want to feel guilty." Bill decided. "You loved everything we did,
you got off on it totally. You want to feel guilty for feeling good?
You wrote the stories, you had the fantasies, remember? You feel
guilty about those too?"

"I don't know." I frowned, looking down and stepping into the skirt
finally. "Probably, yeah. I shouldn't have done any of that."

"But you wanted to." Bill told me. "You needed to do it and you liked
it and nobody got hurt. Nobody knew, right?" 

"Yeah." I closed the skirt around my waist, turning it so the zipper
was at my side. It fit okay, just a little loose, but not bad. It
covered me to mid thigh and the blouse fell low enough to cover the
skirt as it rode just a little low on my hips.

"Nobody's going to know anything about this either." Bill said
reasonably. "It's the same thing, except instead of imagining having a
white cock inside you, you're going to feel it, Kylie. Think about
that. We both know how much you want it."

"I do want it, yeah." I stared at him. "But not like this, don't you
get that? I don't want to have my decision made for me. It's my body,
it's me, not some girl in a story, not some girl on the phone, it's
me, standing here, and I deserve better than this."

"Okay..." Bill nodded slowly. "...I can see that, but..."

"But what?" I laughed weakly. "There is no but."

"...what if there are no envelopes?" Bill finished.

"What?" I swallowed hard, afraid of what he might be suggesting.

"What if I told you that there weren't any other envelopes, none at
all? That I didn't have any copies of the photos or files or
recording; that I gave you all the originals, Kylie. What if I
couldn't hurt you?"

"You're teasing me." I breathed. "You're a liar and you're being mean
now."

"It's a real question, go ahead and answer it." Bill said. "If you had
no reason to stay here if you didn't want to...Would you really leave?"

"Yes." I nodded. "I would leave."

"Think about it first." Bill said slowly, staring into my eyes and I
had to remember to breathe. "You're in a motel room with four white
guys and nobody knows about it. You can do whatever you want, we're
not forcing you. We're not going to do anything you don't want to.
Nobody will ever know...Think about it..."

I was thinking about it and I just wanted to get away. Maybe if he'd
invited me nicely, but no...Who was I kidding? I'd never come to a motel
room with four strangers. Never in a million years. The only way that
would happen was if they forced me, which in fact they had, I reminded
myself. I wasn't going to stay, whether Bill was lying now or not, it
didn't matter. If there were no envelopes, no threat of blackmail...

"I'd leave." I told him seriously. "If there weren't any envelopes,
I'd leave right now."

"Okay." He nodded at that. "Then I guess it's a good thing there are,
isn't it?"

"Fuck you." I breathed and I had my hands in little fists.

"Go ahead and fix your face now, come on, make yourself beautiful."
Bill said and we could hear the other guys complaining impatiently,
wondering what was going on in that bathroom.

I did as Bill asked, knowing I had no choice in the matter. I made
myself pretty, doing my best not to overdo it, or look like a whore or
anything like that. Just some lipstick, dark red and moist that went
well with my dark complexion. Some eye shadow, a light color and not
very much of it, just to brighten my eyes a little. I used a pencil to
darken and lengthen my eyebrows, because they're thin and not so long
as I might wish. A bit of rouge, not much at all, and the truth was I
didn't really need cosmetics; less was always more for me, because I
was so pretty.

"That's nice." Bill was smiling, looking at my reflection n the mirror
as he stood behind me. I stiffened as I felt his hands on my hips and
his chin was on my shoulder. "You're so beautiful, Kylie. Like the
girl in your stories, so beautiful."

I stood there unmoving as he kissed my ear and then my neck. His hands
held me tight and I could feel him pressing against my ass, his bulge
apparent and I swallowed thickly. I'd never been touched by a white
man, not like this. Did I feel a secret thrill run through me? Or was
that disgust for the man? Did my heart beat faster because I did want
this, or because I was afraid? I knew the answers. I knew I wasn't
aroused by his attentions. I was frightened and humiliated and angry,
but he'd instilled a doubt inside me. That was the worst part. His
little charade about not having any envelopes, he'd given me a reason
to question myself, my feelings, and I hated him for that.

"Let me brush your hair for you." Bill said after a long moment and he
picked up a hairbrush, dragging the bristles slowly through my coarse
black hair. 

It's naturally kinky and if I didn't get it straightened regularly I'd
have a big Afro on my head. I got it permed though, so that it was
long and straight with short quick waves and ringlets at the ends,
lengthening as my hair grew out. Bill brushed it gently and I just
watched him in the mirror, a white man brushing my hair, wondering how
I could enjoy something so simple and hate it all at the same time.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Alright, you're going to sit on the edge of the bed, right here..."
Dick was saying and he was the director and camera man and whatever
else he needed to be to make the movie.

"Have you ever seen an amateur video, Kylie?" Bill asked me and he'd
moved a chair closer, just a few feet away as I sat where Dick had
pointed, crossing my legs and my arms over my breasts.

"No." I shook my head.

"Well, they're all about the same. What we're going to do is a little
Q 'n A at the beginning..."

"Q and A?" I asked.

"Questions and answers." Bill smiled. "I'm going to talk to you, okay?
Just talking, asking you questions about yourself, about what you like
and stuff. It's short, maybe fifteen minutes or so, just so we can get
to know you."

"Uh-huh." I glanced at Dick who was doing something with his big
camera, the one on the tripod, pointing it at me.

"And then we're going to do three scenes, alright?" Bill spoke gently,
his voice encouraging me to agree. "One with you and Blondie, your
favorite, right?"

I licked my lips as he teased me, ignoring it as best I could, and not
looking towards the other men who were sitting nearby.

"Then we'll let you get cleaned up and Ted and I will have some fun
with you." Bill continued. "And then the big finale, all three of us
will be in the last scene. How's that sound?"

"And then I get my envelopes?" I asked.

"And then you get your envelopes, yeah." Bill nodded.

"I'm all set, dude." Dick said, turning on his lights and they were
very bright. "Oops, let me fix those, these walls are gonna kill us..."

"And, okay, the obvious question..." I said slowly.

"What's that?" Bill leaned forward.

"This movie..." I looked around nervously. "...What are you guys going to
do with it?"

"Make money." Bill shrugged. "We know some people, a production
company, they'll burn about ten thousand DVD's, put some stills on the
cover, a little description, you know."

I stared at him.

"They'll sell them to bookstores, adult video places and whatever. Ten
thousand middle aged white guys will buy them and take you home so
they can jerk off in front of their televisions after the wife and
kids are asleep."

"I can't do that." I shook my head.

"Why not?" Bill chuckled. "What did you think we were doing here? This
is how we make a living."

"People will see me..." I blinked at him. "...People will know! What if
someone I know sees it? Oh God, you can't...Please..."

"Yeah, we can, Kylie." Bill nodded and the other guys were all
grinning at each other. "And you have to be honest, okay? Honesty
sells and if you lie during the questions and answers people will
know, it'll turn them off."

"This is worse than the envelopes." I thought out loud and Bill heard
me.

"No it isn't." He told me. "The only people who are going to see the
video are the guys buying it and nobody who buys a porn vid runs
around telling everyone about it. If they know you, they're never
going to tell you, believe me. The people buying that stuff are horny
white guys who want to fuck pretty black girls."

"But how will I know? I mean...Anyone could have one..."

"So?" Bill laughed. "You'll always be wondering if that white guy
sitting next to you on the bus has seen you getting fucked, big deal.
You'll get over it."

"But my parents..." I was shaking because if this ever got out, that I
was making a porn movie that was going to be sold in adult video
stores...God!

"Do they watch a lot of porn?" Bill asked.

"No!" I shook my head. "Of course not."

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Bill said and that was his
biggest lie yet, I thought. This was insane.

Thankfully the guys gave me a few minutes to compose myself while Dick
adjusted his lighting and fixed it, pointing the lights more away from
me, bouncing the glow off the walls and that was better. 

I felt like I was bouncing off the walls too. I couldn't possibly make
a porn movie, could I? What if it got on the internet? They always do,
don't they? I'd be out there forever, nineteen year old Kylie fucking
three white guys in a motel room. It would be floating around when I
was thirty and married with kids. When I was fifty and a grandmother.
I'd have a secret that would never end; it would just snowball as I
grew older. The risk wouldn't get smaller as time went by, it would
get bigger, the odds mounting against me with every tick of the clock.

It was crazy and I couldn't breathe.

"Here...Drink this..." Bill was there, sitting with me on the bed. "You're
okay, you just hyperventilated a little."

I was drinking some cool water and gasping, my head swimming as I
tried to focus my eyes. There was no way out of this, none. I was
going to be in trouble either way. If the envelopes went out, it would
be immediate and final, my life would be over. If I made the movie it
would be a long, painful wait for the awful day when someone would see
me on a video screen and discover the truth. I had to choose and the
only choice I had was to delay my pain, to spare my friends and family
as long as I could, and pray that I'd get lucky somehow. That no one
would ever know.

"Okay, we're going to start." Bill was saying.

I'd calmed down and it was a strange sensation, as if all of my fear
had suddenly fled with my decision, with the arrival of the
inevitable. I actually relaxed somehow and I wondered if my little
panic attack hadn't just exhausted my will to fight. I was accepting
it, all of it, and my only real thought was to get it over with as
quickly and painlessly as possible. If that meant smiling and
answering silly questions and playing the slut for these white men,
fine. So long as I got the envelopes and I never saw or heard from any
of them ever again.

I wondered if it was the same emotional experience a woman went
through when she was raped, but I doubted it. Rape is a violent thing,
not sexual, and this was only rape in the sense that I had no choice.
There was no violence here, the coercion was all emotional, and the
desire plainly sexual. Bill had made his intentions clear in the
bathroom. He didn't want to hurt me, or even force me; he wanted to
love me in some sick and twisted way. That he did have to force me,
there was the real irony of the moment. I was getting my fantasy and I
didn't want it, because it was being thrust upon me. Bill was loving
me, but only because I had to let him.

Life, I decided, is an evil thing.

"We're live..." Dick said.

I looked nervously at the camera, smiling self-consciously and not
because I wanted to, but because I was terribly intimidated just then.
It was really happening. I was making a movie and I didn't want to.
I'd have given anything to have the last few months back, to have
never written a single word for someone else to read. But it was too
late for that. I was looking at a camera and realizing that a lot of
people, strangers, were going to be seeing me. It was an abstract
thought, without tangible foundation or meaning, and I didn't know
what to feel. 

Except nervous.

"Tell us your name, sweetheart." Bill did all the talking and he had a
voice for it, a pleasing timbre that had seduced me easily enough.

"Kylie." I said too softly, so I said it again, louder. "Kylie."

"How old are you Kylie?"

"Nineteen." I said, keeping my hands in my lap like they'd told me
too, my legs crossed modestly, shoulders back and head up.

"What do you do? Are you a student, Kylie?"

"Yeah, um...I go to college." I nodded slightly. "Full time. I'm a
freshman."

"Cool." Bill smiled. "And do you know what we're doing here today?"

"Ummmm..." I giggled nervously. "...Making a movie?"

"What kind of movie?"

"A sex movie?" I bit my bottom lip. "Right?"

"I hope so." Bill chuckled. "You're very beautiful; can you stand up
for a minute?"

I did as he asked, standing in front of the bed with my hands behind
my back, twisting slightly on my hips.

"Nice, really nice. You're tall too; how tall are you Kylie?"

"Five foot eight." I smiled. 

"And all of, what? A hundred tens pounds maybe?"

"Hmmm...One hundred and twelve." I shrugged.

"And what are your measurements? You have a great body; I can't wait
to see it."

"My measurements? Uh, 34-22-32 and..." I looked down at my breasts, "...
they're 34C cups."

"Sounds yummy, Kylie. Turn around for us, do you mind?"

"No, it's okay." I shrugged, turning slowly and looking over my
shoulders while I did it.

"Hold it...Lift the back of your skirt for us, just a little...just..." Bill
was smiling as I had my back to the camera, lifting my skirt slowly
until he could see the white of my bikini panties. "...Oh, that's enough...
I just wanted a little taste of that ass, Kylie."

He had me sit back down and I was hot all over by then, but I had no
idea why. I didn't feel sexy. I mean I wasn't getting off on this at
all, but some part of me found it interesting, if that makes sense.
Answering questions, being the focus of all that attention, it was
like a snake slithering into my tummy. This whole business had an
insidious nature to it and I wondered at my vulnerability. I'd been
seduced once, was it happening again? Could it, now that I was
forewarned?

There was a confusion inside me, and the hate and disgust and
humiliation would never go away, I knew that, but are there such
things as mutually exclusive emotions? Was it possible to be repulsed
and attracted to something all at once? I wanted to fight it, you have
no idea how badly, and this seemed very much like all the nonsense
about victims wanting their rape, aiding their attacker's efforts. It
was a lie, a myth, and I knew that for a fact, but this wasn't rape...
Was it? Stockholm Syndrome is a very real effect, one widely studied
and reasonably understood. Was my situation closer to that, to being
held ransom and coming to identify with my captors?

Or was it something else entirely? Bill had played me into this
position, orchestrated it carefully and deliberately. He'd picked me
as much for my fantasies as my looks. He knew I was frustrated
sexually. I was yearning to escape the limitations I'd suffered for so
long and he was giving me the opportunity, just as he'd said. Was he
depending on my desires to overcome all my anger and resentment at his
betrayal? Was I so predictable and na�ve, and desperate for the
realization of my dreams that I'd succumb a second time to his
seduction?

"What kind of sex do you like, Kylie?"

"What?" I blinked at Bill.

"Are you a virgin?" He asked and I shook my head.

"No."

"How old were you the first time that little black pussy of yours
tasted cock?

"I was eighteen." I brushed some hair out of my eyes. "Last year."

"You're still fresh, huh?" He chuckled. "You were saving it up?"

"No, I just..." I shrugged.

"How many guys have fucked you since then?"

"Different guys?" I asked and Bill nodded. "Um, three."

"Just three?" He laughed. "You're practically a virgin, Kylie. We're
going to double that score tonight, aren't we?"

"Yeah." I nodded into the camera. "I hope so."

"So, what kind of sex do you like then?"

"I don't know." I laughed lightly. "Um, all kinds I guess."

"Do you suck cock?"

"Yeah." I nodded slowly.

"Cool." He chuckled. "Spit or swallow?"

"Uh..." I gasped softly. "I guess...It depends?"

"Okay, but you have swallowed, huh?"

"Yeah." I was burning with embarrassment and I looked down for a
second.

"I heard that about black girls."

"What's that?" I asked.

"That they like to swallow." Bill smiled. "You like to deep throat?"

"I...Sorta...I guess." I made a little face. "I tried it."

"I'll bet you have." Bill nodded. "How about anal sex? Do you like it
up the ass, Kylie?"

"I don't know..." I made a face. "...I don't think so."

"You've never been butt fucked?" Bill teased me. "I find that hard to
believe. You're ass is perfect...Why don't you turn around, lean over
the bed and show us your ass for a minute."

"Um...Okay." 

I licked my lips and moved slowly, letting Bill guide me with his
voice until I was standing with my long legs spread, my hands flat on
the bed, bent over at the waist with my ass to the camera.

"Perfect, now let me help you..." Bill moved close, lifting my skirt as
he stood to the side, giving the camera a clear shot of my butt. "...
Yeah, now that is a gorgeous piece of ass."

I looked over my shoulder, staring into the camera as Bill pulled my
panties tight, wedging the thin white nylon between my smooth round
cheeks so that it disappeared in the dark crevice. He grabbed my ass
with both hands, his pale fingers digging into my warm black skin,
kneading my cheeks and spreading them for the camera's unblinking eye.
I couldn't help but feel my heart stutter then, being touched like
that by a man, by a white man, and knowing it was being recorded
forever. How many other white men would see this, I wondered, and I
tried to push those thoughts away.

"I think we're going to have to try that ass on for size later,
Kylie." Bill chuckled, giving me a little spank as he let me go
finally. "Are you game for that? Getting fucked in your little black
ass?

"Yeah." I swallowed hard.

"What was that?" 

He was sitting down again, leaving me there alone with my skirt still
around my hips, my panties snug and narrow across my anus, my legs
spread so that the swell of my sex could be seen against my tight
underwear.

"I want to try it..." I said louder. "...I want to be fucked in the ass."

"I figured you would, Kylie." Bill laughed. "Have you ever fucked a
white guy before?"

"No." I shook my head, turning around then, even though Bill hadn't
told me to. I fixed my skirt and sat down again.

"But you want to, right? Isn't that what you told me before?"

"Yeah, I like white guys a lot."

"You've been dreaming of fucking a white man, haven't you, Kylie?"

"Yes." I sucked my lips. "I've always wanted to, yeah."

"Are you a slut for white cock?"

"Oh yeah." I giggled, forgetting where I was for just a second.
"Definitely!"

"Well, we have three of them for you tonight." Bill said. "Three hard
white cocks, you want to get started?"

"Okay, yeah." I nodded, feeling that war raging in my heart. The long
need of my desires battling with my distress at being blackmailed into
accepting it.

"Why don't you undress for us then, Kylie? Let us see that hot black
body of yours, huh?" Bill suggested and I felt my stomach knot even
tighter. 

This was it; I was going to strip for the camera and those four white
guys staring at me. If there was a time for me to change my mind, or
call Bill's bluff, it was right then. They didn't have much of a movie
until I got naked, or even until I started fucking one of those guys.
I wanted to say no, my mind was protesting, my conscience telling me
how wrong this was. I was going to make a porn video and how would I
ever face my parents again, I wondered.

It wasn't my first video though, was it? I asked myself. I'd jilled my
clit on my web cam plenty of times, that was porn and I'd done it for
a stranger. So what was the difference between then and now? I'd been
happy then and eager to do it. I felt like a hypocrite, like a fake
who takes the high moral ground when it's convenient, but when
nobody's looking...I felt those feelings again, even though I wished I
didn't. I felt that rush of excitement posing for a white man gave me.
I was a liar, that part of me said.

I undressed for the camera, not doing anything especially sexy, not
doing a strip tease, but keeping my eyes down and burning with
humiliation. That was part of my lie too, the embarrassment I was
feeling. I know I have a nice body and I knew it then. I'm pretty and
attractive and sexy just standing still and I had nothing to be
ashamed of, except that I was doing it in front of four strangers and
a camera. Countless unknown men would see me in the future, white men
lusting after me. I didn't feel anything about that? Of course I did,
and not just anger or resentment. 

I'd spent the last seven years, everyday since my sexual awakening at
twelve, wanting white men to look at me. I'd enjoyed it when I caught
them doing it, you wouldn't believe how it made me feel inside seeing
a white man looking me up and down, measuring me against his white
wife or girlfriend and knowing I was better than they were. I could
feel it, that secret power men gave me with just a look and it was
addictive. I wanted them as much as they wanted me and I couldn't
stand there at nineteen and pretend none of that was real. Pretend
that none of it mattered. 

I was trapped, can you see that? I was morally flawed and corrupt and
my weakness had trapped me into that moment. I wanted to be the
innocent. I fought for my right to be outraged by what was happening
to me, but inside I was losing. This wasn't rape, it wasn't
kidnapping, it was barely even blackmail because I'd lied. If Bill
told me right then that there were no envelopes, if he could prove it,
I would have stayed. You'll hate me for that, the way I hated myself
for admitting it. We want our heroes to be strong and perfect and when
they're not we crucify them because none of us can suffer failure in
our righteous path. There's no hero here, there's only me and I felt
my tears falling inside for the person I'd imagined myself to be.

My blouse came off easily, without so much as a whisper of protest and
I rolled my eyes slightly as I reached for the clasp behind me. I
hated that bra, which was probably why I'd worn it, and it came undone
after a moment's fumbling, to fall off my breasts and hang from my
elbows as the shoulder straps fell loose. I removed it without trying
to hide myself. My nipples were hard, as they almost always are in any
event. Rain or shine, day or night, my long dark nipples are always
eager and I'm powerless over them.

"Stay like that for a minute." Bill said and I was aware of flashes as
Dick took photographs of me, moving around and not saying a word.

Bill had me play with my tits for the cameras, rubbing them, stroking
them. I pinched my nipples, twisting and pulling. I lifted my tits up
in my hands so I could stretch my long pink tongue and lick them. It
felt good and I wasn't denying myself pleasure any longer. It was
pointless. Lapping at my own turgid nipples while three white men
watched and a fourth took pictures, that was too much of a good thing,
whether I liked those guys or not. I wasn't ever going to love them or
forgive them, but that wasn't the point.

"Good...Okay, your skirt, Kylie...Let's see that pretty pussy of yours
now." Bill told me and I smiled, standing up and unzipping it.

I let the skirt fall and posed for a few minutes in my panties,
turning this way and that as Bill directed me. The contrast of those
white bikinis against my black skin was pleasant, for them and me. I'd
always like it and almost all of my underwear was white. I pulled my
panties tight in front, splitting my pussy and it was obvious I'd
become aroused. My labia were full now, engorged and slick with the
wetness spilling from my sex. They split around the soft nylon,
slightly darker than the brown skin around them, and with fine pubic
hair curling this way and that. I wasn't thick with hair, but I was
hardly neat or trimmed and my little black bush was like a black veil
over my sex.

Bill had me turn around, bending at the waist with my legs straight
when I pushed my panties down. My tight virgin asshole was plain for
the camera, as was my pussy and it was pressed closed that way, my
puffy lips sealed together with the moisture seeping from my cunt. I
held that pose while Dick took his photographs, although what those
were for I didn't know; I didn't want to. Finally I was instructed to
crawl onto the bed, laying on my back with my legs spread so that I
could masturbate for the cameras. I rubbed my clit and then my pussy,
splitting my lips and flashing hot wet pink at the men watching me. I
played with my tits at the same time and it was exactly as I'd done so
often before in the privacy of my dorm for Bill, and that wasn't lost
on me.

All of it was conspiring to make me ready for what was coming, to want
it physically, even as my emotions wrestled with the implications. I
wanted and detested all of this, but I was powerless to stop it from
happening either way and so that was making my surrender easy. I was
giving in, perhaps as Bill expected, and that made me angry as well. I
wanted to disappoint him, the same way he'd disappointed me, but I was
too weak for it. 

I was watching Blondie, looking at his blue eyes while I fucked my
pussy slowly, knowing I was getting myself ready for him. He was
undressing and smiling at me from across the room, out of camera
sight, and I did want him. Ever since I could remember it seemed, I'd
wanted to know what it would be like to look into blue eyes and be
kissed. To feel a man's blonde hair under my fingers. I wanted to
taste a white cock and feel it pressing into my womb. It was a desire
I'd always hidden, buried so deeply that no one had ever known of it
until I'd written my stories, and even then I'd imagined my secret
safe. 

Bill knew, however, and he'd arranged this for me. He wanted to see my
fantasy fulfilled and if I'd been completely lost I might have felt
some sense of gratitude towards the man for that, but he'd betrayed me
and I was not so deeply in the thrall of my lust to forget that quite
yet. I pressed two fingers inside my cunt, wriggling and twisting
them, feeling my sex like hot jello inside, mushy and yielding and the
soft muscles clasping at my fingers as I withdrew them slowly. They
were wet, glistening beneath the lights and I brought my fingers to my
mouth, licking and sucking them, making love to myself for all those
faceless men who would watch me in the coming years.

Blondie was approaching the bed finally and he was a good looking man
undressed. I was grateful for that much at least, but I'm biased of
course. I thought his alabaster skin was beautiful and I cast a long
appreciative glance at his semi-hard penis, which was impressive
enough without striking fear into my loins. He was bigger than average
and that was enough, a good seven inches hard, maybe a little more,
and I licked my lips as he moved naked onto the bed, reaching for me.

I kissed him, even though I'd promised myself that I wouldn't. It was
my dream come to life and unlike a woman with rape fantasy, for
example, who would doubtless not appreciate the reality of it, my
fantasies were gentle and romantic and merely required a white man's
tender affections. It was terrible that surrender, and I suffered it,
even as the pleasure rose from beneath my heaving breasts with a
guttural moan. I felt my own betrayal as a knife into my heart. It was
me now, I was the one doing it, no one else. I could have just lain
there, cold and unfeeling and let them take me as they wanted. That
would have been fitting and proper, not this, not the way I embraced
the man, pressing my lips to his and letting his tongue enter my
mouth. 

Blondie stroked my flesh and whispered in my ear that he would be
gentle with me; he would be careful and not hurt me. He wanted to make
me feel good, he said, he wanted to make it special. I murmured my
assent and just the sight of his white skin pressed against mine was
nearly enough to bring me off. When he mouthed my tits, sucking
urgently at my thick hard nipples, I gasped and held his head tightly.
This felt very much like my first time with a man, like I was a virgin
again. I felt the same thrumming sensation in my blood, the
butterflies in my stomach. The newness of the experience was
intoxicating and I thought it was the best feeling in the world just
then. 

The camera was forgotten, the reason I was there was lost. I couldn't
see anyone else, only him and I was pushing him down, my hands on his
head and shoulders, needing his mouth on my cunt to bring me off. I
needed to cum, to experience that orgasm I'd always dreamt of. I
wanted to cum beneath a white man's touch, his fingers, mouth, or
cock, I didn't care. I just had to cum and I needed him to bring me
off soon or I'd go insane.

I arched my back, digging my fingers into the man's hair as Blondie's
mouth found my sex. He kissed my burning skin, licked and nibbled his
way around my labia and clit, teasing me until I was begging him
breathlessly to give me real kisses and fuck me with his tongue. He
did just that a moment later, pressing his lips to my pussy, taking my
labia into his mouth and sucking those fat greasy lips hard, chewing
and tugging them with his teeth until I was lifting my ass off the
bed. He shook my cunt like a dog with a rag doll in it's mouth,
pulling my tender flesh side to side while I writhed beneath him. He
was wild in his oral attentions, reckless and almost violent, and I
quickly came beneath that onslaught. I liked it rough, I always had;
so many times I'd had to urge my boyfriends to hold me tighter, pinch
me harder, promising them that I wouldn't break. 

My climax stole my senses and closed my eyes. It curled my toes and
brought my spine off the mattress. I was loud, moaning and crying out
as my entire body seemed to collapse in on itself, contacting to a
single point of pleasure beneath Blondie's mouth and then exploding in
a torrent of orgasmic juices. It spilled out of me quickly, covering
his face and my thighs, streaming down my ass to stain the sheets
beneath me. I'm always so wet when I cum, almost ridiculously so, and
if it surprised the man he gave me no sign of it. He was drinking me,
keeping his red lips open and against my fluttering hole. He swallowed
my sex and stiffened his tongue, stabbing into my cunt as his thumbs
played across my aching clit. I was in heaven, finally, after so many
years of waiting, my dream had come true.

Sometime later I found myself awakening, although I'd hardly been
asleep, just away, floating on the ecstasy of multiple orgasms. I felt
parched and soaked and frozen with fire. I was giddy and smiling and I
gave no protest as I found Blondie bringing his hard cock close to my
mouth. He pulled my face to him and his cock was beautiful and flushed
with excitement like the rest of his body. I took it in my black
hands, squeezing and stroking him and bringing my pink tongue to lick
around his circumcised head. I tasted his precum, bland and watery,
and I took him inside slowly. I was giving my first blowjob to a white
man and I imagined he tasted better than any of the black men I'd been
with. He tasted clean and pure and salty, and I could smell his sweaty
musk like an aphrodisiac. 

I took his cock eagerly, mouthing him with tightly stretched lips,
letting that white prick embed itself in my black face. I was his
cocksucking slut then, that's what I wanted to be, what I wanted to
hear, and I pulled my mouth away long enough to tell him. It was part
of my fantasy, to be dominated in that simple way, to hear a white man
telling me I was a whore for loving what I was doing.

"Suck it, you bitch...You black slut...Suck my white cock..." He breathed,
holding my head and pulling my mouth down so I would cough and gag,
working to open my throat and take all of him.

He reached down to squeeze my tits roughly and that too was what I
wanted. I gave him a muffled groan and nodded my head, hollowing my
cheeks as I tried to inhale his penis. Precum and saliva filled my
mouth to overflowing and what I couldn't swallow fast enough escaped
the corners of my lips, running wetly down my cheeks and into my
hair. 

It was a messy, sloppy blowjob and I was loving it. I wanted him to
cum in my mouth so I could taste a white man's sperm for the first
time. So I could eat it and feel it hot and thick in my tummy. I was
working my tongue around his cockhead and under the shaft as it moved
between my lips. I was doing everything I could to bring him off, my
left hand playing with his heavy balls, tight and heavy in his pink
scrotum.

He pulled away though, before I could even get him into my throat.
Blondie was moving, lifting my legs over his shoulders, rubbing his
cockhead up and down over my hungry black slit. He had me pinned to
the bed, helpless and submissive, the way I'd always imagined myself.
A small black girl trapped beneath a big strong white man, about to be
taken by his cock. It made my heart lurch and stutter and my ears
filled with the rushing of my blood. I had to fight to drag cool air
into my laboring lungs, looking up into those deep blue eyes.

"Wait...Wait..." I breathed. "...Where your condom?"

"What?" He smiled. 

"I'm..." I swallowed hard. "...I'm not protected...You have to wear a
rubber..."

"No, I'm gong to pull out." He told me.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my feverish mind wanting to believe him.

"Yeah, I'm going to cum on your face." He laughed softly. "This is
porn, okay? They wanna see the money shot."

"Right..." I sighed and I felt suddenly deflated. "...it's just porn."

He didn't love me and I didn't love him. This wasn't the romance I'd
been dreaming of my whole life. It was just porn, that's all. Blondie
was just fucking me for the cameras, playing the surrogate for the
thousands of men who would buy the movie and jerk off, pretending they
were inside me. It was just porn and I was just a pretty black girl in
an amateur movie, getting fucked by a white guy because a lot of
people liked that kind of thing.

I nodded and lay there, but my excitement had fled. I was reminded of
why I was there and what I was really doing and the battle for my
conscience had taken another drastic turn. I gasped when he entered me
and it should have been wonderful for me, being fucked finally by a
white man, but the anger was returning, the frustration. The guilt as
well as I imagined my parents and how they would react if they could
see me, bent in half with my knees near my shoulders, my ass lifted
high as Blondie plowed my ready sex easily with his long white cock.
The camera was catching it all, the one on the tripod as well as
Dick's handheld. He was getting close-ups of that pale prick violating
my black womb, my dark labia spread around it, sliding back and forth
along the wet shaft. It was just porn.

Blondie tried to kiss me several times, but I refused him and he
looked both confused and hurt by that, as if we were friends or
something, lovers perhaps, and I owed him some real affection. We
changed positions to keep it interesting, with me on my hands and
knees, taking it from behind, and then with me on top, riding
Blondie's cock like a cowgirl with my black ass to the camera. The man
held my butt tightly, squeezing my flesh and pulling me up and down as
he lifted his hips, driving his cock deep and my body responded as
nature intended. I was wet and hot for it, but emotionally I neither
hated nor loved it, I just endured it.

When he was ready to cum, Blondie pushed me off of him, bringing his
wet florid cock to my face and jerking himself off as he'd promised.
He was giving the crowd their money's worth, with his thick hot semen
spraying out in a series of rapid jets, painting my beautiful black
face white. He aimed for my open mouth near the end of his orgasm, and
Dick was right there to film Blondie's sperm pooling on my tongue. I
was stained with thick globules and gooey streaks of sperm across my
cheeks and nose and forehead. It was in my hair and eyes, and before I
could even swallow, Blondie was pushing his cock into my cum filled
mouth, forcing some of it out at the corners of my lips.

I let him fuck my face for a few minutes like that, adding to the mess
and making me look like a real nigger cum slut, I supposed. It was
fitting because that was how I felt just then, but not in the way I
liked to imagine it, as a sexual role-play during my lovemaking. This
felt much more real and I was cum slut and a whore and a nigger, which
really is the worst or all possible words when you mean it. I was
calling myself that while I choked down that sperm, swallowing around
the thick white cock in my mouth. I felt my eyes filling with tears,
but I honestly can't say if it was from my own self-pity just then, or
simply the sting of salty sperm.

Perhaps there wasn't any difference.

We took a break after that, so I could take a shower and make myself
beautiful again. The guys had food and soft drinks for us. No beer, no
drugs, no crazy stuff. It was like a lunch break at any other job, I
suppose. The guys sitting around talking about the scene we'd just
finished, eating some Chinese take out from the little white boxes. I
took a bath, not a shower, needing to soak in hot water and I washed
myself thoroughly. Not for any real symbolic reason, I was just sticky
all over and I wanted to be clean. I smelled like sex, I smelled like
Blondie, and just then I very much preferred smelling like Zest soap
instead.

"Are you okay?" Bill came in as I lay in the tub, smiling at me and
he'd brought me a Diet-Pepsi, the cold can beaded with dewy
condensation.

"Yeah." I shrugged.

"That was a pretty hot scene, did you enjoy it?" 

"I did for awhile, yeah." I told him honestly. "But when I remembered
it was just porn..." I shrugged.

"It's whatever you want it to be, Kylie." Bill said. "It isn't just
porn, not for us."

"Yeah, right." I opened my soda with a snick and fizzle. "Have you
ever listened to yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean one minute it's business, it's selling videos to perverts, the
next minute you're telling me you love me, you're giving me my
fantasy." I laughed. "Now you're saying it isn't porn at all to you
guys. So what is it, huh? You can't have everything."

"It's sex." He chuckled. "It's all that stuff at one time or another,
sometimes it's all that stuff at once. Grow up, Kylie."

"Grow up?" I shook my head. "I wouldn't even be here if you weren't
blackmailing me. If you hadn't lied to me, Bill. You're a little kid
with a big stick and I'm...I'm just a chained up dog."

"No, you're not, Kylie." Bill shook his head and I think I'd finally
found a nerve. "You're a beautiful woman and..."

"Then why don't you treat me like one?" I asked him. "Are you so
afraid of me that you have to do this?"

"I'm not afraid." He said.

"Yes you are. You and the rest of your friends, you're terrified of
me, admit it." I nodded at him. "That's why you lied. That's why you
tricked me. You're too afraid of telling me the truth, of taking your
chances with a real woman."

He just looked at me.

"You couldn't trust me, could you?" I continued, knowing I was onto
something. "That's why you lied, because you can't trust a woman who
shows any interest in the real you. You're not good enough for me, are
you? You're intimidated by me. Admit it. Be honest for a change and
tell me the truth."

Bill was licking his lips, staring into my eyes.

"No truth in there, huh?" I said after a minute, standing up slowly
and letting the water cascade down my beautiful black body. "That's
okay, now we both know, right? Come on, let's go fuck...I think I'm okay
with it now."

I had all the power, I realized. Bill wasn't holding anything over me
that I didn't let him. He was so scared, and the truth of that was
what finally set me free. He had lied right from the beginning, from
his first emails, and that was the big clue. He hadn't been trying to
blackmail then, all he'd wanted to do was make me like him. Over time
his lies had grown and my willingness to believe in them had given the
man the opportunity to take control, and I'd let him do it. I'd given
him the power and now, sitting in that bathtub, I felt like I'd taken
it back. Just by recognizing it for what it was.

I actually felt good for the first time since I'd opened that
envelope. I felt at peace, comfortable with myself again. I wasn't a
little girl, I was a woman. I had to take responsibility for my life
and live it. I couldn't change my parents, or my friends. I couldn't
be the person they wanted me to be. I couldn't please them and be
happy and proud of myself at the same time, it was impossible. I was
still under the threat of those envelopes, still looking at being in a
porn video, but I'd be okay. I'd do what I had to do to protect my
friends and family and I'd survive.

I was going to fuck those guys hard, I thought with a smile. I was
ready for it now. Bill had been right. It might be my only chance to
make my dreams come true and if I was taking a risk, I might as well
get something out of it. It was sex, that's all, and I wanted it. I'd
been acting stupid, every step of the way, but it was all better
finally. I was smart and in control and goin to get what I wanted,
what I deserved for being put through all this trouble.

That might not make a lot of sense, but maybe you haven't been in my
shoes either. I almost found myself wishing that my parents would find
out what I was doing, ludicrous as that sounds. That would really set
me free. I could do anything after that and I was laughing and smiling
as I walked naked into the room, drying my hair with a towel while the
guys stared at me. 

"You guys like my body?" I asked them, teasing as I posed with one
hand on my hip, the other holding that towel to my head, rubbing
myself lightly so that my heavy breasts swayed gently back and forth.

"Uh, yeah." Ted grinned and they were just children, the bunch of
them.

"You're beautiful, baby." Dick laughed.

"How about you, two?" I looked between Blondie and Bill. "You guys
think I'm sexy?"

"You know I do." Blondie smiled and he was wearing his pants again,
but nothing else and I had to admire his body.

"Yeah, Kylie." Bill sighed and I knew he was smarting a little inside.

"Good." I nodded. "Before we do anymore fucking, I want those
envelopes."

"Uhhh..." Bill blinked at me and the other guys weren't smiling, but
looking at each other and then at Bill.

"What's the matter?" I asked him. "Get the envelopes and we'll finish
the movie."

"Kylie, um..."

"Oh." I laughed because it was all over his face. "There aren't any,
are there?"

"No." Bill looked down.

"You weren't ever going to hurt me at all were you, Bill?" I said.
"You weren't going to tell anyone about me."

"No, I can't."

"Because you love me, right?" I giggled and shook my head. "You just
wanted to have some fun and give me my fantasy, that's all."

"Yeah." He looked up at me again. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You're a lousy blackmailer, Bill." I shook my head. "I mean you set
it up good, but..." I sighed. "...You're just too sweet."

"Sweet?" He narrowed his eyes, maybe expecting a different word.

"Yeah." I smiled. "You need at least one guy who really looks mean,
you know? Dick..." I looked at him, "...he just doesn't cut it."

"I never tried to blackmail anyone before." Bill shrugged and there
were some nervous laughs cause they didn't know what I was doing.

"Well, I wouldn't do it again, if I was you." I told him. "It really
sucks being blackmailed. I was scared and worried and...You made me cry,
Bill."

"I'm sorry." He swallowed thickly.

"You should be." I said. "You should be very sorry."

"I am." He promised. "I was hoping you'd have...Fun."

"Well, I did, a little." I agreed. "But you guys owe me now."

"We owe you?" Blondie laughed.

"What do you want?" Ted wondered.

"You have to make love to me, okay?" I said, causing their eyes to
widen and their mouths to fall open. Clearly they hadn't expected that
and I giggled. "I know you don't love me, and even if you think you
do, I don't love any of you, but I want to pretend."

"Pretend?" Bill nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I want you guys to pretend you love me more than anyone else in
the world. I want you to spoil me and make me feel special. I want it
to be the best sex of my life, the best I'll ever have." I told them
seriously. "I want to be able to close my eyes and feel heaven in
here..." I touched myself between my breasts. "You have to say the words
and kiss me and touch me in all the right place. Not for the cameras,
but for me. Understand?"

"I think we can do that." Ted said slowly.

"This might be the only time I ever have sex with white guys and I
want it to last me the rest of my life." I smiled. "So make it better
than good."


Epilogue

Several weeks later my life had returned to its normal self. I had a
new boyfriend, a handsome black man that my parents actually approved
of, mostly because he was a third year medical student, but also
because he was genuinely nice. I had picked my grades back up and
reconciled myself with my friends. I only rarely got online, and then
just to email a friend or relative. I had no interest in chatting or
corresponding with fans of my stories, which was a hobby I'd largely
lost interest in anyway. I'd lived my fantasy. 

My only real surprise came on a Tuesday and it took the form of a
brown envelope, bearing no return address, of course. It was rather
light and not so bulky and I pursed my lips, regarding it suspiciously
as it sat on my desk. Finally I had little choice but to satisfy my
curiosity and I opened it carefully, tilting the contents into my
hand. It was a single DVD in a large plastic case of the sort most
movies come in. It was wrapped in cellophane and I couldn't help but
giggle as I looked at the cover, a large still photograph of my face,
smiling and beautiful. At the top is said, 'Black Magic Vol. I' and
centered at the bottom I read, 'Amateur Kylie' and that was nice.
There was a short description on the back. It read, "Amateur Kylie
stars in her first adult video, Black Magic Vol. I, sucking and
fucking three well hung white men for the first time in her young
life. See this black beauty swallowing cum and taking hard cock deep
inside her black virgin ass in her first ever Double Penetration! This
teen nymph gets so excited she even sucks off the camera man!"

The back of the case also showed numerous stills, the largest was of
my sperm covered face, looking up into the camera with a big cummy
smile and four hard white cocks dripping over me. Dick's was the
largest and I was surprised when he'd pulled out an impressive eight
inches for me to suck on. For being such an ugly man, his cock was
quite attractive and I was glad I'd let him join in at the end.

Other scenes included a nice close up of my first ass fuck, which made
my rub my butt in subconscious sympathy, but the pain had long since
gone away by then. Another showed my first double penetration which
had been a lot better than I'd imagined it would be, and I'd cum three
times quickly riding Blondie and Bill while I sucked Ted off. 

It was a professional looking video and I actually felt proud of it,
but mostly I was just very happy that I had a permanent and eminently
practical memento of my first and only experience with white men. It
really had been a dream come true at the end and I was a little sad
knowing it would probably never happen again. I'd gotten my fix
though, my once in a lifetime chance to realize a fantasy, so who was
I to complain?

I wasted no time watching it, of course, putting the DVD into my
laptop and lying on my bed, jilling my clit slowly as I relived every
scene. I laughed at myself during the questions and answers, feeling a
little embarrassed by the way I was fidgeting and looking down, or
towards Bill, as if I was afraid of the camera. I didn't remember
being that shy at all, but there it was all the same. 

I skipped ahead to the part where Blondie was going down on me,
because I'd felt it, but I hadn't seen exactly what he was doing and I
was still cumming down from those orgasms, I swear! He was a great
pussy licker if you liked it a little rough, no doubt about it. I
winced along with my video twin as I watched Bill sink his cock into
my ass for the first time, staring in shock at the intense close-ups
that Dick had gotten. It was totally obscene and even with all the KY
that Bill had used, I was amazed his thick white cock had been able to
fit inside my little black ass. It had though and I remembered how the
pain had slowly gone away, though not completely. Once I'd gotten used
to him Bill had started fucking me for real, sliding his cock in and
out of my tight rectum with long deep strokes. He was a total ass man
and he knew how to break a girl in right, I'll say that much for him.
I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime, seriously.

I was just about at the point where I was climbing on top of Blondie's
cock, straddling him and leaning forward so Bill could push his cock
once more into my ass and DP me for the first time, when my phone
rang. I frowned, thinking it was probably my new boyfriend, as he did
love to keep track of me. He was always busy with his studies, but he
was a little jealous too, so three or four calls a day wasn't unusual,
but we were still fresh so I liked the attention anyway.

"Hello?" I sighed, falling back onto my pillow and muting the sound on
my laptop. There was a sharp yelp or two coming, if I remembered
right, and my boyfriend didn't need to hear those. He wasn't ready to
see my video, as if he ever would be. Yeah right.

"Did you get the package?" The guy asked me and I narrowed my eyes. "I
want to see you, tonight. Do you remember where?"

"Bill?" I giggled. "You bad boy."

"I have twenty-six more envelopes just like that one, and if you don't
come..." He was trying to sound serious.

"Yeah, yeah...I'll be there." I promised happily, feeling my heart burst
to life. 

I guessed we'd be filming 'Black Magic Vol. II' that night and after
seeing volume one, I had little doubt it would be pretty hot. A
beautiful black girl with three white studs, four if you counted Dick,
who could turn that down? Not me, that's for sure, and besides...It
wasn't my fault. I was being blackmailed.


the end
Kylie.X.writes@gmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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