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Introduction:

Rebecca Finnegan's life comes to ruin after accepting a ride home from a teacher
Malcolm yawned as he walked naked through his home and into the kitchen. He had a late night last night. It was the last day of school and he had been roped into going out to the bar with a couple of his fellow teachers. It had cut into his plans a little, but that didn't matter much, it was probably better that he went out anyway.

He put the pot on to boil and took one of his tea bags from the cabinet and watched the sun rise over the stockade fence in his backyard. Going to the bar was an awkward experience, Malcolm had never been one to drink, but it was, after all, his retirement party. It would have been awkward if he didn't show up, too many questions.

Still, it cut into the retirement party that he had planned for himself. It didn't matter though, it was probably better that he went out, made himself visible. Not that he was worried much, but you never know.

He had been teaching African-American Studies at a nearly all white high school on the east coast since the early eighties and his fellow teachers wanted to go out of their way to show him once more that they were not racist. It had always been an awkward thing and the party was even more awkward when he was in a room surrounded by drunken whites.

He poured himself a cup of tea and gave it a fast sip. Under normal circumstances Malcolm would be up and dressed by now, but it was his retirement, and he did have his own little party planned. He didn't need clothes for this party. He had been planning it for some time.

Some people, when they leave, pilfer office supplies. Malcolm giggled at the thought. He had taken something far more enjoyable than office supplies.

He picked up his tea and walked into the living room. He took a moment to make sure that the front door was locked and that the blinds were drawn. He set tea down on the coffee table long enough to pull the bookshelf away from the wall and allow his access to the heavy metal door cleverly concealed behind it.

He slipped the necklace and key from around his neck and unlocked the deadbolt on the basement door. He had installed it himself, both the heavy metal door and the series of locks. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, and then pulled the chain to make sure the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf was closed as well. One could never be too careful, especially since kids still had a key to his house and occasionally swung by without warning.

He flipped the light on and slowly walked down the stairs, the wood creaked under his weight. He closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxing breath, and then stepped barefoot onto the cold concrete floor.

He could hear her struggling. He could hear her rapid panicked breaths. He could hear her gagged pleas and they were like music to his ears. He slowly opened his eyes.

There she was, Rebecca Finnegan, little miss perfect. She had been one of his best students, a sophomore in his African-American studies class. A 4.0 student. She had a bright future ahead of her. She was already planning out which college she was going to attend. She wanted to be a lawyer, a civil rights attorney. She had high hopes.

Rebecca Finnegan had a bright and shining future. She had that New England Irish intelligence that didn't come from brilliance as much as it did from the quick wit and stubbornness that marked her race. Her race, he would have preferred one of the white Protestant girls, one of the girls with clear origins in England, but none of them had as bright a future as little Rebecca had and Malcolm wanted to destroy a bright future. So he chose Rebecca for that, and a number of other reasons.

Rebecca's bright future had ended the moment he had offered her a ride home after her last day of school. She had told him that he was her favorite teacher. She had said that she learned a lot from him. She was shocked at the injustices his people had suffered in America. Yeah, right, she was too young to know she was just experiencing a little white guilt. She'd grow out of it, they always did.

Now she was hanging from a chain in his basement, still in her school uniform, just as he had left her the night before. Her wrists were cuffed together. Her toes were still struggling to stay on the ground, and she was still pleading into the little red ball gag he had shoved in her mouth.

Her little shoes were on the ground and her feet clad only in her calf-high white socks. She had lost them some time last night in her futile struggles. Without shoes, it made it even harder for her little toes to touch the ground. It put more pressure on her wrists. It caused her more pain. Good. After what she did to his people, she deserved the pain.

With her arms above her head, her blouse was pulled up and out of her skirt. It teased Malcolm. He could see her belly button where the blouse ended and her skirt began. He could see her flat stomach and her fair, porcelain white skin. Rebecca's shade of white was certainly a factor in Malcolm's choices. He wanted the absolute whitest girl he could find and Rebecca was lily white. Rebecca had they fair white skin that would burn before it tanned.

The skirt itself hung down to her knees. Rebecca's skirt was never above her knees. It was one of the reasons that Malcolm chose her. She was small and cute and such a fucking prude. Rebecca was the farthest thing from a cock tease they had at Saint Margaret Mary's. It was one of the reasons he had decided to take Rebecca. There were certainly more attractive white girls at his former school. There were taller girls with nice long California legs, but he wanted one a more vaginal.

There were other girls, but Rebecca was special. Malcolm had been watching her close since she was a wide-eyed freshman at their elite private New England school. There were far more attractive girls, but Malcolm had never seen Rebecca with a boyfriend. He had even seen her blush when she talked to boys. There were many stunningly beautiful white girls at his school, but Rebecca clearly had very little experience with sex. The odds were great that she had never even kissed a boy.

She had just turned sixteen on Monday. Her parents were threatening to buy her a nice new car just as soon as the school year let out. Maybe they'd save it in the hopes she'd return. He'd have to make sure to swing by their house and pay a sympathy visit once her disappearance made the news.

He walked, well strutted, back and fourth under the bare light bulb. And her tear-filled blue eyes watched him as he postured back and forth, acutely aware that he was naked, and yes, very aroused. He wanted her to watch him. He wanted her to soak up every inch of his six-foot-four-inch Nubian flesh.

He was a Nubian God. Well no, if Malcolm was going to be honest with himself, age had gotten the better of him, a little. He had never been built, he had always been that skinny, nerdy kid, but he had put on some weight as he got older. It started in his thirties and went straight on to retirement.

When he was in his thirties the weight looked good. Now he had his fair share of a pot belly and, yes, man tits. It was embarrassing, but still, as Americans went, he was pretty far from fat.

What was more embarrassing than his weight was his hair. He had hair on his chest and on his back, it was graying, it was speckled with the same white in his afro, but it wasn't the grey that he cared about. It was the hair itself that bothered him; he had more than a little hair on his chest & back & legs.

Bodily hair meant that somewhere down the line he had been contaminated. Bodily hair meant the though he might still have beautifully Black skin and African features, somewhere down the line one of his ancestors had been white. He was contaminated with White European blood.

He gently stroked his cock as he slowly walked over to her, just to make sure she would look at it. Just to watch the anticipation build in perfect and polite little Rebecca Finnegan, the New England angel. Rebecca Finnegan, the cute little prim and proper Catholic girl with a face like the proverbial map of Ireland


She flinched away as he stroked some of her strawberry blond hair back behind her ear. It made Malcolm grin. She clearly didn't want him touching her. This was good. This was the reaction that Malcolm wanted.

He licked his lips and then, in one fast motion, he grabbed hold of her green tartan skirt and yanked it to the ground. It made her scream into her gag as though he had hurt her. He had only taken her skirt, but it made her cry even more. Taking her skirt had taken away any illusion that she was laboring under. It told her, as much as Malcolm's nakedness, exactly what he intended to do to her.

He took a step back and watched her dangle from the chain. Her tight, petite, five-foot body shook with fear and anticipation. With her arms painfully stung above her head, Malcolm had a nice view of her tight white panties.

He had, honestly, hoped that she would be wearing a thong, but now that he saw her in those sensible and tight little white panties, he was pleased. He slowly circled her and took his time to admire how her panties clung to her tight round ass in a way that hinted to her features. They were cute, but conservative.

Cute and conservative seemed to be Rebecca's hallmark. She was a petite little thing. She might never be able to pull of stunning and beautiful, but she had a stranglehold on cute.

Seeing her in those cute white cotton panties filled Malcolm with lust. He had half a mind to rip them off her and stuff her little sixteen-year-old pussy with his long, fat, black cock, but he had to exercise restraint. He wanted to toy with her first.

Instead of raping her right then and there, he decided just to give her a little push. He was rewarded by the groan of discomfort that she made as the cold steel handcuffs clinched tighter around her bruise wrists while she swung helplessly from the basement ceiling.

Raping her right now would be counter productive. She already knew that was coming. She had known since he walked, stark naked into the basement. He had driven home the point when he took her skirt. She knew it was coming, but Malcolm was not without a sense of drama.

He wanted to build the anticipation and fear inside of the teen as much as he could. He wanted her to dwell on it as long as possible. He knew how sexually inexperienced she was. He knew that she was saving herself for marriage. He doubted that she had even French kissed a boy before, let alone let one touch her breasts. Making her wait and dwell on the experience was the best torture he could think of.

He walked around in front of her and gave his long, fat, uncircumcised member a few more loving strokes. He was proud of his size and girth, he was very proud of it and he wanted Rebecca to dwell on it. He wanted her to imagine how much it would hurt when he finally did shove it inside of her.

He caught her deep blue tear-filled eyes and then nodded at the enormous gun safe he had built into the wall. The basement had been a work in progress for the last three-years before his retirement. He had build two little cells inside of it, one for Rebecca and one other, just in case he worked up the courage to snatch Julie Goldman as well. He had carefully sealed the windows with concrete. He had made sure it was completely sound proof. And he had built an enormous safe into the wall of his "playroom."

He moved deliberately in front of the safe so that Rebecca couldn't see him as he worked the combination lock. He had to play it very carefully with Rebecca. She was too smart for her own good and he wouldn't put it beyond her to, even in fear and panic, keep a watchful eye for anything that she could use to escape. He had even gone so far as to bolt all the furniture to the ground. He had been in New England long enough to never, ever, underestimate the resolved stubbornness of Irish Americans.

Rebecca couldn't be more Irish if she tried and that little fact meant that Malcolm would never fully trust her. She couldn't wash it off of her with a good shower. It was one of the reasons he picked her and also one of the reasons why he regretted it. His other choice was Julie Goldman. She, after some time, he might trust. Jews were smarter but Jews went quietly into the night with resolved and silent dignity. She would certainly be easier to deal with. She would have less fight in her. The Irish were too stubborn for their own good; they tended to dig in even when they knew they were going to lose.

He opened the door wide and moved to the side so that Rebecca had a nice, clear view of the toys he had inside the case. He looked at her for a moment, not to check if she was watching him, but to gauge the fear in her eyes when she saw what was inside.

She didn't disappoint him. She was clearly more terrified than she had been a moment ago. She even let out a little whimper when she saw what the case held. When she saw what her future held. And yes, he could almost hear the gears working in her mind, even when she was petrified she was still sober enough to look for a way out. Rebecca did not disappoint.

Malcolm smiled and took a straight razor off the shelf. He held it in his hand so she couldn't see what he had grabbed and then walked slowly over to her. He gave her a wide, almost kind smile as she trembled and sobbed with fear.

He held up the straight razor and slowly opened the blade. It made Rebecca wet herself. He watched with glee as her cute, tight, white cotton panties moistened between her legs. He grinned as the warm liquid ran down her inner thighs and formed a little puddle on the ground.

It was a clear mark of her complete and total fear and Malcolm had to fight off the urge to comment on it. He had to fight off the urge to add insult to injury. It would be more frightening if he didn't say a thing.

In all honesty, he was shocked she had managed so long without pissing herself. She had, after all, been hanging in his basement since three yesterday afternoon and it was almost eight in the morning. Irish stubbornness. Rebecca didn't disappoint.

He walked slowly, deliberately over to the teen. She shied away as he slowly pulled off the tartan tie from around her neck. He let it drop into the puddle between her legs. He held the straight razor into the light and listened to her wine into the gag as he pressed the flat of the blade against her cheek.

He wasn't going to cut her. The last thing that Malcolm was going to do was ruin her little body in any lasting and visible way. That would be counter productive. That would take away from his pleasure and he intended to keep her for a very long time. He didn't want her cute little body scared, but Rebecca didn't know that.

It was time to change tactics. It was time to add a little humiliation to her fear.

He slowly squatted down on the ground and placed the razor on the concrete floor. He looked up at her, she was still watching him closely as he reached up his hands and grabbed hold of her tight white cotton panties. She let out a whimper into the red ball gag as Malcolm slipped his fingers under the waist band.

She howled a long and anguished moan of grief as he yanked her panties down to the ground. He was going to save them for last, but, well, she had pissed herself when she saw the razor.

He reached out his hand to touch her, and then quickly pulled it back. Not yet. Make her wait. Still, the urge was overwhelming and when he saw her clean, bald, pussy he wanted nothing more than to stick a finger inside to check if she was, indeed, the virgin he suspected her to be.

The fact that it was bald, perfectly and completely shaved was as arousing as it was disappointing. It looked beautiful and young and pristinely clean. It was nothing more than a little slit. It was a perfect little slit that looked painfully tight. Malcolm was relieved to see that it wasn't the mess of sloppy roast beef folds that his wife had had, rest her soul.

He liked bald pussies, especially on white girls. Or at least he thought he did. He had never fucked a bald pussy before. Then again, he had never fucked a white pussy before. He would never make love to a white girl. They were below him. They were devils, and before his wife had passed, he had never even considered touching a filthy white women. He had fantasized about it ever since puberty. He had always wanted to rape and torture a white bitch. He had always wanted to rape someone, but he would never rape a Black woman and he had never once considered cheating on his wife.

Rebecca had a beautiful, clean, bald pussy. All the girls from his generation had hairy bushes between their legs; it was the mark of the people that came of age during the War in Vietnam. Hairy bushes and tits that sagged from burnt bras had marked his generation, but porn had slowly turned Malcolm on to bald pussies.

He had been planning to force her to shave it in front of him, or maybe do it himself. He wanted it bald, but he was disappointed to see that it was already shaved. That meant that Rebecca thought about it. That meant that she was aware of sex. That meant that she might not be the virgin he was hoping for,

He had to resist the urge to check. Instead he contented himself with cleaning the piss off her legs with her already soaked panties. And then, for good measure, he used them to soak up the mess on the floor between her legs. He made sure they were nice and wet with her piss.

He stood up and slowly took off the red ball gag, watching the stream of drool trail down the sixteen-year-old's chin and neck. Without the gag he had a view of her mouth. Like everything else about her, Rebecca's mouth was little. She had light pink lips, a thin upper lip and a pouty lower lip. He wanted to shove his cock into her perfect little mouth and make the bitch choke on it, but that would have to come later. That would have to come much later. He didn't trust the bitch enough to not bite him, not yet.

"P-please," she begged as he bent down to collect the panties and tie, her voice shaky with fear and hoarse from dehydration. She had, after all, been hanging from the basement with a gag in her mouth. "Please let me go Mr. Brown. I-I-I w-w-w-won't t-t-tell anyone. P-p-please let me go. P-p-p-lease d-d-d-don't r-r-rape m-m-m-me Mr. Brown."

It was adorable, even when she was in danger and scared shitless, she was still polite enough to call him Mr. Brown. Malcolm ignored her. It wouldn't be long before he shut her up again. Not that he needed to gag her, the basement was completely sound proof, he simply understood that it would add to her fear and helplessness.

He knelt back down and collected the sopping wet, piss covered white cotton panties and the tie to her school uniform from the ground.

"No!" She had just enough time to yell in protest before Malcolm yanked her head back by her strawberry blond pony tail and shoved the panties into her mouth. She gagged on the taste of her own filth and tried to force them out of her mouth as Malcolm tied her panties in place with the green tartan tie.

Insult to injury. She could choke on the taste of her piss for a little while.

Back to work.

He picked the straight razor up from the ground and pulled her blouse away from her thin little body. He wanted her completely naked, but he also wanted to take his time with her. He wanted to let her fear and anticipation grow.

He cut the bottom button off, forcing himself to move as slowly as possible. God, he was horny. He couldn't remember being this horny, not even when he was in high school. He wanted his cock inside of her. He wanted to feel how tight she was. He wanted her bald little white pussy to latch tightly around his fat, angry, cock, and look into her crying eyes as he gave her that first, hard thrust, but he had to take things slow.

He made his way slowly up her white blouse. He slashed away a button, paused, took a breath, and then did the next. He could have easily unbuttoned it with his hands, but he felt the straight razor would add that extra theatrical effect. Besides, it would add to her growing fear.

He didn't stop until he made his way up to the neck line. Cute and conservative. Rebecca always kept the top button closed, even when all the other students allowed it to hand open beneath their ties.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then pulled her shirt open. She was wearing a simple white bra. Conservative and comfortable. Her breasts were nothing more than a handful, a little bigger than A-cups and a little smaller than B-cups. The looked pert and round and firm in her little white bra. He wanted to rip it away. He wanted to see the color of her nipples. He knew they were hard, despite the padding.

He knew they were hard from fear and hard from the cold. He was cold. The basement was nice and cool and a regular basis, but he had taken the time to crank up the air conditioning. It was probably in the low sixties down here, enough to make Malcolm uncomfortable and certainly cold enough to make perfect little Rebecca Finnegan's nipples nice and hard. Diamond hard.

He exercised even more self restraint and focused on her shirt. He cut the buttons off the cuffs around her wrists. Rebecca never rolled her sleeves up. Most of the other students would have had them rolled up and the teachers took a blind eye to that part of the dress code, but Rebecca always followed the rules to the letter. Perfect little Rebecca Finnegan would never dream of breaking the rules.

He slit the left sleeve of her blouse from the wrist to the shoulder. He was slow, meticulous, and extremely careful not to cut her in the process. He had every intention or raping and torturing the teen, but the last thing he wanted to do was scar her perfectly petite body. That would hurt him more than her.

She was, after all, his reparation. Cute and perfect Rebecca Finnegan was his payment for what she had done to his people. She was the reparation for the ancestors that had once, over a century ago, been slaves. She was his payment for the Jim Crow laws. She was his payment for segregation. She was his payment for the hair on his body, for the white blood that corrupted him from a rape some time before the Civil War. Scaring her would only ruin her.

He slit the right sleeve of her blouse, from the cuff to the shoulder. He grabbed the bottom of her blouse and, with one fast motion, ripped it off her tight, petite body. She screamed into her gag as he did it. She screamed as if he had cut her. She screamed as if she had hurt her. Every little article of clothing he took from her caused the frightened little teen a sharp ping of mental anguish. It was the reason he was moving as slowly as he was.

He took a deep breath and then moved onto the conservative white bra. He wanted to wait, but toying with her was already bringing him dangerously close to climax. The tip of his uncircumcised cock was already slimy with pre-cum. He knew that, if he fucked her now he'd have no staying power and the last thing he wanted was to cum while he was still toying with her.

He slid the razor under the strap of her left shoulder and cut it away. He moved quickly to the right and, with a quick swipe, cut that away as well. She was trembling with fear, the tears were streaming down her cheeks as he slipped the blade between her little pert breasts and cut the bra free.

He closed his eyes, dropped the razor onto the concrete floor, and took a deep breath as the bra fell gracefully to the floor by the rest of her clothes.

She was clothed only in her socks, little white socks that stopped just below her knees. He was going to leave those on. He wanted to take them off and leave her completely naked, but they were too cute to take away.

He slowly opened his eyes, his head cocked to the ground.

He started with her socks and made her way up her legs. They were short, but then, she was short, and they were still trim and strong. She had nice legs, he would have liked them longer, but he couldn't complain.

He lingered a little at her bald little pussy. Just a little slit. It looked tight. It looked so tight and so young and so cute. Was everything about her perfect? Perfect little strawberry blond Rebecca Finnegan. God he wanted his cock inside of her.

He trailed his eyes over the subtle curves of her hips and up her tight little stomach. She was a swimmer. She had been on the swim team at his school, at her school, and she had the body to show for it.

He marveled at her skin. Fair, it was incredibly fair and pale and beautifully white. She had always been an athletic girl and always taken time to protect her skin. He was grateful of that. He was grateful that she played indoor sports. He was grateful that she didn't have the hint of a tan. He wanted her as white as possible and perfect little Rebecca Finnegan never, ever, disappointed.

And now, finally, her breasts. Oh God, they were perfect as well. They were round and firm and topped with light pink nipples, just a shade darker than her skin. There was just the right amount of puff to them, a puff that stopped short at her rock hard peaks. He was so relieved that they were pink and not orange or brown. He was so happy they were light and not dark, big and not small.

They were the type of nipples he would love to suck on. The type he would love to bite.

He slowly reached his hand out and watched her tremble as he held it inches from her skin. She flinched when he touched her, just under the chin.

He took a moment to marvel at the contrast between his beautiful Black skin and her porcelain white flesh. He looked into her deep blue eyes and enjoyed the fear and horror he saw reflected in them as he slowly traced his fingers down her chest. He stared into her tear-filled eyes and listened to her moan of anguish as his fingers ran gently over her puffy light-ping nipples.

The look of horror and sorrow and humiliation on her gagged face told Malcolm all he needed to know. He closed his hand around her breast and rolled her nipple with his thumb. Her expression was perfect. It told him that this was, indeed, virgin territory. It told him that despite her bald little pussy, he was the first man to ever touch her breast.

It was a first for both of them. It was new territory for the both of them. Malcolm had never touched a white woman's breast before and, clearly, from the look of horror on Rebecca Finnegan's face, she had never once let a man touch her breasts before.

He lingered on her bust. He kept his eyes locked on hers. He loved the expression on her face as he gave her breast a squeeze. He grinned, happily, as he ran the back of his hand over her hard little nipples.

He paused for a moment. It wasn't in the plan, but what the hell, he had exercised enough restraint. He kept his eyes locked on Rebecca's as he gave her nipples a gentle tug. He wasn't going to hurt her just yet, but what the hell. The tug turned into a pinch, a hard pinch, that was followed by a cruel twist.

He pinched her nipples tight in his strong fingers and used them to pull her towards him as he twisted them as hard as he could. The pained expression on her face was perfect, it said, on no uncertain terms, that her breasts were delicately sensitive. He'd have to remember that when it was time to really make her scream.

He let her go, and watched her swing back and forth for a moment and then caught her. His beautiful Black hands clinched tight on her hips.

He kept his eyes locked on hers as he traced his fingers up and down her flat, white, stomach, marveling, again, at the contrast between their races. He kept his eyes focused on hers as he teased her. He grinned at the expression on her face as he ran his Black fingers over her tight, white, stomach.

She was shaking her head. She was trembling with fear. She was helplessly struggling. She was begging into her pissed soaked panty gag as he ran his fingers progressively closer to her bald white pussy. As he teased her, as he let the anticipation grow.

Yes. Yes perfect little Rebecca Finnegan. Yes he was going to touch you there. Yes he was going to touch your perfect white pussy with his big, Black fingers. Yes, it was going to be an old Black man that touched you there for the first time. Yes, you were going to lose your virginity. Yes, it would be raped away from you. Yes, it would be a Black man that did it. And yes, you were helpless to stop it.

The moment of truth.

Rebecca Finnegan let out a howl of despair and humiliation as Malcolm finally made his way to her perfect little white pussy. It amused him. He had hardly ever touched it. She let her head hang down in despair and she sobbed as he ran his index finger up and down her little slit.

Malcolm couldn't help but laugh. He had only touched her little slit. He had only run his fingers across it and she was acting like it was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. He hadn't even pushed a finger into her yet and she was screaming and shaking and crying.

He wondered what she would do when he finally did rape her. He wondered how broken she would be after he was done. Perfect little Rebecca Finnegan. Vaginal little Rebecca Finnegan. Pure little Rebecca Finnegan. This was priceless. This was beyond priceless. He was so happy he took her over the Jew.

He pushed his finger inside and she threw back her head and howled into her gag again. He laughed some more, it was only the tip of his finger. He pushed it in deeper and yes, she was a virgin. And yes, she was tight. She was unbelievably tight. From her screams, from her sobbing, Malcolm doubted that she ever even touched herself down there.

Perfect little Rebecca Finnegan. The perfect little Catholic girl, with the perfect 4.0, never a hair out of place. Perfect little Rebecca Finnegan, with the anatomically perfect little body and the perfect little pussy, saving herself for marriage only to be raped by her old, Black African-American studies teacher.

She pushed another finger inside of her little white pussy, neither of them too deep, and spread her open. He couldn't help but laugh at the expression on her face. He had no idea people could cry as much as she was. She was putting as much energy and effort into her agonized and humiliated sobs as she did everything else in her life.

Her reaction was making bringing Malcolm into hysterics as much as it was forcing him to the brink of climax. Her obvious horror at being molested was as sadistically funny to Malcolm as it was an aphrodisiac.

He had to do something about it. There was no way he could rape her now. He would have no staying power and he wanted perfect little Rebecca Finnegan's first time to be a marathon.

He pulled her little body close to his. His big Black hands grabbed hold of her tight, lily white ass and he yanked her to him. She screamed in horror again as he brought his mouth down on one of her perfectly round breasts and pressed his fat Black lips around her puffy pink nipples. He sucked down as hard as he could as Rebecca screamed into her gag.

He squeezed her tight round ass and sucked hard on her breast. Rebecca was screaming bloody murder, her tight little white body was shaking with fear and the force of her sobs and Malcolm hadn't even started yet. He was only just molesting her and she was breaking down into hysterics. He was only sucking on her perfect nipple and grabbing her perfect ass and she was acting like this was the most horrible thing she could imagine.

Maybe he had overestimated the Irish. He couldn't wait to see how she acted after he raped her.

He let her go and walked behind her. She screamed again as he gave her a hard swat on her tight, round, ass. It was just a taste of things to come. He was going to shove it up there as well.

Not yet. He knew he was far too close to climax to rape her just yet.

He walked over to the wall and gave the chain some slack, slowly lowering the sixteen-year-old to her knees. He saw the muscles in her tight little body relax as the pressure was finally taken off her wrists. It must have been painful to hang like that all night long.

He watched her sob for a moment as she rested on her knees. Her head dropped in shame. Her wrists still bound above her head, but with far less pressure. Her hands were ominously red and as Malcolm moved closer he could see the deep blue and purple bruises on her wrists.

It wouldn't be long before she was hanging from them again and then he'd give her a nice break. Once he got himself hard again he'd chain her to the cot in her cell and rape the shit out of her. But first he'd have to get hard again and that would require a little more foreplay.

Malcolm was getting ahead of himself. He had to blow this load first. There was no point in raping her now. He knew he'd cum with the first thrust.

He walked over to her. Her little body was still shaking with the force of her sobs. Her pretty little head was hung in shame and exhaustion. He doubted if she slept a wink all night long.

He grabbed a fist full of her strawberry blond hair with his left hand and yanked her head back. He loved her hair. It was naturally strawberry blond. No dye, no highlights, not for perfect little Rebecca Finnegan. It was soft and silky smooth, just like her porcelain white skin.

He looked into her eyes, deep blue and red, puffy with tears and full of fear and shame. She tried to shy away from him, but he held her head in place and slowly dragged his enormous, fat, black cock across her pretty little face. Not a single zit, not a single blemish, not on perfect little Rebecca Finnegan.

He rested his cock on her face, his uncircumcised Black cock contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. He dragged it across her pretty little white face again and left a slimy trail of pre-cum on her cheek, just over the tartan tie.

Yes, Rebecca Finnegan, this big Black cock is going to rape you. Yes it's going to be inside of you. Yes, this perfect Nubian penis is going to tear your perfect little virgin pussy apart. Yes, Rebecca, it's going to hurt. But not yet.

Malcolm grabbed his cock with his right hand and held her face in place with his left. He gave it a tug, and then another, and another. He picked up his pace, masturbating fiercely as he held the bulbous fat tip of his enormous Black cock inches from her face.

He moaned with pleasure as he beat himself off. The tip inches from her eyes. Inches from her deep blue, tear filled eyes. Her eyes were wide with horror and she was screaming. Clearly from the expression on her face she had little clue as to what Malcolm was doing. She had little clue as to what was going to follow.

Perfect little Rebecca Finnegan had gone to the perfect little Catholic School. The perfect little school where she was taught abstinence only. Perfect little Rebecca Finnegan was so pure and so clueless about sex that she didn't know enough to shut her eyes.

Instead she watched with an expression of horror and confusion as Malcolm masturbated, his hairy balls tense with anticipation, his cock inches from her face.

His entire body tensed. Every muscle in his body tensed. He stopped breathing. His mind went momentarily blank and his rock hard cock twitched in his hand as he climaxed. He threw back his head and moaned in relief as perfect little Rebecca Finnegan screamed with horror.

The first blast hit her in the eye. The first blast hit her square in her wide, horror filled eye. It must have burned because she snapped them closed with another scream and tried to flinch away.

Malcolm held her head in place with his left hand as he aimed with his right, his cock twitching in his hand. He unloaded his balls on her face, his body becoming more relaxed with each climactic release.

He painted perfect little Rebecca Finnegan's perfect little face with his hot, slimy spunk. He couldn't remember the last time he came so hard and so long. It shot on her eyes. It shot onto her cute little button nose. It shot onto her thin upper lip, just above her piss covered panty gag. He painted her forehead and his cum mingled with her silky smooth strawberry blond hair as he covered her face with his cum.

God, he had never cum so much and so hard in his entire life. That little bout of masturbation was worth the price of admission alone. It was worth all the time and effort that had come with years of meticulous retirement planning. It left him completely and totally relaxed. More relaxed than he had ever been in his life.

Blowing his load all over perfect little Rebecca Finnegan's perfect little sobbing face brought Malcolm into a state of utter satisfaction. Pure unadulterated bliss.

He took a step back and surveyed his handiwork. He had cum more than he expected. He had easily cum enough for three, maybe four men. Perfect little Rebecca Finnegan was on her knees, sobbing with grief and humiliation. Her perfect little face was a mess with his hot sticky cum. It was dripping off of her.

Malcolm had to grin. She looked like the victim of a Japanese porn video. Her pretty little white face was absolutely covered with his old Blackman's cum and she was sobbing. She was helpless to clean it off.

He hurried to the wall and gave the chain a hard yank and then another. She screamed as the cold steel handcuffs dug into her bruised wrists again and he yanked up until the tips of her toes dangled an inch above the concrete floor. It had to be painful.

He circled her naked body. He laughed manically as he let his eyes soak up every inch of perfect little Rebecca Finnegan's perfect little lily white body. He broke into a fit of hysterics as he looked into to her horror struck cum covered face.

He shook his head as he walked back to the stairs. He'd be back in a little while, but now he wanted to have another cup of his herbal tea and give his massive load of cum a chance to dry on perfect little Rebecca Finnegan's perfect little face.
3 comments

ndouglassReport

2014-07-13 23:09:34
Inpatient much? It takes a little time to write them. Your second installment is up.

Anonymous readerReport

2014-07-13 22:58:42
Wish you would finish your stories in a 2nd chapter or 3rd. Rape the perfect little bitch.

Norton XReport

2014-07-13 09:36:25
Good story. I'm a fan of black and interracial stories.

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