Ozark Race Wars: Part 2

First Week.

Based on a post by FinalStand, in 13 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

 

I started out the next morning admiring the boarding on the window to the Principal's second story office. The ground and bushes beneath it were pretty trampled up too. That was a good way to start the day. In homeroom, I was talking to Kaelyne again when Princess Brandy announced her entrance and her 'power' over me.

‘Hey Vlad,’ she greeted me with sugary sweetness. She was working out ways to get me for the whole 'dog not kissing her mouth' thing.

‘Hey Skank,’ I grinned at her. Her face froze. Taliyah pulled up short.

‘What did you say?’ Brandy hissed.

‘Skank. Are you hard of hearing?’ I mused.

‘I'm Darius' girl, asshole. You had better accept that right now.’

‘Girl? Sure. I imagine that Darius and seven other guys fucking you in all three holes until you are oozing sperm is your ideal dream date,’ I chortled.

Having the scope of her depravity openly discussed really pissed her off.

‘You are jealous,’ she sneered. There was a hint of desperation in her voice. I chuckled.

‘That's clearly delusional thinking,’ I laughed. ‘You look hot, just not enough for me to want to wash my dick in ten other guys' cum. You act like a skank so that is how I will address you, Skank.’

She was infuriated. The start of homeroom ended the matter for the moment. The rest of the day was spent with a hundred slights and pin pricks. Darius' crowd would get in jabs from behind as we walked the halls, or projectiles tossed at us during class. We were fine with that. There was no fighting back. The 'niggers' didn't get it.

We were scoping out the faces of our enemies and finding blind spots in the school's security camera system. The truth about what happened to the Principal had also gotten out. Mom had already informed us of the series of events, including the spy camera video she took of the entire proceedings.

She'd kept up the 'dunce housewife' act even after he whipped out his cock and forced her to suck it, because he was a 'big Black stud', his words recorded for posterity. Finally, he put his hand down her blouse to give her bountiful bosom a good squeeze while shoving his cock past her loudly protesting lips. That was all the excuse Mom needed. She portrayed the frantic housewife really well. We, her family, knew better.

She was hamming it up to allay any criminal charges. His pleas for mercy were ignored. It was hard to make out what he was saying after she bashed out half his teeth with his 'African-American Educator of the Year' award. She'd ruptured his scrotum, stabbed his exposed cock repeatedly with a letter opener and cracked half a dozen vertebrae and a dozen ribs.

We were pretty sure she'd broken his arms in multiple places, ground up both his hands and shattered his left wrist. She snapped his right leg in two, all the while screaming 'Don't touch me! Don't touch me!' Her last bit of sadism was to toss him out his second story window. The first try, he bounced back, but we were pretty sure he had a concussion.

The second try cracked the safety glass. The third time was the charm and down that rapist rat-bastard fell into a modest sized holly bush (ouch!). Mom completed the act by pretending to sob as she crawled into a corner of the office while she dialed 9-1-1. As she gleefully went over the play-by-play for us once home, we knew she was cool about the entire incident, even the groping and forced blowjob.

It was Davis County jurisdiction so they were in charge of the investigation. That didn't stop Kingston from sticking their noses in. The Mayor was all about the Principal being a pillar of the community, a Black leader and a church-going man. Then the School's video evidence came out. The Principle had been so full of himself and his immunity, he recorded his attempted violation of my Mom.

Did the Negro community accept the obvious? No. This was a racist White lady, from a racist family, framing a good Black man though how she accomplished that was unclear to most of us and undefined by the Black leadership. They claimed that the Principal had yet to give his side of the story. That would take a while. The man had lost most of his teeth and had his jaw wired shut.

Both eardrums were ruptured and he could barely see out of his right eye. His left was swollen shut. His nose was pancaked. There was even a rumor that his penis was so badly mauled they had to cut most of it off (which turned out to be true). Big Bob, some deputies (all White) and some Highway Patrol (both colors) raided the Principal's house and found a stockpile of tapes and DVDs depicting previous sexual encounters at school going back almost two decades.

Apparently that was nothing more than extra proof of the hateful, bigoted White man framing a decent, hard-working Black man. That any group could be so blinded by their own bigotry that they would embrace such a blatant fiction was appalling to me. At school, the Blacks were indignant and the Whites kept a low profile, as if they'd done something wrong.

The one grey cloud in this monsoon of misery was basketball tryouts were on Thursday after school. We picked up consent forms from a furious coach that slathered on the kind of negativity we had come to expect from him and his sick breed. White boys can't jump. White boys can't dunk. White boys can score inside the 'paint'; yep. No racism there (insert maniacal laughter).

The Assistant Athletic Director coached the basketball team. He was a short, thin, hyperactive White man and, as we were to learn, a race-hater. He hated White people, or at least White athlete wannabes. More on him later. There were two key developments on my front. First, Alexander informed us he had a side project he couldn't talk about yet.

The second thing was that Darius demanded, by way of Brandy, that I took Brandy to an 'after victory' celebration out by the lake Friday night. From 9 p.m. to whenever, I was to sit back and let Brandy be used like a drunk runaway at an outlaw biker rally. Personally, I didn't see how that could be an enjoyable sexual experience.

Brandy believed this made her Darius' lady. She certainly embraced the bukkake, sperm baths eagerly. I still chose to ridicule her constantly because I could tell she was having trouble rationalizing her sexual treatment with any style of romance, or affection. She hadn't been honest with me so I was now tormenting her and using her shame to stab at Darius.

We could see it in his eyes whenever we mocked his crowd. Darius was plotting out his revenge. His problem was we didn't care what he called us, we didn't care about the teachers he turned against us and we had no spies in our camp, or friends to turn against us. We accepted our social life, for the time being, would be limited to our home.

Mom hinted she had a 'plan' in the offing and proved the internet had rendered local belligerence impudent. All our supplies came by parcel delivery from out of town. We wired up a new home security system, engaging a Little Rock private security service instead of putting any faith in the local, Black-run firm. We signed a waiver for the self-install.

There were times when we could totally believe that Mom and Uncle Theo were twins. Technically, as the twin born last, Mom was the youngest of the five children. For unspoken reasons, Theo ended up at a military academy for delinquents at fifteen. She only publically saw him three times since then. Once when she broke into his school (and got caught), at his academy graduation and lastly when he finished basic training for the Army.

Yet they remained close in ways only multiple birth kids could understand despite the time and distance. It also meant Mom came equipped with (cough) healthy doses of paranoia and vindictiveness. Mom reminded us our battle wasn't limited to the school. We were fighting a secularist religion with a fanatic core.

Had Black Americans been fucked over by White America? Yep. That didn't end 150 years ago either. There was Jim Crow legislation after Reconstruction as well as uninvestigated rapes, beatings, whippings, lynching and even being burned alive. All horrors visited on the Black Race by the White Man.

Yet it was White men who passed the Voting Rights Act in 1965. Yes they did, but getting Black people to accept that there were White people who stood with them as equals was impossible. Since 1965, had there been Black councilmen/women, mayors, state legislators, governors, Congressmen/women, Supreme Court Justices and, dare we say, a president?

Why yes. Where there Blacks in every aspect of professional life? Damn right there were. Where there Black millionaires? Thousands of them, and even an African-American self-made Billionaire. So exactly what were White Americans supposed to feel guilty about? Crap our parents and grandparents did? Great-grandparents?

When was the cut-off date for being held accountable for actions you had no part in? There were poor Black people. There were poor White people and poor Latinos for that matter. As far as my Mom was concerned, racism was racism and it had no exceptions for color, creed, and orientation coming, or going.

She'd given the Blacks of Kingston their chance to make things right, to end the cycle of hate. They had declined to rein in their own, so she felt no obligation for her, or her sons, to give obedience to their injustice.

There was a pile of evidence that the Principal had done wrong, still Kingston treated him like a hero and martyr. Fuck that noise. Mom didn't want to start some wacked-out guerilla war. She only wanted to punish those responsible for this fucked up situation. Target #1, Darius and by default, Darius' family. That, in turn, was Darius' biggest problem.

He didn't realize he was hunting people more than capable of hunting the hunters. We knew he and his supporters were coming for our family, they had tons of advantages and little fear of the four of us (we wouldn't involve Dad since he was in law enforcement and a straight arrow). We weren't aiming for a body count. Our goal was humiliation and breaking their wills to resist.

With that accomplished, we could install some truly impartial justice and social order. My family was aided in this quest by the clarity of our enemy's weaknesses. They were proud of their Big Black Cocks and their lack of restraint in using them on whomever they pleased. Basing their Black masculinity on a single bit of mythology rendered them painfully vulnerable to us.

They hadn't chosen to base their dominion on anything but their cock and balls. Solidarity, economic output and healthy competitiveness had been tossed aside. The Black community in Kingston accepted Black male predation as the natural course of things. It was revenge for the White Master/Black Slave Girl depredations that happened during Slavery. Did they humble White men by fucking their moms, sisters, wives and daughters? Yeah.

That disregard for social bonds and femininity meant Black women were under the same dominion, though they lied to themselves about it and the Black men comforted them in that lie. Black Mammas let their boys run around like dogs then were aghast when their husbands did the same thing. Big Black Cocks were eroding the basis for trust in this town.

If BBC wanted a woman, he stuck the cock in and that woman became his cock-slave. Had the woman started out resisting? That didn't matter because now they needed that cock to get her through the week. That was the score. The truth Mom laid out was confirmed by a week of school. How were we going to defeat the BBC menace?

Mom just smiled and said she had a 'Secret Weapon' to go along with her battle plan. We took that assurance into Thursday's basketball team tryouts. We rocked. We had the talent and the skills. That didn't matter to the Assistant Coach. He had six Black players returning from last year's team.

There was one White guy whose Mom was throwing gobs of new equipment the team's way, so he was on board. That left five spots to fill the twelve man roster. Up against us was one ambitious White junior, seven Black juniors and one Black female senior. Apparently she'd been denied a spot on last year's team based on gender alone and was still pissed about it.

The Ass Coach immediately set his sights on five of the Black juniors that fit the profile, Black top (that's outdoor courts that used asphalt) experience, tall, lanky and a willingness to dunk on a moment's notice. Our scrimmages were stupid and biased. The Black players could elbow, trip and punch us without repercussions. Mikhail almost got booted for threatening to toss the next blatant fouler into the bleachers.

We caught a break when Ass Coach got called away with a phone call which he couldn't understand because his 'chosen ones' wouldn't shut up and even attempt to be quietly considerate. I had an idea to create our own scrimmage team, but I had a problem. The two Black guys and one White guy not getting on the team sucked. I needed two of the other Black players.

I chose an alliance. I went to the angry, dispirited female player and made my offer. We would challenge the current team and, if we beat them, we made a pact that all of us made the team, or none of us did. I could see her weighing screwing me over. The whole school knew Darius was gunning for me and my brothers. She shook my hand. We needed a fifth.

The girl, Kaja Woodrow, went over to her cousin, one of the players from last year's team. He didn't want to join us. He had a guaranteed spot and he could blow it by joining his crazy female cousin and the three most hated White boys in school. Kaja threatened to bring their grandmother into this mess. I think that threat plus a strong sense of fair play changed his mind.

We were good. Shaquille, Kaja's cousin, knew it. Everyone knew it. He was shorter than us, around 5' 10’. His ball-handling skills were phenomenal, he was a fairly accurate shooter and would happily pass the ball if someone was in a better court possession instead of taking a risky shot.

Passing the ball was key and not an art form shared by the rest of his current teammates. With Shaquille on our side, we put our proposal before the Ass Coach. He denied us, but we were ready for that. Our team took to physically and verbally mocking and denigrating the manhood of the current roster. They took our bait.

After a quick warm-up, we made our move. Everything worked in our favor. High School courts aren't black top. The courts are wider and there is no turning around at mid-court. You added to that our opponents were ball-hogs and suffered from terminal 'dunk-itis'. Mikhail made the 'paint' his bailiwick (bally-wick?).

Dunk attempt after dunk attempt were brutally rejected by him. By their logic, my brothers and I would also keep the ball for ourselves. We passed like crazy. This was doubly painful for them because the White boys and Kaja could nail a jump shot from maybe 18 to 20 feet out, no problem. Shaquille would race behind their screen, catch a pass on the leap and dunk unopposed.

Our squad was making their squad and the Ass Coach look like idiots. The All-Black squad didn't regroup and create a new plan. No. We were belittling them. First came the fouls. When that wasn't enough to stop us from outscoring them, they brought out on the egregious fouls and still the Ass Coach did nothing.

Finally, after the fifteenth time Kaja humiliated the player supposed to be guarding her with a quick feint-step and a basket, he ran her over. He didn't shove her. He threw a powerful shoulder into her chest and followed up by stepping on her stomach. He smiled. His buddies laughed. Mikhail walked over and broke his jaw.

Remember, Mikhail was a big, strong, skilled fighter and had a temper. That message hadn't filtered through the mind of the All-Black squad. They rushed him. Their center took a piston kick to the gut (he had pathetic reflexes) and his closest buddy succumbed to a leg sweep. The Ass Coach went apoplectic. Shaquille rallied to Mikhail and Kaja while we went to our gym bags.

Out came the two recording devices (it is the freaking Information Age, you morons). Thanks to the internet, we uploaded the files and then we took the damning evidence to Ass Coach. He and most of his team were in deep shit. Their blatant fouls counted as assault in the real world. Mikhail wasn't in trouble. The dumbass who attacked Kaja was standing over the woman he assaulted when my brother intervened.

We also promised to show this video to every school on our schedule for the year as well as any and every athletic authority we could think of. Grudgingly he offered we three Samsonovs a place on the roster. We insisted on all five of our squad. He insisted he would never put a girl on the team.

I put my arm around his scrawny shoulders and forcefully walked him away for a private chat. I reminded him keeping Kaja off the team solely because she was female was discrimination. My brothers didn't like discrimination. My Mom really didn't like discrimination.

Did he want my Mom to come to school and explain to him how much she disliked it? Kaja was on the team. Ass Coach announced the new roster and promptly uplifted our spirits by declaring this season would be a disaster because we had a girl and four White guys on the team. The next day, she and Shaquille received ten kinds of trouble from their racial compatriots.

Mikhail gave Kaja a 'First Alert' bracelet and cautioned her to wear it at all times. It was a testimonial to how screwed up this environment was she put it on without question. Shaquille ended up eating lunch with us as well. The razzing was bad enough. The cracks his former friends were making about Kaja made him want to commit violence on their persons.

Shaquille found out what comradery was all about as classes let out that first Friday afternoon. Eight big bucks ambushed him as he prepared to walk home, he lived about a mile way. Recall what I said about identifying our tormentors? We figured out who the 'shot-callers' were so when they started texting their plan around, the Samsonovs began taking counter-measures.

Darius was the Capo. Since we had a 'home' game tonight, he couldn't attend to this errand personally, nor could his football-playing associates. He had plenty of non-jock lieutenants to command. In turn, those bozos had the rank and file big and average-sized thugs to follow his orders. This wasn't an army. It was a loose vigilante herd.

They also were kind enough to joke about their target when they thought we weren't around. We had to keep out of sight until the eight made a move on Shaquille. We hadn't warned our 'buddy' out of concern he might not want to keep his role as bait. We waited for the shoving to end and the desperate grappling to begin before intervening.

We had to film them committing their crime to make our crime non-criminal, if you can understand that reasoning. We should have thanked Darius for giving us his eight best 'B-grade' boys to annihilate. Seven of them went down super-quick. The eighth bolted. We couldn't maintain our legal smoke screen if we ran him down.

Instead, we settled for stomping the fuck out of the seven we had. Keeping them on their feet was the key. Kicking a man when he's down looks suspect. Shaquille joined in the 'fun'. Our victims pleaded, cursed, threatened and cried like little babies yet we still beat them raw and bloody.

Their superior numbers and initiating the conflict pretty much allowed us to do anything we wanted to them, short of murder. Was this a White racist beat-down? You could look at it that way except for the first minute of the video showed eight Black kids surrounding and shoving around another Black kid.

Once we vacated the trashing, I leveled with Shaquille about our actions, we had known what was coming his way, used him to give us an excuse to kick ass; and he was pissed with us. After a few minutes, he shook his head, snorted and agreed while we were total bastards, there had been no other way for that encounter to play out that left the four of us in a better position.

Those seven guys would be in no shape to bother him or Kaja for a week, or two, and the message of the pummeling those seven went through would reverberate throughout the school.

I touched base with Big Bob, who was attending the game, so that Darius and Brandy could see me being a 'good boy' thus foolishly playing my part in their deceptive scheme. That was living proof the worst deceptions was self-deceptions. Come on now, my brothers and I had beat up seven of Darius' flunkies and now they thought I was cowed enough to be led like a calf to the slaughter?

(Football Follies)

There was only one unexpected event on that nightmare first date. The score of 42-3 made sense. Darius was an epic running-back with all the natural talent and ambition to make the NFL. The rest of the team was pretty good as well and more than enough to manhandle the mixed race team opposing them.

The coach running up the score was par for the course as far as unsportsmanlike conduct went. By now, nil human compassion was what we expected from that crowd. They behaved like brutal thugs. The other team was suitably battered, broken and sullen. Every underhanded blow, discourtesy and disrespect our team exhibited reinforced my sense of my brothers' righteousness.

A tractor-trailer sized 'Humble Pie' was coming down the pipeline for those assholes and it was so well deserved. 'Our' team even had the gall to molest the other team's cheerleaders before they could exit the arena. A few dust-ups occurred when fathers and boyfriends of the attacked ladies tried to save their womenfolk. Their coach appealed to our coach.

Coach's look said it all; 'to the victors go the spoils'. Big Bob's deputies moved in. It took all of five seconds to see whose side the Black deputies were on. They gleefully aided the monsters struggling with the White men whose sole crime was wanting to get their women out with their virtues intact. All of these shenanigans were anticipated by Mom and us.

Three members of the defense managed to steal one terrified White cheerleader away from her side of the field. The boyfriend who tried to get to her was held back by a Black deputy. They would have been home-free except for one thing, my Dad's height and instincts. He spotted the trouble and headed those three off. First they blustered. Dad was unfazed.

Next they decided two would block Dad while the third dragged the girl away. They didn't know Dad. The second they put hands on him, out came his collapsible baton. He swung it up and into one antagonists' elbow. Trust me, that hurts. Of greater importance, no one saw it coming. Dad got in a blow to the other guy before he knew why the first guy was cursing in pain.

Then Dad fell on the third football player. My favorite lawman was finished talking. He shoved a thumb into the bastard's left eye, trust me; that hurts too. I can also assure you it is horribly distracting. Dad corralled the panicked girl and brought her back to her boyfriend, and the deputy who was arresting him. The White boy was freaking out and the Black officer was gloating.

I had never been the recipient of what came next, but I'd heard Dad's family talk about it and witnessed it a few times from a distance, like tonight. Dad, as Senior Deputy, asked the 'plain' Deputy to release the boy. The Deputy said something disrespectful to Dad. My Father grabbed the man's right wrist faster than a rattlesnake. I could almost feel those wrist bones grinding painfully together.

Dad, like all the men in our family, was big and bulky, not fat. We packed muscle mass upon muscle mass and I knew that Black man wasn't getting his wrist back until Dad decided to release him. Dad leaned in and whispered a few things to the Deputy. The Black man spat back then nearly crumpled over in pain as my Father ratcheted up the pressure, until the crying man acquiesced.

The girl and her boyfriend beat their feet out of there. Dad escorted the rebellious Deputy to a quiet corner to have a chat. That shithead immediately went for the racist angle, White cop picking on rambunctious Black youths. Dad replied that if he ever saw anything like what he saw that night again, he wasn't going to report the deputy, he was going to arrest him on the spot for facilitating an attempted sexual assault.

The Deputy made one more stab at the racist smear, proving he had never bother to get to know my Father. Dad's comeback was simple. If the deputy called him a racist one more time, he would bring the Black officer up on State and Federal Hate Crime statutes, creating a racial charged work environment.

The Fed would be a 'swing and a miss'. It was the 'Blacks can't be racist' bullshit. The State of Arkansas on the other hand; Dad, Big Bob and the White Deputies would gladly grease the wheels of justice. Nik Samsonov had a flawless 23 year record in law enforcement. All of that was of no surprise.

Dad had never come out and said there was a racial divide in the Sheriff's office, but it was clear to us that to a man, the Black Deputies kept the Black power structure in town abreast of all the goings on at the county law enforcement level. Until our arrival, the Black elite had their eyes set on litigating themselves into the office of Sheriff.

A man of Dad's background and caliber sort of curtailed those hopes and dreams. This was another reason for them to support Darius and his efforts were to make Dad look bad and even shame him into leaving. Fat chance of that happening. No, none of that was surprising to me. What caught me somewhat off-guard was;

‘Why do you hate me?’ Brandy asked me out of the blue. We were driving to the lake party site when she finally opened up.

‘You've never given me a reason to do anything but hate you,’ I replied after some thought.

‘That's not so,’ she protested. My first thought was to laugh in her face.

‘Did it ever occur to you I didn't want to be in a relationship with you either? Did it occur to you that you could have been honest about this and I would have understood? Did you consider my feelings at all before you fed me into Darius' world?’ I proffered up my questions.

‘You wanted to date me,’ she rebutted. ‘I saw the way you looked at me on the deck last Sunday.’

‘Nope,’ I shook my head. ‘I thought you looked 'hot'. I never wanted to date you. Had my mind ever planned to wander that way, your attitude shut that down pretty quick.’

Oh really?’ she remained confident in her sex appeal. ‘If you behave tonight, I'll give you a blowjob when you drop me off at home. I'm really good.’

‘No thanks,’ I shrugged. ‘However Darius and his crowd rate your talent at fellatio is not something I consider reliable. If I want a blowjob, I'll get a pro whom I'm sure is disease-free.’

‘You are being such a bastard,’ she pouted angrily. I didn't care. ‘You are just jealous.’

‘And you are little more than three nameless orifices in a gangbang,’ I snorted. ‘If that's what floats your boat; good for you. I prefer to date a girl who doesn't need an orgy to feel erotic and desirable. My problem isn't with how you express your sexuality, Brandy.’

‘You deceived me and you don't regret it in the slightest. That's my problem with you.’

We rode for a while in silence. Brandy couldn't let the matter rest until I acknowledged she was right; and she was the foxy babe I could never have because my melanin levels weren't high enough.

‘You wouldn't have understood Darius and me,’ she spouted with certainty.

‘Why?’

‘What? Why what?’ she asked.

‘Why would you assume I wouldn't understand you wanting to date the star running back?’ I explained.

‘He's Black,’ she stated.

‘So? I don't care about Black and White. Hell, I have cousins who are Native Alaskans, that's Indians to you people,’ I responded. ‘The few people of color I did know before coming here were my neighbors and nice people.’

‘Liar,’ she smirked. ‘White men always get upset when strong, Black men take their women.’

‘You are not my woman, so there was never anything to take. Until you and Darius decided to fuck with me and my brothers, we didn't care,’ I answered.

‘We are not your limp-wristed rich boys, or your rednecks. You both exhibited a painful level of prejudice so here we are.’

‘Well; you can watch the party but you can't come down,’ she tried a different angle. ‘Darius may send you on a beer-run later.’

‘That ain't going to happen,’ I chortled.

‘You had better do what he says,’ she threatened. I gave another amused snort. I drove us to the bottom of the parking lot near the lakeshore. Brandy got out, tried to give me a salacious look. I yawned. There were two other pseudo-boyfriends on the scene and a passel of empty cars most likely belonging to the football crowd.

I had taken into account that my family's resistance and Dad's actions had earned me some serious retribution in their minds. That was all part of our strategy. I cut off my headlights then backed my car toward the road. I waited for ten seconds then Alexander appeared at the passenger door of the Mustang.

‘Hey Vlad,’ he teased me. ‘How are things going on your 'date'?’

‘As expected,’ I chuckled. I put on the emergency brake and popped the trunk. Five minutes later, Alexander had taken Mom's car and split. I was in a dark maroon ski-mask, the same colored hoody and exercise pants (I already had on Black shoes and socks), night vision goggles and video camera with a really excellent audio system that would allow me to negate things like cricket noises.

Dark red and maroon were better than black, or grey, in hiding at night. I was virtually invisible in the darkness. After checking the wireless hook-up, I found my pre-scouted spot to watch and record the festivities. Thirty-two Black football players, ten Black girls and seventeen White girls filled the stage.

First came the drinking and pawing. Then came the rough-housing and the screams of the few White girls who were only now realizing they weren't on a 'date' in the classic sense. Then came the orgy. For the Black athletes who didn't bring dates, it didn't matter.

Every White girl had three holes, take your pick. Beers, whisky, Red Bulls and Viagra where the diet of choice. The last pleas for mercy were smothered so that only the moaning, groaning and the slapping of hands on flesh and flesh on flesh remained.

After an hour, two of the White chicks were fucked up emotionally and mentally. Their obvious distress didn't elicited concern from anyone else in that crowd. They had been turned into Big Black Cock-slaves. The football players gleefully took pictures of their victims and partners in various sex acts.

Even for the girls who didn't want to participate, this was a license to shame. After the latest rounds of ejaculations, Darius gathered up some of his niggers and sent them to the parking lot; to find me already departed (my car not being there). The two other White boys hadn't a clue where I had gone.

That was their misfortune. They were dragged back down to the lake for Darius to interrogate. Their so-called girlfriends taunted them and added to their degradation. Since BBC's are never homosexually-inclined; the team decided to ass-rape those two saps (yeah, right). Did I pity them?

A little, but barring retardation, what did they expect the likely outcome of events to be? Now those two could bask in their home-erotic fantasies while convincing themselves they weren't really gay. Darius and crew didn't view White people as human beings, Whites were subhuman, so the Blacks could do anything to them because sub-humans didn't deserve respect, or have rights.

I filmed it all and I wasn't alone in my voyeurism. Undoubtedly, this was blackmail for Darius to use in the future. He also decided to up his game in dealing with me. A Black Deputy Sheriff showed up and began calling my name and looking for me, shining his flashlight around.

He was pretending to be helpful, encouraging me to come out, so he could take me home. For fifteen minutes I switched my attention between his futile and false efforts and the (non-)rapes going on at the lakeshore camping grounds.

The Deputy eventually made his way down to Darius's area. The two chatted a bit, deciding I really had abandoned Brandy, then the cop partook in some of the party favors, ending his sexcapade with Brandy swallowing his load. He even declared it was partial vengeance against Big Bob (the niggahs laughed) and my Dad (since Brandy was theoretically my date).

The festivities died down after the second run at an orgy yet Darius was unsatisfied. First came the throwing of all the ladies into the cool lake waters despite their pleading screams. Then they tossed the two devastated White boys in. After some splashing around and some serious begging and pleading through chattering teeth, they let them out of the water so they could dry off on whatever was handy.

The wasted girlfriends of the two boys poured their false dates into their cars and drove away to the chorus of slights and general mockery. Darius had Brandy give me a call (actually Alexander) and requested I (he) come pick her up. I (he) said he would be there in forty-five (lie).

Darius' trap was simple but effective. He and four of his linemen would be waiting in a sedan parked at the far, upper-hand corner of the parking lot out of sight. Brandy would wait down on one of the bench-tables in the camping ground for me to arrive. Whether I honked my horn, or got out for her, Darius's team planned to roll down on me, block my car and deliver some well-deserved and overly-delayed vengeance.

Once again, Darius was behind in the game. We knew his resources and mindset, he believed he could get away with anything, he would always win and he could intimidate anyone he chose to. From my perspective, Alexander hadn't walked the nearly ten miles from school to get here. I secured my gear, put on my helmet, uncovered my motorcycle and rolled it quietly over to Brandy.

‘Here,’ I surprised her as I stepped out of the darkness to hand her a motorcycle helmet. ‘Put this on.’

‘Vlad,’ she squeaked. ‘I thought you had left me.’ She was also fiddling with her phone.

‘If you make that call, I'll leave you here,’ I threatened.

‘Leave me here and my Daddy will make you pay,’ she countered.

‘Brandy, try to think for once,’ I taunted her. ‘If I didn't leave, what have I been doing all night?’ I let that thought sit there, but she wasn't approaching understanding. ‘I filmed this entire party from start to finish. I'm not the one in serious trouble.’

Her fingers hesitantly stopped playing with the phone. I pushed the helmet her way again. She set her phone aside to put it on, allowing me to snatch it up. She hadn't called Darius yet. I pocketed the device then cut it off once she could no longer see it.

‘Hey, give me that back,’ Brandy insisted.

‘You didn't call Darius so I'm not going to toss it into the lake,’ I informed her.

‘I'll return it to you when I drop you off,’ I added. That seemed to mollify her, that and the belief I'd be running into Darius soon. No such luck for her. Mom had spent some of her youth around this place and there were several hiking/biking tracks that also led out of the park the lake was situated in.

I lied to Brandy, telling her I had to pick up one more thing. That allowed me to push my motorbike far enough away to put a copse of bushes between me and Darius.

‘Get on,’ I told her as I mounted and started the engine. She hesitated so I started rolling away. I let her jump on and off we went. Brandy held on tight.

Some of her death grip was from the dangerous route I was taking to exit this place. I knew part of it was also the combination of fears that she'd disappointed Darius and I would tell, show, her dad what had happened tonight. I was counting on Option A. I wouldn't tell Big Bob the truth until it suited us Samsonovs. What Brandy suffered for her numerous lies wasn't my concern.

‘Here we are,’ I told her when I stopped in her driveway. She got off, clearly sore and worn out from her duties as a sperm trough. She gave me the helmet back then held out her hand.

‘Oh yeah, phone,’ I nodded. I hurled it across her yard. ‘You can find it in the morning. After all, I would hate to run across any of your friends on the way home.’

‘Bastard,’ she snarled. I could see the clever spark in her eyes. ‘I still owe you a blowjob. You held up your end of the bargain.’ She would have succeeded in looking incredibly sexy except she'd already leaked fluids and semen from her over-used holes all over the back of my seat and I had the vivid memories of all the guys who had already made her swallow a gallon of cum.

‘No thanks,’ I shook my head. ‘One of us needs to keep their self-respect and it sure isn't going to be you. Night-night,’ and off I went. My call woke up Big Bob. I let him know I'd dropped off his daughter on his doorstep. I didn't want her to find her phone quite yet. 'Us' triplets had already scouted out an overgrown old timber trail I could use to skirt the Sheriff's speed trap and the blind turn in the road the Kingston cops always used.

By my estimation, as I walked up my back steps, Darius was just figuring out I'd missed my forty-five minute arrival time and had called Brandy; and received no response because her phone was turned off in a darkened yard. He'd go looking around the camp site on the off chance her phone battery had run out of juice. No Brandy. As planned, I called Mom telling her I was home safe and Darius was probably hideously pissed at the moment.

She told me she'd be home in a few minutes. She had a few things she needed to clean up first. It wasn't until later Mom clued us into her part of the plan. Darius' older brother had been a drug conduit in the county and Brandy's dad put him away for seven years. That was why Darius was going after Brandy in such a bad way.

Worse for Big Bob, his wife (a taller, more lush, mature model of Brandy) ran off with a Black Senior Sheriff's Deputy, the man Dad replaced. Apparently he'd been porking the old lady behind Bob's back then been caught joking about it. Brandy had been dating Darius and Big Bob had her break it off, so they were sneaking around behind his back as well.

If underhanded was how Darius wanted to play it, so be it. The damage had already been dealt by his older brother. Mom got in touch with Uncle Theo. Uncle Theo knew all kinds of disreputable people and not just drug cartel members, mercenaries, arms dealers and other assorted killers. He also knew information brokers.

It didn't take too much money, or effort, on Theo's part, to let the DEA know that Darius' Mom was involved in her elder son's illegal enterprise. First, she went through Darius' parent's trash finding containers that could be used to house cocaine that had his mom and dad's fingerprints all over them.

Theo would send her some 'contraband' for Mom to place in those containers. Then she'd sneak into the family home and plant/hide the evidence. Then Theo would have some fool in Mexico send her some trinkets, three or four deliveries would do.

Then he'd send a few kilos of cocaine that Theo would ‘acquire’ and let the DEA swarm in. Mom would also plant evidence to implicate two of Kingston's police officers; to tarnish the whole department in the DEA's eyes. That would lead to a Federal investigation because everyone knew the Black community lied to protect their own.

They would be claiming the Black Man couldn't find justice in the White Man's court system. They would blame the 'White Man' and this time they'd be right; and not even know they were right. They always blamed their problems on the White Man. They did lie and discriminate against White people so often that their knee-jerk reaction would ring hollow to anyone who truly mattered.

Furthermore, this wasn't the Civil Rights Division of the Justice Department who was bending over backwards to undo centuries of judicial failures were Blacks were concerned. It was the DEA and they were a bit more color-blind concerning matters of illegal drugs.

They had the pipeline, previous deliveries, drugs arriving in the mail and drugs stashed in their house. Darius' family had a history of doing this very thing. The DEA wasn't going to believe that 'White folk set us up' spiel. They were going to think that when they busted Darius' brother, they'd only touched the tip of the iceberg.

When I was finally clued into this conspiracy, I thought it was viciously cruel and over-the-top then I looked into my Mother's eyes. There was more to this than she was willing to share at the time; some unhealed wound. This was the Samsonov sense of justice married to a long-buried injustice whose moment of resolution had finally come.

The whole community had tried to lie concerning Darius' brother being a drug kingpin and blamed Big Bob Carson for doing his job. They were lying about the Principal right now and those legions of falsehoods thus creating their self-fulfilling prophecy.

Having knowingly and wrongfully blamed others for their own wickedness when the proof of guilt was plain as day, when one of theirs was getting railroaded, no one, not even themselves, would believe their spiel. This town lied to itself and the outside world so often, they could no longer rely on one another for truth.

Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Pope could be saved if the true drug dealers in Kingston and Davis stepped up and testified, they wouldn't. The family could help itself out if they handed over other people in their network, except they had no one to give over for a lighter sentence.

The only thing the Pope family lawyers could trot out was the old 'racist White folks' refrain and a jury in Little Rock would roll their eyes. They would find them guilty on all charges and, during sentencing, they would prove that Black people really did get longer sentences for the same crime than White people did.

Mom didn't care. In her mind, the Pope family was serving time for one crime to pay for the fact they'd committed a crime years ago they'd gotten away with scot-free. She was aiming to squeeze Kingston and keep the pressure on until they cracked, confessed to their crime and their racism. Then, the healing could begin.

The Secret Weapon  Saturday

Mikhail was being a bit of a bastard. Sheriff Big Bob Carson called us/me to let me know his daughter was coming over to our house to 'hang out' and he wanted her to call him when she got there. Either Brandy hadn't found her phone, or this was his way of making sure she went to the place where she said she was heading, a serious lack of trust.

Mikhail decided I could use the surprise so he neglected to tell me this unwelcome news. He was smart enough to let Mom know. Instead of steeling myself for whatever her game might be, I was practicing long arms (that's archaic weapons for most folk) with Alexander and Mom. Using dulled, steel practice blades and quilted clothing, that was hot, sweaty and somewhat painful work.

That certainly wasn't the way I wanted Brandy to see me. Mikhail had met her at the front door and let her in. She was frightfully late and we all knew why. Mom greeted Brandy with a disgusted snort then stormed past her.

‘Good morning, Vlad,’ Brandy smiled somewhat feebly.

Mikhail was behind her, flashing me a devilish grin. I glared back my displeasure.

‘It is nearly noon,’ I replied. ‘How's Darius?’

‘I; I don't know. We haven't talked since last night,’ she lied. She was pretty good at it, yet I was already inclined to distrust her ever word and intention.

‘Okay,’ I shrugged, not disguising my disapproval. I tossed my blunted steel sword to Alexander before unbuckling the straps of my armor.

‘What is all of this?’ Brandy turned to keep up as I went inside.

‘We are in the SCA, Society for Creative Anachronism,’ I said. ‘The steel blades are Mom's idea; for the sake of realism.’

‘That is a group that relives medieval practices and weaponry,’ I filled in her obvious ignorance. ‘We've been doing it half our lives. Mom likes these kinds of things.’

‘It looks seriously weird,’ Brandy stated.

‘I didn't ask for your opinion in the same way I didn't ask you to come over,’ I replied.

‘I came over to make up for the stuff I've put you through for the past week,’ she offered. ‘Maybe we could go out and get some lunch; catch a movie?’

‘I think I'll pass,’ I started putting my armor onto its mannequin in our weapons room.

‘Oh; ‘ her next argument trailed off into nothing.

She so annoyed me it wasn't until I turned around, wearing only my boxers, did I realize she was staring at my body. At the same time I finally had cooled down enough to truly appreciate her apparel. Black butt shorts, White halter top thin enough to give a strong indication of the racy, lacy purple bra she wore underneath. I was sure this highly provocative garb wasn't what Big Bob saw her wearing when she left home.

Blood was rushing to my cock despite my best mental efforts. Brandy gave a slight snicker. She was celebrating her sexual success. With the way her nipples were sprouting against her bra and shirt, I was having some success of my own. The difference was I could care less. I brushed past her and headed upstairs. Brandy tagged along.

‘We could hang around here,’ she suggested.

‘Did you find your phone?’ I inquired. A phone guaranteed a Darius lurking behind the scenes. It was a simple back-up stratagem, have sex with me and take pictures. Then he/she could use the pictures for leverage for my 'good' behavior, that slippery slope of compliance.

‘Yes. You didn't throw it very far,’ she grinned.

‘You couldn't have snuck behind your Daddy's back to touch base with Darius if I tossed it into the woods,’ I replied. She didn't know what to make of that. We made the third floor before she spoke.

‘Why do you assume I've talked to Darius?’ she mused as she looked around. ‘Nice house.’

‘Darius, you exhibit perpetually poor decision making when your cunt is concerned, that's why. About the house, thanks. It is still growing on me,’ I said as I went into my shared bathroom.

Brandy traipsed in after me. ‘I am going to take a shower.’

‘That's okay. I've seen plenty of naked guys,’ she leered.

‘That's for sure,’ I mumbled. I exhibited a lack of body consciousness by tossing my boxers in the clothes hamper.

‘You have a nice body,’ Brandy observed.

‘Yes he does,’ Mom snarled as she stormed in. ‘It is time for you to leave.’

‘Wha; what have I done wrong?’ Brandy squalled.

‘You are a whore and you are trying to sleep with my boy with some other chump's cum in your cunt, Whore,’ Mom snapped.

Brandy started to sniffle up. She looked my way for support. Brandy was confusing sexual arousal for affection which I figured was common for her. I looked disinterested. It wasn't true, her stunning sexuality was making me think stupid stuff; like fucking her.

‘Vlad?’ Brandy pleaded. My blood was rushing to the wrong head, but my brain was still functioning. Darius wasn't used to being out-smarted, made to look foolish, or made to pay for his hubris. Mom had covered her tracks well. Her part of our offensive would still take time.

Besides, he was completely distracted by his lack of success last night. I was sure Brandy had already brought up my recording of the night's festivities. He had idiotically passed on that anger to Brandy so she was making irrational, hate-clouded decisions as well.

‘Mom, Brandy and I were just talking,’ I faux-intervened. Brandy looked to me, thankful for her salvation. Mom shot me a look past her that projected her pride in my deceptiveness. Play the players.

‘Brandy, you screwed Darius before coming here, didn't you?’ I asked. I knew she would deny it so I upped the ante.

‘I know you did. Lie to me and don't let the door hit you in your ass on the way out.’ Now she was trapped. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn't.

‘Yes; but; I was worried about him; he wanted to talk to you last night and; ‘ she stammered.

‘You were afraid of his anger, not worried about him, and we both know he didn't want to talk to me last night,’ I corrected her.

‘No. He was upset and I wanted to calm him down. Then I came straight here,’ she kept stumbling through her lies. She didn't really admit to having sex.

She certainly lied about what Darius wanted. He wanted to hurt me and my family. Darius had started out yesterday night convinced he was closing in for the kill yet now he found himself forced to play catch-up. The normally bright guy was letting his BBC and bull-sized ball sack do his thinking for him.

It gave me a chill to realize as devious as my Mom was, she swore Uncle Theo was more convoluted in his thinking.

‘Fine, Vladimir, but she comes with me while you shower. I don't trust this slimy, scum-skank,’ Mom was now playing bad cop to my good cop.

I didn't know what she had planned. I was okay with that. When Darius referred to Brandy as his 'fuck-slave', he wasn't exaggerating. Brandy's wasn't his paramour. She was his owned piece of flesh and a dispirited bitch that was controlled by her lusts and fears, fear of Darius being key to her way of thinking. It was not only the fear that he would hurt her, he had.

There was the fear he'd stop stuffing her with BBC's; keeping her a slave to her lusts. Those glaring character flaws allowed Mom to heap on the humiliations to Brandy while I showered. She was subjected to multiple mouthwash sessions, douching and an enema. Sure enough, she'd already been fucked in her cunt and her ass before coming here.

Participating in orgies wasn't my problem. Tricking me into partaking of the debris afterwards was. By the time she showed up at my bedroom door, I had finished dressing. I found Brandy rather revolting by this time in our relationship. She was pretty shaken up by the ordeal Mom had put her through, but I had no sympathy to spare.

Brandy was what I described her as, a lying Skank. Had Mom not 'strongly suggested' I needed to fuck her, I would have called Big Bob and asked him to take his daughter home. Honestly, the girl I was thinking about was Kaelyne. She was nice to me, daring within her limits and cute in her own way. Brandy? A Playboy Playmate covered in other men's slime, no thanks.

‘Hey,’ she said feebly. She was debased in the extreme. Any pretense to being her own woman had been stripped bare, she was Darius' sperm landfill and my whole family knew it.

‘Let's go for a ride,’ I offered. She thought that over.

‘Let me call Daddy first,’ she smiled. ‘Where are we going?’

That attempt at deception was pathetically transparent; couldn't she see which way this was going? The best she could deliver to Darius was a draw and she could only do that by walking away.

‘Out; I'll figure it out on the way,’ I told her. She nodded then turned around and went to the hall to make that call. I heard her mumbled curses.

‘Problem?’ I asked. She smacked the phone into her palm a few times.

‘It is broken,’ she whined. I extended my hand so she gave it over for my examination. I knew that vacant electronic look. Mom had tossed her phone into our electromagnet box. The computer portion of her smart phone was wiped clean. I handed it back.

‘Yep, it seems to be broken,’ I nodded. ‘I'll call your Dad.’ She blanched slightly then nodded. She meant to call Darius except the Samsonovs had decapitated that part of her plot. I called Brandy's Dad, told him we were going motocross over the back acreage. He was happy to hear we were bonding. We had to keep Sheriff Carson in the dark for a while longer.

It was the 'better to beg forgiveness than ask for permission' creed in effect. Brandy was truly distressed as we drove away from the house and headed into the broken country we owned. The property had economic value as passable timber land. It was either tree-covered mountains, rocky hills, creeks, or marshy bogs. What it was good for was hunting, deer, black bear, duck in season, and all assorted ground critters.

That was important because my destination wasn't random. There was a two thousand square foot hunting lodge a few miles up into the hills Mom's family used once upon a time and the Cobb's, our wardens, had cleaned and updated. Mikhail and Mom had taken care of the electrical wiring and cable hook-ups.

I let Brandy walk around the place as I stalked her. Her mind was dialing up her choices and was coming to the 'ugly' conclusion that the best she could hope for was to fuck me then get out of here, mission somewhat accomplished to her delusional reasoning. I doubted Darius would agree with her. After all, I'd be fucking 'his woman' even if he treated her like a dog in Michael Vick's kennel.

With his macho blinders on, this would be yet another point for me to mock him. He'd probably fuck the shit out of Brandy over this just to remind her who had the BBC she craved. When we came to the master bedroom, Brandy caved in. The king-sized bed was low to the ground on a solid wooden box frame. Brandy flopped her ass down on the mattress and gave me her best erotic effort.

Her lips were pouty, her cleavage was hypnotic and her legs were spread enough to be suggestive. Her eyes; her eyes were the windows to her soul and her soul was projecting 'let's get this over with so I can get back to a real man'. Bitch.

‘Hey,’ she purred then patted the mattress next to her. ‘Sit down.’

My ass had barely bounced once on the comforter when Brandy rolled on top of me and began kissing me. Her mouthwash had been Cherry-flavored. Yeah, wham-bam thank you Ma'am was her exit plan. She was working her shirt off while grinding her crotch onto my belt buckle. Going along with Mom's strategy was my second best option.

I'd had sex once before in my young life and that was a weeklong session with a professional Mom procured. That was something else I could never talk to my Dad about. I was still leery of putting my cock into her from the standpoint of memories I'd rather avoid. Brandy's shirt and bra came off then she worked down my underwear and pants.

Brandy playfully licked my cock as she worked off my boots and socks. With practiced ease, she shed her sneakers and butt shorts, revealing her baby smooth bald cunt. I was actually starting to look forward to a blowjob. That was not to be. When I took off my shirt, she crept up on me, rolled us over so I was on top then planted some pretend-passionate kisses.

Soon enough, her legs were spread wide and I was slipping into her vagina.

‘Oh God,’ she moaned sensually. How fake could she be? I felt like I was pumping a slimy, wet, cavernous cavity. I could barely feel her vaginal muscle action, she was so loose. All I could think was this experience was so devoid of penile stimulation it would take a while. ‘Oh baby, that feels good,’ Brandy cooed.

Since I could barely feel her, I suspected she wasn't getting that much from my actions either. I settled for teasing her left nipple between my thumb and forefinger while I kept my body above hers with my left arm. Brandy gifted me with a few more platitudes I didn't believe. Her body reactions were equally basically a well-rehearsed routine. She'd pivot her hips in an effort to get me off sooner than later.

Around my tenth thrust, I began to feel her vagina conforming to my cock. Brandy's porno queen remix died down until she was utterly quiet. I kept going, this was still a somewhat noxious experience I wanted to get through before my interest dimmed to the point my cock lost its enthusiasm. About two more minutes into the ordeal, Brandy started making noises again.

I was so used to her disingenuous nature it took me a moment to figure out her gasps and moans were genuine and she was struggling and failing to keep them in check. By this time her cunt was mysteriously beginning to feel pretty snug. The texture of my cock was rubbing all over her vaginal folds. In a last desperate effort, Brandy closed her eyes, rolled her head to the side and bit her lower lip.

I was even more annoyed by this latest ploy.

‘Play with your nipples, twist them,’ I commanded. Brandy's eyes looked into mine. Her look of confusion and disbelief was unsettling. She did as I demanded allowing me to hook her left leg up and shift it to the side. Now I was pounding down on her well-worn clit.

Her tears were really unwelcome. I was damned if I was going to have an ounce of sympathy for this tramp. Then she started yelping. Her yelps turned to a long guttural growl which led to an ear-shattering scream. What the fuck? She'd climaxed. I was pretty sure of that. The way she regarded me after that scream was rather scary on an emotional level.

Her mind was trying to cope with what her body had just experienced.

‘Can; please; give me; give me a second, please?’ she pleaded. I slowed my cunt pounding down to a slow gentle massage. She appeared to like that so I kept to that pace. ‘Do you want to keep going?’ she murmured. It took me a second to realize that was a request.

I kissed her on the lips. This time I didn't mind and she didn't look like she was forcing herself to appear as if she was having a good time. I gave her a minute or two before upping the power and rapidity of my thrusts. Instead of objecting, Brandy let a sensual smile grace her lips as her hips pushed up to meet my penetrations.

I'm in good shape, iron man, I am not. When I started showing my fatigue, Brandy forcefully rolled us over so she was on top. That provided me an excellent view and extra incentive to shoot off. Brandy was working my cock like the seasoned slut she was. She decided to dangle her boobs within reach of my lips. I went to suckling like I was born to it; so true.

She was well on her way to her second orgasm when I could feel my time had come. I started to push her off.

‘What are you doing?’ she panted.

‘I'm about to cum and I don't want to risk a pregnancy,’ I ground out.

‘I have a Norplant birth control implant,’ she snickered. She shimmied her hips, grinding her vulva down on my crotch. A few seconds of that, and I was ejaculating. As my body stiffened, arched up and I uttered a fierce growl, Brandy began rubbing her re-energized clit with some fingers of her left hand while massaging her left breast with her right hand.

After my control returned, I joined her fingers gently strumming her clitoris. She had been looking up at the ceiling fan. Her eyes fell down and gave another bizarre look. Her vagina was feeling practically racing-glove tight as she cascaded into her second orgasm. I interwove my right fingers with those on her left hand.

She clenched our grip tightly as her voice carried her from one orgasmic spike to the next. Brandy's body finally gave up its last gasp and she fell upon my chest panting heavily. Though I'd shot off into her once, my penis' descent to flaccid status was reversed by her vaginal muscle contractions and was making a serious effort at another go.

To be continued in part 3, based on the work by FinalStand for Literotica.