One of the reasons I frequented my local convenience store was its location, being situated less than a block from my apartment. The other, far more compelling reason was the part-time assistant, an ebony-skinned beauty named Denise.
Over the course of several months the ice had broken and we started to chat and flirt while I was shopping there. Although I hoped desperately, I knew in my heart that nothing would ever come of it. I was pretty good-looking myself, or so I'd been told, but I thought that the ethnic barrier presented by my lily-white skin would be insurmountable, especially in a predominantly black neighbourhood.
My life changed one hot summer's day. I needed some bread and milk so I headed to the convenience store. Denise was there, wearing a crop top and short skirt. She had a store apron over the top, but it did little to disguise her womanly curves or hide her gorgeously toned flesh.
Denise caught me staring unashamedly at her luscious body, too distracted to think of the shopping I had intended. She did a little twirl, causing her skirt to flare up at the back and giving me a quick glimpse of her fantastic booty, inadequately constrained by a pair of flimsy yellow panties.
"Like what you see?" she asked.
She was smiling, so I didn't think she had taken any offence. I wolf- whistled.
"You are absolutely drop-dead gorgeous," I admitted.
"You're not bad either, for a white boy. Say, you want to hang out sometime?"
I was gobsmacked. This gorgeous, supposedly unattainable creature seemed to be asking me out.
"I'd love to."
"I finish at 6 this evening. Give me half an hour to get home and take a shower then come round to my place. We can listen to music or something," she said.
I was so overwhelmed that I didn't give a second thought as I agreed, writing down Denise's address on the back of my till receipt.
I showered, changed my clothes, shaved for the second time that day (a first for me) and dabbed on some cologne. Six twenty nine I was waiting nervously outside Denise's apartment. It hardly registered that the block she lived in was considerably more salubrious than mine.
My watch ticked over the minute and I rang Denise's doorbell, as nervous as a schoolboy. She answered the door almost immediately, beckoning me in with a welcoming smile. It looked as though she had just got out of the shower because her hair was wet and she was wearing a plain pink bathrobe.
As soon as I was inside and the door was shut, Denise grabbed me into a hungry kiss. Her robe fell open, revealing a body every bit as I had imagined, clad in a white fishnet bra and matching panties. I reckoned any sweet music on the agenda wouldn't be coming from loudspeakers.
Denise dragged me into a bedroom and stripped me. I realised that making love with such a beautiful woman was all too likely to be a once in a lifetime experience unless I gave it my utmost so I was determined to ensure she enjoyed it.
I made oral love to every inch of her firm, beautiful body, paying particular attention to her large, luscious breasts topped with roseate organ-stop nipples. Then I attacked her core, licking and sucking her shaved pussy and clit until my face was dripping with her savoury juices and she had to push me away because the near- continuous orgasm was getting too painful.
Denise repaid the favour, sucking my cock almost to ejaculation three times, each time letting me subside from the precipice, before she pushed me back on the bed and mounted me like a cowgirl. When I came, it felt like I was pumping a gallon of cum into her clutching pussy.
I didn't think I had any more in me but Denise sucked my cock back to life again. She was lithe, limber and imaginative, trying out positions I had never experienced before, seemingly managing to force an orgasm for herself out of each before moving onto the next. I pumped a second load into her when we were in the humble missionary position, lying between her firm, supple thighs.
It took a lot of oral coaxing but somehow Denise got me hard yet again. I was pretty much exhausted so we went at it doggy-style to give me a rest. As I thrust away, I couldn't help admiring the pretty pink puckered hole winking at me. I moistened my thumb and pressed against it, wondering if Denise would let me in as a prelude to fucking her ass, but she half turned and slapped my hand away.
"That's my only remaining virginity," Denise informed me, "and I'm saving that for someone special."
I guess I should have been hurt by that, but it actually gave me a second wind, enabling me to redouble my efforts in the hope that I might earn the right to be that special person.
The bedroom was replete with the sounds of squelching, flesh slapping against flesh and moans of encouragement and my groin was tightening as a prelude to coming for an impossible third time when the bedroom door burst open and a giant black man stalked in.
Instinctively I pulled out, but the adrenaline surge pushed me over the edge and my traitorous cock shot its globs of cum over Denise's ebony buttocks.
"What's you's doin wid ma ho? You's better not be doin what I thinks you's doin," snarled the intruder.
Seeing my life expectancy almost certainly dwindling to seconds, I didn't stop to pick up my clothes but, stark-naked, made a bolt for the door. For a split second I thought the black giant was going to let me go, then at the last moment he applied a gentle push to my back, redirecting my flight headlong into a doorpost.
When I woke up, I was in the lounge of Denise's apartment, still stark-naked and tied to a chair. In the room there were several youths and young men of various hues of black and mixed-race skin colours, but uniformly wearing gang colours.
"Ah, you's is awake," said the black giant, who had to be at least six and a half feet tall with a build to match. "Now we's is the East Canal Brothers and we's don't take kindly to no folk messin wid our ho's. So you's got two choices. Either you's ends up in a dumpster, gutted like de fishies," he said, indicating one of the youths, who was sitting on a chair and sharpening a cutthroat razor with a strop, "or you's can sign this."
The black giant waved a piece of paper in front of my eyes. It looked like some sort of legal contract but I didn't have time to focus my eyes on it to read it.
"Hey, I didn't say you's could read it," he said, snatching the document away. "So's what's it to be? You's got 30 seconds."
I had every confidence that refusal to sign would be my last act on this planet. On the other hand, no judge in the land would uphold any contract signed under duress, no matter what the terms. I nodded towards the paper.
"Dat's the smartest thing you's done today, white boy," said the giant.
He freed my hand a little so I could hold a pen and somehow I managed to scrawl a parody of my signature on the document.
The black giant produced a syringe and injected me, then everything went black.
When I woke, I realised I had been moved. I was lying on a cot in a large airy building, perhaps a disused warehouse. The smell of nearby stagnant water seemed to confirm my theory. I felt a dull ache from my groin, and when I looked down I found I was wearing what looked like an adult-sized pull-up diaper, with a plastic tube leading out of it and down the side of the cot. There was a drip attached to my arm, the bag saying 'saline solution'.
With a growing sense of dread, I tried to move my hands to look inside the diaper but they were chained too tightly to the side rails. The chains rattling must have alerted the black giant that I was awake again, as he soon appeared at my side.
"Welcome back, Mr Curtis," he said, with no trace of patois in his voice.
There were several ways he could have found out my name. Denise could have told him, or he could have looked in my wallet. So if he was trying to intimidate me that way, it didn't work.
"What have you done to me?" I croaked.
"Don't worry, we'll take good care of you. You're the property of the East Canal Brothers now." He produced a no-spill drinks container and held it to my lips. "Here, drink this," he said, "it's only chilled water."
I gulped the refreshing liquid down my parched throat, then he deftly removed the saline drip.
"Now you're drinking, you don't need artificial hydration," he explained.
"So what have you done to me?" I persisted.
"First some background. I'm Dr Stephen Randolph, a surgeon at Mount Pleasant General Hospital. I got sick of patching up poor black kids who had been in gang fights so I did something about it. I launched a coup and took over the East Canal Brothers. I've retained and strengthened some of the tribal aspects, the gang colours and loyalty for example, but I'm also trying to help them. All new recruits go for martial arts training, so they know there are usually better options than fighting, but when they have to fight it's the other side who get hurt. I try to steer them clear of drugs and STIs. I help them find somewhere to live, get a job, and if they show any interest, I try to get them back into education. And if they get in trouble with the cops, I help them get appropriate legal representation."
"That's all very worthy, but why haven't I heard anything about it. If your story's true, the media should be all over you."
"I have to do everything under the radar. Accusations of coconut, black on the outside, white on the inside, and all my good work would be undone. Besides, I'm not such an angel," he said, indicating my covered groin.
"So what's the story here?"
.... There is more of this story ...