Chapter 42: Party Night

The three young black men had just scammed a successful loan from a local bank. It was 9 pm at the mall, just as all the stores and banks were closing, when the three showed up to sign the papers. In a rush, the two women brought up the pages, printed them and had him sign them quickly. They notarized it and went quickly back to closing up.

The three, Jason, Marcus and Samuel, had just scored their first fifty grand. As they went into the parking garage, they were pretty excited. They walked up the ramp to where their stolen Lexus was parked. As they did, they watched this sweet young white thing walking down the ramp the opposite way. They met up right by the car.

All jazzed up like they were, they all starting getting mouthy with this young vision of whiteness. Jason unlocked the doors, while Marcus said, “Hey baby! Where ya goin’? What’s the rush?” Marcus moved in front of her, blocking her way.

Samuel added as he moved in close to her side, reaching to touch her elbow, “Yea, you need to slow down, baby girl. You lookin’ fine! You should be comin’ with us, girl! We about to par-tay!” Samuel waved the big bank check at her as they all laughed.

The girl, obviously a rich, entitled little white snob, stopped, staring up, sighing deeply. “Excuse me, please...” She paused, then tried to step around Samuel. He blocked her way again. She rolled her eyes again, moved the other way. “I haven’t got time for this!” she snapped.

Samuel grabbed her arm. “Fuck this shit. You comin’ with us, bitch!” She cried out, but just as Samuel yanked her towards the Lexus, Marcus grabbed her mouth hard with his strong right hand. The three struggled, but she was off balance with her high heels and could hardly stand. They pulled her violently to the back door, opening it. Samuel went in, pulling the girl with him. As he did, Jason yelled, “Hold up, hold up...”

Brigette Young was heading to her new Mercedes M250 her daddy had leased for her last month. She’d been shopping at the mall with her friends but when the mall closed, they all had to head home. Her friends had come separately, so they went one way, while Brigette went another.

Walking down the ramp towards her new Benz, she noticed three loud black guys coming up the ramp, stopping by a black car just as she was about to pass them. Brigette hesitated for a brief moment, then walked on, going around these loud black guys. Gawd, she thought. She tried to ignore them, but they weren’t about to ignore her. Brigette was eighteen, 5’ 4” tall, brown hair. She weighed a slim 112 pounds, with a trim athletic figure. Her breasts weren’t overly large, but her 33B bra was way too tight these days. Brigette new very well how to show it, too. Her white top and silk bra didn’t hide much cleavage when the right button was undone. Her short, beige skirt and pink panties were meant to impress wealthy single men at the mall, not three loud black guys in the parking lot.

Brigette tried to walk quickly past, but one guy blocked her way. She stopped, looked away, ignoring him, sighing deeply. The others spoke too. All three of them kept talking trash to her. One stepped up on her left, standing very close. One was close behind her now too. They looked like gangsters. 9 o’clock at night and they all had on hoodies and sun glasses. She stepped aside to go around him, saying “Excuse me! I haven’t got time for this now,” a bit sarcastically. He blocked her again; she stepped the other way. The other black man suddenly grabbed her left upper arm hard. He said something like “fuck this...” But then they were both forcing her towards their car. One kept grabbing her face, as she tried to scream. She didn’t get much out; she couldn’t fight much in these heels. The car door opened, the man gripping her arms started to drag her in with him, backwards into the car.

Marcus said, “Hold up, hold up,” and punched the girl hard in her stomach. She gasped, struggling to get some air even as she continued to struggled. He hit her again to make sure. Then Samuel pulled her into the car, rolling her down onto the floor, with him on top of her. Marcus slammed the door, looked around, got in the front seat. “Let’s move,” he said.

Jason backed up, drove out of the parking garage. He went right at the light and then two blocks to the interstate. After only about twenty minutes of driving calmly at 65 mph, they came to their exit. He and Marcus listened to Samuel struggling with the girl. She kept yelling, screaming for him to get off of her, to let her go. Samuel kept yelling back for her to keep quiet, stop moving. They fought all the way there. They heard Samuel say, “Ooh, what have we got here? Ooh, you got a nice, soft ass, little girl. Nice soft ass.” After she scratched him once, he punched her hard, twice, telling her angrily to “ ... shut the fuck up, bitch! I’m in fucking charge, whitey!”

She was now crying, begging him to stop. “Don’t, please, stop, please, don’t...” Jason and Marcus just laughed, turned up the rap music. They drove a few blocks from the interstate to a remote neighborhood, parked in the backyard of their crib. They looked around; nobody to be seen.

Jason said, “Ok, ok, bring her inside, let’s go.” Samuel struggled up and got out of the car, pulling the girl with him. He held her by her head, keeping her mouth covered. She cried out but was muffled for the most part. Jason grabbed her thighs and they picked her up easily, carried her inside as she kept struggling, kicking. Her high heels had come off in the car. Samuel kept whispering, “Shut up! Shut up bitch!” Marcus stepped close and punched the girl once in her face. She let out a grunt, slowed down some. In they went, into the basement of the old house. It had thick concrete walls and a big old two-story building above it. It was practically sound-proof.

The three didn’t waste time. They’d done this before. They had an old mattress down there for just such parties. Jason grabbed her purse, dug through it.

“Visa, Mastercard, a bunch of fifties. What’s this? Brigette C. Young. 123 Evergreen Terrace, Youngstown. Ooh, rich bitch.” Jason bent down to the girl that the other two were holding on the floor on the mattress. “You see, girl? Now we know your name and where you live. You give us any trouble, we’ll come back, pay you another visit.” The three men laughed while Brigette lay there, eyes wide open, breathing deeply very fast, trying to calm herself but doing a terrible job of it.

Jason looked at the driver’s license, then tossed it aside. “Sez you’re eighteen. Just turned eighteen last month. Well now, me and my boys are gonna have to give you a big birthday surprise, ain’t we?” Everyone laughed again. Jason got very serious, very angry looking. “Get on your fucking knees, birthday girl,” he growled.

Brigette wasn’t going to let three punk gangsters rape her. She was too rich; her father too important. She was too above this sort of thing. Get on my knees? No fucking way was she doing that and she told them so, now really angry from all the punches they’d given her. “I’m not doing anything you say, you fucking assholes!” One of them walked around her, came up behind. He had a switchblade in his hand. He put it up to her throat. Brigette turned away, but the man held the edge of the knife against her skin. He said if she didn’t do what he said, he’d make her the ugliest girl in the city. “Now get on your fucking knees!”

Frustrated, angry, Brigette twisted loose, then slowly she knelt down. She got onto her knees, the other two still holding her wrists. Oh shit, oh shit, they’d warned them in Social Studies about things like this. Oh fuck. What was she going to do? Then, the three black guys all started getting undressed around her. They were about her age she guessed, early twenties maybe. Tall. One was regular size with big Afro hair. One had big muscles, bald. The third one was fat with long braids. The one who had dragged her into the car was the fat guy. He seemed sleaziest. The muscular one had punched her. The third guy had driven the car. She knelt there in front of them as they pulled off their pants, exposing themselves to her. She’d seen penises in pictures. She had to touch her uncle’s once when she was twelve. Marty, her first boyfriend, had let her touch his. She’d had sex with her second boyfriend once, then her third boyfriend a couple of times. So, three times so far. Here though, here were three black guys with their big, enormous brown cocks sticking out in front of them, standing in front of her. She was terrified. She was also mad as hell. No way would she let these three big brown dicks touch her. No way.

Brigette saw the muscled guy in front of her holding his penis out. It was big around; very big around, with a big, dark head on it. Not too long. God, it was big. The second man, the thinner man, he had a very long cock in his hand. Definitely longer, harder, sticking straight out. Maybe not quite as big around as the other. The fat guy had a dick more like the first man. Big around, fat head, shorter. Their skin was dark brown; their pubic hair was black. She looked up at them, eyes crying big tears. She cried, “No fucking way...”

Brigette had talked about this some with her friends, like any young teenage girls do. Some said rape was horrible- very painful, you get terribly bruised and beaten up. The best thing to do they said was to be still and do nothing. Don’t resist. Let them have their way and be done. Others said to always fight them, but these were big guys. Other girls had heard that if you really got into it, you could make them cum sooner and be much less likely to be hurt. Brigette didn’t know what she should do as she stared at these three, big black dicks in front of her.

Jason said to the girl, “Now, take off them fucking clothes, real slow like. Go on, take ‘em off. Real sexy-like.” They all grinned as they slowly rubbed their dicks. The girl knelt there, shaking, looking very angry, yet crying. Slowly though, slowly she reached up and undid her skirt. She eased it down, slowly taking it off. Hands still shaking, she eased her hands back up, as she quietly kept pleading with them. “You can’t do this. It’s wrong. I have rights. You can’t make me do this ... I have rights...”