Chapter 7

Kennedy stirred in the crimson silk sheets of her king-sized bed, her curvaceous, surgically-enhanced sixteen-year-old body tingling with the afterglow of last night’s savage fucking. The sheer black lace bodysuit clung to her pale, bruised skin, her massive fake tits heaving with each breath, the velvet stockings torn at the thighs from Trayvon’s relentless grip. Her green eyes fluttered open, landing on Trayvon Jackson, the 28-year-old black felon sprawled beside her, his 6’4” tattooed frame a stark contrast against the soft white pillows. His dark skin glistened faintly in the morning light filtering through her bedroom’s velvet curtains, his chiseled muscles rising and falling with each slow breath. Kennedy’s pussy clenched at the sight, her heart swelling with obsessive love for the dangerous thug who’d claimed her body and soul.

The underage vixen propped herself on one elbow, her glossy brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, and drank in every inch of him. Her pale fingers traced the gang insignias inked across his ebony biceps, lingering on the scars from prison fights that only deepened her arousal. “God, you’re fucking perfect,” she whispered, her voice thick with adoration, her pussy juicing as she imagined his violent past—assault, pimping, maybe even murder. Trayvon’s dominance consumed her, his eleven-inch black cock her ultimate fixation. She couldn’t resist; her white hand slid down his abs, brushing the sheet that barely covered his semi-erect monster.

Kennedy pulled the covers away, her breath catching at the sight of his thick, veiny shaft, already twitching with morning promise. Her red-painted nails wrapped around it, stroking slowly, her pale skin a striking contrast against his dark flesh. She groaned, her pussy throbbing as his cock swelled under her touch, growing rock-hard in her grip. “Fuck, Trayvon, this nigga dick’s gonna wreck me again,” she murmured, her lips parting as she leaned down, her tongue flicking the tip, savoring his musky taste. Her green eyes gleamed with hunger as she began sucking him, her full lips stretching around his massive girth, her throat humming with greedy moans.

Trayvon stirred, his piercing eyes cracking open to find his underage white slut worshipping his cock. A slow, predatory grin spread across his dark face. “That’s it, you nasty white hoe,” he growled, his deep voice sending shivers through her. “Start my day right with that slutty mouth.” Kennedy’s pussy gushed at his praise, her eyes locking onto his as she sucked deeper, her pale cheeks hollowing with effort. She pushed herself harder, gagging wetly as his cock hit the back of her throat, her mascara starting to streak as she choked herself on his black shaft, loving every second of his dominance.

Trayvon’s black hand fisted her glossy hair, yanking her down rougher, his grip unyielding as he forced her to take more. “Choke on that nigga dick, bitch,” he snarled, jerking her head back and forth, making her gurgle and sputter, her eyes watering as drool dripped down her chin. Kennedy’s pale body quivered, her hands diving between her creamy thighs, her fingers frantically rubbing her swollen clit through the lace bodysuit. His abusive touch set her nerves ablaze, her pussy clenching as she reveled in his cruelty, her masochistic ecstasy spiking with every brutal thrust into her throat.

She worked him harder, her lips and tongue worshipping every inch of his veiny black cock, her gagging moans muffled as Trayvon’s grip tightened, smacking her pale cheek lightly to spur her on. “Fuck yeah, you my prime white slut,” he taunted, his voice dripping with misogynistic glee. Kennedy’s fingers plunged into her sopping cunt, her body trembling as she rubbed herself to a shuddering climax, her muffled screams vibrating around his shaft. Her orgasm hit just as Trayvon’s balls tightened, his thick jizz erupting into her mouth, overflowing her lips as she greedily swallowed, some cum dribbling down her pale chin onto her bruised fake tits.

Kennedy pulled back, gasping, her swollen lips glistening with cum, her green eyes dazed but adoring as she looked up at Trayvon. She licked the stray jizz from her lips, savoring their mingled taste, her pussy still pulsing from her climax. “Fuck, Trayvon, you taste so good,” she purred, her voice hoarse from his abuse, her pale fingers wiping cum from her chin and sucking them clean. Trayvon chuckled, his dark hand smacking her ass, the red handprint blooming on her creamy skin. “You a filthy white bitch, Kennedy,” he said, his grin wicked. “Keep that mouth ready for my nigga dick, and I’ll keep you cummin’.”

Kennedy lounged on the crimson silk sheets, her pale, bruised body still buzzing from her orgasm, the sheer black lace bodysuit clinging to her sweat-slicked curves. Her massive fake tits, red from Trayvon’s abuse, heaved as she caught her breath, her swollen lips glistening with the last traces of his thick cum. The sixteen-year-old girl gazed up at Trayvon Jackson, her 28-year-old black felon lover, his 6’4” tattooed frame towering over her, his eleven-inch cock still semi-erect, glistening with her saliva. Her green eyes worshipped his dark, chiseled muscles, her pussy pulsing with obsessive love for the thug who owned her.

Trayvon’s piercing gaze hardened, his dark hand lazily stroking his jaw. “Get your ass up, jailbait,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “Shower and get ready for school. You ain’t skippin’ to lay around all day.” His tone brooked no argument, his black eyes glinting with authority as he loomed over her.

Kennedy pouted, her full lips pursing like a spoiled brat, her glossy brown hair spilling over her shoulders as she propped herself up on her elbows, her fake tits jiggling. “But Trayvon,” she whined, her voice high and petulant, “I wanna stay home and fuck all day! I don’t need school when I got you and this nigga dick!” She thrust her pale hips forward, her thong-clad pussy grinding against the air, her green eyes flashing with defiance as she batted her lashes, expecting to charm her way out.

Trayvon’s face darkened, his black hand flashing out to smack her pale cheek, the sharp crack echoing in the opulent bedroom. Kennedy yelped, her head snapping to the side, her creamy skin blooming red. Before she could protest, he smacked her again, this time across her bruised fake tits, the sting making her gasp as her nipples hardened through the lace. “Don’t you fuckin’ talk back to your nigga, white slut!” he snarled, his voice a menacing rumble. “I say school, you go to school. You my prime white bitch, and you do what I tell you, or I’ll beat that ass till you can’t sit. Understand?” His dark fist clenched, his tattooed biceps flexing as he towered over her, his dominance unyielding.

Kennedy’s green eyes widened, her breath hitching as she nodded meekly, her pale cheeks flushed with both shame and arousal. The sting of his bitchslaps burned her skin, but her pussy trembled, juicing at Trayvon’s aggressive power, her psyche thrilling at his brutal enforcement of authority. “Yes, Trayvon,” she whispered, her voice submissive, her heart racing as she scrambled off the bed, her feet hitting the hardwood floor. She hurried toward her ensuite bathroom, her pale ass swaying, her body buzzing with masochistic ecstasy, already craving more of his violent control.

In the bathroom, Kennedy stripped off the tattered lace bodysuit, her massive fake tits bouncing free, the bruises from Trayvon’s abuse a vivid purple against her creamy skin. She stepped into the glass-walled shower, the hot water cascading over her pale curves, soothing her tender pussy and stinging her slapped cheek. Her mind replayed Trayvon’s snarling lecture, her fingers brushing the red handprint on her tit, her clit throbbing at the memory of his dominance. She washed quickly, her pussy clenching as she heard Trayvon’s heavy footsteps approaching, her green eyes darting to the door, hoping for another taste of his cruelty.

Drying off with a plush white towel, Kennedy sauntered to her walk-in closet, her naked body glistening, her long legs accentuated by the sway of her hips. She rifled through her wardrobe, determined to pick an outfit that was sexy yet just within her private school’s lax dress code—no uniforms, but still rules to skirt. Her pale fingers lingered on a sheer white crop top, so tight it hugged her fake tits like a second skin, the hem barely covering her underboob, leaving her flat stomach bare. She paired it with a pleated black micro-miniskirt, the hem so short it flirted with exposing her hot-pink thong, the fabric stretching over her pert ass. For shoes, she chose strappy black stilettos, their four-inch heels making her legs look endless, her pale skin glowing against the dark leather. She smirked, knowing the outfit would turn heads at school, her pussy juicing at the thought of male teachers and boys gawking, their lust validating her allure.

Kennedy moved to her vanity, the marble countertop cluttered with high-end makeup and hair products, the mirror framed in gold. She sat on the cushioned stool, her pale thighs spread slightly, her thong-clad pussy peeking from under the micro-skirt. She began her routine, her green eyes flicking to the bathroom where Trayvon had stepped into the shower, his 6’4” black frame visible through the steamed glass. His tattooed muscles flexed as he lathered his dark skin, his massive semi-erect cock swinging as he absently stroked it, the veiny shaft glistening under the water. Kennedy bit her full lip, her pussy throbbing with want, her fingers itching to join him and suck that nigga dick until she choked. But the sting of his slaps—on her cheek, her tit—burned in her mind, a reminder not to disobey her nigga thug. She forced herself to focus, her clit pulsing with frustrated arousal.

She started with her hair, brushing her glossy brown locks until they cascaded in perfect waves, framing her high cheekbones and pouty lips. She spritzed a heat protectant, then used a curling iron to add sultry volume, each wave bouncing as she shook her head, her fake tits jiggling in the crop top. Her green eyes kept darting to Trayvon, his dark hand gripping his cock, the sight making her squirm, her thong soaking as she imagined kneeling for him in the shower, his jizz splattering her pale face. She groaned softly, her discipline wavering, but the memory of his snarling voice—”you do what I tell you”—kept her at the vanity, her pussy trembling with submission.

Next, she applied her makeup, her movements deliberate, each step a ritual to enhance her slutty allure. She smoothed on a flawless foundation, her pale skin glowing like porcelain, then contoured her cheekbones to accentuate their sharpness. She dusted bronzer across her cleavage, making her bruised fake tits pop, the purple marks a badge of Trayvon’s ownership. Her eyeshadow was a smoky blend of charcoal and silver, layered to make her green eyes smolder, finished with winged eyeliner and thick mascara that made her lashes flutter like a pornstar’s. She slicked on glossy red lipstick, the shade bold enough to scream sex, her lips puckering as she blew a kiss to her reflection, her pussy clenching at the thought of Trayvon’s approval.

Kennedy’s gaze drifted back to Trayvon, now rinsing his dark, muscled frame, water streaming over his gang tattoos, his cock still semi-erect, thick as a Red Bull can. She whimpered, her pale fingers gripping the vanity, her body screaming to disobey and crawl to him, to let him skull-fuck her under the spray. But the red handprint on her cheek throbbed, a warning of his wrath, and she stayed put, her clit aching with unfulfilled need. She spritzed Chanel No. 5 on her neck and cleavage, the scent mingling with her arousal, then slipped on chunky gold hoop earrings and a matching choker, the accessories screaming wealth and sluttiness. Standing, she twirled before the mirror, her micro-skirt flaring to flash her thong, her fake tits straining the crop top, her stilettos clicking as she posed, her pale body a vision of underage depravity.

Trayvon stepped out of the shower, a towel slung low on his hips, his dark eyes raking over her. “Fuck, you look like a proper jailbait white slut,” he said, his grin predatory, his black hand adjusting his cock beneath the towel. Kennedy’s pussy gushed at his crude approval, her green eyes gleaming with adoration as she nodded, her body trembling with the thrill of his dominance, her mind already racing with ways to please her thug.

Kennedy leaned against the gilded frame of her bedroom door, her pale, curvaceous body a vision of teenage depravity in her sheer white crop top, the fabric straining over her massive fake tits, bruised purple from Trayvon’s abuse. Her black micro-miniskirt hugged her pert ass, the hem teasing the edge of her hot-pink thong, her strappy four-inch stilettos clicking softly as she shifted her weight, her glossy brown hair cascading in sultry waves. Her green eyes, smoky with makeup, fixed on Trayvon as he dressed in yesterday’s clothes—the only ones that fit his towering 6’4” tattooed frame. The faded black tee stretched tight over his chiseled ebony muscles, his jeans slung low to hint at the bulge of his eleven-inch cock, his swagger radiating predatory confidence. Kennedy’s pussy throbbed, her red lips parting as she murmured, “Fuck, Trayvon, you look so damn hot,” her pale fingers itching to touch him.

Trayvon’s dark eyes glinted with amusement, his grin wicked as he sauntered toward her, his heavy boots thudding on the hardwood. “You ready to show off your nigga, jailbait?” he drawled, his black hand smacking her pale ass, the red handprint blooming instantly, making her yelp and giggle, her pussy juicing at his casual dominance. She nodded eagerly, her fake tits jiggling as she pressed herself against his dark frame, her pale arms wrapping around his tattooed biceps.

Their lips crashed together, a hungry, sloppy kiss, her tongue dancing with his, her thong soaking as his hands roamed her body, squeezing her bruised tits and groping her ass. “You’re my fucking king,” she purred, her voice dripping with adoration, her green eyes worshipping his menacing presence.

Hand in hand, they descended the Vanderholt mansion’s grand staircase, their bodies entwined, Kennedy’s pale fingers clawing at Trayvon’s ebony abs, his dark hand mauling her thong-clad ass under the micro-skirt. Her stilettos clicked on the marble steps, her fake tits bouncing with each sway of her hips, her pussy clenching as Trayvon’s crude whispers—”gonna fuck that white pussy raw later”—sent shivers through her. In the sprawling kitchen, Richard and Regina Vanderholt stood by the granite island, their faces haggard, eyes red from a sleepless night of tears. Regina’s elegant blonde updo was frayed, her designer dress wrinkled, while Richard’s salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled, his tailored shirt creased. Their morose gazes met Kennedy and Trayvon, defeated horror etching their features as the couple strutted in, Trayvon’s arrogant swagger filling the room like a physical force.

Regina had prepared a lavish breakfast spread: golden croissants, fluffy scrambled eggs with truffle oil, crisp bacon, fresh berries with whipped cream, and crystal flutes of fresh-squeezed orange juice, all arranged on fine china. Trayvon’s dark eyes swept over the feast, his lips curling into a smug grin. “Well, damn, blondie,” he said, his voice a low, mocking drawl, “you learned quick how to provide for your nigga. Keep this gourmet shit comin’, and you won’t piss me off.” He chuckled, his black hand slapping Kennedy’s ass again, making her squeal and grind her pale hips against him, her green eyes gleaming with pride at his approval. Regina flinched, her pale cheeks flushing, but she nodded silently, her hands trembling as she clutched a dishtowel.

Kennedy giggled, pulling Trayvon to the dining table, a gleaming mahogany expanse set with silver cutlery. Instead of taking a chair, the sixteen-year-old girl slid onto his lap as he sat, her pale thighs straddling his dark jeans, her micro-skirt riding up to flash her thong. Trayvon’s black hands roamed her body, one squeezing her bruised fake tits through the crop top, the other slipping under her skirt to stroke her sopping pussy, making her moan softly. Kennedy’s pale fingers traced his gang tattoos, her red nails grazing his ebony skin as she murmured, “You’re so fucking perfect, Trayvon. I’m yours forever, my thug king.” Her lips brushed his dark jaw, her tongue flicking out to taste his skin, her pussy clenching as his fingers teased her clit, their sexually-charged fondling brazen under her parents’ anguished stares.

As they ate, Kennedy fed Trayvon bites of bacon and berries, her pale fingers lingering at his lips, giggling as he sucked her fingertips, his dark eyes locked on hers with possessive hunger. She squirmed in his lap, her thong-clad ass grinding against his cock bulge, her fake tits pressed against his chest, her moans growing louder as his fingers pinched her nipples through the sheer fabric. Richard and Regina watched, ashen-faced, their hands clenched, the air thick with their despair. Trayvon’s swagger never faltered, his every move—leaning back in the chair, smirking at Regina’s discomfort, casually groping Kennedy—screaming control, his dominance over the Vanderholt family absolute.

Between bites, Trayvon’s tone turned casual, his dark hand still molesting Kennedy’s pale thigh. “Yo, Richard,” he said, his voice deceptively smooth, “you get that half-million in cash I told you to have ready?” Kennedy’s green eyes flicked to her father, her pussy throbbing at Trayvon’s commanding ease. Richard swallowed hard, his face pale, and nodded meekly, reaching into his blazer pocket to produce a thick manila envelope. He slid it across the table, his hands shaking, his eyes avoiding Trayvon’s piercing stare. Trayvon snatched it up, his black fingers ripping it open to reveal stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills. He pulled out one stack, riffling through it with a slow, deliberate swagger, his grin widening. “Good work, Richie,” he said, his tone mocking. “Keep this comin’ every mornin’. Call it my stud fee for tearin’ up your little girl’s tight white pussy.” He chuckled, smacking Kennedy’s ass, making the sixteen-year-old fuckdoll giggle and grind harder in his lap, her pussy gushing at his crude taunt.

Richard went deathly pale, his jaw tightening as if to protest, his eyes flicking to Kennedy’s fawning adoration of the thug who’d defiled her. But Trayvon’s dark gaze pinned him, and he thought better of it, his shoulders slumping in defeat, his silence a surrender. Kennedy purred, her pale arms wrapping around Trayvon’s neck, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “You own us all, baby,” her voice thick with worship, her fake tits heaving with each breath. Regina’s sob was barely audible, her face buried in her hands, but Trayvon’s swagger only grew, his black hand tossing the envelope onto the table with a careless flick, the bills spilling slightly, a symbol of his control.

Trayvon’s eyes gleamed with new greed as he leaned back, his dark arm draped around Kennedy’s pale waist. “Oh, and Richie,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogant entitlement, “I saw that shiny white Bentley convertible in the garage yesterday. That’s mine now. I need wheels to roll in style.”

Kennedy’s pussy clenched, her green eyes sparkling with delight at his audacity, her pale fingers stroking his ebony chest as she cooed, “Fuck, Trayvon, you’ll look so hot in that car.”

Richard blanched, his face crumpling, his voice hoarse with panic. “That’s my pride and joy,” he stammered, “I restored it myself, evenings, weekends, years of—” His words cut off as Trayvon’s black hand flashed out, smacking him hard across the face, the crack resounding, blood trickling from Richard’s nose.

Kennedy gasped, her pussy throbbing at Trayvon’s violence, her pale body trembling with arousal as she clung to him. “Just do what he says, Daddy,” she giggled, her voice bratty and gleeful, her green eyes dancing with mischief. “I learned already not to piss off my nigga. Hurts when you don’t listen.” She pointed to the faint red mark on her pale cheek from Trayvon’s earlier slap, her tone teasing but laced with warning, her fake tits jiggling as she bounced in his lap. Richard’s eyes widened with alarm, blood dripping onto his shirt, his horror deepening at his daughter’s casual acceptance of the thug’s abuse. But he wilted under Trayvon’s glare, stumbling to a drawer to retrieve the Bentley’s keys, his hands shaking as he handed them over, his pride shattered.

Trayvon caught the keys with a lazy grin, twirling them around his black finger, his swagger oozing triumph. “That’s how it’s done,” he chuckled, his dark eyes sweeping over the broken family, his voice thick with mockery. “Got this whole white family wrapped around my fuckin’ finger, day one.” He pulled Kennedy closer, his black hand squeezing her pale ass, making her moan as she kissed his dark neck, her lips tracing his tattoos, her pussy soaking her thong.

“You’re a fucking god, Trayvon,” she murmured, her voice dripping with fawning adoration, her pale body molded to his dark frame, their fondling intensifying as Richard and Regina watched, their despair powerless against Trayvon’s reign.

Trayvon pushed back from the table, his heavy boots thudding on the marble floor, his dark arm snaking around Kennedy’s pale waist, pulling her close. “C’mon, jailbait,” he drawled, his voice a low, commanding rumble, “let’s roll in that Bentley.”

Kennedy’s pussy clenched, her green eyes sparkling with excitement as she clung to his ebony biceps, her four-inch strappy stilettos clicking as she matched his stride. She marveled at how quickly Trayvon had seized control of her family, his dominance so absolute that even Richard’s prized white Bentley convertible—off-limits to her for years due to her father’s overprotective obsession—was now Trayvon’s. Her pale fingers traced his gang tattoos, her lips brushing his dark jaw as she purred, “Fuck, Trayvon, you own everything, my thug king.”

They strutted through the mansion’s opulent halls, Trayvon’s swagger radiating predatory confidence, his black hand groping Kennedy’s pale ass under her micro-skirt, making her giggle and grind against him, her fake tits bouncing with each step. In the garage, the Bentley gleamed under fluorescent lights, its pristine white curves a testament to Richard’s years of loving restoration. Kennedy’s breath caught, her pussy juicing at the thought of riding in the forbidden car with her dangerous nigga. Trayvon’s dark eyes glinted with possessive greed as he hit the key fob, the doors unlocking with a soft chirp. He opened the passenger door with a mocking flourish, his black hand guiding Kennedy’s pale, curvaceous body into the plush leather seat, her micro-skirt riding up to expose her thong as she slid in, her fake tits heaving with excitement.

Trayvon sauntered to the driver’s side, his boots echoing in the garage, and settled into the seat, his massive frame filling the space with raw power. Kennedy snuggled close, her pale thigh pressed against his dark jeans, her pale fingers stroking his ebony abs through his tee, her pussy throbbing as she murmured, “You look so fucking hot in this car, Trayvon.” He chuckled, his black hand squeezing her bruised fake tits, making her moan as he hit the remote, the garage door rumbling open to reveal the Vanderholts’ lavish driveway. Before pulling out, Trayvon tuned the Bentley’s high-end sound system to a hardcore gangsta-rap station, K-Shank’s “Break That Bitch” blasting through the speakers, its misogynistic lyrics and pounding bass rattling the windows. Kennedy’s pussy gushed, her pale body swaying to the harsh beat, her green eyes locked on Trayvon’s dark profile, worshipping his commanding presence.

Trayvon eased the Bentley down the driveway, the engine purring, the rap music cranked to maximum volume, a deliberate taunt to the upscale neighborhood. As they turned onto the tree-lined streets of the exclusive enclave, Trayvon drove slowly, his dark arm draped over the wheel, his swagger screaming defiance. Kennedy’s green eyes darted to the mansions flanking the road, their manicured lawns and backyard pools a stark contrast to Trayvon’s menacing presence. Curtains twitched in the windows of luxury homes, pale faces peeking out, eyes widening at the sight of the massive black thug behind the wheel of Richard Vanderholt’s Bentley, his tattooed frame a dark silhouette against the white leather. Kennedy, his gorgeous teenage trophy bitch, clung to him, her pale curves pressed against his ebony muscles, her fake tits bouncing as she gyrated to the music, her micro-skirt flashing her thong.

Kennedy loved being on display, her pussy moistening as she reveled in her role as Trayvon’s accessory, a living testament to his dominance and control. She swayed her pale hips to the gangsta-rap’s brutal back-beat, twisting sexily in the seat, her crop top riding up to bare her underboob, her long legs stretching to showcase her strappy stilettos. Her glossy hair whipped in the breeze, her green eyes smoldering as she arched her back, thrusting her fake tits forward, her movements a deliberate performance to highlight Trayvon’s sexual prowess and social status. “Fuck, Trayvon, you’re showing these rich bitches who runs shit,” she purred, her voice thick with adoration, her pale hand stroking his cock bulge through his jeans, her pussy dripping as neighbors gawked, their shocked stares fueling her arousal.

Trayvon’s grin was pure menace, his dark eyes scanning the street, daring anyone to challenge him. “Ain’t nobody fuckin’ with me, jailbait,” he growled, his black hand smacking her pale thigh, the red handprint blooming as she moaned, her pussy clenching at his casual cruelty. The Bentley cruised through the enclave, past sprawling mansions and gated estates, the rap music a defiant war cry, Trayvon’s slow pace a taunt to the privileged residents who’d never seen a thug like him claim their world.

Kennedy giggled, her pale fingers tracing his gang insignias, her lips brushing his dark ear as she whispered, “You’re a fucking god, Trayvon,” her body grinding against him, her fake tits pressed to his chest, her thong soaked with her juices.

They finally reached the elite private school, its sprawling campus a monument to wealth, with ivy-covered buildings and manicured lawns. Trayvon turned into the lavish driveway, the Bentley’s tires crunching on gravel, the gangsta-rap still blaring as he drove straight to the school’s ornate front entrance. He parked brazenly in the fire lane, the white convertible a glaring statement of his dominance, the music drawing the eyes of hundreds of students and staff.

Boys in designer polos and girls in trendy outfits whispered to each other, their stares a mix of awe and fear as they took in Trayvon’s towering black frame, his tattoos and piercing eyes screaming danger. The girls’ eyes widened with excitement, their lips parting, while the boys shrank back, intimidated by the thug who’d claimed their Queen Bee.

Trayvon stepped out, his boots hitting the pavement with a thud, his swagger unyielding as he sauntered around the Bentley, his black tee clinging to his chiseled muscles. He opened Kennedy’s door with a predatory grin, his dark hand guiding her out, her pale, curvaceous body a vision of slutty perfection in her crop top and micro-skirt, her fake tits bouncing as she stood, her stilettos clicking.

The crowd’s whispers grew louder, students gaping at Kennedy’s underage allure and Trayvon’s menacing presence. Kennedy’s pussy throbbed, her green eyes gleaming with pride as she pressed herself against Trayvon, her pale arms wrapping around his ebony neck. He kissed her lustily, right there in front of the school, his black hands roaming her sexy body, squeezing her bruised fake tits and groping her pale ass under the micro-skirt, her moans muffled against his lips.

Kennedy melted into the kiss, her tongue dancing with his, her pussy soaking her thong as Trayvon’s dominance consumed her. The students and staff stared in shock and awe, some frozen, others snapping furtive photos, the boys’ faces pale with envy, the girls’ eyes alight with forbidden thrill.

Kennedy’s pale fingers clawed at Trayvon’s dark chest, her body grinding against his, her fake tits pressed to his muscles, her stilettos lifting her to meet his height. “You’re my fucking everything, Trayvon,” she purred between kisses, her voice thick with worship, her pussy trembling at the public display of his ownership, the entire school witnessing her transformation into his submissive, pain-craving white slut.

Kennedy’s pale, curvaceous body trembled with arousal as Trayvon’s lips devoured hers, his black hands roaming her sexy frame in front of the elite private school’s lavish entrance. Her sheer white crop top clung to her massive fake tits, bruised purple from his abuse, her black micro-miniskirt flashing her hot-pink thong, her four-inch strappy stilettos lifting her pale legs to meet his 6’4” tattooed frame. Trayvon exuded raw power, his faded black tee and jeans stretched tight over his chiseled ebony muscles, his eleven-inch cock a faint bulge against her grinding hips. The crowd of students and staff gaped, their whispers a mix of shock and awe, as Kennedy’s green eyes smoldered, her pussy soaking her thong at the public display of her thug’s dominance.