Chapter 2

"Here ... Drink this," Bill said, handing me a bottle of water as he sat down beside me. "You're okay. You just hyperventilated a little."

He'd helped me to the bed, although I didn't really remember it. My head was swimming as I took a swallow and then another. There was no way out of this, none. I would be in trouble either way. If the envelopes went out, it would be immediate and final, my life would be over. If I made the movie, it would be a long, painful wait for the awful day when someone would see me on a video screen and discover the truth. I had to decide and the only reasonable choice was to delay my pain, to spare my friends and family as long as I could, and pray that I'd get lucky somehow. That no one would ever know.

"Okay? We're going to get started," he told me. "You're tough, right? No problem."

"Right," I sighed, but I did feel somewhat better.

I'd calmed down and it was a strange sensation, as if all of my fear had suddenly fled with my decision, with the arrival of the inevitable. I actually relaxed and wondered if my little panic attack hadn't just exhausted my will to fight. I accepted the situation and my only real thought was to get it over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. If that meant smiling and answering silly questions and playing the slut for a bunch of white guys, fine. So long as I got the envelopes and never saw or heard from any of them ever again, yeah, I could do it.

Perhaps it's the same emotional experience a woman went through when she's raped, but I doubt it. Rape is a violent thing, not sexual, and this was only rape in the sense that I didn't want to make a video. There was no violence here, the coercion was all emotional, and the desire plainly sexual. Bill had made his intentions clear in the bathroom. He didn't want to hurt me, or even force me; he wanted to love me in some sick and twisted way. That he did have to force me, there was the real irony of the moment. I was getting my fantasy and I didn't want it, because it was being thrust upon me. Bill could love me, but only because I had to let him.

Life, I decided, is an evil thing. Love, too. Sometimes.

"We're live..." Dick said, playing with his equipment.

I looked at the camera, smiling self-consciously and not because I wanted to, but because I felt terribly intimidated just then. It was really happening. I was making a movie and I didn't want to. I'd have given anything to have the last few months back, to have never written a single word for someone else to read. But it was too late for that. I stared at the camera, realizing that a lot of people, strangers, were going to be watching me. It was an abstract thought, without tangible foundation or meaning, and I didn't know what to feel.

Except nervous.

"Tell us your name, sweetheart." Bill did all the talking and he had a voice for it, a pleasing timbre that had seduced me easily enough.

"Kylie," I said too softly, so I said it again, louder. "Kylie."

"How old are you Kylie?"

"Nineteen," I replied, keeping my hands in my lap like they'd told me too, my legs crossed modestly, shoulders back and head up.

"What do you do? Are you a student or something?"

"Yeah, um ... I go to college." I nodded. "Full time. I'm a freshman."

"Cool." Bill smiled. "And do you know what we're doing here today?"

"Ummmm..." I giggled nervously. "Making a movie?"

"What kind of movie?"

"A sex movie?" I bit my bottom lip. "Right?"

"I hope so." He chuckled, so did his friends. "You're very beautiful. Can you stand up for a minute?"

I did as he asked, standing in front of the bed with my hands behind my back, twisting slightly on my hips.

"Nice, really nice. You're tall too. How tall are you, Kylie?"

"Five foot eight." I smiled, just because I did like to think I was tall. This wasn't so hard, answering questions...

"And all of, what? A hundred tens pounds maybe?"

"Hmmm ... Maybe." I shrugged. "I don't really worry about it."

"I bet you don't. What are your measurements? You have a great body; I can't wait to see it."

"My measurements? Uh, I guess, 34-22-32 and..." I looked down at my breasts. "They're C-cups."

"Yes, they are. Turn around for us, Kylie. Do you mind?"

"No, it's okay," I said, turning slowly and looking over my shoulders while I did it.

"Hold it ... Lift the back of your skirt for us, just a little ... just..." Bill smiled as I had my back to the camera, lifting my skirt slowly until he could see the white of my bikini panties. "Oh, that's enough. I just wanted a little peek at that ass, Kylie."

He had me sit back down and I felt warm all over by then, but I had no idea why. I didn't feel sexy. I mean, I wasn't getting off on this at all, but some part of me found it interesting, if that makes sense. Answering questions, being the focus of all that attention, it was like a snake slithering into my tummy. This whole business had an insidious nature to it and I wondered at my vulnerability. I'd been seduced once, was it happening again? Could it, now that I was forewarned?

There was a confusion inside me, and the hate and disgust and humiliation would never go away, I knew that. But are there such things as mutually exclusive emotions? Or was it possible to be repulsed and attracted to something all at once? I wanted to fight it, you have no idea how badly, and this seemed very much like all the nonsense about victims wanting their rape, aiding their attacker's efforts. It was a lie, a myth, and I knew that for a fact, but this wasn't rape ... Was it? Stockholm Syndrome is a very real effect, one widely studied and reasonably understood. Was my situation closer to that, to being held ransom and coming to identify with my captors?

Or was it something else entirely? Bill had played me into this position, orchestrated it carefully and deliberately. He'd picked me as much for my fantasies as my looks. He knew I was frustrated sexually. I yearned to escape the limitations I'd suffered for so long and he was giving me the opportunity, just as he'd said. Did he depend on my desires to overcome all my anger and resentment at his betrayal? Was I so predictable and naïve, and desperate for the realization of my dreams that I'd succumb a second time to his seduction?

"What kind of sex do you like, Kylie?"

"What?" I blinked at him.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked and I shook my head.

"No."

"How old were you the first time that little black pussy of yours tasted cock?"

"I was eighteen." I brushed some hair out of my eyes. "Last year."

"You're still fresh, huh?" He chuckled. "You were saving it up?"

"No, I just..." I shrugged. "I never wanted to do it before."

"How many guys have fucked you since then?"

"Different guys?" I asked, and Bill nodded. "Um, three."

"Only three?" He laughed. "You're practically a virgin, Kylie. We're going to double that score tonight, aren't we?"

"Yeah." I looked down at my hands. "I hope so."

"Up here, baby." He snapped his fingers to get me looking into the camera again. "So, what kind of sex do you like then?"

"I don't know." I cleared my throat. "Sorry. Um, all kinds, I guess."

"Do you suck cock?"

"Yeah." I nodded slowly.

"Cool." He gave me a thumbs up. "Spit or swallow?"

"Uh..." I blinked. "I guess ... It depends?"

"Okay, but you have swallowed, huh?"

"Yeah." I burned with embarrassment and looked back down for a second.

"I heard that about black girls."

"What's that?"

"That they like to swallow," Bill said. "You like to deep throat?"

"I ... Sorta ... I guess." I made a face. "I've tried it."

"I'll bet you have," he agreed. "How about anal sex? Do you like it up the ass, Kylie?"

"I don't know, uh ... I don't think so."

"You've never been butt fucked?" Bill teased me. "I find that hard to believe. You're ass is perfect. Why don't you turn around, lean over the bed and show us your ass for a minute."

"Um ... Okay."

I licked my lips and moved slowly, letting Bill guide me with his voice until I stood with my long legs spread, my hands flat on the bed, bent over at the waist with my ass to the camera.

"Perfect. Now, let me help you..." Bill moved close, lifting my skirt as he stood to the side, giving the camera a clear shot of my butt. "Yeah! That is a gorgeous piece of ass, Kylie."

I looked over my shoulder, staring into the camera as Bill pulled my panties tight, wedging the thin white nylon between my smooth round cheeks so that it disappeared in the dark crevice. He grabbed my ass with both hands, his pale fingers digging into my warm black skin, kneading my cheeks and spreading them for the camera's unblinking eye. I couldn't help but feel my heart stutter then, being touched like that by a man, by a white man, and knowing it was being recorded forever. How many other white men would see this, I wondered, and I tried to push those thoughts away.

"I think we're going to have to try that ass on for size later, Kylie." Bill chuckled, giving me a little spank as he let me go finally. "Are you game for that? Taking some white cock up your sexy black ass?"

"Yeah." I swallowed hard.

"What was that?"

He sat down in his chair again, leaving me there alone with my skirt still around my hips. My panties were snug and narrow across my anus, my legs spread so that the swell of my sex could be seen against my tight underwear.

"Yeah. I want to try it," I repeated. "I want to be fucked in the ass."

"I figured you would, Kylie." Bill laughed. "Have you ever fucked a white guy before?"

"No." I shook my head, turning around then, even though he hadn't told me to. I fixed my skirt and sat down again.

"But you want to, right? Isn't that what you told me before?"

"Yeah, I like white guys a lot."

"You've been dreaming of fucking a white cock, haven't you, Kylie?"

"Yes." I sucked my lips. "I've always wanted to. Yeah."

"Are you a slut for white cock?"

"Oh yeah!" I giggled, forgetting where I was for just a second. "Definitely!"

"Well, we have three of them for you tonight," he reminded me. "Three hard white cocks just for you. Should we get started?"

"Okay, yeah." I nodded, feeling that war raging in my heart. The long need of my desires battling with my distress at being blackmailed into accepting it.

"Why don't you undress for us then, Kylie? Let us see that hot black body of yours, huh?" Bill suggested, and I felt my stomach knot even tighter.

This was it. I had to strip for the camera and those four white guys were staring at me. If there was ever a time to change my mind, or call Bill's bluff, it was right then. They didn't have much of a movie until I got naked, or even until I started fucking one of those guys. I wanted to say no, my mind was protesting, my conscience telling me how wrong this had to be. I was going to make a porn video and how would I ever face my parents again, I wondered.

It wasn't my first video though, was it? I'd jilled my clit on my web cam plenty of times, that was porn, and I'd done it for a stranger. So what was the difference between then and now? I'd been happy then and eager to do it. I felt like a hypocrite, like a fake who takes the high moral ground when it's convenient, but when nobody's looking ... I felt those feelings again, even though I wished I didn't. I felt that rush of excitement posing for a white man gave me. I was a liar, that part of me said, a dirty slut pretending to be an angel.

I undressed for the camera, not doing anything especially sexy. Not doing a strip tease, but keeping my eyes down and burning with humiliation. That was part of my lie too, the embarrassment I felt. I know I have a nice body, just as I knew it then. I'm pretty and attractive and sexy just standing still and I had nothing to be ashamed of, except that I was doing it in front of four strangers and a camera. Countless unknown men would see me in the future, white men lusting after me. I didn't feel anything about that? Of course I did, and not just anger or resentment.

I'd spent the last seven years, everyday since my sexual awakening at twelve, wanting white men to look at me. I'd enjoyed it when I caught them staring. You wouldn't believe how it made me feel inside to see a white man looking me up and down, measuring me against his white wife or girlfriend, and knowing I was better than they were. I could feel it, that secret power men gave me with just a look, and it's addictive. I wanted them as much as they wanted me, and I couldn't stand there at nineteen and pretend none of that was real. Pretend that none of it mattered.

I was trapped, can you see that? I was morally flawed and corrupt and my weakness had lead me to that moment. I wanted to be the innocent. I fought for my right to be outraged by what was happening to me, but inside I was already lost. This wasn't rape, it wasn't kidnapping, it was barely even blackmail because I'd lied. If Bill told me right then that there were no envelopes, if he could prove it, I would have stayed. You'll hate me for that, the way I hated myself for admitting it. We want our heroes to be strong and perfect, and when they're not we crucify them because none of us can suffer failure on our righteous path. There's no hero here, there's only me and I felt my tears falling inside for the person I'd imagined myself to be.

My blouse came off easily, without so much as a whisper of protest, and I rolled my eyes slightly as I reached for the clasp behind me. I hated that bra, which was probably why I'd worn it. After a moment's fumbling, it came undone to fall off my breasts and hang from my elbows. I removed it without trying to hide myself. My nipples were hard, as they almost always are in any event. Rain or shine, day or night, my long dark nipples are always eager and I'm powerless over them.

"Stay like that for a minute," Bill said, and I ignored the flashbulbs as Dick took photographs of me, moving around and not saying a word.

He had me play with my tits for the cameras, rubbing them, stroking them. I pinched my nipples, twisting and pulling. I lifted my tits up in my hands so I could stretch my long pink tongue and lick them. It felt good and I wasn't denying myself pleasure any longer. It would have been pointless. Lapping at my own turgid nipples while three white men watched and a fourth took pictures? That was too much of a good thing, whether I liked those guys or not. I wasn't ever going to love them or forgive them, but that wasn't the point.

"Good. Okay, take off your skirt, Kylie. Let's see that pretty pussy of yours now." Bill told me, and I smiled, standing up and unzipping it.

I let the skirt fall and posed for a few minutes in my panties, turning this way and that as Bill directed me. The contrast of those white bikinis against my black skin was pleasant, for them and me. I'd always liked it and almost all of my underwear was white. I pulled my panties tight in front, splitting my pussy and it was obvious I'd become aroused. My labia were full now, engorged and slick with the wetness spilling from my sex. They split around the soft nylon, slightly darker than the rest of my vulva, with fine pubic hair curling this way and that. I wasn't thick with hair, but I was hardly neat or trimmed and my little black bush was like a thin veil over my sex.

Bill had me turn around, bending at the waist with my legs straight when I pushed my panties down. My tight virgin asshole was bared for the camera, as was my pussy, with my puffy lips pressed together. I held that pose while Dick took his photographs, although what those were for, I didn't know. I didn't want to know. Finally, I was instructed to crawl onto the bed, laying on my back with my legs spread so that I could masturbate for the cameras. I rubbed my clit and then my pussy, splitting my labia and flashing the pink inside at the men watching me. I played with my tits at the same time and it was exactly as I'd done so often before in the privacy of my dorm for Bill, and that wasn't lost on me.

Everything conspired to make me ready for what was coming, to want it physically, even as my emotions wrestled with the implications. I wanted and detested all of this, but I was powerless to stop it from happening either way and that made my surrender easy. I was giving in, perhaps as Bill expected, and that made me angry as well. I wanted to disappoint him, the same way he'd disappointed me, but I was too weak for it.

I watched Blondie, looking at his blue eyes while I fucked my pussy slowly, knowing I was getting myself ready for him. He undressed, smiling at me from across the room, out of camera sight, and I did want him. Ever since I could remember it seemed, I'd wanted to know what it would be like to look into blue eyes and be kissed. To feel a man's blonde hair under my fingers. I wanted to taste a white cock and feel it pressing into my black womb. It was a desire I'd always hidden, buried so deeply that no one had ever known of it until I'd written my stories, and even then I'd imagined my secret safe.

Bill knew, however, and he'd arranged this for me. He wanted to see my fantasy fulfilled and if I'd been completely lost I might have felt some sense of gratitude towards the man for that, but he'd betrayed me and I was not so deeply in the thrall of my lust to forget that quite yet. I pressed two fingers inside my cunt, wriggling and twisting them, feeling my sex like hot jello inside, mushy and yielding and the soft muscles clasping at my fingers as I withdrew them slowly. They were wet, glistening beneath the lights and I brought my fingers to my mouth, licking and sucking them, making love to myself for all those faceless men who would watch me in the coming years.

Blondie approached the bed finally and he was a good looking man. I felt grateful for that much at least, but I'm biased, of course. I thought his alabaster skin looked beautiful and I cast a long, appreciative glance at his semi-hard penis, which was impressive enough without striking fear into my loins. He was bigger than average and that would be enough for me. A good seven inches hard, maybe a little more, and I licked my lips as he moved naked onto the bed, reaching for me.

I kissed him, even though I'd promised myself that I wouldn't. It was my dream come to life and unlike a woman with rape fantasy, for example, who would doubtless not appreciate the reality of it, my fantasies were gentle and romantic and merely required a white man's tender affections. It was terrible that surrender, and I suffered it, even as the pleasure rose from beneath my heaving breasts with a guttural moan. It was all me now. I was the one doing it, no one else. I could have just lain there, cold and unfeeling and let them take me as they wanted. That would have been fitting and proper, not this, not the way I embraced the man, pressing my lips to his and letting his tongue enter my mouth.

Blondie stroked my flesh and whispered in my ear that he would be gentle with me; he would be careful and not hurt me. He wanted to make me feel good, he said, he wanted to make it special. I murmured my assent and just the sight of his white skin pressed against my dark body was nearly enough to bring me off. When he mouthed my tits, sucking urgently at my swollen nipples, I gasped and held his head tightly. This felt very much like my first time ever with a man, almost like I was a virgin again. I felt the same thrumming sensation in my blood, the butterflies in my stomach. The newness of the experience was intoxicating and I thought it the best feeling in the world just then.

The camera was forgotten, the reasons were lost. I couldn't see anyone else, only him. I pushed the man down, my hands on his head and shoulders, needing his mouth on my cunt to bring me off. I needed to cum, to experience that orgasm I'd always dreamt of. I wanted to orgasm beneath a white man's touch, his fingers, mouth, or cock, I didn't care. I just had to cum and I needed him to bring me off soon or I'd go insane.

I arched my back, digging my fingers into his hair as Blondie's mouth found my sex. He kissed my burning skin, licked and nibbled his way around my labia and clit, teasing me until I begged him breathlessly to give me real kisses and fuck me with his tongue. He did just that a moment later, pressing his lips to my pussy, taking my labia into his mouth and sucking those fat greasy lips hard, chewing and tugging them with his teeth until I lifted my ass off the bed. He shook my cunt like a dog with a rag doll in it's mouth, pulling my tender flesh from side to side while I writhed beneath him. He seemed wild in his oral attentions, reckless and almost violent, and I quickly came beneath that onslaught. I liked it rough, I always had; so many times I'd had to urge my boyfriends to hold me tighter, pinch me harder, promising them that I wouldn't break.

My climax stole my senses and closed my eyes. It curled my toes and brought my spine off the mattress. I was loud, moaning and crying out as my entire body seemed to collapse in on itself, contacting to a single point of pleasure beneath Blondie's mouth and then exploding in a torrent of orgasmic juices. It spilled out of me quickly, covering his face and my thighs, streaming down my ass to stain the sheets beneath me. I'm always so wet when I cum, almost ridiculously so, and if it surprised the man, he gave me no sign of it. He was drinking me, keeping his red lips open and against my fluttering hole. He swallowed my sex and stiffened his tongue, stabbing into my cunt as his thumb played across my aching clit. I was in heaven, finally, after so many years of waiting, my dream had come true.