The Right Nigger Bitch - Sex Stories

The Right Nigger Bitch

The Right Nigger Bitch By Millie Dynamite I had worked the streets for over seven hours and I was dead on my feet. All I wanted was a stiff drink, a warm bath, and sleep. My little school girl outfit – coupled with my young appearance had made me quite popular that night. I had over fifteen hundred bucks left after my damn pimp took what he called his. Of course, being a crafty bitch, nearly a thousand of what I had left he didn’t even know I had. I had walked away from him after he took his share just like I was going home. When I was certain, he wasn’t around I cut back into an alley and made my way to my stash. Resuming my journey home, I walked up the stairs to my second story apartment. It was a shithole apartment, in a shithole part of town. The only AC was a stinking window unit swamp cooler, they did little to cool the stifling heat of August even at two in the morning. I fumbled with the keys to the front door. When I unlocked the door and opened it, a man from behind grabbed me and forced himself into the apartment with me. “Let go of me!” I cried. He held onto me roughly as he slammed the door. He waved a gun in my face as he reached back and latched the door and attached the chain. His hand moved across my face hitting me like a clap of thunder. Forcefully he threw me up against the wall. The tears flooded my eyes as I began to sniffle. My heart pounded in my chest. I was afraid of this man. Sometimes you just know when a guy isn’t just playing at it. “Please ...

... don’t hurt me, please just leave and I will forget you were even hear,” His reaction was to slap me again. My head bounced off the wall behind me. “Shut the fuck up, do as I say, and I won’t hurt you. Got it, nigger?” I nodded agreement. His eyes roamed over my body as his mouth curled into some evil, distorted grin. “What a beautiful little school girl uniform you have on. That white blouse sets off your chocolate skin nicely, nigger!” He leaned in close to me, smelled my perfume, sweat, and I’m sure some of my clients cum as well. “You smell just like the whore next door,” the man stood tall. He leaned into me as his hand held the gun and guided it over my trembling body. He traced its cold steel barrel over my tits. “Bedroom,” he barked his command at me. He yanked my purse from my hand and dug my money out shoving it greedily into his pockets. Stepping back he dropped the bag to the floor and waved his gun for me to move. I walked toward the bedroom dreading what was going to happen. I don’t like men. I don’t like cock at all. I only fuck men for money. He looked like any other john to me. I didn’t know him, I didn’t want to know him. I knew he was going to be mean and rough. I turned around to face him in front of my bed. The man ordered me to sit on the bed. He put the gun on my bedside table and turned to me drooling. “Looks like I picked a good one tonight. Never raped me a nigger before, got me the right girl this time,” the word stung me, a fucking nasty white rapist ...