The Right Nigger Bitch - Sex Stories

The Right Nigger Bitch

... raped that year. “Let me have those tits.” He pressed the gun against my abdomen as he took my left nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard nibbling on it. I winced with pain. He moved to my right nipple holding my breast with his free left hand and squeezed mercilessly. “Ouch,” first the pistol stung my tits as he hit it across them, then he slapped them with the palm of his other hand. For good measure he backhanded them again with his free hand. He pinched his forefinger and thumb around my nipples and squeezed until I cried hard tears. I could tell he enjoyed my pain. Like a sick aphrodisiac, it built his lust. “I can’t wait to fuck your nigger cunt. I hear niggers can make their cunts nice and tight. Extra muscles I guess. They tell me, nigger’s got good cunt muscles,” He lowered himself to look at my pussy. I still held my legs spread wide. I whimpered feeling him rub the muzzle of his gun over my pussy lips. With a quick hard shove he drove the cold metal barrel inside me. My pussy lips parted allowing the gun in deeper. “I can’t believe I never fucked a nigger before, never raped one. Bitch, I’m almost twenty-five years old. Better make it a good first time for me.” The threat was there, veiled but not that hidden. He intended to kill me no matter how I pleased him or displeased him. “Please, take that out of me,” I begged him for I was afraid he would pull the trigger. He rubbed the cold blue steel of the revolver deeper into my slit. His lips moved over his teeth ...

... until he grimaced in a Joker-like smile. “Only if you promise to be a good, obedient, little nigger whore, don’t disappoint me nigger slut,” he pushed the cold metal barrel further into me. I sat there frozen terrified he might pull the trigger. No sooner had I nodded my agreement and the gun was gone from me. He returned it to the bedside table. The barrel glistened with my juice. “See I know working girl’s like you want your daddy to fuck you hard when you dress this way.” The man stood up and pulled his shirt off. I looked up at him tears still streaming down my cheeks. The thoughts of the other men who had raped me flooded me. I hated him – I wanted him dead, but there was nothing I could do. His body was adorned with tattoos on his chest and down his arms. His jeans were tight against him, so snug I could see his enormous erection bulging through. Large and muscular, tall and strong he could destroy me, that fucking cock would hurt in the best of circumstances. I was terrified of him now. One tattoo said, “Kill the Cunt.” The man got back down between my legs. He began to rub his fingers over my button hood, he coaxed my clit out then traced over it, roughly. He moved down to my pussy lips his face inches from me. Without warning he plunged three of his fat fingers inside my hole. He looked up at me his hateful face scowled at me, “This is what you want, isn’t it?” I shook my head in protest. “I know you’re a little whore. But whores like it or they wouldn’t do it. I hear ...