Jennifer's Ordeal Ch. 01bydigitagraphy©
First story, comments welcome...more to follow
Let me start by telling you that I have never thought of myself as a prejudice person. After all, prejudice is an unfounded hatred of another race or religion. And yes, I hated blacks, but my hatred wasn’t unfounded. I had reason. I grew up in rural Alabama, the oldest daughter of a well heeled family. Although the unemployment rate in my home town was around 10%, the unemployment rate for blacks was always around 40%. There was always work available, they were just too damn lazy or too damn ignorant to do it.
I worked hard through high school to better myself and earn a chance to leave this small town life. There were numerous distractions, but somehow I managed to achieve a full scholarship in gymnastics from UCLA. I was free from my parents overbearing attitude, and able to begin a life of my own. As you might expect, there was a pretty significant culture shock when I arrived in Los Angles, but I managed to adjust well enough. It was in my Junior year that I met Brad, a preppie jock frat boy that stole my heart, and my virginity.
Sex, let me talk a minute about sex. I liked sex from the first time I was with Brad. It wasn’t great, I didn’t come, I didn’t see stars or anything, but I liked it. Brad was gentle and caring and understanding and I felt really good when I felt him stiffen and the growing wetness between my legs told me that he had come. We were pretty experimental, or at least I thought we were. He would go down on me as often as I’d let him, and I really enjoyed the feeling of power I had over him when I sucked on his cock.
Yes, I’m a prissy little southern girl and you wouldn’t catch me once using words like cock, or cunt in a public venue. But in private I practiced my language so that I could swear with the best. It turned Brad on when I asked him if I could suck his cock, or I’d say I was really horny and just wanted him to fuck me. It didn’t really matter if he fucked me, or went down on me, he didn’t usually give me an orgasm. It wasn’t that I was frigid or anything, I could make myself come with my finger or a vibrator just about anytime I wanted. It was just that both my libido and the sensitivity of my clit were geared down kinda low. It took patience and persistence. I didn’t mind not coming when we make love, or had sex, or fucked. As a matter of fact I preferred it that way. I didn’t ever want my pleasure to get in the way with the way I felt inside, giving pleasure to another.
I stepped out on Brad a few times during my senior year. It’s college and I wasn’t going to get married to the man who copped my cherry without tasting some other fruit myself. I’m not real big, maybe 5 feet 2 and 100 lbs soaking wet. I’m tight and firm and keep myself in gymnastics shape. My boobs got too big my Junior year to be as successful in gymnastics as I’d hoped, but I was able to hold onto my scholarship.
Now don’t go out and think I’ve got this huge chest either. 34 B/C max, depending on the time of the month. But gymnastics is hard on the adult body, really a sport for teenagers. Squash your boobs on the unevens and land spread eagle on a balance beam and you’ll understand. But back to stepping out on Brad.
Chris was my first. And no, I’m not going to go through them all because there were more than I’d like to admit. During what I called my slutty March I bedded no less than a dozen different guys. None more than once or twice. I mention Chris because he was the first guy to make me come. It wasn’t his wonderful dick or fucking technique or anything of that nature. He was a bit longer than Brad, although thinner. He had me laying flat on my back, my legs over his shoulders and we were in a “L” like position. He licked his finger and began massaging my clit with his thumb. Took me by surprise.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m want to watch you come.”
“No, I want you to come,” I protested.
“I will, but only when I feel your pussy contracting around my dick.” His finger felt wonderful, but I didn’t want it to happen this way.
“No, I want to feel you.” I wasn’t going to win this argument. I seldom won, nor did I want to win this kind of argument. Sexually I was very submissive. I am like that even now. Tell me what to do, or take it from me I don’t care which, but don’t ask me to lead.
“Just shut up and close your eyes and let the sensations take over.” He was insistent so I did as he told me. The feeling was exquisite. A warmth was growing out of my pussy, the excitement and throbbing of my clit. And his cock, slowly stroking back and forth, touching the back of my cervix. I bit my lip and clutched at the blankets. It was a wonderful moment when you know you are going to come, and nothing on this earth is going to stop it. I opened my mouth in a silent scream that turned quite verbal.
“Oh, oh, gawd……. Ahhhhhhhhh, shit yes……. Ahhhhhhhh.” And then the waves washed over me. A long convulsion followed quickly by a shorter one and then again. I felt my cunt contracting around his throbbing cock. I might be small but my legs and inner muscles were still strong as the convulsions worked to massage his cock, literally milking the sperm out of his balls. I opened my eyes and stared into his, like the most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen. Such is the rose colored glasses of post orgasmic sex.
He was done, and I was just getting started. Another “issue” I have with sex. Fuck a girl until she comes and she’s as randy as ever. Drain the cum out of a guy and he wants to roll over and sleep, or get up and drink a beer. I wasn’t going to let Chris off that easy. I waited a few short minutes until his erection slipped out of me and casually rolled over. Without warning I opened my mouth and engulfed his flaccid cock, tasting both his spent ejaculate and my own juices. Not as unpleasant as I had thought it might be. At first he was startled, but I licked, like a kitten, at his balls and again engulfed his manhood. He let me and over the next few minutes I felt him grow hard in my mouth. I let his long cock tickle my tonsils. After a lot of practice I had learned to deep throat Brad. His width always made my jaw sore. But Chris was at least three inches longer. Determined I pushed him right to my tonsils, trying in vain to keep from gagging. I think the sound of a girl gagging on a stiff cock turns guys on. Especially when they keep trying. I took a deep breath and impaled my mouth of his throbbing erection. I felt his cock literally sliding down my throat, the hair of his nutsack tickling my nose. I held him there, like a sword swallower and started to hum. It was just what he needed as he pumped the second load of the night straight into my belly.
I let his cock slowly recede from my mouth, being careful to clean every drop of seminal fluid and finishing off with my best sexy licking of my lips. I leaned up to him, hoping for a kiss; big mistake.
“I can’t believe you did that. Only whores swallow it.” He turned away as if I had some disease. Not the best way to find out the guy you just fucked is a complete asshole. I wanted to rip his balls off and stuff them down his fucking throat. Instead I started to tear. I felt ashamed and I let his condemnation bring me to tears. He tried to apologize but I was emotionally in hysterics. It took me two years, until my wedding night, before I’d allow a cock in my mouth again.
But I graduated on time, with a degree in Business Administration and Brad and I got engaged, and married. A perfect couple, we moved to Marin county, bought a house and everything appeared like we were going to live happily ever after. We waited 4 years before we decided we were ready to have children. I quit my job, not because I had to, but because I wanted to develop a business I could work from home so our children wouldn’t grow up as latch key kids.
We didn’t have much luck. We’d been trying for a year to get me pregnant. We were at wits end, even getting ready to see a specialist at a fertility clinic. We discussed the possibilities of one of us being infertile. It was almost too much to bare. I think that’s why we put off the trip to the clinic for so long, hoping this month would be the one. And then everything changed.
It was hot, August hot. I had just finished grocery shopping and cursing that we had no air conditioning. It doesn’t usually get that hot, even in the summer. But this was one of those spells. The temperature was well into the 90’s. Even though I grew up in the humid south I never acclimated to the heat. I was covered in sweat when I came through the kitchen into the living room, hoping a breeze might cool off the house.
And then I saw them. In my living room. Toking and jokin like they owned the place. Two men, black as the night. I thought about running, but they had already spotted me. I thought about screaming but the blood in my head was boiling. Niggers in my house! The world was ready to explode and out of the corner of my eye I caught Brad, sitting at one of the dining room chairs as if nothing were wrong.
“What the fucks going on.” To hell with my manners and my language, there were niggers in my house.
“So dis be Jennifer, fine as the day is long. You done good fors yousself Bradley old boy.” The taller one spoke with a hideous drawl I could barely understand his broken dialect.
“Brad, what the fucks going on.” I turned to my husband who looked away and said nothing.
“Don’t go getting your tits all up in ringer bitch, Bradley here just owes us some money and as soon as we collect, we’ll be on our way. Ain’t dat right Bradley boy.” There was a strong emphasis on the last word and the memories of my father, always referring to niggers as “boy” flooded back to my memory.
Brad still said nothing.
“How much he owe you, and what’s it for?” I knew I wasn’t going to get the answer from Brad, and I was fearful of what these two were about to say. My fear was well founded.
“Figgers like 30 grand by now honey. Been two weeks and we aint seen hide nor hair of our money or your puissant husband, so weez here to collect. Da ponies you know. Or didn’t you know Bradley here strikes himself as a horse man.”
And even though I’d never known Brad to gamble or visit the track, the silence in the room told me it was all true. I was a mixture of emotions, afraid for our lives, angry for what he’d done, and betrayed. But nothing compared to what was going to happen next.
“Um sorry guys, we don’t have that kind of money.” I was trying to be polite. Or as polite as I could, but I’d already stepped over the line and there was no going back.