Black and Blue Ch. 02

The original idea for this story was a reworking from another perspective of a theme in a scene of the story 'Santa's Helper' by satinlvr_mwf and continued by EZ4BLKcock. Satinlvr_mwf has given me permission to continue this work and I very much thank her for this. EZ4BLKcock sadly left the site 6 years ago and cannot be contacted. These are both leading Literotica writers in this genre and very much recommended. 'Santa's Helper' is a good example of both of their work. Also very highly recommended though beware of non-consensual themes in the earlier chapters if they are a problem for you

Julius Moore was out by the derelict store when she arrived. He was standing with two other men. All three carefully watched her park and get out of her vehicle. One of the men blew a plume of smoke from his cigarette into the early-evening air. Claire felt all of their eyes on her but once out of her vehicle kept her eyes on Julius. He was the man she had come to see, the man who had the answers she was seeking.

Julius pointed. "Jean is waiting upstairs - I'll be back there later." He turned back to his two friends. Claire wasn't sure what to do. She had expected him to greet her, perhaps even to express surprise that she had come. Instead he took it as a matter of course, as if he had never doubted that she would be there. She suddenly realised the truth. He had read her correctly - he HAD known that she would be there. She turned and headed for the door of the now familiarly ugly building.

Behind her, unseen, Julius held up one hand. Even as Claire reached the building's door she heard the buzz of its door being released. She stepped inside - aware of the men's eyes on her - and started up the stairs.

As she moved into the building and up the concrete stairs she heard noises from behind the closed doors. Televisions, videogames, music, shouted conversations. None of that surprised her or caused the anxiety she felt as she went on. The doors were closed but she seemed to sense eyes on her. Watching her through the security peep-holes. The eyes of men and women who knew why white women came here. Who would have no doubt why SHE was here. Just another cracka slut come to be fucked by 'the Closer', which was what they called the building's owner, Julius Moore. They would assume she was just another of the Closer's white whores.

Claire realised that she had been holding her breath and carefully tried to let it out. The breath came ragged from her throat, seemed to echo off the walls. Her mouth was dry and she felt her heart beating fast in her chest. As she reached the third floor she anxiously looked to the familiar door of the woman they called Desiree. An African-American woman in her sixties who had twice called her out right here as one of the Closer's sluts.

This time that door was shut and she remembered that she hadn't had to ask to be buzzed in. Claire paused again and tried to get a hold of herself. This was the purest foolishness. She wasn't some love-sick teenager or naive girl and she was hardly going to fall for anything Mr Julius Moore was laying down. Sure the man was impressive and charismatic but he was also unashamedly dangerous. She had a vision in her mind, crystal-clear. Julius Moore sat on that beaten-up old sofa in the room on the top floor. Nine inches of thick, hard, jet-black cock stood up against the swell of his belly. Jean Butler, the woman she had been searching for, mounting him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her pale hand unable to reach around his thick shaft but able to position it ready to drop her pussy down onto it. The woman's low grunt of pure satisfaction as his Big Black Cock had entered her, had claimed her. The look on Jean's face. A look that Claire could not understand.

That was why she was here. She wasn't here because she was another dumb white slut unable to resist the lure of Black cock. She was here because she needed to understand and there was only one person and one place in the whole wide world that could help her understand.

Julius Moore had told her to come here today, he had also told her that it was a rule that only his sluts came here. Well, Claire Doyle was no rookie. She had been undercover before. She knew how that particularly dangerous game was played. Julius was no fool and she would have to be careful. It reassured her a little to know that he was still talking to his friends outside. She needed time to talk to Jean Butler on her own.

Claire moved on towards the next flight of stairs and thought she heard female laughter from behind one of the doors. She didn't turn round but she thought she recognised the laugh and knew what door it was coming from. At least one person had seen her and assumed she was the Closer's latest white conquest. Julius Moore's new beck-and-call girl.

Even as the thoughts crystallised in her mind Claire felt her pulse quicken, the little burst of warmth reaching into every part of her mind, soul and psyche. The excitement. It was powerful, potent in its intensity. Again she visualised Julius and that mocking confident smile of his. She knew it hid something and she had to know what it was. She would do what it took to find out.

The last few steps and along the short corridor to that last room at the top of the building. It was open and Jean was there, waiting for her.

"You came then - I figured you couldn't stay away." There was a hint of triumph in Jean's voice as the woman watched her approach.

Claire tried to be as business-like as possible. "You know why I am here Mrs Butler. I am a Police Office investigating your disappearance from home. I need to understand what is going on here. I am not satisfied and we need to talk. You know that." She was pleased to hear her voice had its usual 'official' tone despite the dryness of her throat.

Jean's response had been a mocking smile, almost a laugh at the words, 'I am not satisfied.' "I know why you are here," was all she said as she moved aside to allow Claire to enter.

Those upper rooms had no surprises for her. The battered old couch, the little kitchen, the room dominated by that big bed. All slightly neglected and shabby. Not a place where people lived - just a place where Julius Moore met his women.

"Me and my man talked about this," added Jean as she followed Claire inside, "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Once I'm sure of a few things."

Claire felt a spike of frustration at the last words. However, she was careful to hide it. "Like what?" Her tone was careful, neutral, reasonable.

"First," said Jean, "I heard all your BS. I'm not sure even you believe it. Last time you was here my man made it pretty clear what he expects from you. Remember Rule 2 - only my man's bitches are welcome here. Yet here you are?" She had a knowing controlling smile on her face. She looked very different to those pictures Claire had seen of her at the Milvern County PD. Jean Butler was no longer the woman that had walked out on her husband. Her new life had made her a new woman.

Claire had sensed a potential opening however. "Tell me about the rules Jean?" She tried to stay professional in tone, to ignore her body's reaction to the insinuation made by the other woman. She felt Jean's eyes fixed on her, closely examining her.

Jean moved forward and ran her hands up and down Claire's body. An extremely amateur and unskilled frisk. "Before I speak I need to know you aren't wired. That this isn't being recorded."

Claire's eyes instinctively went to the corner of the room where wall met ceiling. Where she had seen the camera last time. Now there was no red indicator light there.

Jean had seen her look. "I turned them off," she said, "but my man warned me not to trust the five-oh and I can't be sure yet. I guess if you want me to talk you'll have to get out of them clothes. Prove you ain't wearing a wire."

That surprised Claire. "You can't expect..."

"Then fuck off," the rage flared up in Jean's eyes. "Stop wasting our fucking time. Just like Rule One says. You remember Rule One?"

"When he says get gone his bitches get gone," the words came automatically to Claire.

The anger vanished from Jean's face as fast as it had appeared. "You did learn something. So choose Officer Doyle - choose. You going to stay or you going to go back to Milvern County?"

"I want to stay," said Claire, aware that the initiative had passed to the smaller woman in front of her.

"Then you know what to do."

Sometimes as a law enforcement officer you have to do things you would prefer not to. Sometimes that is the price of obtaining the end objective, that vital clue or piece of information. Claire knew that. You measured the risk against the reward.

This did not feel like that. Perhaps if the order had come from Julius Moore - that silky deep voice ordering her to strip. Then the danger would be obvious. Claire again felt the warmth rush through her body, prayed that the blood wasn't showing in her cheeks. This was different. Jean Butler was no threat. Claire could prove she wasn't wired and then be back in control before Julius got back.

Claire removed her jacket and began to unbutton her blouse. She was very aware of Jean's blue eyes watching her, appraising her. When the blouse had joined her jacket on the back of a chair she looked at Jean but the other woman just gave a light nod. Claire knew what was expected of her. She unfastened her slacks and let them fall before stepping out of them.

"The shoes too," said Jean. "I know you five-oh are sneaky."

Claire took off her sensible flat shoes.

"I don't see a wire" said Jean, "yet." She moved closer to Claire so that her next words were almost a whisper. "Now the bra."

Their eyes were locked together as Claire undid her bra and let it fall to the floor. This was no longer a search - it was something else. Claire knew she had lost control of the situation. It was a shock how fast it had happened and it was a shock how little she cared that it had happened.

Jean's hands found Claire's breasts, caressed them.

"My man is going to love these - they are beautiful. 34D?"

"34C," said Claire, surprised by how normal her voice sounded.

"No matter," said Jean, "same as mine. In time my man will probably want you to get an upgrade - same as he does me. But there's more important things first."

Jean moved round her and her hand cupped Claire's butt cheek. "I envy you this," said Jean. "Our men love a white girl with a nice round butt. I'm not so well provided back there. She gave Claire's bottom a gentle slap. "This will get a lot of attention. Your white boys go to town on this ass of yours girl?"

"No - they..." the words died in Claire's throat. She knew no-one here was really interested in anything white boys said or thought or did.

"More fool them crackas. Our men are going to love your booty." Jean's face was full of mischief and pleasure. Claire knew that she was blushing, knew that she was showing how Jean's words were affecting her. How the change from 'my man' to 'our men' had sent waves of heat and pleasure and longing through every part of her. It was time for Claire to resume control - to take charge of the situation as her training dictated. Except that resuming control was the last thing that Claire wanted to do. She had never felt like this - never experienced such... She hadn't the words for it, this was beyond anything she had ever known.

"There's still one place you could hide a wire." Jean bit her bottom lip gently as she glanced down. "No," she added as Claire moved to pull down her panties.

Instead Jean placed her hand flat on Claire's toned belly and then moved it down. Her fingers eased into Claire's panties and then began to explore.

"What's rule Two?" asked Jean.

"Only Julius's bitches get to come here."

"Very good," said Jean, her eyes fixed on Claire's even as her fingers continued to explore. "You can always tell one of our man's bitches. Just being round here, just the thought of coming here and their white pussies are all warm and wet and down to fuck. Just like this one I'm feeling is."

Claire breathed out a long ragged cool breath of air. How long had she been holding her breath? She gasped for fresh oxygen as Jean's skilled fingers continued their work.

"You know how our men like their white pussy? Wet, warm and primed. Tell me Officer Doyle are you on birth control?"

It hadn't been an issue for Claire since the end of her marriage. Sex had been strictly condom-only since then. She had an idea that wouldn't fly here. "I'm going back on the pill," she said before she'd even really considered what she was saying.

Jean gave a low laugh. "That would be sensible. Our men aren't like the limp-noodle white boys that you've been with before. Our men are real men. Strong and potent and very able to get what they want. They don't use rubbers and they do most definitely love to knock up an attractive white woman - a woman like me or ... you."

Another rush of heat through her, stronger than any before. Claire moaned a little and saw Jean nod and smile. Her teasing fingers withdrew from Claire's panties and were held up to Claire's mouth. A moment's hesitation and then Claire was licking the taste of herself from Jean's fingers. Jean's other hand gently rested on Claire's belly.

"Our men are going to love this too. So toned and pale and inviting. This flat white belly will be like a red rag to a Black breeding bull. They are all going to want to be the one to fill it up - make it round and swollen with your first Black baby. Ruin that flat white belly of yours - ruin you for all the white boys. Make you what you need to be."

"Oh God," whimpered Claire.

"God made you who you are and no doubt did it for a purpose." Jean gave a last nod. "Get dressed - our man will soon be here." "No," she said sharply as Claire reached for her clothes." "Not those - your new outfit is on the bed through there. Since you ain't wired we can start to teach. Rule Four - A bitch represents her man and must dress, eat and exercise so she always looks hot for her man. Repeat it and then go get dressed."

***

She assumed that they had guessed her measurements and to be fair they hadn't been far off. That might have been made easier by the fact that when it came to her new outfit there really wasn't much of it.

Her top was just a tight strip of black material around her breasts with what amounted to a half-inch of fringe beneath and the thinnest of straps up to her shoulders. It did nothing to hide the curve of her breasts or the very obvious bulges in the thin cheap material caused by her nipples. No bra - of course. Her arms, stomach and shoulders were all left bare - the pale skin contrasting strongly against the dark stretched material.

She had to wiggle a little to get into her skirt. It was also black and also very tight but this time made from some sort of fake leather. There was a mirror and Claire turned to examine herself. Well there was a surprise - her butt looked fucking ridiculous in this thing! It wouldn't have been so bad but the 'skirt' barely covered the curve of her ass and left a long expanse of naked white thigh very evident.

Lastly there were the heels. Now Claire had worn heels plenty of times - though obviously she wore flats for her work. However, she had never worn heels like these. Black patent leather with two-inch platforms and six-inch heels. She turned them over and saw the vivid scarlet soles. Unlike the rest of her outfit these were most definitely not cheap. She put them on and carefully stood up from where she sat on the bed before essaying a few strides up and down the room. You had to be a little cautious but she could handle them and they looked amazing. All that work in the gym keeping her legs toned really paid off when you were wearing these.

A last look in the mirror. She'd seen outfits like this before. Not in Milvern but on trips to the city. It sent a message. The top and skirt made her look like a 'working girl'. The heels belied that and suggested a rich woman who wanted to look like a whore. A white woman in this outfit and in this part of town was after one thing.

Claire gingerly emerged back into the main room.

"Fuckin' A - thass what I'm talking about. Seems there was a real fly dime hiding under that ugly mutha-fucker of a uniform. G'd up seems we got us a phat-assed white girl all ready to party. What you think little bitch?" It was Julius Moore - his voice like poured melted chocolate, deep and rich. A tone of voice that didn't bother to hide his pleasure at what he was seeing. Claire felt something too. She knew it should be shame, she knew that very well. However, it was most emphatically NOT shame. It was nervousness and excitement and - pride.

"She's nearly there - but not quite." Jean wasn't hiding her amusement and her pleasure at Claire's transformation.

Julius's eyes were all over Claire's body. Judging and assessing and appraising. "She damn near it. Just a few little things." His finger touched a golden stud in Claire's ear. "I like my bitches to wear hoops. Like my little bitch is over there." He considered a moment longer. "Like me a redhead but yours is too damn natural. Get it coloured up some. Same as them damn fine titties of yours. Get 'em a couple of extra sizes so your men knows you done it for them. A man appreciates things like that in his bitches. But that's for the future - the hoops and style you can do now. So any nigga sees you walk into a room knows you been sure to look good just in case you met him. You getting it?"

"Anything else?" Julius asked Jean.

"Rule Three," said Jean.

Julius smiled a broad confident smile. "Oh yes - Rule Three. My bitches don't wear panties here and they keep shaved and fresh at all times."

"But in this..." Claire didn't get far in her explanation of the fact that in this tiny tight skirt she'd be likely to flash half of the hood if she wasn't wearing panties. She broke off because she realised, no she understood, that such was the whole point of Rule Three. She stopped talking and instead carefully reached up under her tight skirt and eased off her panties.

Julius clicked his fingers and held out his hand. Claire handed him her panties. The big man ostentatiously held them up to his nose.

"Well, well - would that be excitement I'm smelling there Officer Doyle." He gave a low bass rumble of a laugh. "Seems you came here to party after all so let's get things started. You was saying you was all about business so I'm riding a little low. Little bitch you see my man Kairean out there?"

Jean went to the window and looked. "Yeah Daddy he's there - him and his friends."

Julius's attention was back on Claire. "Remember the corner boys been looking after your wheels? Ask for Kairean and tell him you there for a g. You got your roll? " He rubbed his fingers together.

Claire found her jacket and money.

"How much you got there?" Julius clicked his fingers and held out his palm.

Claire hesitated and then handed her money over.

She had expected him to count the money and then return it. Instead with one easy movement Julius put the notes into his own pocket. He saw her eyes narrow and he gave a low relaxed laugh. "What do they call this - an initiative test ain't it. Besides I'll keep your roll safe for you while you out on the street." He gave her a broad smile but his eyes were hard and demanding.

Claire wasn't left in any doubt. It was most definitely the Closer's way or the highway. If she wanted to learn more then this was a necessary step. The shock for her was just how easily she realised that she needed to know more.

Julius gave his low rumble of a laugh again, still devoid of real humour but instead imbued with triumph. He had been watching her and had read his victory in her face. "Tell Kairean I sent you - its on the usual terms." His hand went back to his pocket and produced a sharpie. In a confident movement he took a firm hold on Claire's right shoulder, held it steady and then drew a design featuring his initials just above her collar-bone. "Lets people know who's behind you," he said as the only explanation. After a moment's pause he raised an eyebrow. "You still here? You best either run back home or go get your g."