James Gang Ch. 03: Alpha Bitch

Hello readers, this is the third story in my 'The James Gang' series. The first part of the series, Mean Darbie, was a brother-sister incest story. Part two was a father-daughter incest story. This one, however, breaks with the formula and focuses on interracial sex. It also breaks tradition by being two parts.

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it and leave a comment.

******

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck yes, give it to me, baby! Give me more! MORE! Oh GOD!"

I clawed at the carpet as a powerful set of hips pounded into me from behind. Over and over, a solid impact lurched my entire body forward, pushing my tender feminine form with a devastating strength. A strong pair of hands gripped both cheeks of my ass firmly, holding me in place while I was utterly wrecked from behind. As sweat covered my entire body, and my C-cup tits jiggled with each thrust, I gave in to the passion and let myself be used like a total whore.

Who was I being fucked by? Hell if I can remember. I don't think I'd known the guy for more than a few hours, and I was probably kinda drunk anyway. At the time, it didn't make much difference. It didn't matter who he was—he was my cock stud for the night. I let him do anything and everything he wanted to . . . up to and including covering me with his cum after he finished fucking my cunt.

My name is Sarah James. You may or may not have read a couple of other stories written by my younger siblings: Kenneth and Caroline. I'm gonna warn you now: if you're looking for some crazy stuff in this tale, like me fucking my twin brother or sixtysomething father, you're going to be disappointed. I've never fucked a blood relative in my life. That's a family tradition that didn't get started until I had long moved away from Dullsville, I'm afraid.

My story is something a bit different, but I think it should be told regardless. Hell, if my little bro and sis can bare everything to the world, then so can I.

I'll spare most of the details about my family life. Kenneth and Caroline covered it pretty well—things sucked after my older brother Dwight died. My older sister Grace and I had to hold the household together while Daddy was busy drinking himself into liver failure and Mom was running around being a cheat.

Despite the drama at home, I was a very good student. I consistently had the highest marks in the family, aside from Grace. I studied hard for my grades—I'm not a genius or a prodigy of any sort. I just happened to learn early in life that I liked my freedom. I liked being free to do what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. So, if I wanted to chat with my girlfriends and spend my day shopping, it was a good idea to get my school and housework out of the way first. That way, nobody could give me any shit about what I did during my personal time.

When I graduated from high school, I pounced on the scholarships that poured in. My older sister Grace had chosen to travel to Europe, and I was tired of my hometown. I chose to go to school in LA, opting for sunny beaches, palm trees, and movie stars.

I made a lot of friends at UCLA. Well, let's face it, when you're young, blonde, and built with a sexy body, it's not difficult to be popular. They say that in every school setting, there's always the "Alpha Bitch"—you've seen her a million times in movies and on television. She's the rich blonde bimbo who leads a pack of female snobs and can't seem to form a sentence without saying the words "like" or "totally". Well, to all of you girls whose lives they made a living hell and to all of those boys who failed to score with them, I'm sorry to inform you that I was that Alpha Bitch. And on behalf of Alpha Bitches everywhere, I'm sorry for how we treated you.

The fact remains, though, that's who I was.

******

"Sarah, you BITCH!"

Perched atop the exercise bike, I turned to look behind me, still sipping my bottled water through a straw. My eyes befell an old acquaintance, Cindy, one of my closest friends in college. Or, rather . . . one of my former closest friends.

"Hey, Cindy," I answered with the sweetest smile I could muster. "What's up?"

"Don't 'what's up' me, you unimaginable whore! I can't believe you! I can't believe you would do something like that!"

"Like what, sweetie?"

"You damn well what, you fucking HARLOT. You fucked my fiancé!"

A number of heads were turning by this point, distracted from their various workouts throughout the gym by the shouting, hysterical woman. For the most part, I was unconcerned. I was quite used to having heads turning in my direction while I exercised, although they were usually focused on my ass or my tits while I bended or flexed. It helped that I wore extremely tight-fitting workout clothes that clung to all of my naughtiest bits whenever I became covered with sweat.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a "shy" individual. In fact, I love attention. I crave it. I keep myself in great shape, and I'm rather good-looking. I'm not delusional enough to believe that I could ever be a supermodel or anything . . . my nose is a bit too big for that, I'm afraid . . . but guys like me. At the end of the day, I've found that regardless of how you look, what people respond to is confidence. Even if you're the most dog-faced male or female to be born, if you're confident in yourself, you'll find no end to the number of people who'll respect you or want you.

Anyway, I'm rambling. Back to the story.

"'Your fiancé?'" I repeated in a confused hush. "Cindy, dear, I thought you and Wesley were broken up."

Her eyes narrowed with disgust. "So you don't even deny it."

"Of course not. Why would I?" I responded casually. "I did indeed fuck Wesley. But, I repeat: the two of you are broken up."

"Yes, because of you!" she sobbed. Her tears beginning to flow steadily now. "You told me that I could do better! You told me I was wasting my time trying to 'domesticate' him!"

"And I meant every word of it," I replied. "Dear, Wesley is a dog. A rabid animal who would no more make a better husband than a wild wildebeest."

Her eyes were wide with shock. "But you fucked him!"

"Yes, I did," I admitted again.

"But . . . but if you think those things about him . . ."

"Sweetie, I don't plan to marry the man. He wanted to fuck, and I admit that he turns me on. So, yeah, I gave him some pussy."

She was crying openly now. I was honestly tempted to try and comfort her in some way. Maybe turn around and give her a hug . . . but I wasn't all that sure she would have been interested. I mean, be honest: in that situation, would you have been?

Still, I stopped exercising and decided that she deserved my full attention. She also deserved not to be humiliated in front of all of those strangers. I intentionally left my bike and headed toward the locker room, knowing she'd follow.

Yes, I was a bitch. Maybe I still am. But, she was a friend. Well, she was at that point, anyway.

"You only told me to break up with Wes because you wanted him!" she accused.

"No, dear. It was Wes who initiated the sex, not me. Although, if you're accusing me of feeling some lust toward him, you're right. But no, I didn't break you two up just to fuck him."

"I . . . I don't even know if I can believe you anymore. I thought you were my friend . . . but friends don't do what you did to me!"

Now that pissed me off. "What did I do to you!? Wesley isn't your boyfriend anymore. You broke up with him with the expectation that you'd live separate lives from here on, remember?"

"That was before I knew what a scheming, man-stealing bitch you were! You wanted Wesley, so you broke us up! Just admit it, you phony friend!"

I know what you're wondering, and yes—I was telling the truth when I said I'd never planned to fuck Wesley until he asked. I found him attractive, yes—he played goalie for Bruins hockey, after all—but I hadn't planned to steal him from her. Why would I, when I could have any other guy I wanted?

But now that they were broken up, he was fair game. Yeah, most people might have considered it "bad taste" to fuck a friend's ex . . . much less after they'd freshly broken up, but I didn't give less of a fuck about "taste". I was a slut, and didn't pretend to be anything else.

Blame it on being born from a really sheltered life. Of course, if you've read Kenny and CJ's stories, you can probably guess this already, but our family is really old-fashioned. I grew up with a very antiquated sense of values, such as that men were supposed to be hairy-chested he-men that made livings as lumberjacks, handymen and steel workers and women were supposed to do the cooking and the cleaning and the baby-making. But, I was a new-age girl.

It all started when Mom and Dad divorced for a brief time when I was eight years old. Like I said, Dad hit the booze and Mom ran off with another guy. With Dwight dead, and eight kids running around the house, Grace and I came to the conclusion that the two of us needed to take charge. There was no way we would survive otherwise. So, she and I were practically the Mommy and Daddy of the house.

Wait a minute, that sounded . . . dirtier . . . than I intended. Let me rephrase.

Grace and I were the parents and our siblings were like our childr—Oh, Christ . . . you know what, this isn't working. But I think you know what I mean. Forget I said anything.

The point is, I got my first taste of freedom during those months. I liked living my own life, being in charge to do whatever I wanted. Mom eventually came back and remarried Dad, and afterwards life was relatively normal again, but I never forgot that taste of freedom.

In any case, back to my college days. From talking with the rest of my crew, I discovered that Wesley had fucked all six of us. After Cindy broke up with him, I guess Wesley wanted some kind of revenge or something, so he fucked all of us. Me, twice.

"So, Cindy was pissed when she found out, huh?" asked Leslie, the other blond in our group. "Poor girl. I kinda feel bad about what we did."

"For what?" asked Jasmine, the brown-haired brunette. "It's not our fault that she broke his heart."

"Yeah, but we were the ones that suggested she break up with him," stated dark-haired Pearl. "Or rather, Sarah did, and we all went along with it."

"Oh, P, not you, too!" said Layla, the sole black girl in our group. "If anything, we saved her heartbreak down the road. Wesley was always a dog, and he proved it when he fucked all of us as part of some stupid revenge scheme. It proved just what a petty, evil bastard he was. Hell, we're . . . like . . . the best girlfriends ever, because we prevented Cindy from having all kinds of grief."

"And hell, I don't know about the rest of you, but he was just 'okay' to me. He's hot and all, but nothing worth crying home about," added Cassandra, our other dark-haired beauty.

Everybody nodded at once.

"Enough about all that," I declared, reasserting myself as the leader of the group. "Cindy's damage is her own problem. She's decided she doesn't want to be part of our group anymore . . . and frankly, if she decided to come and sit with us anyway, I don't think I'd be interested. We're supposed to be friends, so I thought we understood each other. I mean, it's not like any one of us would expect the same thing if we all had boyfriends, right?"

All of us nodded in agreement.

"Well, Layla here does have a boyfriend," Jasmine stated with an admonishing glance.

"That doesn't count," Leslie protested. "She's dating a porn star, so it's not like they're monogamous or anything."

Layla almost spat up her drink. "Jeez, Les . . . why doncha just broadcast what Sean does for a living to the whole school?!"

"Sorry," Leslie whispered.

"Don't apologize to her," Pearl said. "She's dating someone who has an eleven-inch cock. She doesn't get to be embarrassed about, like, anything. Ever."

Layla shrugged. "It really ain't all that . . ."

We all shared a chuckle. "Yeah, because guys like that just grow on trees, huh?" I said.

"I guess if they're black, they do," Cassie chimed in.

Layla rolled her eyes, but we all shared another friendly laugh. In the meantime, this entire line of conversation had got me thinking.

It occurred to me just then that I had never fucked a black guy in my life. In fact, I had never fucked anyone who wasn't Caucasian. I grew up in a town that was, for all intents and purposes, zero-percent black. We were as stereotypically homogenized as you could get. There were a few black people in neighboring towns and some of the larger cities had a majority black population, so it wasn't like none of us had never laid eyes on a single black person before. Still, most of the families in our town were at least nine or more generations old, and not a lot of new people were moving in.

Why would they, after all? There was nothing in that town except ducks, a steel mill that had been closed for ten years, and cow shit everywhere.

So yeah, I hadn't had much experience with black people. Layla was my first black friend, and I had never so much as talked to a black guy longer than it took to ask for directions. I had never even given the idea of fucking a black guy much thought in the past.

It wasn't that I thought black guys were unattractive or anything, but . . . it just seemed like a whole different world. Dark skin, dreadlocked hair, baggy jeans, rap music . . . all of those things were so far removed from what I was used to.

But now, the seed had been planted in me. The thought had taken root, and it stuck there. I began to wonder what it was like . . . how would it feel to fuck a big black stud . . . to feel his monster cock inside me . . . to deep throat that cock in my mouth . . .

I became moist immediately every time I thought about it. It was so taboo. Here I was, the blonde, rural belle, thinking about letting a strong, nubile black man take me. Forgive me for sounding bigoted, but I couldn't get the idea of being an Englishwoman, an explorer of some sort, traveling to Darkest Africa and finding myself forced to rely upon the hospitality of the natives. I would let them teach me about their ways and customs, and write a book chronicling their culture. But to convince them to let me, I'd have to spread my pussy lips for the whole village.

One by one, I would let every man in the village take their turn, keeping myself bent over a log while I watched each black man shamble behind me and insert his long, thick shaft slowly into my pussy. I thought about how it feel to have my pussy stretched by a snake that big, to hear them chattering in their native language as they pounded into me. I could feel their balls slapping against the folds of my cunt while they fucked me, and I felt them twitch and tremble as they released their load deep inside me.

There wouldn't be any birth control—like I said, these would be natives, untouched by the civilized world. They wouldn't know a thing about contraceptives. And even if they did, they wouldn't want them. Their purpose wasn't just to fuck me, but to breed me for their village . . . to use the first white visitor to their humble little village as a garden for cultivating their dark-skinned offspring . . .

Well, like I said, it was just a fantasy. I didn't fuck anyone without a rubber unless they gave me a doctor's note, signed within a few days. It was impossible to be too careful these days, with all of the nasty things that exist these days. I may have been a total slut, but I wasn't a stupid slut.

And besides that, there was no way in hell I would let myself get pregnant at present. I was only twenty at the time, and I still had my whole life ahead of me. I wanted to enjoy my freedom and my youth while it lasted. When I was about twenty-six, maybe even later, I would find someone to settle down with while I focused on my career as an agricultural engineer. Kids would become a serious discussion then and only then.

But in the meantime, I was dreaming about big black cock. Lots and lots of big black cock.

******

Perhaps against my better judgment, I allowed Wesley to fuck me a third time. I felt nothing for him, and I wasn't hurting for other guys who wanted to give me a tumble, but I think it was a combination of pity and anger at Cindy that prompted me to do it. Cindy had changed her mind and wanted Wesley back, but he was too busy getting pussy from tons of other girls, including her former friends.

What did I care? She wasn't my friend anymore. Her ex-man was a big boy, capable of making his own decisions, and if he didn't want her, then who was I to argue? Maybe if she had thought before she'd said those stupid things to me, Wesley wouldn't be too busy being a stud to take her back.

Still, I didn't want Wesley to think that I was developing feelings for him or anything. As far as I knew, I was the only girl he'd fucked more than once since the breakup, and I wasn't interested in making it a regular event.

So while he sat in my chair, and I rubbed his slender cock between my tits, I glanced up and said, "You know that this the last time, right?"

He seemed shocked that I'd said that all of a sudden, but thankfully not hurt. "If that's what you want."

"Yeah," I said, taking the time to envelop the dome of his cock with my lips. I sucked fiercely at the head, like I was tasting a frozen popsicle. Eventually, it slipped out with a loud 'POP'. "This has gotta stop."

He shrugged. "Whatever's cool with you, then. I don't really care."

Satisfied, I rubbed my tongue around his cock and squeezed it harder between my tits. I was rather proud of my ability to tit-fuck. My breasts weren't as big as my sister Rachelle's were . . . (seriously, if you're reading this, girl . . . you're a freak of nature) . . . but I was well above the average, and I knew how to use what I had. I'd had lots and lots of practice.

Like I said, I was a slut.

Wesley leaned his head back and let out a low moan, his fingers rubbing through my blonde locks. "God, it's gonna be terrible to give this up, though."

I couldn't resist. "None of your other sluts are as good as me?"

"No," he answered honestly. "The only girl I've fucked with tits like yours is . . ."

He stopped himself from speaking Cindy's name. I saw a twinge of remorse in his eyes.

"I don't want to talk about that right now," he said. "I just want to fuck."

I licked my lips hearing him say that. "Then come on, let's stop wasting time and get used to it."

I knocked all of my UCLA teddy bears and pillows off my bed with one swipe of my arm and positioned myself on all fours. Doggie style is my favorite position, and since this was our last fuck, I wanted to get what I needed from Wes. He had no complaints, and after a few minutes, he was sliding his jacketed cock into my cunt. He slid in easy . . . a combination of my personal wetness and the lubricated condom made it more than slippery enough.

After his hand gripped my shoulder, he started to fuck me with abandon. His thrusts were hard, unloving, which was just how I wanted it. I actually felt my head whiplash back and forth with the vigor that he slammed me, and I had to admit that he had gotten much better each time we'd met.

"I wanted this pussy for years, you know," he said while he slid in and out of me. "Ever since Cindy introduced us."

"Oh yeah?" I gasped. I had to admit . . . hearing him say that was a huge turn-on at the time.

"Yeah. You're the prettiest of all of them, you know. The little clique you girls belong to, I mean. You're way hotter than those other sluts. And if wasn't for Cindy, I would have fucked you a long time ago."