EXTRACT FOR
A White Girl In Harlem
(Argus)

	What a fantastic ass that new girl had, Rodney thought as he peered surreptitiously around the corner of the school, carefully holding aside a bit of brush to get a better view. 

	Martin Luther King senior high school didn't have many blonde girls, and the ones it did had jet black skin. MLK didn't even have many white girls, in fact, he couldn't think of another one. MLK was in the middle of Harlem, the only portion of its student body which wasn't black was Latino, mainly Puerto Rican. And along comes this fucking gorgeous little white girl popping into MLK in her senior year, right out of nowhere, not knowing a thing, wide blue eyes apparently without a single thought of what it would mean to be a white girl at MLK.

	Well, Rodney thought with sadistic glee, she was seeing it now all right, assuming she wasn't going cross-eyed from trying to look at Leroy Spencer's big black cock in her mouth.

	The new girl was wearing the school uniform, the one that the school board had thought might improve student discipline and cohesiveness. Or at least, would get the students to stop sporting gang colors, which might ease the fighting. The girl was bent over, way over, because Mike Jefferson had pinned her wrists together behind her slender back and then jerked her arms straight up in the air. He'd flipped the purple skirt up over her back and then torn her panties off to bare that gorgeous white ass of hers.

	Not to mention what looked like a truly fresh, hairless, smooth white pussy. It looked so fresh Rodney's mouth watered as he imagined getting his tongue into it. Not now, though. Now those smooth, sweet little pussy lips were bunched up and spread out tight and taught as John's big, shiny black prick rammed into her from behind. 

	What a sight! The little white slut bent over, legs straight, but spread apart, her ass high, and a big black cock pushing slowly but powerfully into her slender young body! 

	Leroy had her golden blonde hair bunched up on either side of her head, gripped in his powerful black fists as he pushed his cock into her mouth. Rodney felt his own cock throbbing in sympathy, and hoped powerfully that Leroy would shove his black cock right down the little slut's white throat!

	Oh yeah, those two boys had the white bitch firmly under control, and Rodney groaned in delight as he watched two long, thick black pricks push forward into her quivering body from either direction. He watched the bulge in the girl's throat as black cock slid into it, and then gave a little hiss of delight as both young men sheathed their powerful cocks in the trembling blonde bitch.

	"Go for it!" he whispered. "Show that white slut what it means to be rooted by a black prick!"

	He eased back a bit. It wouldn't do for him to be spotted. He was, after all, the vice principal, and in charge of discipline over the school body. Oh and how he would have loved to discipline that white slut! Rodney Jones hated white people, but he most especially hated white girls, and of all the white girls to hate, he really hated blonde girls. Every time he saw one he thought about that bitch Sandra Spencer, who, in college had gazed at him in disbelief when he'd asked her out, and then said, as if only a simpleton wouldn't have known it  "I don't date black guys," before walking away, leaving him feeling like dog shit.

	But this little whore wasn't walking away! Rodney giggled a bit to himself. He had sent the little slut out this way to "familiarize herself with the campus", knowing that Jefferson and Spencer were always back here smoking pot, and that they didn't give a shit about anyone or anything.

	"Oh Jesus yeah!" he whispered as he watched Leroy yank off her school uniform top, baring her smooth white back.

	She didn't have much to say about it. She gagged and gasped for breath, drooling as Leroy undid her bra. He yanked it off, and Rodney gave a soft moan of pleasure as he saw the slender girl's full white breasts fall free, almost instantly caught, groped, squeezed and mauled by two black hands.

	Spencer had one and Jefferson had the other, their powerful black fingers digging into the soft, malleable flesh again and again as they rammed their cocks into her. Even from twenty yards back Rodney could hear the sound of the girl's gagging as Spencer shoved his prick deep into her throat.

	"You love it, you white whore," he whispered.





	Rory Donovan was a very obedient girl. 

	She respected her father, the American flag, and the government. She was not a completely naïve girl, but she had been raised by a father who was almost oblivious to most aspects of life outside the narrow field of his profession. Jonathon Donovan was an arborist who had spent most of his life working for lumber companies. He was not one of the rough men who cut down the trees or moved them onto the mills, but a gentle man who was responsible for overseeing the redevelopment of areas which had already been deforested, reseeding them so they could grow trees again which would be ready for cutting in another few decades.

	He was a wildly optimistic man, and extremely liberal in all of his social beliefs. Pacifistic by nature, he had taught his daughter, as best he could, to love all of mankind's creatures, and to respect everything in nature. He had taught her that violence was never the solution, and that all men were brothers under the skin. He was a dedicated pacifist, and raised his daughter to be the same.

	Since her mother had died when she was quite young, Rory had grown up with her father, largely in rural, forested areas. She had been home-schooled most of that time, for there often weren't schools nearby, and as her father didn't hold with television, calling it a waste of time, she was not exactly up on popular culture. She was an optimistic girl, like her father, and always tried to see the best in people.

	That had been somewhat more difficult as she grew older. For despite living in the country, and despite not being exposed to an awful lot of people, she began to encounter men, as she grew, who took one look at her and took on the countenance of predators.

	Rory had that particular sheen of golden blonde hair which excited the sexual instincts of every man of every age, combined with a sweet, innocent face with enormous blue eyes and a small snub nose. Her skin was flawless and umblemished, and her body lithe, slender, yet buxom, with a tiny waist, flat, trim belly, and a firm, round, apple of a bottom. Her body aroused men to lust while her face sometimes caught at their paternal instincts.

	Yet her manner was even more of an influence. She was a quiet, studious girl, intelligent, like her father, and yet oddly unemotional it seemed. She took offense at no one. If insulted, she would smile and walk slowly on. Anger never appeared on her face. She was often taken for meek, mousy, and frightened, but she was none of those. Rather, she often felt, herself, as an incurious observer in her own life. She did not respond emotionally to entreaties or comments, be they insulting or complimentary.

	And this seemed to cause, in some men, the desire to force a response from her, to force an acknowledgement of what they were saying or doing. Given her beauty, it was not surprising, and altogether predictable that this would turn to sexual comments and behaviour as they grew ever more determined to elicit an emotional response, and, at the same time, felt a sense of sexual empowerment for being able to say or do whatever their perverse imaginations inspired without, it seemed, any sanction or penalty.

	For all of that, Rory was able to keep such men safely at a distance so long as she and her father lived in a rural area, as they had, for the past four years, in Idaho. But the housing crisis had closed down many sawmills and cut back heavily on timber cutting. Her father had been laid off, and had searched high and low for another job which matched his rather narrow professional skill set.

	With such a drastic reduction in forestry jobs and demand, however, this was not easy to accomplish, and he had eventually been forced to take a job which, for him, was somewhat menial, with the New York City Parks Department. His job was to help to assess the health of the trees in Central Park.

	The immediate economic consequence of all of this was that, since he had never been able to save money, that they had very little in which to pick up and settle down again, particularly in New York, a famously expensive city. Jonathan Donavon had not considered this prior to accepting the position and arranging to move himself and his teenage daughter there.

	He had consulted a rental directory, was pleased to find a number of available apartments within reasonable travel range of Central Park, and then rented one. The apartment was just to the north of Central Park, and it had not occurred to him to wonder why prices on the north were so very much cheaper than prices on the south, east or west of the enormous park. 

	He had heard of Harlem, vaguely, but been unaware of New York City geography. It was in the city, and all cities were the same, so far as he was concerned. He had not considered crime or poverty. Poor people were people too, and generally, he thought, victims of societal neglect. Crime was generally the result of poverty, and again, could be combated by society aiding in the education of those who resorted to it. He had no great wealth, and therefore was not concerned about anyone robbing him.

	He was delighted at the character of the building he had chosen for them. It was quite old, and had high, vaulted ceilings, crown molding, and large, bay windows looking out onto the street. The old steam heating was charming, and he was quite sure that with a little elbow grease, and some paint the layers of dirt could easily be swept away and the place would be quite livable.

	He was, in fact, quite correct in that regard. It was a lovely apartment building, or had been at one point in its life. He had not paused to consider the quality of his neighbors, for Donavan saw himself as non-judgmental. The smell of urine in the back corridor bothered him, but he merely shook his head sadly at the depths to which society had driven some poor wretches.

	He and Rory set to work cleaning, scrubbing and painting the apartment. They noticed, of course, that everyone they encountered seemed to be black, but Jonathon was delighted by this for he had so seldom had opportunities to interact with visible minorities. Rory, as with much else in life, was unmoved either way.

	Her first actual personal encounter with any of these city people came about in an elevator ??" a device she had heard of, but never before encountered. It was a creaky old thing, a virtual museum piece, and she found the sensation of being closed-in somewhat unpleasant.

	Not long after she and her father took up residence she stepped into the elevator and a young man only a few years her senior stepped in with her. His eyes were immediately on her, frankly assessing her with obvious surprise and interest.

	"What you doing here, white girl?" he asked, his voice not a pleasant tone.

	She gazed up and back at him without emotion. "I'm going upstairs," she said, which seemed, to her, to be the honest answer to a rather obvious question.

	He did not seem to take it that way, but scowled, and stepped forward, standing very close in front of her.

	"You think you're smart, white girl?"

	There was no obvious answer to this, so Rory did not make one.

	He sneered down at her, his eyes very obviously on her breasts. 

	Rory wore loose khaki trousers and a cotton sweater. He rolled his tongue across his lower lip and made a kissing sound. 

	This was not something which Rory had not become accustomed to. And it made no real difference that the man doing it was black rather than white. However, she was not now in a position to simply turn and walk off. The elevator was slow and chugging its way up to the fourth floor took time. She was in a small box with no real way of avoiding the unpleasant man.

	"You ever suck black cock, baby?" he asked in a sibilant near whisper.

	She had not, but Rory did not think there would be any profit in saying so. She ignored him.

	He bent closer, his bad breath in her face. "You white bitches all love nigger cock, don't you? You blonde whores really love the black meat," he said with a leer. "You want me to take it out for you, baby? You want to suck it right here?"

	Rory continued to ignore him, staring up at the exceedingly slow progression of numbers at the top of the door. The elevator had passed two, and now the three was lit. 

	He glared at her. "Stuck up little blonde slut," he growled. "Think you're too good for me? Huh!?"

	He moved forward, using the bulk of his body to push her back against the wall. She had no choice but to look at him now, and he leered at her, having gotten her attention.

	"You got a fine body there, baby. You want to be my ho? You could make a lot of money for me out on the street."

	She looked past his shoulder and saw that the three was no longer lit. A moment later the four lit up.

	"Excuse me," she said calmly, stepping to the side to move around him.

	The door began to open as his hand shot out and gripped her bottom tightly, firmly, squeezing it.

	"Nice ass, bitch," he taunted.

	She did not respond. The door opened farther and she walked out of it, with his laughter following her.

	She walked up the narrow, poorly lit corridor to their apartment and opened the door. It was not locked for neither she nor her father had the habit of locking their doors.

	"Ahh, Rory, my dear," her father said. "The superintendent arrived while you were away and repaired the refrigerator." He beamed happily. "Such a lovely man. Do you know he's from Haiti? I can't wait to talk to him about what life was like there. In the meantime, could you go to the store and pick up a few things. Vegetables, fruit, perhaps some pasta. You know what to get, dear."

	"Yes, daddy," she said.

	She turned around and left, hesitated at the elevator, and walked past it to take the stairs down. The stairwell smelled badly, but at least it did not box her in with no escape. She made her way to the ground floor, passing a pair of young black men at the second floor. They looked at her appreciatively, and very brazenly.

	"Oooh, that's some nice meat," one of them said.

	"Shake that ass, baby," the other said.

	Rory continued on down, emerging in the lobby, then walked out onto the street. Her father had already shown her where there was a small collection of shops a few blocks up, and she walked briskly along the sidewalks in that direction. As she did so, a number of faces turned her way, a number of people frowning curiously at her presence.

	Rory was used to being looked at ??" by men, but the degree of attention from everyone she passed was unique in her experience, and she was not quite sure what the reason was. She was dressed modestly, and, looking down, did not seem to have spilled anything on herself.

	She reached the small grocery store and picked up a basket. As on the street, black faces turned her way, frowning in wonderment. She ignored them, and began to look for something edible. There wasn't much there. The small store seemed more given to sugar and salt filled fast food than vegetables and fruit. She was pondering the scant assortment of available vegetables when a black man in a blue vest, who seemed to work there, sidled up beside her and picked up a cucumber.

	"You want some of this, white girl?" he whispered with a little leer.

	Rory looked at it, then at him. He clearly, from his leer, meant something unpleasant, but she had no idea what.

	"No thank you," she said, turning her eyes away.

	She failed to see the look of anger which came over his face at, what he quite rightly believed to be her dismissal of him.

	"We got it in black too," he said with a toothy sneer. "You sure you don't want a black one?" he thrust it up towards her with a smirk, and she moved further up the aisle.

	He glowered angrily, like many men, unhappy at not producing any kind of reaction from her. He moved closer, waggling his tongue at her. But she failed to notice.

	"Sure you don't want this? It's on the house," he said.

	He held one end of the cucumber, and now he slid the other end along the side of her chest, rubbing it lightly along her ribs. She continued to ignore him, and, both angered and emboldened, he slid the cucumber forward, letting it rub along the side of one of her breasts, as well as her ribs. 

	She moved further away. He followed.

	"You know you like that green, baby," he said, sliding the cucumber down along the center of her buttocks, then pushing it in between her thighs to grind the edge up along her pussy.

	She started to move away but, again emboldened by her lack of reaction, he slid quickly sideways to stand directly behind her, his hands on the counter on either side of her, hemming her in. He pushed his groin in against her bottom as he leaned forward over her right shoulder.

	"Love that blonde hair, baby," he whispered. "How much you want for a blow job? I got twenty bucks. That enough?"

	She pushed sideways but he held his arm firmly in place, grinding his now hardening cock into her buttocks.

	He reached a hand up and cupped one of her firm young breasts, and his cock turned instantly hard as his fingers sank into the soft flesh.

	"Ooo, baby," he whispered.

	She twisted aside and moved away, and he, after glancing quickly around to make sure no one was in the aisle, darted after her. He caught her just at a doorway into the stock room and shouldered her into it. She stumbled through a dirty brown curtain and he followed, then grabbed her and crushed her lips with his. She struggled ineffectually to turn away and he jerked his hands up, cupping and squeezing her breasts as he pushed her against the wall.

	"You make me so hard, baby," he said in a hoarse growl. "I want to fuck your tight little white body!"

	She said nothing, her eyes refusing to see him. She did not fight him, but did continue to try to turn or twist or pull away.

	She did let out a soft gasp of pain when he slid his fingers into her thick blonde hair and yanked her head back. Now she had no choice but to look at him as he crushed her lips with his again, his tongue thrusting into her open mouth. His other hand groped her breast roughly, then shot down between her legs, squeezing her there.

	"You know you want black cock, bitch!" he said, panting. "You white girls all want black cock! That's why you came in here!"

	She would not even deign to speak or look at him! It angered him and he jerked her sweater up, forcing his hand up underneath, yanking down on her bra so he could grab t her bare flesh. It was gloriously soft and his cock pulsed and throbbed as he sank his fingers into it.

	"You want to leave, baby white girl? You want to leave? You gotta suck black cock!"

	His hand fumbled with his zipper and he pulled out his cock, hard and gleaming. He yanked down on her hair, forcing her to her knees, then shoved his cock into her open mouth.

	"Suck it!" he hissed. "Suck that cock, bitch!"

	She moaned and when he yanked at her hair he thrilled to the soft whimpers of pain, for that, at least, was some kind of reaction.

	"Suck that cock, you white whore!" he snarled.

	Hemmed in against the wall, his hand tearing at her hair, Rory had little alternative, and her lips closed around his prick as she began to suck.

	"Yeah! Yeah! You love it, slut! Fucking blonde whore!" he hissed.

	He pushed his hips forward, and she gagged on the knobby end of his prick. She licked harder, faster, trying to bob her lips on it so he would come and then leave her alone. Instead he put both hands behind her head, and pulled her forward. Her eyes bulged as his cock punched into her throat and slid down deep.

	She gagged and choked and squirmed, but he pulled her face in against his groin, grunting in satisfaction as he felt her throat wrapped around his throbbing prick.

	"Swallow that cock, white girl!" he gasped. "Swallow that black meat! Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Suck it, bitch!"

	His hips worked frantically in and out, tearing his cock up and down inside her throat. Rory gagged and gurgled and fought nausea as he raped her throat. Her hands pushed and slapped ineffectually at his hips and thighs and belly as he pumped, but he ignored her feeble efforts, pumping hard, fast and deep as he yanked her face into his groin again and again.

	Fortunately for her it didn't take long, for his excitement was high. He spewed his come down into her throat, and his cock softened as he slowly drew back.

	"That's what you get, bitch," he said, panting. "Stuck up white slut."

	He pulled his cock out and shoved it back into his pants, then shoved her away and, sneering, went back into the store.

	Rory grasped her aching throat as she coughed and gulped in air, her face red, her chest burning. After a minute or two she had gained sufficient breath to stand up, and she did so, then shakily pushed through the curtains, and hurried out of the store.