400 Days of Oppression

by Wrath James White

  I sat next to him and he hugged me and kissed me on my neck again.

  “I wanted to hang out with you and get to know you a little. Just don’t get offended if I fall asleep. It’s not a comment on your company. I worked sixteen hours straight yesterday and then spent two hours in the gym this morning before going back to work today. I’m exhausted.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I make money, lots of it. I’m not wealthy, but I’m comfortable.”

  “Don’t be mysterious. Whenever a guy in this town gets all mysterious about his occupation it usually means he’s either a drug dealer or a pimp.”

  “I’m no pimp.”

  “Drug dealer?”

  “That would fit the stereotype wouldn’t it? But no, sorry to disappoint you. I’m a real estate broker and I’m also part owner of a boxing gym.”

  “I didn’t mean just because you were black. There are white drug dealers too. My brother was arrested for running a meth lab. He was mysterious about his occupation too.”

  “Okay, well now there’s no more mystery.”

  Every time I opened my mouth in his presence I seemed to step on some racial landmine. I had to do something to turn the conversation back around.

  “You box?”

  “A little. Nothing serious. I’m not pro or anything. I’m more interested in the business side of things. I’m part owner of a little gym on Sahara and Rainbow. It’s not like a real boxer’s gym. It’s for guys like me who want to learn to box but don’t actually want to fight. Mostly executives who want to let out a little aggression and feel like tough guys and housewives trying to lose weight. I make a lot of contacts there for my real estate business. Anyone who buys a house from me gets one month free membership to my gym. We get a lot of law enforcement guys in there too, cops, military, even Feds. I never get speeding tickets because of that place.”

  Sometimes it was all about asking the right questions.

  “So you’re like an entrepreneur? That’s cool. I’d have never guessed. I mean I figured you were some kind of athlete by the way you look, maybe a basketball or football player. I just never figured you for owning your own business and selling houses.”

  “You just figured I was some dumb jock, right? Either a pimp a drug pusher or a basketball player. You are just full of prejudgments aren’t you?”

  Another landmine successfully detonated.

  “I’m not gonna lie. You don’t usually meet guys like you walking around night clubs.”

  “Then why go?”

  I shrugged.

  “Where else are you going to go? Why were you there? How the hell do you find time with everything that you do?”

  “I hate sleeping alone.”

  “You don’t have a girlfriend?”

  “Not right now, I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m too busy and my life is complicated enough. That’s what I’ve been telling myself anyway, but now I think having a girlfriend might help uncomplicate my life a little. It would at least keep me out of the nightclubs.”

  The guy said all the right things. Rich, intelligent, well-built, looking for commitment. Something had to be wrong with him.

  “So, if you hate sleeping alone then why didn’t you try to get me to come home with you on Saturday?”

  “I also hate making mistakes. You aren’t one night stand material. You’re the type of woman men fall in love with. Now, your little blonde friend, she was one night stand material. I made a choice and decided I was more up for falling in love than getting head in the parking lot.”

  “You saw all of that just by looking at me?”

  “I saw most of it. Talking to you confirmed it.”

  “Why? Because I like to argue?”

  “Because you’ve got more on your mind than last night’s episode of Desperate Housewives or what the latest designer drug is and because you’ve got guts but you’re also really sensitive, really sweet, and really lonely. I could see your loneliness like a beacon in that nightclub. Some men could take advantage of that. I’m not that type of man. I’ve been that type of man, but I’m not anymore. I knew I had more of a potential to get sprung on a woman like you than to use her and discard her.”

  “I don’t even know what to say to that. It almost sounds like you’re proposing.”

  “I’m proposing we get to know each other better and letting you know that I’m serious.”

  I hesitated. This was just too fucking weird.

  “First you call me up sounding like you just want to get some and now you come over and tell me that you might, if the stars are right and the moon is in Pluto, be able to fall in love with me even though you don’t even know me? But all you really want to do is just fall asleep on my couch?”

  He laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s about right. I mean, I’d prefer to make love to you. I just don’t want to rush things. Okay, I do want to rush things. I’m just fucking tired.”

  I laughed too then.

  “I wouldn’t have let you anyway. I’m not that kind of girl…not anymore anyway. I’ve been celibate for almost a year and I’m enjoying my life without men…less bullshit to deal with. I’ve gotten burned way too often. I’m taking it slow from now on.”

  Kenyatta smiled and something in his eyes glittered. I recognized the look. He was warming to the challenge. I was both excited and disappointed by it. It was such a typical male response. But I wanted him too.

  He reached out and stroked my hair, pushing it out of my face and back behind my ears. Then he kissed me. It was a slow passionate kiss. His lips pecked at mine, once, twice, before he sealed them to my mouth and sucked my breath away.

  We kissed and stroked each other for more than an hour. He delicately caressed my neck, back, and arms with his fingertips. Raising goose bumps wherever he touched me and sending tingles and chills all over my flesh. He raised my shirt and rubbed his face against my breasts and stomach, nuzzling like a kitten. I lost all control of myself. I didn’t care about being a good girl and not having sex on the first date. I didn’t care anymore if he thought I was a slut. I just wanted him. He sucked my nipples into his mouth, and I moaned unselfconsciously as he flicked his tongue across them, gently biting until I screamed for him to make love to me.

  As soon as the words left my mouth Kenyatta withdrew his lips from my breasts and sat back onto the couch, smiling with satisfaction. I realized then that I had fucked up. It wasn’t about the sex for him, but about the control. Now that I’d gone back on everything I’d just said to him about taking it slow there was no need for him to actually fuck me. He had his victory, his conquest. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he had gotten up and left.

  “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself instead?”

  My pelvis was making small circles and I was actually whimpering. I wanted him so badly. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to fuck me.

  “But…but don’t you want to…”

  “We should probably take it slow like you said. Plus, I am still tired.”

  I wanted to kill him. Instead, I started another argument.

  “You were right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “About me treating poor white kids differently than I treat poor black kids. When I was in my class today, I paid attention to the way I interacted with each of the children and I definitely have a bias. It’s wrong, but it’s there. I really don’t think it’s avoidable. Everyone has their prejudices.”

  “Yeah, but some are more destructive than others. Those kids might look at you and think you’re some spoiled white woman who grew up with her daddy giving her everything she wanted and that could be the farthest thing from the truth, but it doesn’t really hurt you for them to think that because they have no power over you. You’re in a position of authority over them so your prejudice is more destructive.”

  “I’m agreeing with you that it’s wrong for me to think this way, but it’s just as wrong if some ki
d in my class looks at me and assumes that I’m some over-privileged spoiled brat. There are no degrees of prejudice.”

  “There is justifiable prejudice though.”

  “What? Now you sound like the racist here.”

  “I’m saying that because of the way black people have been oppressed in this society it is understandable if they feel a certain hostility toward your race.”

  “That is absolute bullshit. You’re trying to tell me that because I’m white it’s wrong for me to hold negative feelings toward black people, but it’s okay for black people to hate me for my color?”

  “Not okay, but understandable.”

  “So are you trying to say that black people can’t be racists?”

  “Of course not. That would be absurd. All I’m trying to say is that it’s easier to understand the hate that hate made. It’s easy to understand why the underprivileged kid who has nothing resents the privileged child who has everything and has acquired it at his expense. What’s hard to understand is how the privileged child can hate the underprivileged kid. That’s just plain evil.”

  “Shit, I’m not privileged! I had to work hard for everything I’ve gotten in life. I’ve been stepped on and beaten down as much as anybody.”

  “That’s just a metaphor. When I say privileged, I’m talking about the rights that everyone should have but that minorities in the country do not. The right to not be denied jobs, promotions, equal pay, fair treatment under law, equal representation in government, the right to walk into a store and not be followed every second by security, to drive a nice car without getting stopped and harassed by the police, to stand before a judge and not receive a harsher sentence than members of the racial majority, all because of the color of your skin. When it comes to those basic rights white people are the privileged majority.”

  “So that makes it okay for you to hate us?”

  “Not okay, understandable. White people are in a position of power that we are not. Just like with the kids that you teach, your racism can cause them far more harm than theirs can cause you. You grade their assignments, you determine what their assignments will be, you decide which students you will put the most effort into and which ones you won’t. Likewise, the ruling majority, the white people in this country determine how many tax dollars will be spent on improving education and providing opportunity for minorities. The predominantly Caucasian corporate leaders determine how high they will allow a minority employee to climb. The predominantly white juries across America and the predominantly white judges and lawmakers determine what kind of treatment a minority will get when he enters a courtroom. Your prejudice has the ability to cause us much greater harm than we could ever cause you.”

  “All prejudice is still wrong.”

  “No argument there. I’m not condoning anyone’s prejudice. I wish that everyone could be judged on their own individual merits alone without bearing the weight of their entire race. It’s not fair to anyone. But when that shit is coming from a white person, it’s a hundred times more destructive.”

  I could tell Kenyatta was still steaming when he left my apartment. He didn’t even hug or kiss me, just smiled, waved, and walked out the door. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if I’d never seen him again. When he came back the next day I was determined not to start another argument with him. I needn’t have worried.

  Kenyatta walked in, grabbed me in his arms and kissed me hard while brutishly ripping my nightgown in half. I didn’t care that I’d paid almost fifty dollars for that gown at Victoria’s Secret and would probably never replace it. I just wanted this man. The front door was still open when he laid me on the floor and fucked me like some whore he’d plucked off the corner, hard and aggressive. Just like I liked it. He bit my face and neck so hard he left bruises. My ass was likewise tattooed with his hand print in livid red and purple. At one point he’d even used his belt on me, leaving welts on my back and buttocks as I knelt on my hands and knees and he fucked me hard from behind. I screamed when I came. Then I begged him for more.

  “Oh my God! That was incredible! Don’t stop. Fuck me again, Daddy!”

  Abruptly, without the slightest warning, Kenyatta pulled me onto his lap, belly across his knees, forehead brushing the floor, ass in the air. He never asked me if I was into being dominated or spanked. He just did it. Before I could say a word, his palm came down on my ass.

  “What the—”

  He spanked me again and again, reddening my ass cheeks and raising welts. Then he bit me. He leaned down and seized my still sore and throbbing buttocks in his mouth and bit down hard.

  “Ahhhhhh! Fuuuuuck! Stop!”

  I couldn’t believe he’d just bitten me. It was somehow more disturbing than the spanking. Yet, I was powerfully aroused by it all. He rolled me off his lap and stood. I was still lying there on the living room floor with my legs quivering and my breaths coming in short rapid bursts, Kenyatta’s sweat and semen drying on my belly, when he stooped, picked up his clothes, and began to dress himself.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “So what was this? Why’d you bite me? What was that spanking for,” I asked still trying to catch my breath.

  “Fun. I’ll be back.”

  He turned and walked out the door leaving a noticeable absence as if he’d taken a part of me with him. After being single for years, I suddenly felt incredibly alone. If Kenyatta never came back, I knew I’d miss him forever. I couldn’t remember ever feeling that way about anyone. I reached down and rubbed my ass where Kenyatta had spanked me. It was still warm, raw, and sore, sensitive to the touch. When I pulled my hands away, my fingertips were red. He had drawn blood. I stood and locked the front door behind him then ran to the bathroom. Kenyatta may have gone, but he had left me with something, his signature. His teeth marks were embedded in my left buttock. He had broken the skin and the indent of each tooth was clearly visible. Blood dribbled down the back of my leg. I smiled, remembering the feel of the mouth that had caused the damage. I dreamed about him all evening, rubbing my wounded ass and wondering if there was something wrong with me that I had enjoyed the pain, enjoyed submitting to this man I barely knew.

  CHAPTER III

  He swatted my mop bucket away and it skidded across the floor, splashing suds and water onto the tile. I squeezed the wet rag in my hand as he smacked my bare ass. I knew what was next.

  I moaned in ecstasy as much as pain, anticipating his length filling me. I felt his rough hands grab my hips, his strong fingers kneading the flesh, gripping hard as he forced his solid length inside of me. He entered easily. I was already wet from anticipation. Still, my breath caught in my throat as his flesh entered mine. His cock was so long it still caused me pain even after all these months. That first thrust felt as if the head of his cock jabbed my ribcage. I gasped in shock then moaned again as a shudder went from between my thighs all the way up my spine. He felt so good I wanted to scream. I could feel his hard chest against my back, his thighs against the back of mine, his breath against my cheek, as he thrust that magnificent organ of his deeper inside of me.

  “I love you, master. I love you,” I said.

  His only reply was a tug of my hair and his teeth sinking into my shoulder as he pounded deeper within me. I collapsed to the tile floor, unable to support myself on my hands and knees with both his weight and the weight of the chains pressing down on me. He continued to fuck me, harder now. He pulled my hips hard against him to meet his thrusts. Our rhythm was now something violent and powerful. He smacked my ass over and over as he fucked me. I felt his thumb lubed with saliva slide between my buttocks and into my ass and I knew what was coming next. He was so large that I had always had difficulty taking him this way. So, of course he had made anal sex a regular part of our love-play. Now he was even less gentle than normal. He went slow at first, easing it in inch by inch as he held himself up on his powerful arms and gra
dually descended until his entire length slid inside me. It was excruciating. I felt my stomach cramp as his erection pulsed and pounded within my distended rectum. Then he became more forceful, aggressively jack-hammering his thick cock in and out of my ass as if he were trying to drive me right through the floorboards. He reached around and wrapped one of his massive biceps around my throat and constricted until my windpipe slammed shut.

  Between the pain in my anus and the sudden loss of oxygen, I began to panic. Spots danced before my eyes and I thrashed and bucked, panicking as everything began to go dark, trying to free myself. I scratched at his hands and arms and tried to pry his arm from around my throat, but it was like trying to bend iron. Then he reached his other arm beneath me as he dropped his entire weight onto my back, still thrusting relentlessly.

  His fingers found my clitoris easily and he slipped his index finger first inside me to wet it with my juices before flicking it rapidly back and forth across my swollen clit. The pain, the loss of oxygen, and now the delirious sensations radiating from my sex brought me to the most explosive orgasm I could remember. Every muscle contracted as if shocked with a taser and then vibrated and convulsed as waves of ecstasy tore through my helpless body. My arms and legs thrashed and kicked. My back arched and a scream tore from my throat as Kenyatta finally relaxed his grip. My asshole contracted around my master’s cock and I came again while Kenyatta continued fucking my sore and swollen anus with his mesomorphic organ, still fingering my engorged clit. He bit the back of my neck and growled and I knew he was about to cum. He withdrew his cock from my asshole abruptly. It felt as if he had turned it inside out. I screamed in pain and my guts cramped again. My rectum was so badly chafed it felt like it was on fire. Kenyatta grabbed one of my arms and turned me over.