Nature Versus Nurture

By Contingency

Submitted: September 16, 2020

Updated: September 16, 2020

Trey's girls want to nurture him, they really do. But Trey's hung bully - and their own natures - get in the
way.

PDF Link: here (highly recommend the PDF for better readability!)

This is a somewhat dark bully NTR story commissioned and loosely directed by an anonymous client. It
contains risky cheating, very mild raceplay (white male on black females), and cuckolding.

Provided by Hentai Foundry.

http://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/Contingency/45042/Nature-Versus-Nurture

Chapter 1 - Chapter One 2

Chapter 2 - Chapter Two 17
Chapter 3 - Chapter Three 34
Chapter 4 - Chapter Four 50
Chapter 5 - Chapter Five 64
Chapter 6 - Chapter Six 74
Chapter 7 - Chapter Seven 85
Chapter 8 - Chapter Eight 102
Chapter 9 - Chapter Nine 123
Chapter 10 - Chapter Ten 144
Chapter 11 - Chapter Eleven 160
Chapter 12 - Chapter Twelve 180
Chapter 13 - Chapter Thirteen 199
Chapter 14 - Chapter Fourteen 218
Chapter 15 - Chapter Fifteen 230
 1 - Chapter One

The first thing Trey Baptiste felt every day was disappointment.

That wasn’t something he liked to think on too much, beyond the stark, quiet solitude of his bed — it was
a fact of his life that was better shoved down, deep into the parts of his brain where he stored so many
other things he would rather not think about. But that was the thing about those first, groggy, scrambling
moments of the day, jarred rudely into wakefulness by his cell phone alarm; he couldn’t remember to
repress the vague, nagging disappointment that pervaded his daily life until he shook off sleep and
reined in the mind that had been roaming free and wild in his dreams.

It wasn’t that Trey hated himself, or hated his life. As ever, laying there in his bed now after groggily
fumbling for his infernally bleeping phone and clicking off its ringer, he knew he was lucky (he told
himself as much dozens of times every day, after all). He lived in a nice suburban home, with a loving,
upwardly mobile suburban family. Laying on his side on the mattress, rubbing sleepily at his skinny,
bared dark-skinned torso, he was looking around a bedroom adorned with just about anything an
introverted nerd like himself could want: a nice high-definition television, an expensive computer setup
with a big monitor and a nice cushy chair, three different gaming systems on his home entertainment
cabinet. He climbed into this bed every night well-fed, warm, and safe, surrounded by people who loved
him.

It was just…

When that alarm went off before school every day, it meant the end of dreaming about being someone
else. Someone big and strong instead of skinny and frail. Someone loud and confident instead of
someone meek and soft-spoken. Someone who made the world around him take notice and bend to his
will, instead of trampling all over him.

Someone who didn’t feel a permanent, creeping dread of going into school every day where bigger,
stronger boys reminded him every day of his weakness.

That was why Trey Baptiste started every day with a subtle sense of disappointment. He didn’t hate his
life or anything. He knew he was lucky.

He simply wished he could keep dreaming about being a version of himself that wasn’t such a…

Wimp.

The self-label barely had time to flash across Trey’s vulnerable, slowly waking mind before he clamped
down on it and shoved it aside. There might have been things he wasn’t very good at that he dreamt
every night about being better with: asserting himself, working out, dealing with the opposite sex — but
there were things he was good at, too: reading, studying, gaming, being a gentleman, and most
definitely not thinking about the kinds of words that A Certain Muscle-Bound Asshole at school loved to
snidely label him with every day.
And the best way not to think about all that?

Keep on keeping on, as his mother loved to say (a little too often, if he was being honest).

So Trey hauled himself out of bed, the mattress barely so much as giving a single creak from the
displacement of his lithe, skinny black frame, and he kept on keeping on, his mind finally kicked into gear
enough to keep those troublesome waking thoughts buried in the vault of his subconsciousness where
they belonged.

By the time he was in the kitchen eating breakfast before school each day, Trey never knew how he
could possibly have woken up to anything but a smile and a sense of contentment.

Sure, he wasn’t some big and buff stereotype of machismo like A Certain Asshole at school that he
dreaded dealing with every waking moment. Sure, he had a light, often wavering voice that always made
him want to wince when he heard it pouring from his own mouth, instead of the deep, confident tones of
That Asshole. Sure, he needed glasses and his curly, short-cut black hair was already receding despite
the fact he was just barely legally considered an adult as of this year, whereas A Certain Asshole had
healthy, loose brown hair and clear, sharp, perfectly functioning bright blue eyes, all of which led
inevitably to thoughts about genetics that, just as inevitably, ended up shoved down into Trey’s Vault
like so many other thoughts.

But Trey had something that he was confident no just and fair world would ever allow an Asshole, like
the one who bullied him daily, to ever have: the love and support of the vibrant, strong-willed queens that
were the women in his life.

“Oh, honey, you are looking sharp in that new shirt!” His mother, Monique, might as well have made it
official notarized policy to only speak in that loud, boisterous tone every morning during breakfast. It was
something that could be grating, on some mornings, when Trey’s Vault felt like it was filled fit to burst
and couldn’t lock away every thought that he needed it to, leaving him to stew bleakly in some of them.
Today, though, Trey felt just fine — good, even. The Vault’s door joints were freshly lubricated, it was
opening and slamming shut as needed, and he could just smile shyly and tolerate his mother’s latest
pushy, ruthless attempt to start her kids’ day off on a positive footing.

“Thanks, momma,” he mumbled, more than a little annoyed with himself that even praise from his own
mother made his cheeks flush and his voice go even softer as it so often did when any girl was remotely
nice to him (or, frankly, spoke to him at all). He stared down at the tablecloth on the kitchen table in front
of his seat, trying to ignore the rolling eyes of his big sister across from him.

His mother’s short, practical heels clacked on the kitchen floor as she made her way purposefully over
to him. It was a stride and accompanying sound that was something of a legend in Trey’s school,
because as it just so happened, his mother was also his school Principal, sweeping through the hallways
there as briskly as she did their home kitchen. It was no coincidence that every breakfast was Managed,
with a capital ‘M,’ so busily and efficiently by her; after decades of marriage, motherhood, and directing
an entire fairly large suburban high school just on the outskirts of a major city, Trey didn’t think he’d
ever seen his mother in anything less than full Matriarch Lioness mode. He and his sister saw a side of
her that could be softer and more tender than their classmates ever did, sure, but it was still hard to
separate their mother, sometimes, from their intimidating and fearsome school Principal. She treated
their home very much how she treated their school, as something to be Managed, with a motherly, but
very firm, hand.

“Thank you for letting your old momma start the day with the sight of such a handsome young man.”
His mother’s smoky, soulful voice oozed with honey as she said it and came to a stop right next to him,
her fragrant perfume that he’d been smelling on her every day for as long as he could remember tickling
at his nose. She leaned in, her soft black hand rubbing at his back as she deposited a plate of pancakes
and bacon onto the table in front of him, and a kiss onto the top of his head. Trey hated himself for it,
but he could only blush even deeper at the oozing motherly affection — and, as hard as he tried not to
notice it, as ever, the fact that his mother’s heaving, sizable breasts, straining at the buttoned-up
short-sleeved pastel shirt she’d paired with a white pencil skirt, brushed against the side of his face.

How could he not have noticed? Trey identified himself as feminist; it was a big part of why he had
netted his gorgeous girlfriend, Nia, herself a loud-spoken and proud feminist, to the shock of almost
every other male who knew him at all and had begun to think he’d never have a girlfriend. He took the
idea of respecting women so seriously, especially after growing up in a household dominated by the
strong-willed women that were his mother and sister, that he felt guilty anytime he so much as let himself
glance at a woman’s body. But he was still a teenaged male. It was impossible to ignore the fact that his
mother embodied the concept of ‘Matriarch’ in far more ways than her confidence and pride, just as it
was impossible to ignore the way so many of the guys at school whistled and leered any time she
sauntered and wobbled her way past them.

No. No amount of feminism could help Trey ignore the fact that his mother was ridiculously hot.

And with her ridiculous, hyper-fertile, mature curvature, ‘wobbling’ was truly the only way to describle
her every movement, no matter how slight. Trey’s mother had the kind of body that guys his age
drooled over: huge, endlessly soft-looking motherly breasts that made every top she wore look lewd,
somehow, no matter how conservative the outfit, atop a slender torso that exploded into wide, curvy
baby-bearing hips far broader than her shoulders — hips that were the only possible side effect of what
really made every guy at Trey’s school have to awkwardly hide their tenting crotches anytime she
passed by: her absurdly thick, bubbly, shelf-like rear. As a proud, outspoken black woman, his mother
made no secret of loving and being proud of it, knowing that her ass was a peak example of African
femininity, especially paired with her thick, curvy thighs and long legs.

She was his mom. Trey wasn’t remotely sexually attracted to her, and that was no attempt merely to
ignore something in his Vault, either. It was still hard not to get flustered when she doted on him like this.
He felt his cheeks about ready to split from the big smile on his face, though, because the idea of how
jealous the guys at school got when the mature bombshell that was his mother was hugging and kissing
him with her soft, glossy plump lips always gave him a much-needed self-esteem boost. He cut himself a
generous forkful of pancake, lathered it heavily in the maple syrup pooled on his plate, and took an
enthusiastic bite, suddenly sporting a very healthy and vigorous appetite.

“Ugggh, you are so frigging weird sometimes, Trey.” His sister, Janelle, generously decided to chime in.
It was a perpetually strange thing for Trey, hearing the sort of drawling, hyper-feminine Mean Girl voice
that he usually could only hear from afar at school, so close to him at home. Janelle was every bit the
kind of girl who, if she wasn’t his sister, would never have so much as looked twice at Trey, unless it
was to make fun of him — and, incidentally, many of her girlfriends were often unable to pass up the
temptation to do so, even if he was her brother. She’d been the Belle of the Ball her entire life, one of
the popular Pretty Girls when she was younger and then one of the popular Hot Girls as soon as she
burst into puberty, developing the kind of naturally thick and obscenely curvy body that drew every bit as
much attention as their mother’s, albeit of a different sort. Where Trey’s classmates regarded his
mother as completely unattainable, the smoking-hot MILF that they looked forward to glimpsing every
day so they could sneak looks at her and remark on her in hushed, excited tones, Janelle was instead
the object of far more real and outspoken lust. She wasn’t the married older woman who also happened
to be able to give guys Trey’s age detention; she was the Girl Next Door, fair game for anyone Man
enough to attract her attention.

And who wouldn’t have wanted her attention? Janelle was kind of a bitch, sure; she loved to speak her
mind, loudly, especially when it came to putting down other girls to assert her place as Queen Bae of the
school and relishing putting down the flirtation attempts, or even the casual jokes, of any guy she didn’t
deem to be ‘worthy’ of her (which, needless to say, was… pretty much all of them). But it became
awfully hard to focus on her shallow, promiscuous personality when any look at her would lead to the
mind going blank and unable to fixate on anything but her pouty, soft black feminine features, with big
brown eyes and long fluttering lashes and the kind of soft plush lips that were practically designed by
nature for sultry pouting, with her perky, bouncy teen breasts, her flat belly, her thick pillowy hips and
thunderous curvy thighs, and an ass that was every bit the product of her mother’s genetics: a phat
protruding shelf of young ass-padding that bounced and quite literally clapped with every step she took.
The fact that she showed all of it off far more scandalously than their mother, rotating through skin-tight
dresses and midriff-baring halter tops and tiny shorts and skirts and platform heels on the regular,
rounded out the factors that made it difficult to process, every day, that Trey was even related to her, let
alone the product of the same parents.

Any other girl as absurdly hot and bitchy as his sister talking to Trey like she did would have made his
face turn into an oven of embarrassment and made him clam up completely, no matter how hard he
might try to retort. But Janelle was, hard to believe or not, his sister. So Trey, even though his
embarrassment grew, was at least comfortable enough around her that he managed to shoot her a
resentful look as he chomped on his pancakes.

Exasperation was stamped all over his mother Monique’s pronouncedly African, statuesque features,
her broad shapely nostrils flaring with their telltale sign of irritation, her slender black eyebrows needling
together over beautiful dark brown eyes as she idly ran a hand through her short, curly black hair,
making her pretty, shining brown hoop earrings jingle audibly. “Now why on earth you gotta go bringing
that attitude down here every single God-loving morning, young lady?” Her other hand kept rubbing
vigorously at Trey’s back as she said it. Sometimes he got a little annoyed when she hovered over him
so protectively — it had been a far worse problem when he was younger, and he’d had to work up the
courage to set some boundaries now that he was older — but he couldn’t deny that right now it was
comforting. More comfortable around Janelle than other girls like her or not, he still had a tendency to
retreat into his shell when she tried to pick a fight with him. It was just how he was. She was so
confident, and he was so… not. It was intimidating. When he thought about it, retreating was the only
tactic he’d ever seen his father adopt when Mom tried to pick a fight with him, too. Sometimes he
wondered if his father had chosen a job with such long, unpredictable hours, taking him away from home
for long stretches, on purpose, because he’d simply gotten tired of dealing with his fierce, outspoken
wife and daughter.

Janelle shot her best are you serious sassy side eye at their mother. One of her slender fingers, peaked
with a glistening fake nail, worked at her long, immaculately smoothed-out, silky brown-streaked black
hair, her other hand limply gripping her expensive blinged-out cell phone so that it drooped toward Trey
and he could see her social media page. He couldn’t even remember a time when she wasn’t
perpetually tending to her social media, posting endless pictures and videos of herself. Considering how
slutty she’d been dressing over the last couple of years — and how she always seemed to have a steady
stream of money despite only working weekends at a minimum-wage job during the summers — Trey
was pretty sure that cute selfies weren’t the only way she flaunted herself online these days. He tried
not to think about it too much. The remarks he sometimes overheard at school didn’t make that easy.

“Oh my gawd, would you stop being such a mother hen? It’s no wonder he’s such a pussy,” Janelle
drawled with casual venom that made Trey’s stomach tighten. No matter how accustomed he got to her
bitchy attitude, it could still hurt sometimes. Janelle followed it up by turning her gaze back to Trey, a
cloying sweetness on her smooth black features that didn’t really fit her patronizing tone. “Like, sorry,
Trey. But you know it’s true. I’m just saying, like, could you not get all flustered and weird when your
own mom touches you? You have a girlfriend now. Somehow. The permavirgin vibes have got to go.”
She put down her phone and reached out the newly freed hand, clasping it over Trey’s and speaking
confidentially. “I’m just trying to help, baby bro.”

Trey didn’t know what to say — as he so often didn’t — so he just stared down at his plate and hid his
face by taking a drink of orange juice. Janelle rolled her eyes — as she so often did — sighed loudly, and
retracted her hand, picking her phone back up instead. The exasperation made Trey feel a little worse,
but at the same time, he felt better now, too. At this point in his life, despite her casual haughtiness, he
had seen Janelle stick up for him at school enough times that he did believe, in her own way, she was
trying to help him. Sure, it was more accurate to say she was trying to help herself by making the brother
she had no choice but to be associated with less of a burden on her popularity, but the fact remained:
she was his sister, and while they weren’t exactly friends, he did admire her beauty and confidence.
She was yet another strong, beautiful woman in Trey’s life who, despite it all, he knew loved him. He
could take the occasional backhanded remark. He still loved her back.

Their mother had a patented technique to display her disapproval when it wasn’t quite at the point of
yelling. She would simply stand there, letting her strong presence do most of the talking by not talking,
letting the tension build in the object of her steely-eyed glare as they wondered if an outburst was
coming. Trey had seen more wannabe tough guys at school than he could count crack under the
treatment. Even though Janelle had grown up with it, like him, he could still see her nervously glancing
up at their mother now, despite trying to pretend she was bored and unconcerned, scrolling at her
phone.

Finally, though, Monique simply sighed exasperatedly. “You have got a mouth on you, girl. I would say I
don’t know where you got it from, but we all know the answer to that question, don’t we?” She looked
down at Trey with a smile that, while it filled him with the same warmth any smile from her did, he had
learned to subtly resent over recent years, because this was the pitying smile she gave him when they
all knew he was kind of being a doormat. A smile that he couldn’t help but imagine was saying I love
you, honey child, but good Lord you really are kind of a pussy, aren’t you? Her hand gave his back a
few more brisk rubs, then ran up along his neck to affectionately ruffle the top of his receding hair. “And
you! You’re a smart boy. You know by now not to pay no mind to your sister flapping off at the gums.
You’re a sweet boy. We both love you for it.” She leaned in, kissed his forehead — making Trey’s
cheeks flush again as her hanging breasts dangled right by his eyeline, her shirt dipping under the sheer
weight of their wobbling enormity so that he could see the soft chocolate of her cleavage — only to dart
his eyes shyly back down to his plate as he felt Janelle’s disgust at his staring radiating from across the
table. “Don’t we, Nellie?”

Their mother’s tone left no room for disagreement. A glance upward revealed Janelle still looking at him
with thinly veiled disdain, but it turned to its usual resigned boredom soon enough. A resigned boredom
that, on the face of such a hot, bitchy girl who in any other situation would have been looking at a guy
like him with a lot more disgust, had become weirdly comforting for Trey over the years. He knew it was
the best he could hope for from a female so much higher up the food chain than him, even if it was his
sister.

“Sure, whatever.”

From her, it was a victory, even by their mother’s standards. Monique clapped her hands together
loudly, making both her children jump in their seats, Janelle breathing out a word that would most
definitely have earned another lecture if the Lioness wasn’t speaking over her already. “Now that’s
better! You two go on and fill those bellies, and listen to momma. After school today I’ll be going to a
meeting with the district superintendent, so…”

Her voice went on and on as Trey ate, the words barely registering as he let his mind wander, but just
the sound of it as soothing as it had been through his entire life, a comforting white noise that let him
look from her to his sister and smile to himself. Yes, sometimes he was frustrated with his own
shortcomings. Yes, there was still a perpetual, vague dread in the pit of his stomach at the thought of
going to school and dealing with A Certain Asshole who loved to remind him of those shortcomings. But
he was awful lucky to have a mom like Monique, whose ferocity and position, he knew, must surely be
why things weren’t even worse for him at school — and yes, he was even lucky to have a sister like
Janelle, who, if nothing else, must have helped his situation, too, since anyone who cared about their
status in the school hierarchy didn’t want to cross Queen Bae too badly.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Still nodding along idly when he knew his mother was expecting it
during her daily rundown of their impeccably Managed (with a capital ‘M’) routine for the day, Trey
sneaked his phone out of his pocket under the table. He felt his smile split open so widely immediately at
the text he saw on the screen that, in that single moment, every negative emotion that had creeped its
way into his psyche in the entire morning seemed to evaporate on the spot.

Because if there was one thing that let him know he was truly lucky right now, shortcomings and all,
daily bullying and all, it was his gorgeous, sweet girlfriend, Nia.

I miss u, Blabbermouth! You better have a kiss waiting for me ~<3

Nia Avery wasn’t like other girls.

Once that had been a target on her back. Now, she wore it as a badge of honor.

She could have been like the other girls, sure. Nia had always been pretty. She had the kind of innocent,
perfectly symmetrical, smooth face and the kind of bright, dimpled smile that anyone couldn’t help but
react to; made other girls want to be her friend, and made boys want to be much more than that. She
was in a stable middle-class family that had always been able to keep her outfitted in the latest styles.
She had a bright, musical laugh and a gentle, but occasionally impish, sense of humor. It was a difficult
prospect not to like her. The world of adolescent hierarchy had been wide open to her, and if she’d
wanted to, she had everything it might have taken to climb that hierarchy all the way to the top.

But Nia Avery wasn’t like other girls.

She liked being a girl. She liked being a woman even more, now that she was grown up. She wouldn’t
have traded it for anything in the world. She loved making herself look nice, loved her own beauty and
the fact that hers, in particular, was the beauty of Blackness. She loved taking care of her smooth, light
black skin and her free-flowing, shoulder-length naturally curly poof of hair, loved presenting herself to
the world in the best possible light with makeup that was sultry but not slutty and pretty, stylish outfits
that fit her slender frame, tastefully showcasing her generous handful-sized breasts and explosively
curvy lower body with its long legs and thick, ample, jiggly rear.

She was beautiful — no, she was hot — and she knew it. She loved it, even.

And that, Nia liked to think, was why she refused to compromise herself, like she felt all the other girls
around her did, every day. She loved herself too much to do that.

She’d seen it her whole life, the way girls she’d grown up with changed themselves, bit by bit, all for the
sake of one thing: boys.

Not just for boys in general, either — for the wrong boys.

Unlike other girls apparently had, Nia had not forgotten the days of their childhood, when the nature of
the world was so much smaller in scope and yet so much clearer in what was Good and what was Bad.
She still remembered when, unencumbered by hormones and sexual urges, the only thing that mattered
was who was fun to hang out with, who was funny, who made you feel safe and liked, regardless of
gender. And remembering that had made it all the more jarring to her — all the more gross, increasingly,
year by year — watching how, as soon as puberty hit her and everyone around her, the entire world had
seemed to flip upside down. It was like everyone forgot those halcyon days on the elementary school
playground, when boys and girls alike, regardless of how they looked, regardless of their race or
economic status or notions of attractiveness, could be the best of friends making dumb fart jokes,
quoting the cartoons they were all watching after school, playing mixed-sex basketball until they were all
filthy and matted down with sweat, rolling around together on the grass laughing until their sides hurt.

What had been so wrong with that? Why did it all have to change just because the girls started to
develop breasts and the boys’ balls started to drop?

Nia liked boys, too. What she didn’t understand was why all the other girls started to like the kind of
boys who, when they were little, had been the ones everyone resented. The ones who were mean and
loud and too rough around others. There was a time when those boys were the ones who were receiving
disgusted looks from the pretty girls across the room — and then, seemingly overnight, Nia was standing
in the middle school hallway, and then the high school hallway, watching girl after girl she’d grown up
with deliberately raising the pitch of their voices to sound more feminine, giggling along at the awful
jokes of those same loud, mean boys they were now dolling themselves up for, caking themselves in
layers of makeup and squeezing their teen breasts together for display in tiny tops just for an approving
word from them, their dirty looks reserved instead for so many of the harmless, good-natured boys who
had once been their playground friends. Because suddenly, the things that had mattered when the world
was smaller, when it was clearer what was Good and what was Bad, didn’t matter anymore. Girls
stopped caring about boys who made them feel safe and respected.

All they wanted were the boys who made them feel the exact opposite, instead.

Nia hadn’t liked those mean boys when she was a little girl. And while her childhood girlfriends became
these strange, unrecognizable creatures who suddenly did like those boys, as long as they looked a
certain way, had the right broad shoulders and muscular arms and handsome grins, Nia instead found
herself only growing to dislike them more and more as she grew up. They weren’t just assholes
anymore. They were thieves. They’d stolen girls who were once her dear friends and replaced them
with brain-dead Barbie dolls who, all too often, seemed to pick up some of the meanness of the sneering
Ken dolls they clung to.

And so it was that the hierarchy of adolescence had been wide-open to her, and Nia had chosen to
reject it instead. It wasn’t for lack of people giving her chances to join them up at the top, either,
childhood girlfriends and countless smitten boys alike. It was incomprehensible to all of them that she
wasn’t up there with them, with her radiant smile, her soft, soothing, sweet voice, the fact she was
hands-down one of the hottest girls in the entire school. None of them knew quite how to handle the way
Nia kept her distance from the popular clique, instead burying herself in schoolwork and academic clubs,
in more and more outspoken feminism, and — most bafflingly of all — continuing to hang out with
childhood friends who were too ugly, too nerdy, too weird, persona non grata. The fact that her only
relationship through her class’s entire high school career had been her current one, dating her best
friend from those rose-tinted days on the elementary school playground, Trey Baptiste, was something
that she knew for a fact drove a lot of the school’s jocks and preppy boys who were used to getting all
the attention from hot girls like her absolutely crazy; knew for a fact, because she’d turned down more
than one of them who tried to convince her she deserved ‘better’, leaving several of them
shell-shocked for weeks at a time.

They had to learn the hard way that Nia Avery wasn’t like the other girls.

And she was determined that she never would be.

Nia leaned into that fact a lot these days. The insecurity that had racked her about trying to stay out of
the quicksand of hormones and insecurities that had consumed so many other girls her age, the
embarrassment that she’d once felt when she’d hear those other girls pointing and whispering about
how she didn’t dress like them and act like them, was long gone. There was no need to worry anymore.
As far as she was concerned, she was triumphant. She’d survived it all, and had stayed true to herself.
It was the last year of high school. Who cared what anyone thought about her outfit today? The
thick-rimmed black glasses framing her pretty, thick-lashed deep brown eyes (she didn’t really need
them except for reading small print, but she liked the way they looked); the short-sleeved shirt, tucked
into her pants, with two black fists side by side with the letters EQUA on one hand’s fingers and LITY on
the other’s; the skin-tight light denim jeans that were pulled up to her belly button. She knew she looked
dorky. She also knew that her body was so rocking that she made it work, and that was part of what
made it fun. The thought of luring some poor muscle-head’s eyes to her fat, bubbly black ass ready to
bust out of her tight jeans, only to turn around and hit them with the thought-provoking shirt showing
them she wasn’t just another ditz for them to eye up, gave her a little smirk. Letting them ogle how
tightly the shirt clung to her perky teen breasts was a small price to pay.

Triumphant atop the charred corpse of high school social pressures or not, it was still awkward to just be
standing by the school’s rear parking lot building entrance doing nothing while all the other students
were slowly trickling in to start another day, so Nia slid her phone out of her back pocket and made a
show of busying herself by checking her texts. Specifically, the text conversation with her boyfriend,
Trey. She smiled as she was opening it up, thinking about the nickname she’d used to refer to him in
her last message — Blabbermouth. It wasn’t the subtlest running joke, an ironic name implying he never
stopped talking even though he was notoriously quiet, but that was the point. She’d started teasing him
by calling him that when they were just getting to know each other in elementary school. People had
outright made fun of him for being so soft-spoken and introverted his entire life. The fact she used it as a
pet name for him took away some of the power of those taunts, especially when she’d lovingly wrap her
arms around him and coo it at him right in front of any number of the school’s assholes when they were
trying to make fun of him before locking him in a kiss. That usually scared the wannabe bullies right off.

And true to his nickname, Trey hadn’t even replied to her text. He’d simply attached a couple reaction
emojis to it: a laughing face, and then a kissing face.

For just a moment, Nia felt a surge of annoyance — and immediately felt guilty for it. Hadn’t she, one
second ago, been fondly thinking about how she loved to stick up for her sweet, nerdy boyfriend’s quiet
shyness? And now here she was, annoyed with him for that very silence. It was a recurring, nagging
complaint for her, one she only admitted to herself rarely, how even with her, Trey was still often
wishy-washy and too shy to say anything. In fact, Nia sometimes thought he was especially shy around
her. His tendency to freeze up and not be able to think of anything to say had exploded in frequency as
they got older and she’d grown into such a curvaceous, attractive girl; she’d had to exasperatedly
remind him that she was the same person he’d grown up with multiple times through high school, that
he didn’t have to worry around her. It had been like pulling teeth in the months leading up to their
relationship starting, trying to lay down more and more ham-fisted hints that she was interested, hints
that she was quite sure he was picking up on, but was simply too terrified to act on. In the end, she’d
had to ask him out. She told herself, if nothing else, it was a very feminist footing to start with.

“Hey, you!”

Nia felt her heart stop and her face whipped up from her phone. It was hard not to have a guilty look on
her face, seeing her boyfriend suddenly walking up to her now, right after she’d been guiltily stewing
over her unexpected moment of resentment toward him. Maybe that was why she heaped the happiness
onto her voice just a little too thickly as she opened her arms and welcomed Trey into a hug.
“Ohmigawd I feel like I haven’t seen you in foreverrrr! C’mere cutie!”

Trey groaned like a kid being embarrassed in front of his friends by his mother as Nia started heaping
kiss after wet smacking kiss all over his face, earning several typical baffled looks from some of the
students passing by — Nia and Trey, the Eighth Wonder of the World, the Couple That Shouldn’t Have
Been But Was. The thought brightened Nia’s spirits considerably and the moment of annoyance
seemed a distant memory. She hugged Trey to her even more tightly and kissed him right on the mouth,
clasping her smooth, soft black hands to either side of his face, their glasses clumsily clashing against
each other as he laughed into her mouth, making her do the same.

“Grooooosss! how can you even kiss him? You’re as weird as he is, Nia…”

Nia made a point of keeping the kiss going for a prolonged extra moment at the sound of Janelle’s
telltale Valley Girl lilt. Deep down, it was hard to deny that one of her favorite things about dating Trey
was getting to make out with him on occasion in front of Janelle. Janelle was technically older than Trey,
but they were all high school seniors, had all grown up together — and Janelle was every bit the exact
type of girl that Nia had grown to dislike so much over the years. In many ways, Janelle was the peak
example of everything Nia didn’t want to be, the vain, vapid social media whore and party girl who went
through boyfriends almost as often as Nia went through book series. Finally cutting off the kiss with
Trey, it was a herculean effort to keep a cheerful smile on her face as she drank in the sight of Janelle
now, as her boyfriend’s older sister sauntered her way up to them on tall, clacking heeled sandals, and
it was even more of a titanic exercise of self-control not to make a sarcastic comment about the
obscenely tight, plunging blue dress with darker-blue flame decals along its bottom that was clinging
indecently to Janelle’s body now, the tiny straps over her shoulders looking like they might snap loose
at any moment and let her considerable, energetically bouncing chocolaty cleavage already spilling out
of the dress flop free completely. The bottom of the dress barely provided any more modesty for the
older girl’s rear side, that much was evident even from the front, with how the blue fabric clung to her
enormous, wobbling ass to make every jiggle and clap of it perfectly visible. Several glistening bracelets
clattered and rang softly on one wrist, the other daintily sporting her little purse — which, incidentally, was
not paired with a backpack anywhere on her.

The worst part of it wasn’t even how debasing the outfit was for Janelle, and by extension, all women
whose dignity were collectively reduced by her brazen self-objectification. It was the little sly grin Janelle
gave her when their eyes happened to meet, a grin that told Nia she knew exactly how much the
younger girl hated to see her dressed like this.

Somehow, though, Nia managed to keep the smile on her face. She turned her open arms to Janelle
instead and all but skipped across the few steps between them, wrapping her boyfriend’s sister in a
hug. “Nelliiieeeee! You look so prettyyy! And believe it or not, your brother is an excellent kisser!”

“Nia, c’mon,” Trey protested weakly from behind her, clearly embarrassed, but Nia could hear the shy
smile in his voice.

“Yeah, Nia, c’mon,” Janelle groaned with clear distaste. She wasn’t tense against Nia — just
completely limp. She didn’t return the hug, merely tolerated it. It was very much indicative of how the
two felt about each other in general. There was no animosity between them. They were, however, on
two opposite sides of a vast gulf. They didn’t really have anything in common — other than, Nia had to
admit, the fact they had both been blessed with a whole lot of junk in the trunk.

Nia let out one of her musical, light laughs and released the un-reciprocating hugging victim, holding her
hands out to her sides. “Sorry, sorry! Just stating straight facts. But, you know, it’s not that gross,
Nellie. In fact, you should be proud of your brother! I’m turning him into the best kisser on campus~”
She cooed out the last words with some extra sweetness in her voice specifically to annoy Janelle,
which was already assured with how she moved back to Trey and melted herself against the skinny teen
boy’s side, wrapping both of her arms around one of his and pressing their faces together.

It worked, very visibly. Janelle stared at them like they were some carnival freak show, her brows
furrowed in mild confusion and a slight curl to her shapely, heavily glossed lips. “I don’t have a problem
with him. I just…Like, I can’t…” Janelle’s mouth worked noiselessly a few times, as if she was well and
truly lost for words, one of her dainty, fake-nailed hands gesticulating vaguely. “It’s just — he’s so — ”
And then, to her credit, she glanced at her brother’s face, and her own face softened. She even
managed a smile, however faint. “Y’know what, never mind. You two have f — ”

“Nah, c’mon, don’t be shy, bitch. What were you ’bout to say?”

All three of them jumped in surprise. It was hard not to — compared to the voices that had been involved
in their conversation so far, the one that had just so rudely butted in couldn’t have been more of a
contrast. It was a deep, rough, smug baritone that instantly set every nerve in Nia’s body on edge, just
from the sound of it.

“Ohhhh no,” she heard Trey whisper under his breath, and the genuine anxiety — even fear — in his
voice only made Nia’s tension levels raise even more. “Nonononono…”

“Baby…?” Nia started to ask, and then she didn’t have to, because the stomping footsteps from behind
her came full circle, and suddenly the speaker was standing right between the three of them.

No — standing wasn’t the word. Towering was more appropriate. His voice had been familiar, but seeing
him now, Nia was annoyed with herself for not having recognized him right away. Of course it was him.

Of course it was Hunter.

There were bullies in every school. There were certainly plenty in this one. But there were bullies, and
then there were bullies. In the case of their school, they were largely fortunate; while there were plenty of
easily agitated jock types and a few maladjusted kids with some aggressive tendencies, it was mostly
small fry stuff. Plenty of unpleasant, mean-spirited people whose unpleasantness didn’t bleed over into
real cruelty.

All it took was a look at Hunter to know he wasn’t a small fry, in every possible way.

He didn’t even look like he belonged in a high school. He was a solid, towering wall of muscle and bulk
that radiated menace from every inch, and there were a lot of those to go around on such a massive
brute. He stood easily two heads over any of them and it looked like if three Treys stood in front of him,
they still wouldn’t match the broadness of his powerful shoulders. His firm, hard chest and thick, equally
hard gut strained at a tight white workout tee that was designed every bit as much to show off his body
as Janelle’s dress was designed to show off hers, and his shirt achieved the goal just as spectacularly,
showcasing rippling natural strength from his torso to his trunk-like, brawny arms and huge,
thick-fingered hands.

That would have been plenty to make Nia’s pulse start to race (in fear and tension, she told herself
firmly, and absolutely nothing else) — but then her gaze helplessly wandered downward, and she literally
couldn’t stop herself from hissing in sharply at what she saw.

His muscular, powerful legs were something, sure. But the disgusting display he was putting on with his
baggy athletic shorts was something else entirely. It wasn’t just shocking — it was appalling.

Nia had seen guys with bulges in their pants before, both in real life and, admittedly, on the Internet.
Attracted to men as she was, she even had to confess that a nice bulge in a man’s pants was one of
the hottest things a woman could see. Nothing wrong with that; after all, she believed in equality, and
ogling a man’s bulge was surely the equivalent of a man checking out a woman’s ass or breasts
straining a shirt.

But it was no mere bulge that was so visibly straining at the crotch of Hunter’s shorts right now. It was a
fucking mountain range. An eye-popping, lazily swaying monstrosity that looked like it would be bigger
than Nia’s entire forearm if she held it adjacent, jutting from Hunter’s crotch and extending like some
nightmare visage from the darkest parts of the female psyche.

It wasn’t even just the monster bulge that was so breathtakingly hard to wrap her head around. It was
the knowledge, instant and instinctive, that such a sight would only be possible if a man wasn’t wearing
any underwear. Hunter was doing this on purpose. He clearly knew the visual effect he could achieve by
not wearing anything under his shorts, and that was exactly why he did it.

He was showing off.

And as the initial shock started to clear, Nia felt it turning, instead, to a righteous fury. She glared up at
Hunter ferociously, meeting his hooded, dangerous blue eyes under strong dark eyebrows, and for
reasons she couldn’t wrap her head around, at least right now, the up-close view of the fact his thuggish
face framed by short, casually loose brown hair still managed to be maddeningly handsome, on top of
that unfairly huge Something in his shorts that clearly gave him such an ego, only made her even more
pissed.

“Heyyy, Hunter~”

It was clear that Janelle was having a very different reaction to this whole unwelcome intrusion. That
wasn’t a surprise, necessarily — on top of knowing what kind of bitch she was in general, Nia also heard
girls like her swooning over Hunter in hushed, greedy conversations all the time — but it was still
somehow a shock to hear Trey’s own sister greeting him in such a coy, sweet voice despite the fact she
must have known what he did to her brother every day. And it was even more of a shock to see how she
was greeting him. She’d seemingly teleported in the blink of an eye to be standing right by his side
instead of a few feet away like she had been previously. She wasn’t looking right up at him, the way Nia
was, but instead slyly keeping her head down and tilted to the side, smiling vaguely up in his direction
while her eyes blatantly undressed him. And just as if to really piss Nia off, Janelle even not-so-subtly
pressed her forearms against either side of her cleavage, squeezing her breasts together even more
tightly so they would give Hunter a better view from on high, arching her back at the same time to jut her
phat, subtly jiggling shelf of an ass closer to him.

“Why didn’t you come to my boyfriend’s party last weekend? I missed you.” Janelle looked up at
Hunter more fully and gave him the most simpering pout Nia had ever seen. She almost threw up at the
sight of it.

Hunter didn’t answer right away. He was making sure Janelle knew he was taking full advantage of the
display she was putting on for him. It was like both of them were trying to epitomize everything Nia
resented. He grinned back down at her, leaning his own head to the side to stare down her dress before
leaning back slightly to get a look at her ass — and then, even though she hated herself for it, Nia gasped
as he reached down to his own crotch and ‘scratched at’ the mountain bulging out his shorts, making it
visibly flop around under the fabric in a way that all three of them couldn’t help but gawk at. Nia had
half-expected it must be fake, that the rumors weren’t true, but the way that… Thing moved in reaction to
Hunter’s brute-force flex left no room for doubt.

Nia gulped. She was annoyed to feel her righteous indignation falter, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar
jittering in her stomach. She’d never felt anything like it before. She instantly hated it. Next to her, she
could feel Trey trembling subtly against her, and she no longer just hated the strange, dizzying jittering in
her stomach; she hated herself, too, for feeling it at all, because something instinctive told her that even
though she didn’t recognize it, she definitely shouldn’t have been feeling it in relation to this nightmare
of a high school brute who tormented poor, sweet Trey.

Janelle, though, only lowered herself even further in Nia’s estimation. The pout turned to a naughty,
smirking grin as she stared right at Hunter’s crotch. She let out an airy, simpering giggle that made
Nia’s blood boil all over again, licking her plush lower lip before turning her eyes right up to Hunter’s
and meeting them meaningfully, her smile widening. He sneered right back at her. The monstrosity in his
shorts gave another subtle, but all too visible, motion that prompted another unwelcome flip in Nia’s
stomach. This time, it upset her enough that she broke her silence.

“What the fuck do you want, Hunter? If you just want to be a pig and hit on this… skank, can you do it
somewhere far away from us, please?”

She was so proud of herself for simply keeping her voice steady, even though it felt like her heart had
just leapt into her throat, that it took her a moment to register all eyes had turned to her. Trey’s, in horror
and disbelief; Janelle’s, in amused catty surprise; and, far more ominously, Hunter’s, the sneer on his
face turning in a toothy, predatory grin that instantly doused the heat in Nia’s blood and turned it ice
cold.

He didn’t even have to say anything. That grin on his face, coupled with his towering, brutally
overpowering presence — a strange, surreal thought flashed across Nia’s brain, unbidden, one that she
would later try to convince herself hadn’t occurred to her at all —

She wasn’t brave.

She’d never been brave.

She’d just always been surrounded by the weak. It was easy to be loud and outspoken around the
weak.

But suddenly, all she wanted was to close her mouth and never open it again, lest she even slightly
irritate the wall of muscle and barely-contained violence that was now slowly stomping up to her.

“Did she just call me a skank?” Janelle whined in theatrical self-pity. “Hunterrr! She called me a
skank!”

Every stomping step Hunter took up to Nia and Trey made the obscene monster in his shorts
pronouncedly flop and sway in his baggy shorts. Nia was even convinced she heard a couple dull,
heavy, meaty slaps as it bounced against his thigh. The whole world seemed to go dark as he stopped
right in front of them. Their faces barely reached his chest. A strangely heady mix of male body odor and
cheap body spray and something else, something Nia couldn’t remotely identify but which made her
head feel light, assaulted her nose as the heat radiating from Hunter’s colossal bulk wrapped around
her.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, wherever the fuck I want, around whoever the fuck I want.”

Nia knew that was where she should have snapped something back, but the words that were normally
so ready to lash off of her tongue seemed of a sudden like they were stuck in molasses and had to be
painstakingly pried free, one at a time. Her voice, when it came out, was faint, and worst of all, audibly
wavering. “Fu…fuck you… asshole…”

Weak or not, the fact she’d managed it at all sent a bolt of energy through Nia. Gulping, she gathered
herself, and craned her neck back, staring right up at Hunter and managing her best glare. She fumbled
for Trey’s hand, found it, and clamped down on it for dear life.

It clearly wasn’t lost on Hunter. His rough, thuggish white face was unreadable as he looked down at
their joined hands. Then the smile was back on his face. She hated the sight of it, it was obnoxiously
smug and self-satisfied, and yet somehow, it wasn’t as scary as the smile that had been on his face
before, and Nia felt like her knees might give out in relief.

“I like you, glasses,” he grunted in that deep, thick voice that was so starkly different from Trey’s soft,
gentle tones. “More to the point, I like that fat black ass you got back there. The fuck you doing with this
loser?”

As he asked it, he reached over with one of his impossibly huge, burly arms and gave Trey a casual
shove. It was very clearly barely an exertion from him, a light flex of his considerable muscle, and it still
sent Trey’s frail, skinny frame stumbling back as he cried out faintly in surprise.

“Trey!” Nia cried out, the surprise of it making her sound more distressed than the light shove really
called for. She lunged for him, stopping his fall, and pulled him close, glaring daggers at Hunter. Her
entire body felt like it was shaking, and she couldn’t tell how much of it was fear and how much of it was
white-hot anger. Maybe it was both, in equal parts. “What is wrong with you, you piece of sh — ”
The rest of the word was drowned out by the roar of one of the school bus engines as it pulled up, with
characteristically more speed than it probably should have, to the curb by the school’s rear building
entrance where they all were, followed by another bus behind it, and then another. Nia and Trey always
liked to time meeting up here a few minutes before the buses showed up with most of the students, so
that they could grab breakfast from the cafeteria before the rush. So much for that today.

A moment later, a sea of chattering, oblivious students was washing around them, streaming en masse
toward the doors, a horde of sneakers and heels and boots thudding against the pavement.

Hunter stood there, towering head and shoulders over the crowd, separated from Nia and Trey by a
steady line of students. His eyes met Nia’s. He flashed her that toothy, wolfish grin yet again, and yet
again, she felt that odd, dizzying jittering in her belly that she couldn’t identify but knew was Wrong.

And then Trey was tugging at her hand, taking advantage of the escape valve that the influx of students
had provided, and she was stumbling along behind him, her heartbeat loud in her ears, the confidence in
herself, in her relationship, in her entire world that she’d felt when the morning started feeling suddenly
every bit as shallow as the other girls she’d derided for years.
 2 - Chapter Two

“A-Are you sure this is a good idea? This is… this is a bad idea… ohhhh, lord…”

Back Then, when they were still residents of the elementary school playground, it had been
simultaneously endearing — and just a little irritating — hearing the way Trey’s high-pitched, nervous
boyish voice imitated the exact tone and inflection of the oh, lord his mother had a tendency to utter
when she was nervous about something. Just as it was simultaneously endearing — and just a little
irritating — how he was hovering around Nia in the school hallway, radiating anxiety, the picture-perfect
example of the worst possible accomplice for a prank as his eyes darted nervously about and his head
swiveled almost impressively rapidly around to make sure no one was watching them in spectacularly
un-subtle fashion.

Nia was good at imitating a habit of her own mother’s, too. The little girl shot Trey her best wryly stern
look, the kind her mother shot her when she was being annoying but she couldn’t help being amused by
it. “Would you stop worrying so much, you mother hen?” Her sweet young voice was the perfect
contrast to Trey’s wavering nervous one, hers chipper and bright and all confidence. She gave her own
quick glance around at the deserted hallway to make sure no one was around — hoping against hope
Trey would calm himself to take note of how it was done properly — and then she unslung her backpack
from her shoulder, unzipped it, and beamed as she retrieved the tupperware container she’d sneaked
out of her house that morning. “Of course it’s a good idea! You don’t think Bobby Ray worries that
much before he gives you black and blues and takes your lunch money, do you?”

Trey let out a vaguely pathetic whine under his breath just at the mention of Bobby Ray’s name. Back
Then, Bobby Ray had been the worst of the worst, the kid no one wanted to play with, the one everyone
tried to stay away from. He was fat, he smelled bad, he had a terrible mean sense of humor and when
he laughed it sounded like a pig in its death throes; but he was also big, and strong, and loved to pick on
the weakest and most vulnerable of the smaller boys. None more so than scrawny, shortest-in-school
Trey Baptiste.

“N-No… of course not… but…” The whites of Trey’s eyes looked like they might swallow up his entire
face from how wide they were staring at the tupperware container Nia brandished in her tiny
milk-chocolate hands like a weapon. The container was an opaque green, but he knew what was in it.
Nia had been delightedly telling him all about it for the entire morning at school that day.

Nia kept that wry, stern look on Trey, but inwardly, as ever, she felt her heart melting. He was so sweet.
That’s what had drawn her to him in the first place, when they were just a couple toddlers waddling
around during arranged neighborhood play dates by their parents. To this day it was why she remained
so close to him. And it was why, as it became clearer and clearer he would never harden up and stick up
for himself against boys like Bobby Ray, she had resolved that she would do it for him.

“No ‘buts,’ mister,” she said, letting her expression soften to match the warmth she felt for Trey. She
flashed him, instead, a smile so bright that it seemed the whole hallway lit up, flashing her shy little
buddy her teeth and putting the dimples that made so many of the other girls jealous on full display, and
she shoved a thumbs-up at him so enthusiastically that he flinched, accustomed as he was to pain
following a classmate thrusting their hand toward him like that. “You might wanna let Bobby get away
with bein’ so awful, but Nia Avery isn’t about to let it slide! We’re gonna teach that big bully a lesson,
you ’n me!”

Her smile was like the sun. Trey looked at her like she might as well have been the sun itself, something
majestic and beautiful and completely out of his reach, the anxiety on his face replaced first by disbelief
and then by the deepest, purest gratitude that only a sensitive young boy can display. Nia would have
been lying, even then, if she didn’t admit that was part of why she was doing this. Trey wasn’t used to
other kids, especially ones as friendly with the popular crowd, going out of their way to stick up for him. It
made her feel special when he looked at her that way. And she was special, doing this for him. She
wasn’t like the other girls.

“Okay,” Trey finally said, returning her smile, albeit much less brightly, much more shyly.

“That’s the spirit, Blabbermouth!” Nia exclaimed boisterously, slapping Trey on the shoulder. She was
a grade school girl, barely taller than him, and she still feared she might have knocked him right over
with that simple action, he was so slender and light. He stumbled, but he was laughing a little, too.

Nia reached into Bobby Ray’s ajar locker, that big dimpled grin on her cherubic adolescent face as she
flashed a wink at Trey. “Keep a lookout, wouldja?”

Trey stiffened, standing up straighter, and turned his face from side to side with utmost seriousness, like
some loyal guard dog acting on its master’s intent. Nia stifled a giggle and got to work, fishing out
Bobby Ray’s lunch box, unzipping it… and upending the contents of her tupperware container into it.

“Oh my gosh, he is gonna freak!” she gloated, unable to contain her giggles now. She hastily re-zipped
Bobby’s lunchbox. Her heart was suddenly thudding in her little ears. She tossed it back into the bully’s
locker, and then she was on her feet, giggling breathlessly, tugging on Trey’s shirt to pull him,
stumbling, after her. “C’mon, dummy, before someone sees us!” As her feet pattered on the deserted
hallway tile, she raised her hands up triumphantly, squealing with delight. “That’s what that fat
pig-nosed meanie gets! Ain’t that right, Trey?”

Caught up in her enthusiasm, Trey followed her lead. Like always. “Y-Yeah!” A pause, the only sound
their feet slapping against the floor as they ran away from the scene of their righteous crime, and then,
with a genuine, shy warmth that made Nia want to kiss him on the lips: “Th-Thanks… Nia…”

Bobby Ray never did figure out who put the spiders in his lunch that day.

He never lived down the way he screamed like a girl at it in the middle of the cafeteria, either, how the
notoriously arachnaphobic boy darted out of his seat and literally pissed his pants from the sheer shock
of it. It was one of the shining days of Nia and Trey’s childhoods; they’d bent over laughing in their
cafeteria chairs. Trey even did a spit take with his chocolate milk when he saw the dark stain forming on
Bobby Ray’s pants, making them both laugh harder.

Bobby Ray’s reputation didn’t recover from that easily. To the best of Nia’s knowledge, he never
bullied anyone again. At the very least, he didn’t bother Trey anymore.
For a long time after that, the world made sense. The lessons the adults repeated, over and over, were
true. In the end, the bad guys always got what was coming to them. You just had to stick up for yourself.
And laughing with Trey and every other student around them in that elementary school cafeteria,
watching Bobby Ray frantically brushing spiders off of his shirt as he screamed shrilly, Nia had resolved
that since Trey couldn’t do that, she would always be there to do it for him. Because he was sweet, and
gentle, and looked at her like she was a queen, and she would be damned if she let the Bobby Rays of
the world stamp those qualities out of him with their meanness.
Yes, for a long time after that, the world made sense.

But nothing lasts forever.

—-

Nia desperately wished things made as much sense now, as they did Back Then.

She couldn’t quite place her finger on what was wrong. After the perfectly normal, routine reunion
between herself and Trey at the high school rear entrance that day had been so disturbingly interrupted
by Hunter, everything that followed somehow just felt… off.

Nia couldn’t get the encounter out of her head. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Her reflexes, after her and
Trey had slipped away in the stream of bus arrivals, had told her that was exactly the solution to right the
ship; she’d put on her most chipper attitude, tried to act like the whole thing hadn’t happened. She’d
steered the sulking, unusually extra-taciturn Trey into the cafeteria and made sure they went through
their daily motions of eating a school breakfast together as she gushed airily about the book she was
reading, about how cute Trey looked in that new shirt, about how she couldn’t wait to go to his house
later to do homework together and have some alone time. She’d played that up, in particular, because
Trey looked more deflated and meek than she’d seen him in a long time just from that brief set of
moments where Hunter had towered over him, a wall of brutal white muscle compared to his scrawny
frame, and she wanted to boost his spirits by reminding him he’d be making out with his childhood
sweetheart in no time.

There had been no brightening of her boyfriend’s nerdy black features. There certainly hadn’t been any
laughing spit-takes. For just a second, Nia had had a strange, irrational wish for a tupperware container
full of spiders harvested from her home attic and that she knew what locker Hunter used.

But this was not Back Then. Hunter was no Bobby Ray. Nia knew that in her core. The deep-rooted,
primal reactions that beast of a teen had brought on, of tension and fear and something else that she
didn’t want to think about, made that very clear. No schoolyard bully Back Then had ever brought on
anything remotely that intense. Not even any of the significantly more aggressive and bulky other
wannabe bullies around the school had ever made her feel like that. And Trey’s unmovable sullenness
indicated Hunter was different for him, too.

Maybe that, more than anything, was what made Nia feel so restless for the duration of that school day.
She’d parted ways with Trey, knowing they wouldn’t see each other the rest of the day because of their
current class schedules — that was why it was so important for them to meet up for breakfast — unable to
do anything more than give him an extra-long, tender kiss and hope it would linger more prominently for
him over the following hours than the tense encounter with Hunter had. It hadn’t worked.
And that didn’t make sense.

This should have been easier, by now. Nia had always stuck up for Trey, her sweet, delicate, meek
Trey, whose gentle nature was why she’d grown more and more protective of him over the years. She
should have been better at it than ever. As far as she’d been concerned for the last couple years, she
was the fully manifested version of herself, the outspoken, intelligent, fierce and beautiful black woman
that she’d always dreamed of being since she was little. No one told her how to act. No one told her
how to dress. No one told her who to love. She did everything her way. She wasn’t like the other girls,
or like anyone else.

But if she was so much More than she had been as a little girl…

Why hadn’t she been able to stick up for Trey as easily as she had, Back Then?

It had to be something about Hunter. She went over it again and again, in her head, through every class.
She couldn’t get his rough, smirking white face out of her head all day, nor the strange knot in her
stomach that the thought of it brought on, every time, without fail.

That smirk… every time she saw it emblazoned on the back of her eyelids, listening to some teacher
drone on, it was like that smirk was taunting her, rubbing in that she must not have been as perfect at
sticking up for sweet Trey as she’d believed.

How had she missed the dynamic between him and Trey all this time?

She’d known of Hunter, of course. The whole school did. He hadn’t been with her class growing up;
he’d moved into town when they were starting high school. And for as long as he’d been there, he’d
had a reputation as a terror. No one thought of him like they thought of all the other rougher boys in their
school — he was a classification of his own. Something uniquely dangerous and raw in his casual cruelty.
She knew, from reputation, that where other guys simply vented their own frustrations and inadequacies
with the shallow insults and light physical abuse on boys they knew were too weak to stick up for
themselves, Hunter lashed out indiscriminately, and went much further than those others. She’d heard
horror stories that she didn’t even believe — how his first preferred punching bag would get roughed up
worse and worse, how Hunter started to take the abuse to the poor nerd’s home, taking over the place.
She’d even heard some whispers that when the family left town, it wasn’t because of the bullying, but
because Hunter had knocked up the poor kid’s sister and made their parents divorce when the father
caught the mother sleeping with their son’s school bully.

Nia had dismissed it all as nonsense. It was too far-fetched. But the thoughts had always flitted across
her mind when she would see Hunter lumbering down the school hallways, from a safe distance, a
distance she took care to maintain because of them. While she was positive she could have handled him
just like she handled all the other meatheads in her school if she’d had to, she was still secretly grateful
she’d never had any classes with him.

But… all this time… had Trey not been so lucky?

If not, why hadn’t he ever said anything?

That question, at least, was one she knew she could get an answer to.

Nia flashed very few of her trademark, sweet dimpled smiles through the rest of her classes that day.
She wore one of her other trademark looks instead, one most of her longtime classmates recognized
and knew to steer clear of her when it was on her pretty, milk chocolate face: a set jaw, her
well-maintained strong black eyebrows furrowed, her pronounced African nostrils flared.

It was her ‘get out of my way or get stepped on’ face.

And next time she ran into Hunter, she hoped he wouldn’t read the signal and get out of her way.

Trey, however, did read the signal. He’d been reading it since they were little kids. Maybe that was why
he was taking extra long to fetch them some cookies from the kitchen.

School had ended over an hour ago. They were back at Trey’s house, following a tense shared bus ride
where they hadn’t spoken much, neither of them wanting to talk about what was on their minds while
they were surrounded by other students. There might have been a lot more talk about what had
happened if they’d been in the back of Janelle’s car — what had previously been her father’s silver
sedan, handed down to her when she got her driver’s license — but the older girl, as ever these days,
had plans after school with her own boyfriend. Nia and Trey had become very accustomed to taking the
bus together lately as a result.

Nia blew out a breath and scolded herself for the nagging tension she was feeling as she sat on the
couch in the Baptiste family living room, her textbook draped over her extremely generously thick, curvy
soft thighs and the skin-tight denim clinging to them. She ran a delicate, slender hand through her poofy,
curly black hair. Why was she nervous? They were safe. They were at Trey’s house. She was back in
charge of things, as she’d always been here, with him.

Hunter’s smug grin flashed across her mind. The knot in her stomach tightened.

“Trey? Babe?” She called out on an impulse, hoping the sound of her own voice would dispel that
unwelcome visage, and while it worked, she hated that her normally smooth, perky voice wavered just a
hint, betraying her nerves. “You okay in there? I just asked for a snack, not a three course meal, you
goof!”

That made her feel a little better. Ribbing her sweet boyfriend while they were hanging out was normal. It
was something she did when they were relaxed. And that made her relax, as a result.

There was an odd silence for a moment, instead of the usual, instant affirmative answer of her
eager-to-please Trey. But then, finally, his light footsteps of socks against the finished wood floor
approached, and Nia looked over to see him padding over carrying two plates of her favorite cookies. He
wasn’t smiling, but when he noticed her watching, he put on a grin that was very obviously forced. Nia
felt a surge of affection for him, for that. “S-Sorry. Kinda got… lost in thought in there for a second…”
He sounded so nervous and flustered that, queerly enough, Nia felt her own similar nervousness
evaporate instantly. It was pure instinct, one she was deeply grateful for at that moment. She’d spent so
long counterbalancing Trey’s timid nature, exerting confidence to match his shyness, that she
reflexively kicked into that mode now. Before she could even process what she was doing, she bounced
lithely to her feet and stopped a surprised Trey in his tracks, the cookies sliding a bit dangerously on
their plates as he screeched to a halt. Nia felt her shirt straining around her sizable, soft young breasts
from how quickly she’d stood, noticed how Trey’s eyes irresistibly, guiltily, were drawn to the same
sight, and her confidence grew even more.

“What have I told you about apologizing when you don’t gotta apologize, Blabbermouth?” She chided,
but her voice was soft and tender. She gently pried one of the plates from Trey’s grip. His eyes
wandered back from her now-stationary breasts to her face, and she made sure she was wearing a
warm, dimpled smile when they reached it. She was pleased when, finally, the sullenness he’d been
brooding in all day cracked just enough that he returned her smile, with trademark shy uncertainty. It
called for a reward, so she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek with her plump, soft wet lips, giggling
a little at how he tensed in their close proximity, at her body warmth and sweet citrus perfume, nervous
as ever to be so close to so much woman even though they’d been dating for a year and close friends
for so much longer. “Thanks for the snack, cutie.”

“Y—Yeah… ’course…” Trey mumbled, flustered by the unexpected amount of tenderness for something
as simple as bringing cookies.

Nia turned that warm, dimpled smile to him again, then cheerfully bounced back to the couch. An apt
description, as the hop-skip left her huge, protruding teen ass jiggling significantly in her skin-tight jeans.
Exactly as intended. Once upon a time, it had only been her bright smile and happy confidence that she
could use to soothe sweet Trey, but now that she was grown — and he was, too, no matter how hard it
could be to make him show it — she wasn’t shy about using her new assets to help distract him from his
troubles. A distraction that never failed, with now being no exception, from the direction he was staring
when she turned back around and flopped down onto the couch.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” She chirped with theatrical innocence, fluttering her long, shapely lashes at her
boyfriend and taking a delicate munch from her first cookie. The sweet explosion of flavor in her mouth
brightened her mood almost as much as the trademark flush on Trey’s face. She’d never known
another black boy whose cheeks could flush so similarly to the way white people blushed.

“I— I, uh — I just — ”

Nia let out a tinkling, lyrical light laugh. “God, your sister is right sometimes, you know that, Trey? You
can be such a dork! I’m just teasing you, silly. You know you’re allowed to stare at your own
girlfriend’s ass, right?”

She could swear Trey flushed even more deeply. He looked down awkwardly at his plate of cookies —
but he was smiling a little, too.

“It’s starin’ at some other bitch’s ass that you gotta worry about, mister.” Nia put on her best fake
glare, one cheek working cutely at the cookie she was munching on diminishing the effect significantly.
She pointed a slim, feminine finger, its nail long but all natural, unlike so many of the other girls at school
with their trampy fake nails. “Just cuz your momma is the Principal doesn’t mean I won’t whoop your
scrawny ass if I ever catch you doing that. You hear me?”

Trey looked up from the cookies, and now he was smiling more openly. “Loud and clear, ma’am.”

Nia held the glare for another moment, then laughed again. In part because she knew how silly it was to
be gratified by how respectfully Trey always spoke to her. It was as if he didn’t know how to speak to
women any other way than the way he’d always spoken to his strong-willed, intimidating authority figure
of a mother. “You better.” She scrunched up her legs on the couch, curling up, knowing that it showed
her big, soft curvy rear toward Trey’s side, and she patted the cushions nearby. “Now get over here.”

Trey trotted over and sat exactly where she’d indicated like an obedient dog. A strange, fleeting
memory of him as a kid, serving just as obediently as her guard dog while she dumped spiders into
Bobby Ray’s lunchbox, flashed across her mind. It was a much more welcome mental image than the
one of Hunter’s smirking face she’d been suffering through all day.

For a moment the two of them just sat there in comfortable silence, as they’d done since they were
barely old enough to walk. The fact that Nia was fine with a comfortable silence was a big part of why
they’d been able to grow close in the first place. Trey’s inability to think of anything to say had scared
away more than one kid, Back Then, even before he was truly bullied for it. They both munched away on
their cookies. Nia hid a smile at how, despite dating for all these months, Trey was still sitting a
respectful foot or so away from her on the couch. She wasn’t like other girls, and he most certainly
wasn’t like other guys; he was the type who seemed to believe it was disrespectful to thrust his
affections onto her before she indicated she was ready for them. She was ashamed to admit to herself,
deep down, that sometimes it frustrated her, but this wasn’t a time for trying to coax her meek boyfriend
into learning when to assert himself more for his girl.

So Nia took the initiative, as she always did. She readjusted herself on the couch, curling her body
toward him, and scooted closer, smiling fondly at how Trey tensed up yet again — but certainly didn’t
move away. He craved the physical contact as much as she did, she knew that. He was just too shy to
initiate it. She moved up to him until she was pressed into his side, feeling her breast closest to him
squishing against his chest, so soft and warm, and as she rested her head of soft, curly black hair
against his shoulder with a light, contented sigh, she stifled a giggle at the audible gulp she heard from
him.

“Your momma makes the best cookies,” she said, not so much as indicating she knew he was so
nervous.She knew from long-time experience that only made him retreat more. That was the opposite of
what she needed now.

“Yeah,” Trey said simply. She heard a subtle strain from his throat, like he was about to say something
else, but he didn’t. He fell silent again, staring at a half-eaten cookie in his hand.

Nia waited a moment. Still nothing. There was the tiniest flare of annoyance, now, in the depths of her,
but she conjured up her considerable willpower that she was so proud of and clamped down on it.
Instead she used her free hand to grab Trey’s arm and sling it over her own shoulder, since he was too
timid to do it himself. His arm was so skinny and light it was barely a presence on her. It still felt nice,
right now.
Maybe it was why, even though there was another flare of emotion in her — a hint of anxiety — at what
she knew she had to say next, she found the strength to push forward and say it with as much
casualness as she could muster. “So uhm… babe? How do you know that guy, uh… Hunter? Y’know,
that big white dude from school today?”

She’d thought finally asking it aloud would make the anxiety go away, but instead it only worsened at
the way Trey didn’t just tense against her — his whole body seized up like she’d prodded him with an
electric rod.

She forced herself to press on, her heartbeat picking up, knowing that when Trey got that nervous it was
very hard to soothe him, even for her. “It’s just… he acted like you two knew each other, and you’ve
never — ”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Trey’s voice came out rushed, flat. He was working too hard to control it,
and it only made him sound even more strange.

Nia took a deep breath and lifted herself up a bit on the couch, her breast sliding off of Trey’s chest to
hang naturally on her own as she turned more toward him, letting all of her concern and love for him
show on her soft, pretty black face as much as she could. “Trey, baby, it’s me! Please, I know you
don’t want to, but…” On an impulse she reached up with a warm, tender hand and cupped the side of
his bespectacled face. “…he scared me, too. It’s okay to be scared. Especially of a guy like that.” She
ran her palm up and down his cheek soothingly, speaking in the low, reassuring tones she’d heard from
her own mother as a little girl when she’d have a bad dream. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I need
you to talk to me, okay?”

Trey’s eyes weren’t entirely like a cornered animal’s, rolling in their sockets, moving from her face to
her hand to the nearby bathroom door like he was considering making a run for it. But the more she
caressed his cheek, and as her soothing tones washed over him, she could feel him relaxing, until he let
out a wavering exhalation through his broad nostrils, leaning his face against her palm. Nia reflexively let
out a soft little cooing sound, wiping her thumb against his skin since she couldn’t move the other
fingers with the increased weight on them.

“I know,” Trey whispered. “I know, I know…” He cleared his throat, raised his voice to a more normal
volume, albeit trembling slightly. He looked at her with the guilt of a child who’s been caught stealing
candy. “I’m sorry… I didn’t tell you about him, Nia. But…” He looked down toward his lap, where his
plate of cookies now sat, and he gave a limp, miserable shrug. “It’s… humiliating, that’s all.”

“Humiliating?” Nia echoed, and she straightened even more, her brows furrowing together as she
leaned in closer to him, her breasts swaying subtly in her tight shirt as they drooped under their own
weight. “Trey, you know with me you have got nothing to be humiliated by — ”

“Yes I do!” Trey cut her off, and she was so shocked by that she shut up immediately — almost unheard
of, for her, who proudly refused to be silenced until she said what she meant to say. Trey darted up from
the couch even more abruptly than she had earlier, and she watched with that dull shock on her face,
her almond-shaped, long-lashed dark eyes following him as he started pacing agitatedly.

“I know… how you see me, Nia.” Trey took off his glasses and used his shirt to start scrubbing at the
lenses, despite the fact she’d just been inches away from them and they’d looked perfectly clean to
her. “I know how… everyone sees me. I know you’ve always had to stick up for me… my mom’s had to…
my sister’s had to…” He trailed off, gave another miserable shrug, and looked back toward her with a
rueful smile. “And I… I appreciate it. But — but I’m sick of it, too!” His shoulders slumped. He dejectedly
put his glasses back on. “I just… don’t know how to do it myself.”

“Trey, baby…” Nia started to coo, and she rose up from the couch, moving toward him.

“It’s not just that!” Trey held a hand up. Nia wanted to ignore it and hug him, but she knew it was
enough of a miracle that she’d actually got her Blabbermouth boyfriend talking, so she didn’t risk it,
instead stopping and just standing patiently nearby, one hand reaching across her stomach to rub at the
upper arm opposite.

Trey looked over at her, then, and she saw that animal dread in his eyes again. “Hunter… he’s different,
Nia. He’s… not like the other guys you’ve stood up to for me.”

The knot in Nia’s stomach reappeared. That was far too similar to the disjointed, unsettled thoughts
she’d had at school earlier, the ones she didn’t want to believe. She’d spent so long confident that
there was no one she couldn’t stand up to, in her proudness and her beauty and her intellect, that she
couldn’t believe it. She knew on some level she still shouldn’t argue, but she couldn’t help herself from
planting her hands on her wide, curvy hips and giving her boyfriend an incredulous smile. “Trey — ”

“You haven’t dealt with him like I have, Nia!” He was actually raising his voice at her, something she
almost couldn’t remember having happened before a single time, shocking her once again into silence
that was just as correspondingly uncharacteristic for her. Trey started pacing again in front of her, the
slender-fingered hands that looked so big on his skinny arms working randomly in the air. “He isn’t just
some… bully! He’s dangerous! If you knew — if you’d heard about half of the things I’ve heard! And I,
ever since he started picking on me, I know they’re true, too! I know it! He — he does things to people!
He doesn’t just beat guys like me up, he — he wants to break us! He doesn’t just flirt with girls like my
sister, he wants to take over their — their lives! He’s — He’s a big, scary — animal, and he knows it, and
he knows he can get away with walking all over people because all the grown-ups are scared of him too,
so he keeps doing it and doing it and doing it and do — ”

“Trey Baptiste!”

It was Nia’s turn to shock him into silence. She stood their, hands on her hips, and now the glare she
was shooting him was genuine, stern, just as stern as the raised voice she’d used to cut through his
growing hysteria like a hot knife through butter.

“You calm yourself down!”

Trey gawked at her, the words dying on his lips.

“Do you hear me? Are you calm?”

Trey worked his mouth a few times. It looked like he wanted to keep talking, for once, but she’d clearly
jarred some sense back into him. Enough, at least, to remember to nod obediently when she asked him
something like that.

Nia let her expression soften. “You’re safe, baby. You’re with me. You know you’re always safe with
me, don’t you?”

Trey didn’t interrupt — and didn’t nod that time, either. That troubled her. She moved closer to him,
wrapping her soft, shapely bare black arms around his waist, and she pulled him to her, resting her
forehead against his. “I know you’re scared, baby. I’m sorry for making you talk about it like that. But
you need to relax. I know you know that just because he’s big and mean he ain’t as bad as all that,
don’t you?”

He tensed at that. Started to speak. “You don’t underst — ”

“Shhhh!” Nia placed a finger to his mouth. Once again, it seemed like he wanted to keep talking, but the
urge not to contradict her was so strong that he could only stare down his nose at the finger with clear
consternation. It made her heart melt a little bit.

“Come here.” She took him gently by his hand and led him over to the couch. He didn’t resist in the
slightest as she guided him down to it, sitting him down — and the consternation on his face was quickly
replaced by awe when she placed her hands on his scrawny shoulders, planted her knees on either side
of him on the couch cushions, and lowered herself down onto his lap, straddling it.

“I do understand, Trey.” Her voice was soft, tender, and now she was putting some sultriness into it,
too. It fit her honeyed, slightly smoky voice all too well. She rubbed her plush, pillowy lips together,
wetting them, pressing the considerable weight of her big, wobbling black teen ass down against Trey’s
groin and those skinny legs of his. She was often afraid her backside was so heavy that his fragile bones
would snap under it, but she hoped it was distracting him amply now. She leaned in a bit, letting her
subtly jiggling breasts sway inches from his face, her hands sliding tenderly along his shoulders to cup
either side of his neck.

“I understand that you are a sweet, gentle boy,” she breathed, close enough that her breath washed
warmly over his face. A face that, right now, looked almost childishly fascinated by what she was doing.
He was looking up at her not so differently from the way he had Back Then, in that elementary school
hallway, when Nia was teaching Bobby Ray a lesson for picking on him. Looking at her like she shined
so bright he couldn’t quite believe she chose to shine on him. Nia’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled at
him, hands caressing his neck, subtly gyrating her big cushiony ass on his lap, those round cheeks so
gelatinously soft that they were wobbling around pronouncedly just from those subtle motions. “The
sweetest, most gentle boy I ever knew. And I understand that is why I love you, Trey Baptiste.”

Nia leaned her face down toward Trey, feeling him tense, characteristically falling into a reflexive panic
as a kiss that was so intimate came his way instead of a more casual one like at school that morning.
She knew him, knew that even after a year of dating, this kind of intimacy scared him, that he fell into his
own rampant self-doubts and started thinking of all the ways he would screw it up. She didn’t let him
dwell on it. She pressed her lips over his and let out a soft, tender moan into his mouth as she set to
kissing him, subtle wet smacking noises filling the quiet of the living room.

When she finally broke off the kiss, she kept their faces an inch apart, both of them panting lightly, their
close proximity making both of their skin hot and flushed, her voice low and husky like they were sharing
a secret.

“Don’t you waste another second thinking on that asshole white boy, you hear me? I’m gonna take
care of him. You best believe that.” Nia placed her hand on Trey’s cheek and gave him his biggest,
warmest smile. He gawked at it like it was a sun that shone only on him. “When have I ever let you
down, huh? Blabbermouth?”

Trey met her eyes. Saw the determination, the passion, the confidence in them, that had always been
there, throughout their entire lives, protecting him. And she could see that, looking into her eyes, it
became all he could see, replacing the nightmares of Hunter that he had so clearly spent too long
wallowing in alone.

He returned her smile, less brightly, more shyly.

And Nia, who had wanted to kiss him on the mouth for that shy sweetness even as a little girl, did just
that.

Nia had always thought that would be enough. His sweetness, her kiss to show him how much she loved
it.

It should have been enough.

No — today, especially, it should have been more than enough.

That afternoon in the Baptiste household living room had been the most emotionally charged of their
entire relationship. At the time, it had felt like a genuine breakthrough. Straddling Trey’s lap, their bodies
melding together, their lips locked — for the first time since they’d started dating, Nia had experienced a
moment of passion with her boyfriend, her childhood sweetheart. After months and months of having to
painstakingly coax every intimate moment she could with Trey, a tender heat had organically exploded
into existence between them. Grinding her big, round, wobbling ass against Trey’s lap, gasping into his
mouth as they made out, she’d let herself be swept up into throes of passion that had never been
brought on by him before.

So how had she ended up here, lying on her bed, in her own home, a few hours later, staring blankly at
the ceiling and filled with nothing but frustration?

Nia let out a groan of irritation that started deep in her churning gut and roiled out of her long and loud.
She reached behind her head, grabbed her purple pillow (which matched her silky purple bedsheets
beneath her), and stuffed it over her face, muffling the sound into the fabric. She kept it going, too,
forcing herself to vent what she was feeling into the privacy of the embrace between her face and her
pillow.

It was the least she could do, muffling it. She could only imagine her parents’ reactions down the
hallway if they’d heard her. Guilt joined the frustration churning in Nia’s gut as she thought about the
obvious look of concern her father, a bald man with a beer gut and the most infectious laugh she’d ever
heard, shot her mother — the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, the one she’d always strived to be
like, the one she’d inherited her sweet dimpled smile from — as Nia stomped dejectedly past them
earlier, only willing to yell back “Not now, mom!” when the older woman gently tried to ask what was
wrong. Surely an extra-shocking response, considering how rarely Nia got into any kind of drama with
her parents, both of whom she loved dearly. She’d never really acted up with them like a lot of the other
girls from school. She wasn’t like them, after all.

Finally, though, the groan tapered off, leaving Nia feeling tapped. Empty. She let the pillow slump off of
her face, the normally bright, perky features looking tired and drawn. She’d washed her makeup off in
the bathroom. Her glasses, which she didn’t really need but liked the effect on her appearance they had
when she wore them, sat on the bedside table. Her arms fell freely to either side, thumping lightly onto
her mattress, and she let herself just be for a time, feeling the cool air of her bedroom stirred by her
ceiling fan brushing over her bare midriff under her favorite cutoff pajama tee, black with a white-outlined
cartoon bunny face over her chest. What little of it wasn’t spilling out of the very loose neckline, anyway,
a neckline over which her dark brown aerolae peaked, since she wasn’t wearing a bra. She was
wearing panties, and in fact that was the only thing she was wearing on her lower body. The jeans
she’d tossed aside after getting home were still on the floor by her bed. It was the first time she’d come
home from Trey’s with some damp stains on the crotch of her pants, faint as they were, and by now
they were gone completely. A distant memory, just like the brief, hot moment of passion that had finally
erupted between them.

A moment that had passed as quickly as it came.

Nia knew it was pointless, as she’d already done it what felt like a hundred times since she got home,
but she let those last few minutes at Trey’s house rewind and play in her head again, staring up at the
ceiling blankly as she did it.

The taste of him, on her mouth — since they’d both been snacking on Mrs. Baptiste’s cookies minutes
earlier, it had tasted like them.

The warmth of his body beneath hers as she caressed his face, grinded her phat, absurdly well-padded
teen ass against his lap, moaning lightly into his mouth. She’d never felt so aware of her own female
sexuality as she did in that moment — knowing how amazing her ass was, how all the boys at school had
at least a passing thought, if not outright obsession, with it. Knowing how lucky Trey was that she was
gyrating it so needily onto his lap. A thrill shooting through her at the knowledge she was giving it to him,
begging him to finally take it — to vent his fears, his frustrations with himself, to take her invitation to exert
all that pent-up tension she’d heard in his voice by using all that rear cushioning the Lord had given her
for just that purpose.

A thrill that, quickly, she felt turning to confusion. Then annoyance. Then outright anger.

He hadn’t even been touching her.

Nia had thrown herself at him. She’d given him the clearest, most primal, sensual invitation of their
entire lives together, the language of her body urging him to Man up and take her.
And Trey had just been sitting there, limp, barely even taking any kind of control of the kiss. As passive
as ever. The same old Trey, even after the moment they’d just shared.

Nia had broken off the kiss, trying very hard not to let her irritation show on her face as she straightened
up over Trey, still sitting on his lap. Not gyrating anymore. “What’s wrong?” She’d panted lightly, and
just as she’d tried to keep her face composed, she tried to keep her voice composed, too, but felt some
tension in the words regardless.
And how could she not have been annoyed? She was feeling it, finally. She was in heat. She was
hornier than she’d ever been with Trey. So ready to deepen their connection over his experiences with
Hunter, and her determination to help him.

He couldn’t even step up now?

He’d said the worst thing possible, then. Looking up at her, dim confusion forming on his dreamy face.
Clueless. “Wh…What do you mean?”

A few moments before, she’d found it so endearing, having him look up at her like this. The same old
Trey, like a little lost lamb, looking up at confident, brightly shining Nia for guidance.

Suddenly, she hated it. A visceral, white-hot anger flared in her stomach at the sight of it. It made her
dizzy; she blinked down at Trey, not quite able to believe she’d just felt anything like that because of
him, her sweet, gentle, meek little Trey. The boy who’d been so scared to put spiders in Bobby Ray’s
lunchbox.

Shaken, she went with the first impulse that came to her head next. She’d leaned abruptly back in,
mashing her lips aggressively over his, not just the tender passion from before but aggression, now. She
heard Trey make a muffled sound of surprise, felt him tense under her, his hands scrambling against the
couch.

“Take me, Trey,” she whispered hotly between loud, slurping kissing noises — desperately trying to
channel some of her own sexual need onto him, hoping against hope that if she bludgeoned him over
the head with what she required of him as her boyfriend, as her Man, he would finally snap out of that
maddening complacent passivity and show her the spark that she was so sure they’d been sharing.

“Mmmf… mfff! Nia, wh-what… mmf! What’s gotten… into you! You’re… ngh… scaring me!”

The words might as well have been an icicle stabbed right into Nia.

In the second it took for the word to enter her ears, to process in her brain, every vestige of heat and
passion that had been awakened that afternoon cooled. Froze. And the ice was all over Nia’s face as
she slowly lifted herself up from Trey, looking down at him not with tenderness or warmth but an
ominously composed coldness.

“I’m scaring you now?” She’d heard herself say flatly.

And for the first time in her life, looking at Trey, she’d seen something different than ever before. She
hadn’t seen a sweet, gentle soul she wanted to protect, one too pure for their strange new adult world
and its ruleset so sickly inverted from the one they’d known in the rose-tinted days of Back Then. She’d
seen, instead, a pathetic, blubbering baby too scared and weak to conjure up the faintest shadow of
manhood even when a ripe, fertile young woman far out of his league was giving him the divine,
astronomically unlikely gift of throwing herself at him.

It was only for that moment. Later — now, in her bedroom — she would hate herself for it, deeply and
palpably. She still couldn’t believe that she, Nia Avery, who had always prided herself in seeing in Trey
something that no other girl did, had actually thought such an awful thing about him. She reassured
herself that it had been the heat of the moment, that she’d simply been frustrated that, despite the
significance of their afternoon together, she’d been left sexually unsatisfied by Trey for the umpteenth
time since starting to date him. Not just unsatisfied — completely, entirely wanting.

Nia didn’t quite remember what they’d said to each other after that. She knew that she’d been on her
feet very quickly, that Trey had nervously trailed her and stammered questions about what was
happening as she gathered her things and made her way to the door. She knew that she’d already
been feeling guilty, but was still upset with him, so she’d stopped at his home’s front door, turned back
to him, and given him a look that she’d meant to be sympathetic but feared instead had been
overpowered by the lingering disgust which he’d triggered in her so unexpectedly.

“Just… don’t worry about it, Trey,” she did remember saying, distractedly, half-heartedly. “I’m sorry
for… scaring you, or whatever. I… need to go now. We’ll talk later.”

It was the most curt, dismissive thing she’d ever said to him, in all their years knowing each other.
She’d heard the passive-aggression in her voice as she apologized for ‘scaring him.’ Felt that familiar
guilt even as she walked quickly down his home driveway, afraid that if she went slower he might
actually work up some initiative and pursue her … and, of course, she needn’t have worried.

Trey? Initiative?

“As if,” Nia murmured blankly, staring at her bedroom ceiling. She didn’t even feel guilty on that one.
This was her bedroom. This was where she came, night after night, when Trey left her unsatisfied.
She’d muttered things like that while thinking about him more than once, in here. That was healthy,
right? Let out the bad juju, so that she could return to school the next day, ready to give her sweet, meek
Trey a big sweet smile and let him know that she, at least, unlike the other girls, saw something in him.
Something worth loving.

She only wished that he saw what wasn’t in her. What was on her. Wished he saw her body, and could
react to it like a Man should, instead of sending her home countless times over the last year, her every
attempt to engage him in anything more than clumsy makeout sessions deflected, leaving her with more
and more horniness to work out all on her own.

Nia let out a long, shuddering sigh as, with so many nights before, she slid one hand slowly along the
contour of her soft, flawless black stomach, left to send tingles up her own spine with the sensation of
her hand sliding down along her crotch and under her panties. As annoying as it was to resort to
self-service yet again despite having a boyfriend, she let out a faint, sweet moan at the pleasant
sensation of her soft fingers against her sensitive, desperately needy mound.
What more did she need to do to get Trey to Man up, anyway?

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been trying. For his birthday months ago, she’d given him his first handjob —
and there was no doubt it was his first, even without asking, since no other girl in his entire life had
expressed any interest in him; Nia most certainly would have noticed if they had. It was the most forward
thing she’d ever done with him. Considering how she’d had to forcefully push his hand up her shirts
just to progress them past kissing in the past, she’d known it was on her to make that initiative.
The first disappointment had been one that was not Trey’s fault, and she’d felt so bad about it that
she’d put twice the effort into making it a great handjob. It wasn’t his fault that, for the couple of years
previous, as they’d grown up together, as Nia had experimented with masturbation and fantasies,
watching porn with the perverse thrill of doing the forbidden shooting up her back, she’d started to
fantasize that for all Trey’s timidness, he was actually hung. It was far from Trey’s fault that she’d
gotten off to the idea more than once, bringing herself to halting, inexperienced — but very pleasant —
climaxes thinking about being rewarded for her perseverance in sticking with Trey by having a big,
dreamy cock all to herself, one she could freely experiment with because of how thoroughly the boy
attached to it was wrapped around her finger.

He ended up only being as big as one of her fingers, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see past it and
try to make him feel good. After all, no matter how nice a big penis was to look at, size wasn’t supposed
to actually matter, right? They could still have plenty of fun —

The second disappointment was when he’d ejaculated all over her hand in less than a minute.

It wasn’t even a big orgasm. His little dick — which, admittedly, at least suited him — had simply jerked
once in her hand blurting out a watery string of white-ish fluid; then twice, a smaller deposit; and then
nothing.

In retrospect, Nia realized she’d stared at it not so differently than she had stared at Trey today, after he
so spectacularly failed to give her what she was physically begging him for. But it had been his birthday,
and he’d been so embarrassed that it became kind of cute, against Nia’s will. So she’d put it out of her
mind.

Until now. Now, as she thought back to that shameful burst of disgust that had washed over her as she
straddled Trey’s lap and glared down at him, it was all she could think about.

She hadn’t felt even the slightest tent in his pants.

And even if he’d had one… would she have felt it, anyway?

She would have stopped thinking about it then, forcing herself to put such things out of her mind again,
but her finger was sliding in and out of her wet teen pussy now. God, it felt good. It felt even better that
she was so awash in the warm tingling it was sending through her that her mental barriers could lower,
and she could let some of her repressed frustration bubble and froth.

“Trey… oh Trey… why do you have to be such a… such a…” she whispered under her breath, her eyes
closed, and she let out a wordless, irritable sound instead of finishing the thought. She worked her hand
faster under her panties, her finger sliding more quickly in and out of her tight virgin hole, trying to force
her self-pleasuring to wash all the rest of it away.

Nia did love him. She knew that. Even now, thinking about him made her feel protective.

But sometimes…

Just sometimes… Only ever in the privacy of her bedroom, in the confidentiality of her own mind…

She wished he could be just a little bit more like those other boys. The ones who liked to pick on him.

They were rotten, and just as she loved Trey, she did hate those other boys. But from the way the other
girls talked…

Well. Those other boys certainly wouldn’t have left her like this.

She wanted to imagine Trey as the heat filled her from the tips of her toes to the sweat beading on her
smooth milk-chocolate forehead, as the dull wet shlick-shlick-shlick of her finger moving against her wet
pussy filled her quiet bedroom. But how could she? When she thought of Trey, all she could see was
that lost lamb expression on his face. That disappointing little thing she’d fished out of his pants on his
birthday and barely been able to play with before it was shriveling up.

And so, as ever — only ever in the privacy of her bedroom, in the confidentiality of her own mind — Nia
Avery let herself be like the other girls. Just a little, mind; just enough to let her mind wander, her breaths
growing short, lightly panting, thinking about some of those big, beefy male bodies that swaggered
around school, the ones that catcalled her and only ever got her condescending smile and a flipped
middle finger in response. If only they knew… the thought made Nia giggle dreamily, licking her lower lip,
drifting further and further away on the cloud of pleasure her fingers were sending her adrift on.

I like you, glasses

Nia didn’t even remember, mind as bleary as it was, where she’d heard that. She just remembered the
deep, rough, utterly Male voice that had said it. And right now that hit her in all the right places. She
moaned under her breath at the memory of that voice, letting her mind drift toward it, wanting more…

More to the point, I like that fat black ass you got back there

Even the memory of such a crass, forward statement made Nia gasp softly. But just like the last vaguely
remembered line from that heavenly deep voice, right now… it hit different. Nia’s belly did a flip. She felt
it heating up. She barely ever used two fingers to masturbate — inexplicably, though, she found that she
was now. Her breaths picked up even faster. Her slender body with its explosive, soft, wobbling curves
on her chest, on her hips, her huge protruding bubbly ass, writhed, an embodiment of pure, building
teenaged lust, her smooth black skin hot, glistening lightly with sweat all over.

She played the line over in her head, over and over, moaning at it. She hated whoever said it, she knew
that just from the words, because she surely hated any guy who spoke like that, but then she would think
of Trey, sitting on his couch, meekly stammering that she was scaring him just because she was making
out with him a little rougher than usual, and that deep grunting voice, so utterly unlike Trey’s, speaking
with such blunt, aggressive maleness, made her even hornier.

More…

She wished whoever had said that was right here, in the room with her, saying such awful things right
into her ear…

Awful things like

The fuck you doing with this loser?

—the monster bulge in his pants didn’t even look real—

This time, Nia didn’t gasp in aroused, soft surprise. This time she gasped loudly, sharply, like the air in
her bedroom had just dropped eighty degrees. She shot upright on her bed — her hand jerked out of her
panties as if her pussy had grown teeth and chomped at it — her heart hammered, loudly, in her ears.

Staring into the darkness of her nighttime bedroom, she almost thought she could see Hunter’s
smirking, thuggish face looking back at her.

Nia had thought she felt ashamed earlier. It was nothing compared to how she felt now.

How long…?

How long had she been lying there, moaning and writhing on her bed, disparaging the memory of her
boyfriend’s little penis and fantasizing about the big, hulking white brute who made his life hell…?
Without even realizing, in her distracted, conflicted mental state, that was who she was fantasizing
about?

It took Nia Avery a very long time to fall asleep that night.
 3 - Chapter Three

“’Morning, Monique! What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Hi, Mrs. Baptiste? Do you have a second? A few of the other teachers and I were talking in the lobby
yesterday, and we wanted to run this by you…”

“Mrs. Baptiste! Mr. Polis says you have to sign this for me…?”

A blur of sound, of faces — every morning was the same for Monique Baptiste, Principal of her
hometown’s bustling, ever-active suburban high school. An endless procession of fellow administrators,
of teachers, of students, all coming to her, clamoring for her input, her approval, even, in the case of
some of the more troubled teenagers, her forgiveness.

The people closest to Monique often marveled at it all. How do you not get sick of all that chaos, day in
and day out? they’d ask. Don’t you ever need a break from all that responsibility?

They didn’t get it. She didn’t blame them; how could they? Most people would get sick of it. Most people
would need breaks from it.

But not Monique Baptiste. Monique loved the chaos, crying out for her to tame it. She thrived on the
taming, the ordering, the challenge of it. It wasn’t simply that she didn’t dread heading into campus for
another day of meticulously micro-managing every aspect of her school’s daily operations — it was that,
even in the calm early morning hours before work, as she would make breakfast for her two beautiful
children, and refrigerate a meal for her husband when he returned from working his odd hours, she
would even be looking forward to it all. The endless questions — the unending requests — even the daily
headaches of unexpected problems and obstacles, be they administrative, or maintenance-related, or
the odd quandary of ethics —

The eye of the storm was where she belonged.

Monique Baptiste, after all, liked to be In Control.

This was her town. She'd grown up here, part of a tightly knit, joyous group of proud black Americans
that made up a significant chunk of the town's population. But more than that, the school she
administered was her school. She'd gone from being a student here herself, back in her youth, to a
teacher, who fell in love with another teacher, and married him and bore him their beloved, frail but
endlessly bright and gentle son Trey, just in time for her promotion to administration - first to the Vice
Principalship, ten years after she'd become a teacher, and then the Principalship, eight years later.
Every step of the way, Monique was In Control of her own destiny, In Control of her life, In Control of her
marriage, and In Control of the career she focused on with laser precision and relentlessness.
She did not intend to be like her own mother, who she'd watched bossed around, demeaned, and
manhandled by her crass, domineering father up until he finally disappeared one day with a mistress,
never to return or say another word to his family. She loved her mother dearly, but she could not for the
life of her figure out why the quietly proud, strong woman had allowed herself to be belittled and
controlled in such a way by a pig of a man like her father. No. Unlike her, Monique would be In Control,
of everything. Maybe that was why she'd been so attracted to the idea of marrying a man like her own
husband, Christian, who so clearly was her son's father: soft-spoken, even meek, unfailingly polite and
chivalrous.

Unfailingly safe.

Monique Baptiste would never have to worry about being treated by her man the way her mother had
been treated by hers.

Just as her son took after his father in traits and appearance, Monique certainly took after her beautiful
mother in the latter regard, at least. She was well aware that some of the older boys, in the grip of
puberty, often called her the MILF on Campus, and while she made sure to thoroughly, loudly and
harshly dress down any (instantly regretful and apologetic) young delinquent who got bold enough to
utter the nickname in her presence, deep down she took some pride in it.

'Black don't crack,' her mother had often joked while admiring herself in the mirror, and Monique allowed
a little vanity in the knowledge that even at 38, she was an object of lust in this school just as she had
been in her youth: matronly was an understatement to describe her, her mature body a perfect,
curvaceous hourglass, ensuring that even the modest skirts and shirts she wore every day were unable
to contain her own soft, voluptuous body, to the point she was perpetually, practically in violation of the
dress code she was supposed to enforce. Overly-generous double-J cup breasts, full and impressively
perky for their size and weight, strained every dress shirt to the point she could never even button them
up all the way, unfailingly leaving a window of perfectly smooth, dark brown cleavage bouncing and
wobbling with every step she took - but it wasn't the pillowy chest she was so proud of, and that her
husband treated so reverently, that got the attention from the boys at school.

Monique sometimes wondered if it wasn't just her sharp attention to detail and stern, no-nonsense
attitude that kept her campus in line. Most troublemakers in schools, after all, were male - but how were
they supposed to make trouble if they were too busy going silent and staring at their Principal's ass
every time she walked by?

Oh yes, Monique was aware she had an ass. She was also aware that that was the understatement of
the century. Her husband, more than once, the sweet man, had had to simply laugh and meekly
apologize to her in the dim light and privacy of their bedroom; her ass, he would explain in the most
chivalrous, doting terms possible, was just too fat for his modest manhood. After a while of this situation
cropping up, there would be the occasional flare of irritation in Monique -- "You mean your dick is too
fucking small for all this ass," she'd be on the verge of snapping, frustrated at the lack of fulfillment for a
libido that felt as if it was only getting more bottled up with the years -- but he was a good man, and he
was a good father, and he was safe, so always they would laugh together and Christian would go down
on her until Monique got at least a shadow of the release she needed.
In the bathroom afterwards, calmed somewhat, Monique would wryly be able to admit she couldn't
blame her husband for giving up on trying to conquer his wife's absurdly ample ass -- looking at her own
profile in the mirror, it was impossible not to admit that the only way to describe her mature black ass
was 'shelf-like,' the massive, round, curvy chocolaty globes easily fifty-five inches around, the kind of
naturally fat, soft asspillowing that ensured every sway of her hips was the surest hypnosis to captivate
the horny young men she was in charge of every day, every clack of her high heels echoing in the
school hallways meaning a tantalizing quaking of her enormous motherly ass in the knee-length skirts
that rode up her thick, equally wobbly smooth curvy thighs thanks to the sheer natural padding of her
ass.

Maybe it was Monique's enormous, jiggling, barely-contained ass that kept the school so orderly. Maybe
it was her no-nonsense attitude and razor-sharp tongue. Maybe it was both.

Whatever the case, it was her school, and Monique was In Control.

And there’d never been any reason to doubt that… at least, until Hunter came along.

Monique knew Hunter was trouble from the second she'd first sat him down in her office as a freshman.

She’d been dealing with school bullies for her entire career at the school — first as a teacher, and then
as the Principal. Around here, it wasn’t really a big problem. Every school had its bullies. Theirs was no
different. If anything, Monique had always been relieved to know that, compared to some of the horror
stories she heard from other administrators around the region during work conventions or when traveling
to neighboring schools, the worst youths of her own hometown tended to be downright mild,
comparatively, in what they got up to.

Hunter was the first time Monique could remember feeling a strange, unidentifiable tension tightening
her belly while she dealt with one of her school’s troublemakers. She did not want to identify it, because
if she did, she would have to admit something she had once thought could never happen to her. Her,
Monique Baptiste, who was always In Control, who had been on top of her comfortable little world’s
food chain for so long that she could not remember any other Way of Things.

He made her nervous.

Even then, Big was the word that would unfailingly come to mind first when Monique thought of her
school's newest terror. Barely in the grip of puberty, he'd already been hit by it like a rocket. He towered
above the other boys his age and very nearly over the upperclassmen, naturally thick-built and burly,
with arms and legs like tree trunks - hell, the first time the hulking white boy had gotten in trouble under
Monique's watch had been for his picking a fight with the school's former Top Dog, a senior named
Todd. Todd had gone home that day with a barely recognizable face and might have had a broken arm
to join it, if Monique hadn't shown up when she had.

She had taken pride, then, in how the stomping brute of a freshman had instantly stopped savaging the
much older boy (almost effortlessly) as soon as she'd shown up, sharply calling out for him to “Stop this
nonsense!” She'd assumed that stern tone in her smooth, motherly voice had appealed to that
deep-rooted place in most boys that told them to mind their manners around their mother and to feel
shame for their basest instincts when confronted by her, even if for no one else.

Monique had had plenty of time to realize, in retrospect, that had not been why Hunter stopped beating
up Todd so easily. There might have been some debate as to why other boys generally behaved so well
in Monique's school; there was no doubt, in this case, that it was the fifty-five-jiggling-black-inches
reason that had distracted Hunter back then.

There was no doubt, because yes, Hunter was trouble. He was different from the others Monique had
dealt with over her numerous years as Vice Principal and, later, as Principal. Where other boys tried to
pretend they weren’t staring at the MILF on Campus's fat black ass, Hunter seemed to make a point of
ensuring she knew he was staring. Every time she’d whip her head of short, curly black hair around to
glare at him, her statuesque dark face with its plump, beestung raspberry-red lips and smoky,
almond-shaped dark brown eyes, turning cold and accusatory as she caught him staring, Hunter would
just stare right back. He would give her the smug, wolfish grin she would learn to hate so much, for its
arrogance yes but more than that for the fact it managed to make his thuggish, rough features look
roguishly handsome and having his grin directed at her would make her stomach light and fluttery in a
way she was not accustomed to, for the fact it made her sense of Control feel suddenly tenuous and
shallow, for the fact it seemed to dare her to call him out for something so lewd as staring at her
massively protruding, curvy round ass straining her skirt so tightly.

Hunter was different from the other boys, because for the first time in more than a decade as Principal,
Monique would find herself choosing to simply turn and walk away faster rather than confront behavior in
need of correction, hating herself for the unfamiliar sensation of intimidation that this cocky not-so-little
shit awoke in her, hating every second that she could feel Hunter’s smirk growing and his dark, hooded
eyes on that rough white face enjoying the view of her broad, fertile hips swaying and her globular, plush
ass-cushions jiggling away from him with each hurried clack of heel on tile.

But the biggest difference between Hunter and the other raucous troublemakers Monique had dealt with
in her past as a teacher and a Principal was the worst of all: Hunter, eventually, turned his predatory
attentions onto her own sweet, precious baby boy, Trey.

He was by no means Trey’s first bully — Monique knew that. More than knew it; she’d struggled with
the knowledge that her son’s quiet, gentle nature had made him the subject of bullying for almost his
entire life as a student. It broke her heart. She’d had to restrain herself more than once in striking down
with a thunderous vengeance anytime she so much as caught a whiff that some bigger, stronger boy
had looked at her precious son the wrong way, knowing that she couldn’t wrap him into her bosom and
protect him forever. She’d always remind herself that he had to learn to protect himself — and took
comfort in the fact that, if nothing else, his childhood sweetheart, Nia, was always there to help him.

And until Hunter came along, it had seemed that Trey was through the worst of it. Middle school had
been one thing, but now he was in high school, and here, his mother was the Principal, the bogeyman of
any student body, setting him indelibly apart from everyone else in a subtle sort of way. But it had
always been a benign sort of ‘apartness,’ occasional ribbing about how he couldn’t be trusted with the
kind of scheming youth dabbles with as it approaches adulthood: the skipping of classes or cheating on
tests or dabbling with pot and cigarettes and booze. Even the worst bullies in Trey’s high school life,
before Hunter, regardless of whether they wanted to go further than light harassment of the weaker boy,
never dared it, both because of his omnipresent protector Nia and because they were all too aware that
the MILF on Campus they liked to snicker about was his mother and, MILF or not, was infamous for just
how harsh she could be with her punishments, leaving them to imagine dark visions of her wrath should
they mess with her baby boy.

Hunter dared it.

The first time Monique received a call from the nurse’s office about Trey, she had blurted out a question
to the nurse, after a long moment of confused silence: her Trey? She had stumbled into the nurse’s
office in a vague sort of fog, not quite absorbing what was happening. Even looking right at her son’s
bloodied nose and listening to his sulking voice telling her what had happened, she didn’t believe it.
This couldn’t be happening to her son. This couldn’t be happening to her — in her school —

And then her racing mind had picked up on the word her son’s voice was uttering: Hunter.

Two emotions had instantly settled over her entire world like a cloud — deep, ferocious maternal fury at
the thug who had felt the need to flaunt that he was bigger and meaner and stronger by beating up on a
boy as kind-hearted as her son... and dread. A permeating, deep-rooted dread that she couldn’t quite
explain, didn’t want to even acknowledge existed, because for just a moment when Trey told her that it
was Hunter who was directing his swaggering, casual brutality onto him, she had felt something that
never entered into her unfailingly safe, unfailing well-controlled life.

Animal, instinctive panic.

Because Hunter was different from the other bullies she’d dealt with. He wasn’t afraid of her. He did not
acknowledge that Monique Baptiste was In Control. In beating up on her son, he wasn’t just
being ignorant as to who his huge, meaty fists were pummeling into; no, as Monique hugged her son
tightly and glared darkly at the wall behind him, she had been able to see, all too clearly, that Hunter was
perfectly aware of the message he was sending to her via Trey’s bloody nose.

It was the first real challenge Monique had ever faced to her station at the top of the school food chain.
She did not intend to lose it.

But it soon became clear that Monique couldn’t win, either. Not really.

She’d wanted, from that first glimpse of her son’s roughed-up face and the hesitant naming of his
abuser, to do what any mother would. She’d wanted to tear Hunter’s heart out and make sure he could
never hurt her baby again.

But primal power play or not on Hunter’s part, beating up her son, this was not the jungle. This was a
school. He was a student, she was a faculty member, and, simmering with anger, enough of it that she
was able to overcome her inexplicable, latent nervousness around the thick-built, smirking white teen
enough to glare right into his eyes and load every word from her plump, shapely soft lips with all the
barely-contained motherly wrath she was feeling, she could only give him after-school detention for a
week.
It wasn’t enough. She hated that she couldn’t do more. But it was something.

It should have been something.

But Hunter was different.

He didn’t even let her shallow victory give her some comfort. He’d sat there in her office the whole time
she lectured him, and those dark, lazily hooded, dangerous eyes of his had simply made a show of
blatantly running up and down her entire body as she stood leaning over her desk with finger
accusatorially wagging at him. She’d seen countless wannabe thugs from her school turn nervous and
uncomfortable when she directed the full brunt of her fury on them like this, her often warm, honeyed
voice turned cold and sharp, every word a whiplash, but with Hunter simply kicking back in his chair and
eyeing her up like a piece of livestock at auction, his eyes lingering particularly intently on her heavily
hanging, subtly wobbling cleavage, Monique had found herself starting to feel far more nervous and
uncomfortable than the aggressive delinquent student in her office looked to be.

He’d served that detention, but Monique took no comfort in it, because there was no sense of remorse
or even that he might back off a little from Hunter after their first disciplinary meeting. The only aftermath
had been a flustered, overheated Monique, agitatedly tapping her well manicured nails on her big
mahogany office desk, still feeling Hunter’s piercing, hungry gaze on the well-endowed bosom
perpetually threatening to burst right out of her top... and a low, simmering, nervous heat deep in her
stomach that she tried very hard to ignore, the same nervous heat she had started to feel when Hunter
first met her eyes after she caught him staring at her ass. It was a heat that felt, vaguely, should have
been connected to intimate nights with her husband, and yet was nothing like it at all, something foreign
and unfamiliar and somehow scary, like if she let herself keep feeling it it would burn down everything
she’d built in her life.

She was so busy trying to convince herself that it was nothing, that it was just stress, that there could be
no savoring of Hunter’s first week in detention.

There would be plenty of other chances over the year that followed, though, because Hunter did not
stop. Whatever glimmer of naive hope Monique allowed herself, even after the disappointment of how
her punishment of Hunter had gone, that he might take some words from her lecturing to heart, or at
least decide that her son, specifically, was not worth the extra trouble, was quickly extinguished. If
anything, the week of detention made things even worse, as if the school’s new alpha male felt like he
had to up the ante of his own offense to make up for the opening salvo Monique had issued.

Almost daily, it was something new, not always directed at Trey, but more and more often, it was; a new
beating, a new humiliation so thorough and cruel it would send a student home crying like a baby, a new
report from one teacher and then another about Hunter’s use of violence and threats to make other
students do his classwork and do his homework, give him their lunches, give him their games and their
shiny new phones. So much abuse and disregard for the rules, so fast and so frequent, that it was
impossible to even keep up — especially since, as the months went on, it became less and less a war
between the school and Hunter, and more and more one purely between Principal Mrs. Baptiste and the
first student in school history that anyone could remember making her look less than fully In Control.
Hunter, after all, was still growing. That was not something Monique would have even considered, at the
time of her first confrontation with him. He’d already been so large that he towered over nearly every
other student and even many of the teachers. He had been the kind of freshman who might have walked
into a booze store and seemed so adult that the merchant wouldn't even bother checking his ID. She’d
observed more than one teacher who would be near at hand when Hunter broke a rule or even started a
fight right in the middle of a school hallway, and simply turn a blind eye, clearly too nervous about
confronting such a big, thick-built brute whose most violent, aggressive impulses were fired up.

That was bad. It only got worse, every year before he turned his attention to Trey, as Hunter grew even
taller, even broader, even meaner. By the time his senior year rolled around, Hunter looked like he
belonged in some kind of sweaty, bloody, no-holds-barred arena brawl, not a school. His natural bulk
was hardened by powerful muscles, whether by working out or simply the daily act of flexing them by
beating up on weaker boys, Monique couldn’t say. His already thuggish looking face became downright
brutish, thick dark eyebrows overhanging those ever-hooded dark eyes, a constant smirk or sneer
affixed to his coarse, stubbled, strong features, a single ear piercing of dark brown to match his short,
messy dark head of hair. He looked like he could simply sit down on any of the male teachers and snap
them like twigs under his sheer weight, let alone if he started swinging those brawny, hairy rippling arms
of his at them instead of other students; his deep, rumbling basso voice was the kind that, when raised
even slightly, would override any attempt at sharp rebukes or shouts from the adults who were supposed
to be keeping him in line.

It was hardly any wonder that most of them stopped trying.

It became almost a fact of life in the school Monique had once felt she was so firmly In Control of. Hunter
would come stomping onto campus every morning — at least when he wasn’t skipping to do Lord knew
what, and there were plenty of rumors ranging from girls leaving town pregnant and ashamed to a
burgeoning enterprise of contraband sales — and, as long as he didn’t send anyone to the nurse’s
office, everyone resigned themselves to the fact he was going to do what he wanted. It was like the
entire school had come under occupation by some unpredictable, violent new warlord that no one was
quite willing to do anything about. Male staff veered away from him in the hallway, one or two of the
mousier types even ending up shuffling to Monique over the years to meekly tell her that they needed
help regaining control of their classrooms from Hunter because of how thoroughly he’d
pushed them around in front of everyone, to the point those classes would become borderline anarchy.

At one point, a female teacher, the gentle, soft-spoken young newlywed Mrs. Potts, had quietly
approached Monique at lunch and seemed to try to bring up something about Hunter — but then she’d
spotted him swaggering into the cafeteria, his huge arm draped around one of his favorite bullying
victims like they were old friends while he loudly drawled some humiliating story about him for a laughing
group of sycophants, and the pretty young history teacher had scurried off like she was a gazelle who’d
just glimpsed a lion. She would resign not much later, unable to take all the scandal swirling around the
campus about her nasty divorce from her husband, and though Monique tried very hard not to give the
rumors much credence as she forbade their discussion every time she heard them, it was hard not to,
deep down, believe that Hunter really was capable of making some poor, weak-willed woman like Mrs.
Potts cheat on her husband with him all over the school. Several students swore by their account of
walking in on him bobbing her pretty little blonde head on what they claimed was over a foot of horse’s
cock to match the rest of Hunter’s massive, hulking form.
Monique didn’t want to believe something so depraved could happen in her school. So she convinced
herself, very effectively, that it really was just tall tales, overactive imaginations from bored, horny
teenagers. There was, after all, no evidence, and Mrs. Potts had never come forward with any such
admissions or accusations. Hunter, for his part, never said anything about it. When she’d spy him in
earshot of students quietly whispering eager, excited gossip about it, he’d just be smirking that smirk
Monique hated so much, and Monique would feel that nervous, simmering warmth in the pit of her
stomach, trying to ignore the fact it seemed even more intense ever since hearing the ever-more
exaggerated stories about Hunter’s enormous white cock defiling a married teacher, trying to tell herself
the feeling must simply be a manifestation of her hatred for him, because Monique was not like the other
faculty. She kept fighting. She had to, for Trey, because no matter how Hunter branched out in flaunting
his disregard for authority and his ability to scare even the school staff into letting him do what he
wanted, he still always found time to send her son to the nurse’s office on the regular, or send him
home sniveling and mumbling reluctantly, after some coaxing, about whatever new humiliation he’d
been subjected to.

Mom? He’d unfailingly, pleadingly ask her, looking up at her when she was done with the comforting
platitudes she would give him, ones that felt more and more shallow every time she repeated them.
Don’t tell Nia about this, okay? You know how she gets…

Detention, after detention, after detention, until Hunter didn’t even show up for half of them. Detentions
became suspensions. Monique called his parents, over and over again, trying to go over Hunter’s head
and join the authority of the school with the special authority only parents can have over a son. She gave
up on that fairly quickly. No matter how badly he beat up some poor kid, no matter how many classes he
skipped or suspensions he got, his parents were a non-entity. It was hard not to believe they were as
cowed by the lumbering, snickering bully they’d raised as everyone else was.

She tried to go over his head, then, by talking to the only person who was supposed to be above her in
this, her school: the district superintendent. But portly, balding, white-bearded Mr. Paris, fondly called
‘Santa’ by so many of the local students and teachers, had never been so adept at anything as he
proved to be at dodging Monique on the issue of Hunter. Monique had always liked her boss, less so for
his constant good cheer and more because he seemed very content to let her administrate her school
the way she saw fit with little intereference while he took long vacations and appeared only when he
needed to for routine meetings.

Usually, that meant Monique got to stay In Control, just the way she liked it. Now, for the first time, she
resented it, because instead of being able to finally end her exhausting war of wills with Hunter, and
save Trey, by passing the responsibility to someone with more power -- something she hated even
having to consider — it all came right back down to Monique being the only one doing anything about the
teen brute regularly rearranging her son’s face with his fists, and making the poor boy even more meek
and jumpy than usual, just as he should have been coming into himself and finding the confidence
needed for his rapidly approaching college years, not to mention the fledgling relationship he’d finally,
painstakingly started after wasting so many years with Nia, Monique having to exercise all of her iron will
countless times not to yell at him to ask her out already, she’s crazy about you, she always has been,
just make a move!

It should have been the best time of Trey’s youth. Things had been looking up for him. Instead, Hunter
was making it the worst.
Monique would be damned if she’d let him get away with it.

“I don’t like the look of those clouds, do you?”

Monique knew the voice very well — it was one that her daughter, Janelle, liked to make fun of with her
well-practiced impersonation of the Corny White Guy cadence. An impersonation that Monique often
found herself having to stifle a laugh at. Yes, her right-hand man at the school, her Vice Principal, was
about the most stereotypical dorky, oh-shucks middle-management white man she’d ever known, but
he was also a very good man, one she’d learned to trust with a lot over the years, so she wasn’t about
to let her kids hear her laughing along at jokes about him.

Right now, his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. Monique was deep in thought as they
did their daily circuit around campus after the last classes were dismissed, her heels clacking sharply on
the thoroughly waxed tiled floor of the hallway they found themselves in presently. The hall was lined
with lockers and a water fountain on one side, and full-length windows lining the entire opposite wall,
looking out on the open field behind the school building where boisterous students could be seen
participating in after-class baseball practice. It was one of Monique’s favorite hallways in the whole
building. Like countless of the other things she loved about her school, she was so occupied lately
thinking about her conundrum with her son’s bully that she couldn’t even appreciate it properly today.

Just another reason to take him down.

“Monique?”

This time, Vice Principal Mark Brennan’s mild voice managed to pierce the fog of Monique’s brooding
thoughts a little more clearly — clearly enough that she realized it sounded like it was coming, oddly,
from behind her. She stopped in her tracks, the clacking of her heels fading in the acoustics of the empty
hallway, and looked over her shoulder to see that Mark had already stopped moving a few feet back,
looking at her with genuine concern on his bushy-browed, middle-aged white face. His clipboard was
tucked under one arm with its light green dress shirt sleeve rolled up, a shirt that matched the khaki
pants he had worn every single day for as long as Monique had known him.

Monique wasn’t really feeling a smile right now — maybe as much because of the dark clouds in the sky
that Mark had observed, casting everything in a dour gray light, as it was because, as she did so often
lately, she had lapsed into scheming about how to deal with Hunter — but she forced one nonetheless,
raising her shapely eyebrows at Mark as she lit her smooth, matronly black face with a politely confused
grin. “Yes, Mark?”

“You’re doing it again.” Mark angled his face downward, giving her his best you’re not fooling me
expression. Monique observed, faintly, that his bald spot was growing. And that the brown dye wasn’t
fooling anyone on what little hair he had left.

Monique knew very well that Mark was right. He’d caught on to her increasing tendency to go quiet and
drift into scheming over the last few months, and she’d deflected his questions about it more than once.
But it still annoyed her, instinctively, for her subordinate to give her a look like that, even a subordinate
she liked on a personal level. And it annoyed her even more that she’d given him an excuse to look at
her that way in the first place.

The exasperation on her face was real as she planted a hand on her explosively curved hip, jutting it to
the side in a way that made her enormous, protruding ass wobble around in her tight skirt. Mark’s eyes
didn’t even glance toward her lower half despite the fact that the wobbling was very visible even from
the front; he never, in fact, looked down there. Monique wasn’t sure she’d ever caught him sneaking
any kind of looks at her, let alone anyone else. Maybe his complete lack of any outward, observable
sexuality was part of why she trusted him so much. His completely generic appearance, his
ever-milquetoast, safe remarks, the fact she never felt like he was sneaking looks at her ass the way so
many other men and boys did…

Safe.

Like her husband.

“And just what, pray tell, am I doin’?” Monique kept her voice friendly enough, but the
exasperatedly-patient tone was the same one she used when dealing with a troublemaking student.
“Getting lost in here.” Mark tapped his spectacularly bald head, reflecting the stark overhead lighting.
The knowing look, blissfully, left his face, and he gave her a sympathetic smile instead, his black dress
shoes tapping against the floor like a quieter imitation of Monique’s high heels as he walked up to her.
“It’s not hard to notice, y’know. Especially since it’s so unlike you.” He inhaled, gave her a look now
that was almost worse than the knowing one: pity. “Hunter again?”

Monique felt her heartbeat increase just at the mention of his name. Her stomach tightened. Her whole
body stiffened. She was sure the reaction was far from subtle, too, from the way Mark nodded to
himself.

So she didn’t bother denying it. She let her shoulders slump, her head lolling tiredly to the side, eye
closing, letting out a deep, annoyed breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you got me.” She pinched the bridge of her
nose, massaging it between two slender effeminate fingers. “I swear, Mark… that overgrown white boy is
gonna be the end of me.” Her hand left her hips, and instead she wrapped both her bare, smooth black
arms around her curvy midriff as if warming herself, under the heavy bosom that was straining at her
pastel short-sleeved shirt. “If you could see the look on my Trey when he’s tellin’ me about what that…
thug gets into with him… not to mention some of the other boys…” Monique pursed her plump, glistening
lips together tightly, shaking her head.

Mark blew out a breath of his own, through his narrow nostrils, joining her in shaking his head. “I am so
sorry, Monique. Trey is a sweet kid. He doesn’t deserve it.” He looked pensively out the ceiling-high
windows lining the hallway, watching the baseball team yell and laugh and run around the green field
with their endless youthful energy. “I still can’t believe it, you know. That he would go after… well… your
son.”

“Mmmmhm. Well.” Monique watched the students outside, too, but she was glaring at them in a way
they most certainly didn’t deserve. It wasn’t meant for them, after all. “Hunter’s a special kind of trouble.”
“No one would argue with you there.” Mark gave her that sympathetic smile again. “You’ll get him,
Monique. I know you will. Sooner or later, he’s gonna slip up, and give you your opening.”

Monique wanted to burst out and snap at him with the fierce frustration that washed over her when he
said it. I’m sick and tired of waiting for my opening! Do you have any idea what that terror has gotten
into in MY school? MY school, Mark! This is supposed to be where I’m In Control, and he’s out here
beatin’ on kids and knocking up girls — knocking up TEACHERS! If I was half the Momma Bear my kids
think I am, I woulda had him out on his ass three years ago, none of this would be happening to all those
poor boys he pushes around, Mrs. Potts would still be here teachin’ and comin’ to faculty meetings with
that nice young hubby of hers, and my sweet little Trey wouldn’t be comin’ home half the time lookin’
like he just wants to crawl into a HOLE and —

Control. Stay In Control, Monique.

She didn’t say any of it out loud. Instead she returned Mark’s smile, albeit tightly, and then her heels
were clacking on the tiles again, her fifty-five inches of motherly ass bouncing and swaying like it always
did as she swept through the hallways of her school. Her school. “Alright, mister. What was that about
the boiler room flooding? Let’s hear the damages…”

Mark perked up, looking back to his clipboard as he hastily caught up to her and resumed going through
the latest problems and requests that they needed to deal with.

She tried to relish it, like she always had. She really did. To immerse herself in the joyful challenge of
dealing with her school’s problems.

But in no time, she was right back to thinking about the one problem her school had that she could never
quite seem to solve.

She got to thinking about it again so deeply, in fact, that Mark was almost not the only one whose words
fell on deaf ears because of it.

Monique had parted ways with him a few minutes prior. The circuit of the campus was almost done; the
items to review on his clipboard were exhausted. After some distracted small talk with him, wherein the
Vice Principal’s thrilling description of what he had planned for the evening passed through unhearing
ears — though Monique did pick up on the words ‘casserole’ and ‘watching golf with a cold one’ — the
middle-aged man who Janelle loved to mockingly impersonate so much had finally excused himself,
wishing his boss a good night. And though she hadn’t been paying enough attention to fully absorb
what he was saying, she was certainly aware enough of the parting look of concern Mark had given her.

She’d entertained a brief, strange temptation to fire him on the spot.

Monique felt bad about that, but she didn’t have much time to dwell on how erratic her moods had been
lately before she was idly playing through fantasies of expelling Hunter in her mind again. The drifting
thoughts eventually turned to how much happier Trey would be when they were rid of the overgrown
brute. Monique was imagining that bright future, a dreamy smile on her face, heels clacking, as she idly
made her way through the deserted math wing of her high school. It was the lowest level of the school,
and darker than the others, since the only windows were inside the closed-up classrooms, leaving
everything lit only by the cold, harsh light of the overheads. There were no extracurricular activities held
in this wing. No teachers staying late. The perfect, deserted area for Monique to, at last, brood over her
son’s bullying problem in peace and quiet for a few minutes.

At least, it should have been. If not for the shaking, weak male voice she heard around the corner as she
passed by the male bathroom.

“P—Please…Rachel… stop…”

Monique almost thought she’d imagined it. The voice was so faint, and she’d been so lost in her own
head, that it was hard to tell if it had simply been some figment of her imagination.

But then she heard a strangely unsettling, wet, rhythmic sound. The even wetter pop! that followed it.

And most unsettling: the breathy, almost drunk-sounding, sweet female voice saying something that
such sweet tones had no business saying.

“Mmmngh… god, Hunter… so fugging biiiig~”

That name — the needy tone that the sweet female voice had no business associating with it — the
weakness of the other, unfamiliar male voice —

Monique’s blood went cold. Her heart stopped.

The wet noises resumed. The weak male voice let out a muffled, indecipherable sound of pain, a pain
that didn’t sound physical.

And then a voice that Monique definitely recognized. A rough basso, letting out a low, dark sneer.

Just like that, she was spurred back into life. Her heart wasn’t stopped anymore, but thudding, loudly, in
her ears as she stormed up to the male bathroom, knowing that she was committed to intervening in
whatever was happening within it now, her heels clacking loudly against the floor taking her around the
corner — she would have thrown the door open, if it wasn’t already propped open by a door jam —

She was confronted by a sight that was at once awful… and the most welcome thing she could have
imagined.

Awful: because it was a scene that would have made any decent person upset. There, on the floor:
some scrawny, mousy-looking white kid she didn’t know, but who she was sure she’d seen geeking out
with her son Trey over something or other in the cafeteria at one point, the kind of boy who he would get
along with, quiet and nerdy just like her baby. His hair was tousled; his face, dirtied and slightly bloodied.
He was lying on his side, nursing his stomach like he’d taken a nasty blow to it, and watching with
horror what was taking place a few feet away.

Hunter. Hunter, his broad, powerful back tightly clad in a white T-shirt turned mostly to Monique — and,
just visible in front of him, some girl on her knees, red hair glistening in the bathroom’s stark lighting as
it bobbed up and down over the hulking bully’s lap. The source of the rhythmic, wet noises, which
suddenly were so much louder, slurping, squelching, the kind of lewd sounds that had no business in a
school. Let alone Monique’s school.

It was easy enough to piece together what was happening. Monique knew enough of the rumors about
Hunter. She could see the heartbreak on the freshly beaten boy’s face as he watched this girl doing
something so depraved to the huge thug who had just put him on the ground.

Yes, it was awful… and the most welcome thing she could have imagined.

Got you, white boy!

“This. Stops. Now.”

Monique’s voice echoed around the bathroom. She loved the strong, firm sound of it. She hurt for the
poor kid on the ground, looking up at her with dim surprise and dawning hope, but as her heart
jackhammered in her chest, her blood rushing through her, she was feeling something else, too.
Triumph.

Up until now, there were only aftermaths — only kids too scared of Hunter to fully snitch on him, fearing
retribution that could go beyond school. Never giving Monique enough to do more than give the
school’s worst bully possibly in its entire history detentions or, at most, suspensions.

As Hunter went still, his head of dark, messy short hair slowly rising and turning to look at Monique over
his shoulder, his hooded eyes so ominous and unreadable, Monique couldn’t stop herself from letting
out a breathless, grim laugh. Her hands went to her wide, curved hips. She flashed the far bigger, bulky
teen a vicious smile that showed every ounce of her long-held resentment for him.
“Ohhh, you gone and messed up this time, big guy.” She’d waited so long to say those words to him.
She savored the moment as much as she could.

The moment didn’t last long.

That wet, disgusting pop! from a few moments before repeated. The girl’s voice, dreamy, rang out.
“Nn… Hunter…? Who’s that? One of your girlfriends?” The voice went pouty in a way that made
Monique’s stomach flip sickly. “No fair…”

“Nah, bitch.” Hunter’s deep voice, inexplicably, was even more unsettling in the tinny acoustics of the
cramped, tiled school bathroom. He turned his head more toward Monique, and the triumph that
Monique had been basking in turned to ash in her mouth as she saw not, at long last, the fear she’d
dreamed of seeing from him when she finally caught him red-handed — but, instead, that damned, cocky,
endlessly maddening smirk on his thuggish teen face. “Whaddya know. It’s just my favorite loser
punching bag’s mom.”

Monique could only gawk at him, open-mouthed, for a second, the smile falling from her own face
instantly.
She couldn’t believe it—

The fucking nerve—

Her normally warm, matronly black face darkened, turning into a vicious scowl that would have turned
the blood of any wannabe school bully before Hunter ice cold, a look that virtually never had a reason to
cloud her face here in her school, in her town, where she was In Control, where no one would dare
speak to her like that.

She was opening her mouth again to start putting words to her growing, white-hot fury when suddenly
Hunter started turning to face her.

What the—

Just as quickly as the fury had washed over her, Hunter robbed her of it simply by moving his body,
leaving only a dumb gawk on her face yet again, staring with widening, shocked eyes as the hulking
teen turned toward her without even pulling up the shorts bunched around his ankles.

He barely had to turn a few inches toward her before she glimpsed it.

Something that was far worse, somehow, than she could even give form to in her thoughts — there were
no thoughts, as soon as her eyes so much as brushed over it, because it rendered her mind completely
blank even in the blur of motion between Hunter turning toward her, and her ducking her head to the
side as quickly as she could when she realized what was happening.

She was already trying to convince herself that what she’d glimpsed wasn’t real when Hunter’s voice,
infuriatingly smug, echoed in the bathroom again.

“What’s the matter, you fat-assed old black bitch? Weren’t you saying something?”

And that was worst of all.

Monique was still reeling so badly from just the short glimpse she’d gotten of the giant monster Hunter
was now fully pointing toward her, his huge hands on his bare hips, that she couldn’t even muster the
outrage she knew was deserved by the horrible thing this delinquent had just called her.

She hated how shaken she knew she must look, her head ducked away from him, a hand held up to
block Hunter from view, trying hard to get control of her heartbeat, her tremulous, suddenly quick
breathing. Breathing that hitched in her throat, reflexively, when she caught whiff of it, then, a stench that
was like nothing that had ever crossed her flared African nostrils before — a raw, animal, and
inexplicably, utterly Male scent wafting from the direction of the grotesque mutant Something between
the teen’s legs, the one she’d only caught a blurry look at and already couldn’t stop replaying the sight
of in her mind.

“Ohhh, no,” Monique heard herself saying in a shaky voice, and was almost surprised to hear it turning
into a low, bitter laugh. She noticed, distantly, that she was shaking her head nonstop. “Ohhh, no you
did not just do that…!”
She started to lower her hand, glaring past it at his insufferable, smirking white face — only to catch a
whiff of that smell again, and a glimpse at his shirt pulled up to reveal his thick but muscled gut (the fact
that he had such defined abs, somehow, made her despise him even more) and her hand jerked back
up to block him from view, her head ducking back away from him.

Monique took a few deep, shuddering, angry breaths, feeling her jaw working in restless irritation.

“Oh, you were in trouble before, young man, but now you are in deep shit,” she promised darkly. Still
holding her hand up to block Hunter from view, she reached down to the boy on the floor, offering her
spare hand to help him up. He was too busy gawking at Hunter, clearly hypnotized with sheer, animal
horror at what he was seeing, what Monique was trying so hard to unsee but could not seem to stop
seeing burned into her eyelids every time she blinked despite it only being a blur.

“C’mon,” she snapped, more sharply than she meant to, gesturing her hand impatiently. Thankfully, the
tone broke the boy out of his stupor, and he accepted her hand, grunting in pain as she heaved him to
his feet almost aggressively, with a burst of energy that vented her confusion, her fury, her shock. She
couldn’t remember the last time her emotions had been more of an uncontrollable maelstrom within her.

Monique made a point of not looking at Hunter, holding the beaten boy’s shaking white hand in her own
shaking black hand, guiding him to the door on equally shaky legs. She paused in the doorway, hating
that she could feel the giant white brute’s eyes leering at her fat, shelf-like ass. Unbidden, she realized
she missed when she was with Mark instead, a few minutes ago. Mark, who never looked at her ass, let
alone like that. In a way that made her feel strangely naked, vulnerable, and…

Yes.

Scared, too. She was just shaken enough to admit it.

“Make yourself decent, asshole,” she spat, not even turning her head toward him over her shoulder.
“We’re going to my office. And this time, you ain’t leaving it as a student of my school. You hear me?”

She tried very hard not to think about how he was staring, as she clacked her heels on the floor and
stormed out of the bathroom, her pillowy, mature ass bouncing and jiggling around alarmingly under her
stretched-tight pencil skirt, the boy Hunter had been roughing up stumbling along behind her.

She wasn’t sure what was stronger — the pity, or the disgust, as she heard the redheaded girl’s whiny,
needy voice coming from behind her, where she was still kneeling in front of Hunter.

“Hunter, noooo~! Don’t leeeave… You promised when you were done beating up my boyfriend I could
suck your big juicy cooock~”

Monique shuddered, looked over at the bloodied face of the boy she’d just rescued as they stood
outside the bathroom, his expression bleak and morose.

She had never felt fonder of her own son’s girlfriend than she did right then. Strong, righteous, proud
Nia, who would never in a million years do something like that to her Trey.
Well, don’t you worry, Nia, Monique thought, her jaw set grimly, a little bit of the dark triumph returning to
her face as she awaited Hunter and his death march to her office. The last march to her office he would
ever make. You won’t ever have to protect my baby from THIS one. Momma handled it.

Trey, baby… wherever you are…

It’s over.
 4 - Chapter Four

This should have been a dream come true.

Monique, certainly, had dreamt of it. Countless times, over the last couple of years, even before Hunter
had turned his awful, predatory attentions toward her own sweet baby boy, Trey, she’d dreamt of the
moment when she finally, truly would have the upper hand on the big white bully who had made it his
mission to terrorize her school. She couldn’t even count all the times she had laid there in her bed
(often, incidentally, restless from an awkward, aborted lovemaking attempt by her tired and
not-particularly-well-endowed husband), tossing and turning, trying to coax herself to sleep by playing
out the fantasy in her head: her standing proud behind her Principal’s office desk, jabbing an accusatory
finger at a dejected, defeated Hunter, and saying those magic words she wanted so badly to say —
“Get out of my school, and never come back.”

And now here she was, standing behind her desk, glaring at her office door as it slowly swung open to
reveal Hunter, here for what would be his last encounter with her, ever. After this, she would be done
with him. He would be gone. He would no longer trouble her, her son, or any other student she was
charged with shepherding through high school.

So why, instead of a dream, did this feel strangely, surreally, like some kind of twisted nightmare?

It was all wrong.

There was no triumph swelling in Monique’s generously padded, matronly breast as Hunter presented
himself for what he surely knew was to be his expulsion. He’d been caught red-handed, fresh off of
beating up some poor boy and then engaging in… inappropriate sexual acts with the boy’s girlfriend, in
a school restroom. On top of all of his previous offenses, a tawdry, dizzying list that spanned years of
bullying, it was more than enough to give Monique the justification she needed to expel him. They both
knew it.

So why was Hunter smiling that damned, cocky, loathsome smile she’d grown to despise so much over
the years? The one that always seemed to be on his thuggish white teen face when she would catch him
looming over some huddled, roughed-up smaller boy, or snap at him when he would blatantly squeeze
some air-headed young girl’s ass while they walked down the hallway together?

No. The only thing in Monique’s chest as she glared at Hunter standing in her office doorway was a
strange, nervous fluttering of her heart.

She hated herself for it.

But how could she not be nervous? Usually, when she would confront Hunter, it was during school
hours. Outside of her personal office was the larger school front office, where the secretary sat near the
front entrance, ready to field questions from visitors and students alike, surrounded by two other small
offices housing the Vice Principals; beyond that, the hallway, where there was usually a constant flow of
students and faculty. She’d never realized just how much safer she’d felt dealing with the hulking,
muscular teen now filling her doorframe when there were so many other people around them.

It was just the two of them, now.

And ‘filling her doorframe’ — that was the understatement of the century. Hunter didn’t just ‘fill’ her
doorframe. It was irrational — her thoughts, jumbled, nervous, still reeling from what she’d seen in the
math wing bathroom minutes ago, didn’t quite match what she was actually eseing — but he looked,
somehow, impossibly, like his sheer, powerful young body was too big to even fit into her office. He
stood there with one huge, thick-fingered hand on her office doorknob, his short, messy hair brushing
against the top of the doorframe. Mercifully, he was fully clothed again.

But it was all wrong.

This was not a boy who’d just been caught red-handed, who was finally defeated, and knew it —

Shit, this isn’t a ‘boy’ at all, I don’t care how old he technically is, he’s been a Man already for longer
than some of the grown-ass teachers around this place

— he was smirking. That damnable, hated smirk. He was looking right at her with those hooded,
ever-unsettling dangerous dark eyes, smirking.

As much as she hated herself for the tightness in her chest that it gave her, she hated him even more for
that.

Goddamn him… can’t he even give me this? At the end?

Monique’s broad nostrils flared. She closed her eyes for a moment, tried to will herself to icy, cool,
collected calm. Tried to see herself the way every other wannabe Tough Guy she’d ever dealt with as a
teacher, as a Vice Principal, as a Principal, had always seen her, the Momma Bear of her school, the
one that they all ended up respecting and staying out of her way —

She couldn’t help it. She breathed in sharply, eyes snapping open, her heart hammering in her chest.

The only thing she’d seen when she closed her eyes was what she’d spent the last few minutes trying
so hard to unsee: the blurred glimpse of whatever ungodly… monstrosity was between Hunter’s legs
when he’d turned to face her in the math wing bathroom.

She couldn’t help, either, that as soon as her eyes snapped open, they darted down toward Hunter’s
crotch, mercifully clothed, now.

And her eyes could only widen, her thick, glistening lips parting dumbly, as she struggled to absorb what
she was seeing now — almost worse than what she’d seen in the bathroom.
The tent in Hunter’s shorts looked like it had to be over a foot long. Hard as a rock, the impossible Thing
that would have looked obscene on a horse, let alone a teen boy, no matter how big the rest of him was,
jutted out of his crotch, only its absurd weight making it droop heavily downward preventing it from
pointing right at Monique, the way she’d fantasized about pointing accusingly at him when she dreamt of
this final encounter in her office.

Monique gulped audibly, still staring, wide-eyed. The mental images flashed across her jumbled mind,
unbidden, unwanted: the blurred glimpse of a destructive white pillar protruding from the worst possible
person to have so much masculine power between his legs… a feverish, stomach-churning vision of him
swaggering down the hallway with that Thing tenting his shorts so much that they looked ready to split
open, bouncing and wobbling heavily with every step, flaunting it like he wanted every bitch and beta
around to see it and feel the instinctive fear or reverence it deserved —

“There a stain on my shorts or somethin’?”

Hunter’s rough, deep voice cut through the sick image he himself had stained her mind with. For a
bizarre moment, Monique was almost grateful to him for it as she gasped, starting in place, dumbly
dragging her eyes from his crotch back up to his face.

The dazed gratitude didn’t last. The hatred for him came rushing back as she noticed the gloating all but
oozing from his expression, his smirk even wider than before — and the hatred for herself rushing back,
too, for letting him see her gawk at the tent in his shorts exactly the way he’d wanted her to.

So resentment was going to be what got her through this expulsion meeting, instead of the heady
triumph she’d dreamt of? So be it. At least the simmering heat of it was burning away the fugue.

“Oh, you’re done making wisecracks, Hunter,” Monique said in a low, tight, dangerous tone. She’d
never heard herself talk like that before, not to her own children in their worst moments, nor to any of the
students she’d ever dealt with. It sounded like someone else speaking with her voice. “You’re
done, period.” She lifted her statuesque, proud, matronly African face, her delicate jaw set aggressively,
and she jabbed a slender black finger at one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “Sit.”

The tension in the air crackled between them like a burst of lightning, then. The smirk faded on Hunter’s
face. His broad shoulders stiffened; his powerful fingers on the doorknob tightened. She knew he was
accustomed to giving orders, not taking them, and his annoyance at it radiated from him like bad juju.
Her stomach flipped again and she tried to remind herself that she had every right to give orders to him.
She had always been the one giving orders, to students, to faculty, to her children, to her safe, timid
husband. She was Monique Baptiste, and she was In Control.

But if she was really In Control, would her knees have just about given out in shaky, numb relief when
Hunter silently released the doorknob and stomped over to the chairs?

She tried not to think about it. That could come later. Because after today, she would need something
else to dwell on when she tossed and turned in bed, replacing the fantasies of expelling this damned
white brute from her once-idyllic world and her sweet little Trey’s life.

If the doorway had seemed like it could barely contain Hunter’s mass, her office chair was even more
distressingly ill-suited for it. She’d seen him sit in front of her desk many times over the years. Even as
a freshman, the chairs had creaked under him like they were ready to give out. Now, though, for just a
split second, she utterly was convinced it would collapse under his muscled, towering bulk as he lowered
himself into it.

Maybe that, at least, would have wiped the smirk that was back on his thuggish (annoyingly handsome)
young face. It didn’t happen. Instead, as he always did, he simply leaned back in the seat, somehow
managing to look like some king on his throne when he should have had the decency to look at least a
little nervous, especially now, when his life was about to be turned upside down in just about the worst
way a high school student could imagine. He sprawled his huge, trunk-like legs apart, the obscene tent
in his shorts wobbling weightily from side to side, and Monique gulped again, willing herself not to look at
the way it was now pointing right toward her, twitching and bucking under the fabric, to ignore the strong,
masculine scent wafting from it now that they were even closer together. Hunter clasped his hands
behind his head, showing off his burly, strong arms the same way he was showing off the monster he
was hanging between his legs.

And then he just… looked at her. Smirking. Waiting.

He didn’t look like a delinquent who was about to get a lecture. He looked like some pig sitting in a strip
club, waiting for some girl to come over and —

Anger flared in Monique. She latched onto it like it was a life preserver.

“How many times we been in this situation, Hunter? Hm?” Monique asked in that low, carefully
controlled voice she barely recognized from herself. She flashed Hunter a tight, terse smile that didn’t
reach her thickly lashed, shapely eyes, gesturing vaguely between herself standing in front of her big
wooden office desk, and him, sitting opposite of it. “I don’t know about you, but I lost track a loooong
time ago.” She bared her teeth through the fake smile. “And I don’t know about you, but I ain’t gonna
miss it now that you’ll be gone.”

Hunter took in a lazy breath, his whole body stretching in the chair. With the relaxed, lazy position he
was sitting in, it looked like he was just waking up from a nap. Monique wanted to strangle him.

“Yeah?” He grunted casually, returning her smile — except his smirk was all too real. Now she really
wanted to strangle him. “Where’m I going?”

Silence fell over them. Monique’s smile vanished just like Hunter’s had in the doorway when she
ordered him to sit. It didn’t feel like ‘silence’ to her — the maesltrom inside her, unleashed by the shock
of what she’d encountered in the math wing bathroom, of anger, anxiety, confusion, hatred, other things
she couldn’t name and didn’t want to name, the images flashing through her head that she didn’t want
to see, of Hunter standing there in that bathroom over his latest conquests, so sure of himself and the
disgusting monstrous Thing he was showing off — Trey sitting on their couch at home, looking miserable
as he recounted the latest humiliations this brute had inflicted on him for no good reason other than he
was bigger and meaner and stronger —

Even worse than all of that, though — seemingly out of nowhere — the queer little flashes of annoyance at
what a fucking bitch Trey was, that her son was while she’d listen to him whine, the annoyance at her
bitch husband for making him that way, the flashes that she had successfully convinced herself didn’t
really happen for years —

Inwardly, Monique was screaming from the overload of it all. Why was she so shaken? On what was
supposed to be the day she’d waited for, for years?

But no. She had to be In Control.

Get it together, girl…

And so outwardly, her voice going even flatter, lower, all she said was: “You still think this is all one big
joke, don’t you? All these years, beatin’ on other boys just because you can, screwin’ every hole you
can get your hands on just because you can. It’s always been nothin’ but fun and games for you.”
Monique leaned forward at her waist, her voice trembling with barely-contained anger, a well-manicured
nail shaking inches from Hunter’s face in a jabbing point. “Well maybe you haven’t noticed, Hunter,
but I ain’t laughing. The parents of that poor boy you just beat up in the bathroom?” The volume of every
word, rising in righteous fury. She pointed instead at her office door, toward where the boy in question
was sitting meekly in one of the chairs lining the wall outside, where people waited for meetings with her
on busier days. “I don’t think they gonna find it very funny either! In fact, Hunter, I think most everybody
in this school — nah, this TOWN — is pretty sick of your shit at this point!”

Monique noticed she was panting slightly. She felt her outrage, laid bare on her own face, her eyes
wide, her slender eyebrows needled together angrily, her nostrils flaring. It wasn’t very ‘controlled’ of
her. It felt strange letting loose like that on a student when she’d never had to do it before. She didn’t
care. It was long overdue. She let the heat of it all wash over her, her blood pumping as she glared down
at Hunter.

Only for it to go cold, her heart skipping a couple beats, as she saw that not only had the smirk not fallen
from his loathsome face — but he was barely absorbing a word she’d said. He was, instead, enjoying the
display of her huge, wobbling breasts jiggling around in her short-sleeved shirt as she went from leaning
toward him, to straightening up, to jabbing her finger toward the door, so caught up in her own anger that
she hadn’t even noticed the lewd side effects all the motion had on her pillowy chest.

And then her heart outright stopped as her wide, wild eyes caught something else, too.

The tent in Hunter’s shorts had somehow grown even larger.

That’s not—

How is that—

It CAN’T be that big—

More images flashing across her mind—

Trey, crying, whining, sniveling—

Stop whining you big baby, you think they ever gonna stop picking on you if you don’t Man up and stop
acting the bitch

Her husband, grinning sheepishly at her as he rolled off of her, giving up after a few minutes of
awkwardly trying to get past all of her thick chocolaty assmeat with his tiny little dick, apologizing and
offering to eat her out again as she buried her face in the pillow, not wanting him to see the cold disgust
on her face—

Like it ain’t bad enough you got a baby dick down there Christian, Jesus Christ stop apologizing, it’s
like instead of a Man I got two nervous pussy little boys to put up with every fucking day

Hunter turning toward her in the bathroom, a thought emblazoning itself in her consciousness before she
could even begin to repress it, and returning now, the words screaming in her head even louder as she
stared, slack-jawed, at the utterly fucking enormous, throbbing, proudly towering tent jutting up from
Hunter’s crotch, so big that even on such a massive powerful young body it still managed to look too big
for him—

Oh my fucking God there’s more MAN in one inch of that Thing than there is in the entire bodies of
those whiny little pussyboys I gotta go home and cook dinner for tonight

Monique’s breaths seemed surreally loud in her own ears. Oddly, for reasons she couldn’t explain, not
rationally at least, she was suddenly very, acutely aware of her own physical presence. Like she was
noticing herself, who she was, what she was, for the first time in decades. Noticing the explosively curvy,
mature black body she’d been so proud of, the body she knew was uniquely hers to enjoy as an African
Matriarch: the huge, subtly wobbling breasts on her slender torso, the soft curvy upper arms that paired
so well with them, the wide soft hips and thunderous thick thighs and most of all the ass she’d once
flaunted not so differently from the way Hunter flaunted what he had, the fifty-five inches of massive,
jutting, shelf-like black ass-cushioning that bounced and jiggled and clapped every time she walked in a
natural, primal display for any worthy male that laid eyes on it.

The ass that, she realized faintly, she’d stopped thinking about for so long, because she had to. She had
to, for her own sake, for her husband’s sake, for her marriage and her family’s sake, because for the
sake of those things she cherished, it had to be a non-factor. It had to be something she could only
fleetingly indulge in some secret pride in when horny students at her school whispered and murmured
about it as she sauntered past in hallways, smiling to herself as she felt awed teen eyes drinking in
every appetizing bounce and wobble of those perfectly round, bubbly phat cheeks that put porn stars to
shame.

Because if she let it be anything more than that, she would stop burying those thoughts that were spilling
out of the depths of her psyche now. The thoughts that only bubbled out of some dark corner of her mind
when Safe, Boring Christian would roll off of her awkwardly in bed, apologizing for how his tiny black
dick couldn’t get past her mountains of soft, perfect, bubbly black ass, leaving it un-filled and unfulfilled.

Was that why the thoughts she’d buried for so long were showing their ugly faces now?

Was it because suddenly, her ass — her tits, still wobbling around in her tight pastel shirt from the
after-effects of her angry gestures — the body she was so proud of but had ended up able to do so little
with — weren’t just being gawked at by horny, nervous teen boys in a school hallway? Weren’t just
intimidating a limpdick husband who didn’t know how to handle them, or being pointedly ignored by a
do-gooder co-worker like Mark?

No… staring down at the absolute fucking monster jutting from Hunter’s crotch, twitching and bucking in
his shorts, a dark, gooey stain forming over the enormous tip of it in a way that made Monique’s knees
feel strangely weak, she realized two things, distantly, on an instinctive, animal level. Two things that
were deeply, inextricably connected in the very core of her.

That she was so fucking sick of the weak little beta males she had to live with every day, day in, day out,
apologizing, whining, so needy of her to take care of them and be In Control.

And that this moment, right here, in her office, in long after school had dismissed and left the hallways
empty and quiet… this was the first time since she’d gotten married to Christian — no, possibly in her
entire life — that the lewd, primal display of her fertile black body was actually being presented to a
worthy male.

To a Man.

Monique Baptiste couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt self-conscious, like anything other
than a confident, strutting Queen of her Domain.

Suddenly, she didn’t just feel self-conscious. She felt naked.

And just like that, even though she was the one standing over Hunter, the one wearing the lanyard with
a photo of her face on it, her name, the title PRINCIPAL declaring that she was the Queen of this
Domain, even though he was the one sitting in the chair where he was to hear that his time terrorizing
her school was over, that he was about to be expelled — Monique began to feel like she was the one
who’d been cornered.

Oh, no…

Monique’s eyes flitted to the door of her office, past which she knew the boy Hunter had just beaten up
was sitting, tired, sad, still reeling from this brute taking his girl after he’d taken his dignity, as if that
hadn’t been enough. A boy who, as she’d sat him down and told him to wait for her to call his parents,
had looked at her with just the slightest hint of hope on his roughed-up face, hope that the bad guy was
about to finally get what was coming to him after all this time. The way the mommas of the world all
reassured their weak, sweet little beta sons that they would.

Oh, honey…

Trey’s face flashed across her mind again, sullen, pouting after Hunter had done the same thing to him
not so long ago.

When it faded, it was replaced by that unholy, homewrecking tower of alpha masculinity that looked as if
it was about to rip its way right out of Hunter’s shorts, twitching proudly inches away from her. The raw,
animal smell of it filled the air like a too-strong cologne. Animal — that really was the only word for it. For
anything related to that… Thing he was so brazenly showcasing to her, keeping his legs sprawled far
apart to keep the focus entirely on the unfairly overgrown monster between them.

“You don’t think I give a shit about any of that, do you, bitch?”

Monique managed to drag her wide, staring eyes off of the throbbing pillar tenting his shorts only with
herculean effort. It was as if she was dragging her gaze through molasses. It took such effort that she
couldn’t even gather the energy to try to compose her face. She simply gawked, dumbstruck, at Hunter.
The outrage had faded completely from her smooth, dark-complected features. Her face was blank, jaw
slack. She knew she probably looked like so many of the dumb little teen bimbos she saw Hunter
dealing with day after day, but all she kept thinking about was that boy sitting outside her office. How
similar he was to Trey.

And how all she wanted to do was stop thinking about them completely and just stare at Hunter’s
barely-clothed giant slab of a cock.

“Sorry, honey… you just got so much to love back here, and I can’t—”

— but he sure as fuck could— oh God, with plenty to fucking SPARE —

“You wanna know what I think?” Hunter drawled in that deep, endlessly confident baritone of his that
she’d grown to loathe so much over the last few years. Monique knew she should have said something
there, should have told him that she did not, in fact, want to know what some delinquent brute who was
about to be expelled from her school thought, that he should shut up and get out of her office and her
building and never come back.

The words didn’t come. She just stared at Hunter, her thick, plump lips parted dumbly, a dumb sort of
surprise frozen on her face.

No one else in her life would have even recognized that expression on her normally confident, glowing
matronly features.

Hunter, though, clearly recognized it. He flashed his teeth in his most wolfish grin and pressed on,
keeping one hand clasped behind his head while the other rubbed lazily at his firm, muscular stomach —
and then, blatantly, as if daring her to protest, he pressed a couple of his thick, powerful fingers against
the base of that giant tent in his shorts and started bobbing it slowly around, making it wobble and sway
from side to side.

Monique’s lips parted further. Her eyes followed the progress of the swaying, monstrous tent in
Hunter’s shorts like a cat watching a ball of yarn being bobbed about in front of it.

“I think I’m gonna keep beating the shit outta whatever fucking losers I wanna beat the shit out of,”
Hunter drawled, snickering, clearly enjoying the way the Principal of the school was stupidly watching his
overgrown cock bob around, the fabric of his shorts stretching one way and then the other, tugging up
along his strong white legs. “I think I’m gonna keep making their little cunt girlfriends they’ve got so
starved for a real Man after being stuck with their limp dicks slobber all over my big fat meat after I beat
them up, too.”
It was like the Monique that she’d always been, hearing this, tried to react, but she was falling, falling,
falling, deep inside of herself, drowning in the chaotic cocktail of emotions repressed and unfamiliar
within, and the words came out faint, sluggish, almost slurred. “Wh… What did you jus… You… listen to…
me, young ma — ”

“And you know what else I think, you uptight piece of phat old black ass?”Hunter’s baritone effortlessly
drowned her out, and he grinned even wider and more ferociously at the way her eyes widened in dumb
shock at the crass disrespect. He stopped bobbing the throbbing monster-tent in his shorts around — and
instead wrapped his hand around the base of it, over his shorts. It made the fabric wrap around the
outline of his cock tightly, showcased how even his huge, brutish hand looked almost small compared to
so much impossibly well-endowed Manhood.

Monique’s knees buckled, gave out. There was an audible clattering of the pencils and framed pictures
of her family on her desk shaking around as she instinctively reached out with one hand behind her,
catching herself before she fell, her huge, wobbling black ass in its tight pencil skirt bumping up against
the desk. Her eyes, so wide, were starkly white against her smooth dark skin, her plump lips glistening in
the light of her office as she stared, jaw dropped, brows furrowed in wordless, distressed shock.

The tent had been bad enough. But gripping down on it over the fabric, making it cling tightly to his
enormous hardness, was far worse. It was impossible to even remotely deny how stupidly, destructively,
and most of all unfairly horse-hung this awful white bully was. No, fuck that — in that moment, Monique
was completely, irrationally convinced that even a horse would have felt emasculated around the
massive, fat, towering cock so clearly outlined in Hunter’s shorts.

That wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was how so much of that… gooey substance… had oozed from his tip (is that precum it
can’t be precum holy shit that’s thicker than ten of my husband’s actual loads) that his shorts were
almost completely soaked through over the top of the throbbing, twitching mountain of his cock. There
was too much of the cloudy, creamy substance to make out much detail, but past it she could just barely
make out the natural reddish-purple hue of a cockhead that looked bigger than her husband’s entire
disappointing dicklet on all its own.

Monique heard it come from herself before she could stop it. A low, throaty moan, barely audible but
more than enough to make her heart stop in horror and Hunter look more insufferably smug than she’d
ever seen.

Strange…

She still wanted to slap him, but somehow, seeing the smugness on his face paired directly with the
destructive battering ram twitching in his shorts… she had an unwelcome, fleeting thought that it suited
him.

It was actually kind of… handsome…

Somewhere, further and further within herself, the Monique she’d always known, and that her students
and her family and everyone in her life had always known, screamed. But she could barely hear it over
her pulse thudding rapidly in her ears.

“I think you already knew all that, and you’re gonna keep letting me do it, too,” Hunter continued,
obnoxious gloating dripping from every word. It should have made Monique want to expel him even
more. Instead, to her own muted distress, she felt her thick, soft thighs rubbing together under her skirt.
They felt so hot against each other. Her whole body, in fact, felt strangely, stiflingly hot. Did she have a
fever? She couldn’t get sick now… she had something to do… She was supposed to be doing
something…

“I think you just wanted an excuse to be alone with me after what you saw in the math wing.”

That, at least, was finally so over-the-top that Monique managed to drag herself out of the quick sand of
her own sinking and shifting mindscape slightly. She shook her head distractedly, her thick eyelashes
fluttering over almond-shaped eyes, a sickly little smile tugging crookedly at her lips. She tried to speak,
blushed as the words turned, instead, to an audible gulping, and tried again, only blushing deeper at
how small and meek her voice suddenly sounded. “Ex…Excuse me — ?”

“Oh, c’mon, you don’t gotta pretend anymore. It’s just you and me.” The chair creaked in distress
under Hunter as he leaned back more comfortably, his beefy, muscular arm flexing as he rubbed at the
back of his head with the hand still clasped behind it, his white teeth still bared in his predatory grin as
he leered at her. She became acutely aware of the way he was staring at everything but her face. His
gaze, in particular, seemed focused on her hips and long, thick, curvy legs. He openly rubbed the hand
clutching his cock up and down a bit, nearly jerking himself off over his shorts, and Monique was so busy
staring slack-jawed at its size again that she didn’t even say anything. “I saw the way you looked at my
cock back there. Shit, not to mention the way you’re lookin’ at it now. Wassamatter, you never see a
real cock before? Isn’t your hubby black too? I thought that meant he was supposed to be packing heat
down there.”

Monique hated the way that, unbidden, she saw her husband’s tiny little finger-sized dicklet on the back
of her eyelids, then. Hated how, in that moment, even though she heard the snideness in Hunter’s
voice, knew it was exactly what he wanted, the only thing she felt at that mental image was disgust and
resentment.

“Haaaah, I’m just fuckin’ with you, bitch.” Hunter tilted his head to the side, casually watching his own
giant, throbbing cock wobble around in his shorts as he used his hand to sway it from side to side,
inviting her to stare right along with him at the way its unholy size made it flop around heavily. Monique
wondered, distantly, how much it weighed. Her phat, shelf-like black ass pressed more firmly against the
desk behind her for support, her legs feeling too much like jello for her to trust them — and despite
herself, the sensation of the desk against her ass-padding made her wonder, then, how so much
massive, throbbing cock would feel resting on top of her soft, warm chocolaty mounds… the ones her
husband acted like he was downright afraid to even try handling…

“I knew the only way that little loser Trey coulda come out of such a primo piece of black fuckmeat is if
his old man was a limpdick just like him,” Hunter drawled.

Monique’s eyes flashed reflexively up to his, clearing a bit at the sound of her sweet Trey’s name
coming out of his bully’s crass mouth. He was meeting her gaze, smirking, clearly gauging her reaction.
A reaction that should have been her face clearing up completely, her righteous anger returning, her
voice rising to an indignant shout: DON’T YOU SULLY MY SWEET BABY BOY’S NAME BY
SPEAKIN’ IT WITH THAT FILTHY MOUTH OF YOURS, MY TREY IS SWEET AND GENTLE AND
SMART AND A BETTER PERSON THAN YOU’LL EVER BE, AND IT’S PAST TIME FOR YOU TO
PAY FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO HIM —

All she managed was a whisper. “You keep his name… out your mouth…”

It was what she didn’t say that spoke louder. They both knew it.

The fact that she didn’t say anything about her husband.

She couldn’t. Right then, she didn’t want to. Somehow, this hulking white thug had stirred up every
resentment she’d felt toward Christian for years and kept buried. Just looking that the powerful,
monstrous tent in Hunter’s shorts brought on an inexplicable, fierce new resentment toward the man
she’d married. It wasn’t fair — not to Christian, not to her — everything about this bully’s oversized cock
was unfair — but she couldn’t stop it.

“I figured that’s why you’ve been dressing sluttier and sluttier since I moved to this shithole,” Hunter
continued casually. “Y’know, because you heard about all this big fat cock I got down here — ” He
flopped the twitching monster toward her for emphasis. Her knees trembled. “ — and deep down, you
wanted it.”

It should have been the easiest denial in the world. But the whole world was turned upside down by the
sheer weight and size of the teen Manhood stinking up her office right through the thin fabric of Hunter’s
shorts. Monique was already shaking her head before he even finished talking, but just like her
whispered protest to the thug’s mention of her son, it was weak, half-hearted. Still staring at the tent in
Hunter’s shorts, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration, she couldn’t even properly go through her own
memory to convince herself that Hunter was wrong.

There was no way she’d been dressing differently the last few years…

Right?

She would have noticed.

But what if…

She found herself drifting, not toward thoughts of her dressing patterns, but toward the rumors Hunter
was alluding to. The ones all the students, and even some of the faculty, talked about. The ones
involving this big, hulking white boy being found getting his infamously enormous cock wet all over the
school campus, from stealing other students’ girlfriends… and even worse.

Monique’s stomach flipped.

When did she dwell on those rumors the most, brooding over how awful Hunter was and how she
wished she could catch him in the act doing anything like the rumors stated, so that she could finally
deal with him?

So many nights, laying next to Christian when he would finish eating her out to apologize for being
unable to make love to her the way she’d craved for so long, staring at the ceiling, all hot and bothered
and frustrated…

Thinking about Hunter and —

“I mean, you know about me and Mrs. Potts, right?”

It was like Hunter had read her mind. She gasped softly.

She knew about it, all right. She knew something else, too, with sudden, crystal clarity. Something else
that she’d worked so hard, for so long, not to admit to herself.

That the rumors about him and Mrs. Potts had turned her the fuck on.

Monique let out a shuddering exhalation, speaking with a trembling voice, her eyes shut, fingers
pinching the bridge of her nose. The clarity of that self-admission, so unexpected, had left her feeling
even dizzier, even more confused. “You… are in enough trouble already — ”

“Her scrawny-ass little betaboy husband had a tiny dick, too.” Hunter talked right over her. He let out a
snide, dark laugh. “Shoulda seen how hard that fag tugged at it while I pounded his little teacher bitch’s
brains out right in front of him with my big fat fucking cock, on his own bed.”

Everything on Monique’s desk clattered and shook as her knees buckled again, sending her clutching
behind herself for support against it with one hand, the other resting above the considerable swell of her
heaving, subtly wobbling black cleavage (had she ever shown that much cleavage, before Hunter came
along? Before the rumors started?) squeezed together so tightly in her pastel shirt.

The throaty, unintended moan she’d just let out, louder than the first, seemed to echo in the tense quiet
of her Principal’s office after-hours.

She and Hunter stared at each other, him with that wolfish, maddeningly handsome smirk on his teen
face, her with blank, dazed surprise on her motherly, soft face. And between the two, that damned,
towering, overgrown monster of a bully dick, straining at his shorts.

Monique remembered sweet, pretty little Mrs. Potts. Imagined how the smaller woman must have
looked, backing her pert little white ass onto such an ungodly massive cock…

She became aware that she was biting down on the corner of her plump lower lip. That her thighs were
grinding together, hard. And that Hunter was drinking in every second with that gloating smirk.

“You’re a fucking monster.” Monique knew she’d meant it to be harsh, biting. It should have been
something she yelled at Hunter for the boy waiting outside her office to hear, letting him share in Hunter
getting his just desserts.
Instead, if he’d heard anything, it would have been her soft, smoky voice, almost moaning out the last
word. If he could have seen inside, he would have witnessed her heavily lidded, clouded eyes pointedly
looking toward the throbbing monstrosity in Hunter’s shorts as she said the last word.

Hunter, in turn, smirked at her and moved his big strong hand lazily up and down the base of the
enormous outline of his cock. “Nah, I’m just bigger and better.”

“I fucking… hate you.”

“I know.”

Monique stared dreamily at Hunter’s cock, watching him jerk it over his shorts. “’m gonna… Gonna…”
She gulped down some saliva. It felt like her mouth was, suddenly, generating far too much of the stuff.
Her thighs continued rubbing together. Her slender black fingers traced idle patterns over her collarbone,
over the wobbling, smooth cleavage she could feel her heart pounding under. For some reason, she
couldn’t get the mental image of Mrs. Potts bent over and screaming for Hunter in front of her husband
out of her head.

“Sorry, honey… you just got so much to love back here, and I can’t—”

“…’m gonna…mmmn… expel you,” She heard herself slurring out. It didn’t have quite the oomph she’d
always fantasized that it would, when she had the chance to say it to him. She was too busy raptly
watching every movement of his hypnotically flopping and throbbing teen stallion-cock in his shorts. She
observed, faintly, that her hand had left the desk behind her, and was instead slowly, inexorably trailing
over the explosive curve of her hips, down toward her crotch…

Sweet little Mrs. Potts, who never said a single dirty word on school grounds…

What kinds of filth had been pouring out of that pretty mouth with his monster rearranging her insides, for
her husband to hear?

“No you’re not,” Hunter drawled casually, like it wasn’t even something worth discussing.

The Monique that she’d always known screamed out inside of herself, but she was so far gone right
now that she didn’t even hear it. Didn’t even manage to do more than shoot Hunter a delayed, sullen
glare and uncharacteristically juvenile pout of her big, soft lips.

Warning bells should have been blaring in her head at the particularly feral grin Hunter responded to it
with. It was the grin of a hungry predator that had just spotted the telltale signs of fatal weakness in its
prey, the signs that told any predator to move in for the kill. But Hunter’s hand had just left the towering
tent in his shorts, and that left it to wobble around again before drooping under its own weight to point
toward her, the gooey stain over his cockhead slowly oozing until a thick wad of it plopped wetly down to
the carpeted office floor. An inexplicable tinge of sadness washed over Monique at the sight.

What a waste…
“But I’ll tell you what, you fat-assed old black bitch,” Hunter declared, fishing into his pocket. “I feel for
all you married cunts with too much ass and not enough dick on whatever loser hubby you ended up
stuck with. So because I’m feeling real good after getting my dick sucked by that one nerd’s girlfriend a
few minutes ago, I’ll make you a once in a lifetime deal.”

His big thick-fingered hand emerged from his pocket, holding his cell phone. He showed it to her dazed,
gawking stare, and then turned it on, swiping around on the screen with his thumb as he continued.
“I like beating up your faggy dork kid. It’s funny. So I ain’t gonna stop. But…” With a flourish, Hunter
pressed something on his screen. Music started blaring from the phone’s speaker, slightly tinny, but the
quality good enough that the heavy bass of the club beat he was playing on it had some real thump to it.
He turned it up a little, so that it filled the entire office, that maddeningly, roguishly handsome smirk on
his face as he moved himself to the beat in the process of reaching past Monique and planting the
phone on top of her desk. Once it was there, he leaned back in his chair again, clasping both hands
behind his head, and nodded his strong, lightly stubbled teen jaw at her.

“I always wanted to get an up close and personal look at that big stupid-phat fuck-me-please black ass
you got back there. So why don’t you turn around, lift that skirt for me, and put on a show, and maybe
I’ll let up on your son for a while?”
 5 - Chapter Five

The response that Hunter’s outrageous offer deserved, of course, would have been to slap him. Hard.

Monique, however, was not herself right now. She didn’t know, rightly, who she was right now. She
wasn’t sure how any of this was happening; it was like she was experiencing some kind of bizarre fever
dream, some sick twist on the fantasy she’d played out her in her over and over and over again over the
years about expelling Hunter from her school.

As drunk as she was on the overwhelming presence of Hunter, as weakened as she was by the
constant bombardment on her higher mental processes that came from staring at his life-ruining teen
monstercock straining at his shorts, the idea of slapping him didn’t even occur to her. All she managed
was a delayed, vaguely indignant look at the white teenager, wrinkling her nose at him, her hand
freezing on its way down between her legs. “Wh—wh—” Her mouth worked a few times, struggling to find
words. Her hands left her body, both of them coming down to the edges of her desk on either side, and
she started weakly trying to lift herself back to her feet. “Didn’t you… hear me? I’m going to expel y—”

“We both know that’s not happening, fat-ass,” Hunter drawled over her, and unlike her own voice,
which had been partially drowned out by the bass-heavy rhythm blaring from his phone speaker, his cut
through it easily. “So what’s it gonna be? I’m not gonna make this offer again. Me and that punching
bag kid of yours still got a good six months in this dump. You wanna make it a little easier for him, or
not?” The smirk fell from Hunter’s face. Monique hated that smirk, but right now, she missed it dearly.
The dangerously patient expression it left on his face was even worse. “I’m waiting.”

Monique slumped back against her desk again, breathing shakily, and now her own expression was
different, too. Gone was the drunken stare, even further gone the fury and indignation that had started
this encounter, both replaced by a completely blank, lost expression that was even more unlike her, the
Momma Bear, the Principal who was always In Control.

For the first time that she could even remember, she didn’t know what to do.

All these years trying to keep Hunter under control, waiting for her moment to strike, she’d always
operated under one core, central premise that directed her entire life: she was Monique Baptiste, and
ultimately, her will would win over his. She always won in the end, in this little world she’d created for
herself, with her school and her town and her family.

But that had been easy. Because as jumbled memories of the years tossed and turned through her
head, years filled with nothing but men like Vice Principal Mark, her husband Christian, her meek, nerdy
son Trey, faceless hordes of troubled boys simply acting tough to disguise deeper weakness, it was
impossible to deny one simple truth: she’d only been In Control because no one stronger than her had
ever come along to challenge her.

And as she stood there, reeling, struggling to understand the new reality that Hunter was molding
around her through the sheer force of his aggression, struggling to understand her place in it, it hit her. A
simple realization, slipping into her mind almost unceremoniously, but reverberating through every cell in
her body, settling into her like a creeping dread.

Hunter was stronger than her.

Every limb on her body wanted to give out at the thought. Even as it settled into every cell within her,
every one of those cells wanted to scream out in instinctive protest at it. Years of hating him and
determining that she would beat him, eventually, would not be extinguished silently.

There was no denying it, though.

Standing there, her body shaking, the thump of the bass from his phone filling her ears, staring blankly
at Hunter, at his powerful, muscular white teen body, the dangerous, demanding look on this thuggish
young face, the utterly relaxed body language telling her exactly how little doubt he had that she would
obey him, and most of all… that damned, enormous, throbbing, stinking monster of a tent in his shorts,
raw alpha male power so great that even without whipping out his actual cock, every fiber of her animal
being wanted nothing more than to submit to it…

Oh, fuck…

Monique slowly lifted herself from the desk. Her blank stare lingered on Hunter’s towering cock every
second that it took for her to stand straight… and slowly turn around, facing away from him, turning her
huge, wobbling, bubbly mature ass toward him.

Oh god… Trey… Christian… ughh, and you, too, you poor little white boy, sittin’ outside my office…

Monique’s trembling hands reached down, grabbing the hems of her pencil skirt. In the process, she
had to bend forward slightly, pushing her jiggling phat ass further out toward Hunter. She heard a low,
rumbling growl of approval from him that made her shiver.

I’m sorry… he’s just…

She paused as she straightened back up, her skirt partially lifted, baring the lower portion of her smooth,
chocolaty thick thighs to the hulking bully. “You promise…” She raised her voice slightly to be heard over
the music playing. “You promise… you’ll be nicer… to my Trey?”

The sneer was audible in Hunter’s deep, cocky voice. “No promises, bitch. Work that fat old black ass
like you mean it and I’ll think about it.”

Monique should have stopped there.

She should have done a lot of things.

And the awful things Hunter had just said shouldn’t have made her stomach flip with sickly excitement,
certainly shouldn’t have made her bite down on her lip, hard, to contain a soft moan.
After so many years of dealing with her husband’s stammering apologies… her son’s weak, pathetic
blubbering…

Later, she wouldn’t be able to explain it. Now, a perverse thrill shot up her spine at being spoken to so
firmly and roughly, by such an utterly Male voice.

Especially one attached to such a giant fucking cock…

He’s just so much… stronger. Than any of us…

But especially compared to you…

Christian’s apologetic smile flashed across her mind at the same time as the word she’d heard Hunter
spitting out so disdainfully.

Limpdick

Monique shot a last, guilty glance toward her office door. She almost imagined that she caught a
glimpse of a mousy white face, plastered to the glass of the semi-frosted narrow windows to one side of
the door, through which anyone outside would be able to catch a blurred, but clear enough, look at what
was happening in her office.

She pulled her skirt the rest of the way up.

Over her long years at this school, Monique knew that there must have been countless teenaged boys
who had gone home after staring, drooling, at her big wobbling motherly asscheeks, stretching her skirts
out so tightly that there was never a single wrinkle or fold across the huge, shelf-like bouncing globes,
and frantically tugged their dicks to the thought of it, feverishly imagining something just like this: her in
front of her big, official-looking desk, shyly pulling her dress up and letting them see her phat black ass
in all its glory. It was hard to even remember all the endless times sweet young men had tried to
awkwardly, clumsily flirt with her on some misguided, formless notion that one way or another, their
horny adolescent wet dreams could even come true if they were nice enough to her.

Never in a million years had she imagined she would actually make one of those wet dreams come true.

And never in a billion years would she have imagined that she would be doing it for the worst, most
brutal teen bully her school had ever had the misfortune of taking on.

It was a sight that, until now, only her husband had ever seen. Her skirt was tugged up to rest around
her curvy, wide hips — and fifty-five inches of massively protruding, bubbly dark chocolate assfat came
bouncing heavily out into the open, the considerable weight of the soft cheeks making them slap against
each other several times in circular motions, her perfectly smooth, slightly sweaty skin catching the light
from overhead as it wobbled gelatinously to a standstill, a few faint, meaty clapping noises reaching the
air simply from such heavy flesh-globes colliding with each other. As they stopped wobbling so
energetically — though they never did stop wobbling entirely, always jiggling subtly even when she
wasn’t moving, it seemed — her huge black cheeks effortlessly swallowed up the modesty provided by
her white panties. Perfectly normal panties that, stretched over so much ass, had been reduced to little
more than a thong.

But somehow, it wasn’t even the fact that she had just bared her semi-naked, married ass to the
teenaged thug who beat up her son on the regular that was leaving her reeling the most right now.
It was the fact that she could feel her cheeks heating up like a shy schoolgirl’s. Her stomach fluttering
like it was full of butterflies.

That she was… excited.

The silence between them was unsettling in how palpable it was, even with the music blaring from
Hunter’s phone all the while. Monique couldn’t help turning her head of short, curly black hair to sneak
a look at Hunter and see if he was reacting at all. She had just enough decency left to feel embarrassed
at the juvenile fear that bolted through her at the thought he might not be pleased with what she was
showing him.

She gasped softly, her cheeks heating up even more, as, over her shoulder, she saw him with a hungry
snarl on his face, his dangerous hooded eyes staring raptly at her big, soft, mature chocolate ass, his
hand already moving up and down every unfathomably huge inch of the tent in his shorts, casually
jerking himself off as he drank in the sight of the famously tough, capable school principal, the mother of
one of his frequent bullying victims, tugging up her skirt to present her phat, married ass to him, in her
own office.

She didn’t realize she was still staring dumbly, watching him jerk his overgrown teen cock, until his eyes
snapped up to meet hers and he sneered in mild irritation.

“The fuck’re you waiting for, fat-ass?”

Monique didn’t know it, not for some time after that afternoon in her office. But what happened next
sealed her fate, her son’s fate, her entire family’s fate, with one simple, effortless display of Hunter’s
dominance.

He raised one of those big nerd-pummeling bully hands — and swooped it down, hard, onto one of
Monique’s thick, round, bubbly black asscheeks.

The spank rang out like a gunshot, a fleshy, sharp PLAP! that made Monique gasp sharply and stiffen, a
look of pure, wide-eyed shock on her beautiful, motherly dark-skinned face. Hunter hadn’t been holding
back; the sting of the impact was like needles sinking into the impossibly soft, jello-y padding of her rear.
She felt the enormous chocolate globes sent into frenzied motion, clapping audibly against each other,
jiggling and wobbling endlessly.

Her husband had never… no one had ever… touched her like that.

And she’d never known how badly she needed it until that perfect, eternal moment, when everything
changed.

It was hard to say what spurred her on the most for the next several minutes. Maybe it was the long-held
repressed resentments, toward her husband, toward her son, toward their weakness, venting itself in the
frenzied, sensual gyrations of her wide, curvy hips. Maybe it was the intense, volcanic arousal that
Hunter’s simple smack to her big fat black ass had unexpectedly sent exploding within her, urging her to
almost desperately slam her palms onto her desk, bend over it, and thrust her adulterous, clapping thick
cheeks toward Hunter, her shapely long legs spread wide, her eyes hooded and clouded with lust as she
looked over her shoulder toward him, small feminine noises of exertion randomly escaping her panting
lips from the enthusiastic efforts of making her hips pop and lock, sway from side to side, sending the big
gelatinous ass she’d always been so proud of as a black woman but never been able to properly flaunt
now clapping and jiggling and wobbling every which way. Or maybe it was just the music, her troubled,
chaotic thoughts turning more and more incomprehensible until they were nothing but white noise,
drowned out mercifully by the bass and the beat, making her want to Work It like she hadn’t Worked It
since she was a teen girl laughing with her girlfriends as they experimented with twerking in her
bedroom on long humid summer nights, the muscle memory of those forgotten times returning to her
effortlessly, guiding her to close her legs and pop a lewd squat in front of her desk, looking from side to
side over her shoulders in rhythm with the music and the bouncing and clapping of her increasingly
sweaty, enthusiastically bouncing black mommy ass.

Two very different sets of eyes witnessed it. She had not been imagining the blurred, almost ghostly
vision of the boy who Hunter had beaten up earlier, peering in through the semi-opaque windows lining
her office door. He watched, a boy so much like her Trey, unable to see everything but able to see more
than enough, a bleak resignation on his face. There wasn’t a trace of surprise. He had been at this
school for a while, after all. He knew Hunter always, somehow, ended up on top. He knew that those
comforting words that mothers like Monique murmured reassuringly to their bullied sons, about the long
moral arc of the universe, were bullshit. There was no comeuppance for a guy like Hunter. There was
just those same mothers, making themselves into liars as they squatted down in front of him and
twerked their asses for him.

Hunter’s eyes were not sad or bleak as they watched Monique twerk. Far from it. It was the place of
scrawny little beta males like the one he’d roughed up earlier to watch such a display sadly, longingly. It
was for him to snarl hungrily and watch with rapt, predatory eyes, drinking in every second, allowing the
universe to, once again, endlessly, not only not punish him for his awful behavior — but to reward it. He
stopped fondling the monster of his cock over his shorts, instead simply allowing it to tower and throb in
all its intimidating, destructive size over his lap, his hands resting on the armrests of his chair, simply
enjoying the depraved, lewd show his victim’s mother — the Principal who had called him here to expel
him — was putting on for him.

“Fuuuck, you really musta been all kinds of pent up living with those limpdicks, huh, bitch?” He breathed
hotly, the approval on his rough teen face still managing to look almost contemptuous to everything
around him. He licked his lip, tilting his head to one side to get a better look at the way sweat was
dripping from Monique’s wobbling black deluxe-sized asscheeks.

Monique didn’t say anything. She was beyond words. She just shot him a subtle, quick glance that met
his eyes, her own thickly lashed gaze smoky and heavy with unspoken meaning, a glance that he would
have missed if he hadn’t been looking at her already, and she planted her hands on her knees, throwing
her head back as she set to rapidly wiggling her hips from side to side, the dull meaty clapping of her
enormous heavy ass-pillows slapping into each other adding an almost artful undertone to the music.
“Naaah,” Hunter said, shaking his head idly. Then, again: “Naaah.” He flashed his teeth. “Y’know
what? It doesn’t count unless you come over here and do it on my lap. Bring that fat black ass right the
fuck over here.”

Monique was looking back over her shoulder at him again as he spoke, her expression unreadable. Her
hips stopped working; she slowly straightened up to her full height, her cushiony dark globes of ass still
wobbling and rippling from the aftermaths of her twerking, settling into their natural heft over her upright,
also jiggling thighs.

God, the amount of times she’d wished her husband would talk to her like that once in a while…

She couldn’t stop the faintest trace of a smile from tugging at her plush, moist lips as she turned to face
Hunter. In the process of her enthusiastic twerking, being bent over so much, her shirt, already stretched
tight over her chest, had shifted and slipped. One of her breasts was about to spill right out, the dark
chocolate nipple and aerolae peeking out over the plunging neckline, the other still squeezed tightly and
appetizingly against it.

Hunter stared at that, certainly, as she slowly sauntered toward him, her hips swaying, her ass and
thighs wobbling. But then his gaze drifted down, toward her legs. Monique felt the cool brush of air over
moisture on her inner thighs.

She was soaked. It showed.

Hunter’s gaze moved deliberately back up over her body until it locked with her own eyes, his smirk
turning darker, more smug. She stared right back at him, letting her own smile show.

It was hard to believe that less than an hour ago, she’d been shouting at him in the math wing
bathroom.

It became even harder to believe when she reached him, standing between his sprawled open legs, and
turned away from him, her big, soft, shelf-like black ass inches from his face, and let out a soft, dreamy
moan as he placed both of his big, strong white hands on either cheek and squeezed, hard, before
giving one a sharp, stinging smack, and then the other.

That was what her husband would never have understood. A woman didn’t need words, didn’t want
them, when it came to this. That was the only language Hunter needed. As soon as she heard the creak
of his chair, felt him settling back with another firm smack to her ass, she needed no prompting.

Placing her slender, feminine hands delicately on her knees, she slowly lowered herself down — until she
felt Hunter’s giant, throbbing hard-on, so tantalizingly close to her bare skin, separated only by the thin
fabric of his shorts, prodding against her soft, pillowy assmeat.

“Ohhhh fuck,” she breathed without even thinking, a shaky little exhalation coming out of her. Her
stomach did a somersault, and then it did another one for good measure. Her pulse skyrocketed.

Even just feeling his cockhead pushing into her, so hard and massive that it effortlessly caved in her
tender black asspadding… so fucking hot, throbbing like a live wire…
“How is it so…” She murmured dazedly, looking back over her shoulder with a helplessly enraptured
expression, her eyes so clouded she could see nothing, nothing in all the world, other than that
gorgeous, massive fucking cock about to burst out of Hunter’s pants. “…fucking huge…”

Hunter didn’t say anything. Smirking, he bucked his hips upward. Monique gasped again, eyes shooting
open as she felt inch after inch after inch after inch of clothed, throbbing monsterdick sliding up along
between her bouncing, jiggling asscheeks.

Heat flared up inside her so intensely she thought she might pass out.

“OhmyfuckingGOD,” she blurted out, growling it almost angrily, her brows furrowing to match as she
looked back at it as much as she could. And then, she tossed her head forward, downward — braced her
hands more firmly on her knees — planted her heels where she wanted them on the carpeted floor of her
office —

And Monique Baptiste fucking Worked It.

“Oh, FUCK yeah!” Hunter’s deep baritone crowed gloatingly, his hands throwing up lazily to either side
of him, an intensely hungry expression on his sneering face as he watched. There was no need for him
to do anything else. He’d already done plenty — he’d gotten the Principal of his school, the mother of
his bullying victim, to grind and gyrate and bounce fifty-five inches of phat, jiggling black ass all over his
throbbing, eagerly straining monster of a tent in his shorts. The music thrummed and slapped and
thumped from the desk behind which she was supposed to be calling his parents to let them know the
bad news of his explusion right now, an expulsion she’d obsessed with and dreamed about for so long
but which was a distant memory in a mind churning with resentments and long-repressed feverish lust,
leaving her to smile dumbly and let out unthinking, sultry, throaty moans whenever the eager bucking of
her hips would make her ass grind more firmly into Hunter’s throbbing hot elephant trunk of a cock.

“If I didn’t know any better, bitch, I’d say you were gettin’ off on this shit,” Hunter laughed hotly,
growling in approval as Monique’s twerking sent her enormous black globes of ass clapping together in
a particularly pleasing way. He swooped a hand in for a firm, stinging smack to one side that made her
throw her head back, unable to stop a louder moan, caught off guard by an unexpected, intense
clenching of her pussy.

Fuck, when was the last time I felt something like THAT…

Christian’s face flashed across her mind’s eye again, meek, apologizing. She curled her lip, then licked
it, thick eyelashes fluttering, as she ground her wobbling ass against Hunter’s twitching cock, pressing
herself down firmly against it and wiggling her hips, loving how fucking hard and huge and hot it felt
against her bare assflesh. Like a fucking spear, one that could effortlessly plunge past all her phat,
jello-y black ass meat and deep inside of her…

Trey’s face, then, flashed across her jumbled thoughts.

Trey…
Oh no, TREY!

Monique froze. Her hips stopped bucking, stopped grinding. Suddenly the reality of her situation came
rushing in like an ice-cold tidal wave washing over her. She panted lightly for breath, the lust-haze
clearing from her eyes as she stared down at herself, trying to process the fact she was half-naked, ass
thrust back onto the lap of her son’s bully, the feeling of his ungodly horse-hung cock hot and pulsing
against the bare skin of her married ass.

Her hand reached out robotically, grabbing the edge of her desk, and she hauled herself to her feet. Her
cheeks flushed at the sensation of her generously cushioned asscheeks jiggling around, knowing that
every second was being greedily absorbed by Hunter’s dangerous, hooded teen eyes.

She felt like she was about to throw up.

What…

What on Earth just came over me…?

Despite the embarrassment of her bare ass facing toward Hunter, she couldn’t bring herself to face him.
She ran a shaking hand through her short, curly black hair, the other finding the side of Hunter’s phone
and muting his music, hating with every fiber of her being the question that came, weakly, out of her
mouth, a question that she was starkly aware was a far cry from the full-throated exclamation of
expulsion that she had been meant to sling at Hunter when he came to her office today. “So… we had a
deal, right?” She finally found the courage to turn partially toward Hunter, only to regret looking at him. It
made the disgust with herself flare up even stronger, but worse than that… she almost felt she might
forget it again, if she looked at him for too long. Looked at that damned, cocky, handsome smile, on his
white face, or that awe-inspiring monster that looked more than ever like it was ready to rip its way right
out of his shorts…

Hunter flashed her his wolfish grin, tilting his head to the side in theatrical confusion. “Did we?”

Monique glared at him, but it was half-hearted, without any real edge, and they both knew it. “Don’t… be
an asshole! I’m asking you…” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and mustered every last
reserve of feeble strength she had left to say it, even though it tasted like ash on her tongue. “…Please.
Trey. Is he safe now?”

Hunter blew out a breath of his own, rolling his eyes, and he looked off to the side noncommittally,
leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands back behind his head.

Panic made Monique’s stomach churn.

That can’t have all been for… for nothing…!

She turned fully toward Hunter, thrust her hips out to one side, and planted her hands on them, anxiety
etched clearly on her soft, beautiful African features. “H—Hey! C’mon now! I did… what you said, okay?
Right?”
Hunter just kept staring off to the side, looking bored.

Monique looked around aimlessly, clamping her lips together, and stamped one heeled foot on the floor
in frustration.

“Kiss it and ask me again.”

Monique’s eyes swiveled back to Hunter, widened.

He was looking back at her again. He nodded his strong jaw down toward the still rock-hard cock in his
shorts.

“Don’t make me say it another time. Kiss it, and ask me again.”

Monique’s heartbeat hammered in her ears. She stared blankly at Hunter’s massive cock, the shape of
it drooping under its own weight in his shorts so that it was, once more, pointing toward her.
That sickly heat had returned to the pit of her stomach. The one that had simmered and boiled the whole
time she was bouncing her big fat ass all over his lap, before the unexpected thought of Trey, her son,
this awful brute’s personal punching bag, had snapped her out of it.

Lord forgive me…

I actually want to.

I wanna kiss that fat fucking cock so bad…

She didn’t have a choice.

That was what she told herself, anyway.

Her legs shook as she lowered herself down onto her knees. The raw, masculine odor radiating from
Hunter’s lap was even more powerful down here. Her stomach bested its own personal record,
performing several somersaults in a row.

If it had looked big before… up close, it was even more…

Her lips were on it before she even processed that she was leaning in toward it. Her thick eyelashes
fluttered, her entire body lighting on fire as her soft, wet, plush lips pressed against the side of Hunter’s
rock-hard, twitching monstercock over his shorts, the saliva oozing from her mouth uncontrollably
leaving an instant, growing dark stain on the fabric. A wet, obscene kissing sound filled the otherwise
dead-quiet office where she had plotted for so long to give this stomping, awful teen bully the discipline
he had so long deserved. She had told herself she would simply press her lips as lightly against his cock
as she had to, the bare minimum to qualify for a kiss; instead, she found herself with her eyes
half-closed, fluttering dreamily, nostrils flaring hungrily as she drank in his primal alpha male odor,
smacking her soft motherly lips wetly and sloppily against the enormous side of his shaft.

Monique looked up at him plaintively, her hot breath washing over the wet stain she’d left on his shorts
stretched so tightly over his monster of a white cock.

“Trey… please. Tell me he’s safe…”

 6 - Chapter Six

Nia had never been more determined to be nice to Trey in her entire life.

Being nice to him, in itself, wasn’t unusual, of course — particularly after the hormonal mood swings of
recent years, where the changes in her body, the subtle, constant biological shifts of the metamorphosis
from girl to woman, would occasionally make her snap at him. They would be walking down school
hallways, Trey obliviously chatting about some dorky new interest of his in the way the notoriously
taciturn boy only felt comfortable doing with her, and out of nowhere her temper would flare and she
would lash out with some stinging comment ranging from passive-aggressive to outright aggressive.

And then she would see his face, his sweet, clueless face, hurt and confused, searching her own for
some kind of answer as to why the girl with the radiant dimpled smile who had always protected him and
doted on him had snapped at him, and her heart would melt, guilt would wash over her like a tidal wave,
and the next thing either of them knew, she would be locking him in a great big hug, smothering him with
kisses, apologizing until he would shyly whine that she was embarrassing him, the smile on his dark face
betraying that he didn’t mind the embarrassment all that much.

It was that same helpless, clueless expression from Trey that she’d seen looking back at her in the
bathroom mirror, the morning after she’d stormed out of his house, hot and bothered and frustrated, the
morning after she’d writhed on her bed moaning under her breath fingerfucking her own wet pussy, not
realizing she was getting off to the memory of his worst bully’s strong, hulking white form and crass
domineering attitude until she’d almost climaxed to the thought of him.

Nia knew Trey had no idea that she’d left him in a huff and then masturbated thinking about Hunter.
How could he know?

And yet somehow, it felt like he must. Like that private moment of weakness had reached him through
the connection they’d formed over a lifetime together, and now he was looking at her through her
bathroom mirror, hurt written all over his features as he searched her own for answers, like every other
time she’d hurt his feelings.

That familiar guilt had had washed over her — but if it had been a tidal wave fit to drown a city in the past,
that bright weekend morning, it was a tidal wave that could have drowned an entire nation.
How could she have—?

No.

She didn’t want to think about it.

Couldn’t think about it.

So she latched on, instead, to that mental vision of Trey’s hurt, confused, sweet face — and vowed to
make it go away, like she always had.

No, she wasn’t just going to make it go away this time — she was going to make sure he never had to
look at her that way again.

He looked at her, instead, with confusion, at first, when she showed up at his doorstep not long
afterward, squinting as he opened the door and saw the same girlfriend who had all but stomped out of it
the day before, now standing there with the brightness of her smile dialed up to match the shining sun
above, her soft black curly hair falling about her slender shoulders, the fertile curves of her young body
that she’d been so frustrated at his inability to handle now clad in what she knew to be his favorite outfit
of hers: a midriff-baring greet T-shirt with the triple-triangle symbol of a video game series they’d
bonded over, one he’d gifted her and which she’d modified to show her flat belly for him, and a pair of
white yoga pants that clung to her long legs and her thick wobbly thighs and her bubbly, fat ass so tightly
that she was barely better than naked from the midriff down. Showing off the body that so many boys at
school wanted, but which she’d chosen to give to him. Not even Trey could miss that.

“I thought you were mad at me,” Trey had mumbled, when he finally managed to recover from his
flustered staring, gulping as he took in the sight of her. Trying so hard to overcome the reflexive
nervousness that, to this day, still overcame him whenever he was reminded that she was more than hot
enough to be the kind of girl who sneered at him at school. Yesterday, in the heat of the moment, that
nervousness had angered her. Now, to her overwhelming relief, it made her heart melt, as it had for
years.

Only for that relief to, for just a flickering moment, leave her even more troubled than when she’d caught
herself feverishly fantasizing about that awful thug, Hunter.

Why had that been such a relief, just now?

Of course it made her heart melt when he got all flustered around her like that. He was Trey Baptiste.
She was Nia Avery. That was just how things were between them. It was how they always would be.

That should have been a relief.

So why did it just make her feel —

Nia had clamped down on the stray thought before it could fully form, just like she had with the ones
about last night.

Instead, she lowered her delicate chin, giving Trey her best playfully chiding expression, a smile still
dimpling her dark-complected cheeks. She walked right up to him, trying not to think, either, about the
strange, unexpected flicker of annoyance within her when he flinched a little at her approach, like he was
considering bolting away.

It’s not his fault.

I’m the one who did this to him, yesterday…

And so much worse.

Oh, Trey, baby, I’m sorry…

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him fiercely close to her, her hand finding the back of his
short hair and cradling his face against her shoulder.

“You know I can’t stay mad at you, cutie,” she said, her voice muffled into his own shoulder. She kept
him wrapped in the hug, running her smooth, slender fingers affectionately through his hair, feeling his
body relax against hers. A little bit of the guilt that had been weighing on her relaxed, too. Nia pulled
back, her hand still running through his hair as she held her face inches from his, her smile not as bright
but instead soft and warm. He shyly met her gaze, and then her lips when she pressed them to his.

“I wasn’t lyin’ to your sister the other day, y’know,” she murmured, giggling quietly when they finally
broke the kiss, foreheads pressed together. “You really are an excellent kisser.”

Trey’s shy smile widened, then faltered. He lowered his eyes. “Listen… Nia… about yesterday — ”

She lifted one of her fingers, pressing it against his lips before he could continue. Her slightly lengthened
fingernail, polished with a natural tone, glistened in the morning sun.

“Forget about yesterday,” she said, and replaced her finger on his lips with her own lips once again, the
plump, naturally pouty softness of them making quiet wet noises against his mouth. His body relaxed
even more against her. Against her will, against the words she, herself, had just said, a memory of
yesterday flashed through her mind — how she’d given herself to him, thrown herself at him, wanted him
to take her so badly, and he’d just sat there, not only relaxed but limp, not doing jack shit, not giving her
even a shadow of what she needed from him —

Trey made a surprised, muffled sound into her mouth as, annoyance flaring within her white-hot — at
herself, at him, at Hunter, at everything — she tried to distract herself from it by kissing him harder.

When she broke off the kiss that time, forehead to his, panting gently, there it was — a trace of that
helpless, confused expression she’d seen looking at her from her bathroom mirror, searching her face
for answers.

Answers that, this time, she herself didn’t even have.

So instead, she would do what she always did when he looked at her that way — and more.

“Yesterday is old news,” she said, pulling back to arm’s length and taking both of his hands in hers.
She squeezed them affectionately, giving him her brightest smile. “And today, you and me are going to
be together for every second, mister.”

“D-Doing what?”
“Whatever you want.” Nia brought her smiling lips back to his for a kiss, giggling again as, when she
leaned back, it was to see him shyly returning the smile. “But if I get a say… there’ll be a lot more… of…
this…”

She locked her arms around Trey’s shoulders again, deciding that the best way to start making it up to
him — was to make out with him. The morning sun shone down on them as they stood in his house’s
doorway, lips gently smacking together.

“Oh. My. God. Gross!” Janelle’s voice called out from somewhere behind Trey.

They both turned to look back in surprise, looked at each other — and burst out laughing at the same
time.

In that moment, the previous night felt like a memory that belonged to a different person.

In that moment, everything was as it should be.

The world they lived in was a place of deep injustice. Nia knew that very well. She wasn’t like the other
girls at school, the airheaded bimbos who didn’t care about anything but boys and celebrity gossip. No,
she knew about the injustices, and someday, she was going to use the intelligence and determination
that she was so proud of to fight them, to try to change a world that all too often rewarded the Hunters
and not the Treys.

In a world like theirs — a world so unfair that, unbeknownst to either of them, Trey’s mother could be
lying in her wedding bed, next to the rumpled sheets where her husband had been sleeping minutes
before, frustration and anger and lust most of all warring on her mature, motherly face as she played
back her encounter with her son’s bully the night before over and over in her head, her hand writhing
frantically under the crotch of her pajama pants — that day was a blessing.

Nia couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had had more fun together. She was too smart not
to know that part of it was the still-present, nagging guilt, pushing her to be so unfailingly sweet and
patient with Trey for every moment they spent together that even he seemed put off by it — at first. He
proved much better at adapting to her over-eagerness to compensate for their spat than he had at
figuring out what to do when she was straddling his lap on his living room couch, and in no time, he was
basking in the warmth of her endless hugs and kisses and sweet words.
But it wasn’t just the guilt. In the bright light of a beautiful weekend day, Trey’s couch and Nia’s bed
seemed very far away. It made Nia feel silly that what had happened on either of those had been
important to her at all, when what was really important was the smile on Trey’s face, the shy laugh
she’d coax out of him here and there, the same way she’d been doing since they were small enough
that it had been hard to climb onto Trey’s couch in the first place; what was important was the feel of his
lips on hers with every kiss, the sweet gratitude that he expressed with each one, so grateful just that a
girl like her would kiss him at all, because just as she wasn’t like the other girls, he wasn’t like the other
boys.

What was important was the comforting familiarity of it all. Nia Avery and Trey Baptiste, hand in hand,
out on the town, inseperable.

Everything last night had been all wrong. Today, everything was right again.

Nia was sad to see it ending, now — but at least even its ending was beautiful, the first tinges of sunset
turning the sky brilliant shades of orange and purple as she and Trey sat on a bench in the local
municipal park, overlooking the river that ran through the center of town, her nestled up against him,
both of them licking at ice cream cones and marveling in contented silence at the simple beauty of the
sunset hues cast upon the shifting water.

“Well, I think he was good,” Nia said airily, prompted out of the lull in conversation that had fallen over
them as a woman bustled by their bench, talking very self-importantly into her phone. She lifted her cone
up to eye level, glaring at the rebellious string of melting vanilla ice cream trickling down the side before
bringing it back to her mouth, her tongue extending to lap it up.

“I’m not saying he was bad,” Trey said with mild exasperation, licking daintily at his own ice cream. Nia
glanced over and had to stifle a laugh into hers. She loved watching him try to work his way through an
ice cream cone. He always did it so slowly that it boggled her mind, meticulously turning it back and
forth, making sure to lick it up at an even pace on all sides and not let a single drop leak down the sides.
He was currently inspecting his cone with a studious, utterly serious expression, like a craftsman
inspecting his work as he went along. “I just don’t think he was good for that role.”

They were discussing the movie they’d seen together that afternoon. It wasn’t one she had ever really
planned to see — while she liked the occasional video game, having grown up with them, and some
science-fiction and fantasy movies, there was a reason she only wore the green nerd-branded t-shirt that
Trey had bought her and which she had cut to show her stomach for his sake. She wasn’t that big on
superhero movies. But Trey had gushed about this one recently, had already seen it twice, and told her
he wanted to see it again, so that was the one she bought them tickets for today. She’d even, just to
really make up with Trey, paid attention to it all the way through, just in case it wasn’t enough that she
took him to his favorite restaurant for dinner afterwards.

“Baby, what are you doing to that poor ice cream cone?” Nia teased him, not able to stifle the laughter
anymore.

Trey looked at her dumbly for a second, and his genuine confusion at what she could possibly be
referring to made her giggling turn into a full-on laugh. But she’d messed with him about this before, so
he caught on after a second, looking embarrassed but smiling a little.

“You know I don’t like it messy,” he mumbled defensively, and, unable to help himself, resumed daintily
trimming the little mound of cold artery-clogging deliciousness with his tongue.

“You’re such a dork,” Nia chided him, but as ever when she said it to him, it was more compliment than
insult. “A little mess is fun sometimes!”

“Like when?”

“Like this!” Nia retorted childishly, and she glared at him with a theatrical pout on her face as she lifted
her ice cream cone to her own face — and smeared some of the vanilla cream all around her mouth.

Trey watched in horror that cracked into amusement until he was laughing — actually laughing, the way
he only did when they’d spent enough time together that he forgot to be quite as self-conscious as
usual. “How is that fun?”

Nia pretended to consider the question, tilting her head to the side, her bushy, curly black hair bouncing,
placing a thoughtful finger to the slowly dripping white ice cream beard she’d given herself. Then: “See
for yourself!” She lunged for him, pushing her ice cream cone toward his face just as she had with hers,
his eyes widening until, still laughing, he barely stopped her in time, holding his cone to the side while he
used his other hand to try to stave her off.

“Stoppit—”

“C’mon, it’s fun!”

“Get away from me, you crazy person!”

“You can’t call me that, I bought you dinner!”

“I’ll call you that if you’re acting crazy—”

Nia was so distracted by enjoying this rare side of Trey, the two of them laughing and giggling,
unrestrained, the things both of them worked so hard to keep locked away in their mental vaults
completely forgotten, the inseparable Nia Avery and Trey Baptiste just messing around like they had
ever since they were little — she almost didn’t even notice that, suddenly, unexpectedly, it was nighttime.
Or at least, it seemed that way, with how dark things got. But that didn’t make sense. It was barely
sunset —

And then Trey stopped laughing. Just as suddenly. Like someone had flicked a switch, and the good
spirits deflated in the space of a second.

The smile was still on Nia’s face when she followed his wide-eyed, nervous stare.

Her smile disappeared, too.

She would never want to admit it to anyone — least of all herself — but she knew it was Hunter standing in
front of their park bench before she even saw his face. Because the first thing she did see, level with her
face, a couple mere feet away, was the same unholy, obscenely monstrous pants-bulge that had stolen
her ability to breathe back at school a couple days ago, when the bully had confronted her and Trey. The
one she had seen in her fevered, haphazard horny thoughts, unleashed by the frustration Trey had left
her with, such a stark contrast from the impotent little nothing she’d been grinding her fat black ass
down on in the Baptiste living room.

It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t resist staring at it, now, for a few beats longer than she strictly needed
to. That made her hate the smug grin on Hunter’s face all the more when she finally did look up and
confirm that it was, indeed, him. It was a grin that said he knew exactly what she was staring at, and
enjoyed her staring.

Of course he did. Why else would the fucking pig walk around with these baggy athletic shorts and no
underwear all the time, making sure that disgusting monstrosity was bulging and flopping everywhere he
went?

And just like that, everything crystallized. She’d feared, deep down, that seeing him would send her
spiraling into the confusion of last night — but all she felt, for the smug grin, for that giant bulge, for his
muscular, hulking body, and most of all for the fear radiating from poor Trey because of him, was hatred.

Hunter was looming over them, one hand in his pockets, the other holding his cell phone casually, his
thick, blocky thumb paused in whatever it had presumably been doing on the screen. His short, loose
brown hair was shifting slightly in the breeze. And so, Nia observed against her will, was the fabric of his
shorts, every subtle shift of the fabric somehow managing to make the monster barely contained within
look even bigger and thicker.

Nia glared pure daggers up at him, an outraged curl distorting her plush lips as she noticed the blatant,
piggish way his hooded eyes were slowly moving up and down her body, almost like he wanted them
both to see him checking her out.

It was disgusting.

Being checked out by such a fucking asshole.

A huge… beefy…

How did that thing even fit in there…

“Oh, hell no,” she said, barely controlled anger in her voice, cutting herself off before her thoughts could
drift any further, and she couldn’t say if the anger was more at herself or at Hunter.

Hunter’s eyes moved back up to hers and locked with them. Her stomach flipped and fluttered in a way
she hadn’t experienced in so long that she’d forgotten what it felt like. It took far more effort than she
wanted to acknowledge to hold his gaze. She had a fleeting, vague image of a gazelle trying to stare
down a stalking lion.

Then he nodded his strong, lightly stubbled jaw toward her, smirking.

“You got something on your face, Avery,” he drawled in that deep, cocky voice that she’d fingered
herself to the thought of, the night before. She wished he would never talk again. If he kept talking, she
might have to keep thinking about how damp her sweaty bedsheets had felt beneath her body as she lay
there, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding in her ears, unable to believe she’d been fantasizing about
her boyfriend’s crass, loathsome white bully.

“Hey, don’t worry about cleaning it up or anything.” Hunter snickered, still staring intensely into her
eyes. God, his eyes were so fucking dark. They were every bit as much a weapon as those big,
thick-fingered hands of his. She glanced, absurdly enough, at Trey’s hand so close to hers, its weak,
slender fingers, not so different from her own…

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Having white cream dripping down her face is a good look for her, don’t you think, loser?”

Trey flinched next to her just from being addressed. That brought Nia all too sharply right back into the
present.

She shot to her feet so rapidly that it would have made her dizzy, if adrenaline hadn’t been pumping
through her veins. Combined with the strange, uncomfortable tightness in her belly that Hunter’s
presence gave her, it took all of her willpower to keep her glaring expression and angry voice under
control.

“Fuck. Off.”

Hunter’s smirk widened as he stared down at her, his thick, strong eyebrows rising in amusement. It
made her acutely aware, on a delay, that standing up to confront him didn’t do much when she only
stood as high as his burly, broad chest.

Standing so close, that strange, heady odor reached her… an earthy, natural scent that was somehow,
quintessentially, indescribably, male. He smelled as different from Trey as he looked.

Everything about him screamed Man.

The worst kind of man! She screamed at herself, her jaw setting in the Nia Avery way as she steeled
herself, trying not to panic at the strange, unfamiliar ways she could feel her thoughts scattering,
slipping, clouding over just from being near her boyfriend’s brute of a bully. He’s a fucking pig! Trey
never looks at me like that. He sees me as a woman, not a… piece of meat!

Almost as if to prove her point, Hunter craned his head to look over her shoulder, that maddening smirk
on his thuggish white face as he copped a look at her massively protruding, bubbly black ass. She’d
worn these skin-tight white pants to show off for Trey, and already it felt like Hunter was checking her
ass out in them more than he had…

“I’m right here, asshole!” She snapped, stepping back and arching her back to obscure his view as
much as she could, her normally cute, dimpled face a stormcloud.

Pig!

—at least he’s LOOKING—

“Nia, don’t,” Trey’s voice, so soft and petrified that she barely heard him over Hunter’s snide laughter
at her outrage. She reflexively glanced back at him, saw him still frozen in place on the bench, his ice
cream that he had been so studiously taming with his meticulous licking now melting freely, trickling
down over his trembling fingers.
There it was again.

He might as well have been back on his couch, just like yesterday, looking up at her with that childish
uncertainty, just a scared

impotent

helpless boy, waiting for her, or his mother, or his sister, to tell him what to do, to help him, to protect
him.

And now she was glaring at him, because she was the one standing up to his bully right now, while he
just sat there, pissing his pants like a little bitch, and she hated him, and she hated Hunter, and for a
moment she just wanted to scream—

But he was her Trey, so she snapped her glare back to him and let it loose.

“The fuck is wrong with you? Huh?!” Before Nia could stop herself, she’d lashed out with one of her
dainty black hands, hands that she hadn’t had to shove anyone with since she was little, and she did
just that — she shoved Hunter, square in the chest. Or at least, she tried to. She might as well have tried
to shove a mountain. The anger on her face flickered, flustered, both by the fact he didn’t budge and by
the fact his chest was so solid it felt like it was sculpted out of bronze, and then she saw that smug grin
reading her awe like a book and the anger came flaring back. “What did he ever do to you? Does it
make you feel like a big fucking man to push around someone so much weaker than you?”

“Nia—” Trey looked like he’d been about to blurt it out anyway, petrified that she was provoking Hunter,
but hearing her say that had turned the fear, momentarily, to hurt.

“Shut up, Trey!” Nia snapped, and she was too pissed at both him and Hunter to even feel guilty for it.
She pushed her hand against Hunter’s chest again, couldn’t help but marvel, again, at how strong and
firm it was, and now she hated herself, too. “You think you can just do whatever the fuck you want to
people because you’re… you’re…” Nia’s hands gestured vaguely in frustration as she tried to find the
words, before spluttering out the only one that kept blaring in her mind, the only one that seemed to fit
Hunter: “…big?!”

It was the wrong choice — if she didn’t want to make him smile the way he did, anyway. He flashed his
teeth at her in a grin that made her stomach flip. It seemed like just the universe adding insult to injury
that he could look so vicious and so fucking good at the same time, and it made her hate him even
more.

“See? For a dumb bitch with more ass-fat than brains, you catch on quick.”

This time, there wasn’t even any kind of conflict, admitted or denied, within her.

She was Nia Avery.

She was the last bitch who would let a man talk to her like that.
She reared her hand back, swooped it toward his face, fury on her pretty black face, intent on slapping
the ignorance and misogyny right out of this white boy—

Her palm swiped through empty air.

Hunter was walking away. His heavy footfalls thudded against the riverside park walkway.

“You’re gonna let me start the week off right at school by letting me use you as a punching bag, right,
little man?” He drawled as he stomped past Trey, smirking down at him. His own hand lashed out
casually, and unlike Nia’s slap, his didn’t miss. He knocked Trey’s ice cream out of his hand, sending
it splattering messily all over Trey’s shirt and pants, making the weaker boy gasp sharply at the cold
splashing onto him. Hunter laughed and kept walking, raising that hand in a wave. “Good shit. Oh, and
tell that thick-ass momma of yours I had a real good time with her yesterday, haaah…”

Nia was still standing in place, her shapely brows furrowed in vague consternation, hand remaining
hovering in the air where she’d tried to slap Hunter.

A… good time… with her?

Trey’s mother?

Monique Baptiste was one of Nia’s personal heroes. She wanted to be like her when she was older.
She’d looked up to the strong, proud woman from the first time she visited Trey’s home as a kid. As far
as she was concerned, Mrs. Baptiste was the perfect embodiment of the fierce and beautiful African
woman, both in appearance and in her bearing.

Her smooth, soft belly, bared by her midriff-cut t-shirt, did a somersault, fluttered queerly, as she thought
of the rumors that went around school about Hunter and what he did with every attractive woman he
could get his big grubby hands on.

No way.

The way he’d just spoken to her — the thought of Mrs. Baptiste of all people, letting him to talk to her like
that, and not just letting him but —

“Hey,” she said faintly, shaking her head to clear her thoughts, wishing she could do the same to clear
the strange tingling in her belly that had been present ever since Hunter showed up. She raised her
voice and started after him, he sneakers padding lightly against the walkway, more self-conscious than
usual about the way she could feel her ass in her skin-tight pants wobbling and clapping just from her
movements. “Hey! I’m not done with you, asshole!”

Trey had been staring after Hunter with dawning horror on his face as he digested what his bully had just
said. Nia’s raised voice, and the sight of her moving past him to pursue the brawny white thug who
made his life hell, shook him out of it. He started to get up himself, only to pause and swear under his
breath when the movement made the ice cream thickly splattered all over his shirt splash down onto his
shoes as well. “N-No! Nia, that’s enough — ”
“Oh, now you got something to say, Trey?” Nia whirled around and glared at him, surprised at the
venom she heard in her own voice. But now that her mouth was moving, she found she couldn’t stop it.
Her eyes shone with unshed tears of frustration as she snapped at Trey. “Where was your voice a
minute ago when that fucking prick called me a dumb bitch, huh? How you gonna put your foot down on
me and not on the asshole who just disrespected your girl?”

Trey gawked at her, slack-jawed. He looked hurt again. He looked like he had on the couch back at his
house. Lost. Helpless.

Part of her wanted to slap him now, instead. The other part of her couldn’t believe what she was saying,
either. Hadn’t even known she felt that way, because she’d never dared crystallize those thoughts in
her own consciousness.

“Just… just wait here, okay?” Nia wiped the tears briskly from her eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath,
and gave a parting look at Trey not so different from the one she’d given him as she left his house the
night before. One that blurred the line between pity — and disappointment. “I’ll handle it. Like I always
do.”

She left Trey standing there, ice cream dripping from his shirt and pants to steadily splatter to the ground
below, still looking at her with that lost, confused expression.

Hours ago, racked with guilt, she’d wanted nothing more than to go to that expression and tenderly wipe
it from his face so that he’d never look at her that way again.

Now, she just wanted to get away from it before it made her hate him.
 7 - Chapter Seven

Briefly, surreally, when Nia turned the corner to leave Trey out of sight behind her, following Hunter’s
swaggering, stomping footsteps further along the riverside walkway, her voice died in her mouth before
she could shout at him, and all she could do was watch him.

It really was hard to believe he and Trey were even the same age. The memory of how Trey had looked
when she left him just now was vivid in her mind’s eye; she thought she would probably be unable to
look at him for the rest of their lives without remembering it. A scrawny, nerdy boy, paralyzed with fear
and indecision, unable to respond to the humiliation he’d just suffered — or, worse, that the girl he was
supposed to love had just suffered. And how could he respond? She’d remarked more times than she
could count, on cold winter days, that she was afraid he might blow away, his limbs were so skinny and
weak. The weak, sweet boy she’d been so fond of as a kid… she supposed it couldn’t be a surprise that
he’d grown into a weak, sweet little man.

But it’s cute when he’s a kid.

Now…

Hunter, on the other hand…

Away from Trey, Nia could at least be honest with herself to admit that she knew exactly what the
fluttering and tightness in her belly around Hunter was. It wasn’t something she was proud of. But she
had to face it —

She was a woman, and her body couldn’t help responding to Hunter’s muscles, his height, the power
that radiated from him.

It was certainly far from the first time she’d felt attraction to a male other than Trey. Plenty of the more
attractive, popular boys had flirted with her during her life. But none of them had really prompted her to
more than the occasional stealthy glance or indecent thought. In the end, whenever she would let those
thoughts wander, they would simply take her to all the other girls giggling and whispering about the
same boys, and Nia Avery was not like the other girls.

And none of them had ever made her feel like this. Just from looking at them. Just from being near them.

Even now, a good twenty feet behind him, his presence was something that reached out and enveloped
her. It reminded her of how much she hated him, yes — how he was everything that she despised, a
violent, sexist, toxic male. The kind of male she’d literally written papers about for classes and for the
feminist after-school club she’d founded and presided over for the previous two school years, before
college prep had taken too much time for it.

Even more than that, as angry as she’d just been at Trey, she still hated Hunter for how he tormented
her boyfriend, more than anything else.

And yet…

She couldn’t help watching him, for a moment. Watching him, his big strong arms swinging with his
stride, the muscles of his upper back shifting under his shirt, in a way that she knew wasn’t all that
different from the way countless male classmates had watched her big wobbling ass saunter by them in
school hallways, before she would triumphantly turn on them and harangue them for it. Watching him in
a way that made her feel immediately guilty, checking over her shoulder to make sure Trey was still
preoccupied out of sight, because for as long as she’d been with him, she’d never once caught him
looking at another woman that way.

The thought made her squeeze her eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She sighed, flustered.

What was wrong with her?

Trey was so good to her. He was the sweetest boy she’d ever known, or would likely ever know.

Why was she being such a bitch to him lately?

Nia looked back over her shoulder, a sad little smile on her face.

We’ll work through it, whatever it is, Blabbermouth.

And I am gonna smother you with kisses when I’m done kicking your bully’s ass.

She turned back to follow Hunter again — and ice flooded through her veins as she found him standing
there where she’d seen him a moment before, now turned around to face her.

Hunter beamed at her like they were old friends being reunited. He threw his hands out to his sides,
calling out in his deep, cocky voice. “What is it, Avery, you wanna walk out of here with me instead of
that loser boyfriend you got back there?”

Just like that, the flustered outrage was right back on Nia’s face. She worked her mouth wordlessly a
couple times, trying to shift gears fast enough to find a retort.

“Can’t say I blame you,” Hunter finished before she could even start, flashing his teeth in that vicious
grin. “Hey, tell me somethin’. Can that little dork’s limpdick even get past all the fat black ass you got
back there?”

Nia’s eyes flashed — they might as well have flashed with bright red flame. She lifted her head, setting
her jaw just like little Nia Avery had when she resolved to put spiders in Bobby Ray’s lunch box so many
years ago, and with her shoulders tense, fists clenched at her sides, she stormed up to Hunter, glaring
daggers at him.

The way he simply stood in place, utterly calm, his hands now on his hips, watching her approach with a
sneer on his face, was all the impetus she needed. As soon as she was within arm’s reach, her hand
was reared back again — she swooped it toward his face —

She realized, distantly, that she probably should have expected it not to be quite that easy. She still
managed to look flustered and surprised when he lazily reached up with his own hand and caught her
wrist before her palm connected with his cheek. She had just enough time to process the unwelcome
somersault her belly did at how firm and warm his grip was, how sure and steady it was, before she
remembered that she had another hand.

She swooped it toward him.

She had not remembered, somehow, that he had another hand, too. Nia gulped, panting lightly from the
adrenaline making her heart race, glaring up at Hunter, struggling to pull her slender wrists out of his big,
burly hands. “L-Let me… let me go.”

“Why?”

Nia paused her struggling just long enough to do a double take that oozed venemous sass, her
shoulder-length bushy black curls bouncing as she gave Hunter her best, most contemptuous are you
serious? look.

Hunter smirked wider. She hated that fucking smirk.

She hated the way it made her belly flip and flip and flip again, too.

“Y’know, you’re not really trying that hard to get away,” Hunter sneered, and with his hands on her
skin, the deep growl of his voice seemed to vibrate right through her. Nia felt her thick, curvy thighs
rubbing together subtly, and stopped them, praying Hunter hadn’t noticed. “You sure you want to?”

“I’ll… scream,” Nia panted. She didn’t trust herself to answer the question. She grunted, trying to twist
her whole body away from him, hoping it would give her enough momentum to break out of his grip.

Hunter tightened his hands — and when she tried to angle away from him, he gave an effortless flex of
those beefy arms of his, pulling her into him, instead.

Nia only had time for a meek little gasp. Then, all too suddenly, her entire world changed — and not just
her view of it, in the moment.

She should have been petrified. She should have screamed. Being pulled in this close to the hulking
brute who beat up countless weaker boys at their school, including her own sweet gentle boyfriend — this
was surely the most danger she’d ever been in, in her entire comfortable, relatively sheltered life.

So why did she feel so…

Safe?

The disconnect was the most jarring of her entire life. Her brain, screaming danger, screaming to get
away.
Her body, instinctively, reflexively feeling like nestling up to such a broad, powerful chest, with such burly
muscular arms to either side of her, in the embrace of such a big strong male, was the safest place on
Earth.

Whenever she hugged Trey, it felt like a mother comforting her son. And now, for this brief, unexpected
moment, Nia realized just how badly she wished that pressing into him was like this. Like the entire
would could crash against the man holding her, and he would still keep her as his.

What the—

Get ahold of yourself, girl!

“I don’t think you will scream,” Hunter said from above her, and now they were so close that the sound
of her voice all but made her feel like she was sitting on a motor bike, the engine sending vibrations all
through her body. She struggled to keep her breathing under control, trying desperately to ignore the
thrill of such a masculine voice, one so different from Trey’s, so intimately close. “We both know you
didn’t come here to slap me, bitch.”

“The fuck are you… talking abo — ”

“You think I’m a clueless little beta male like the one you’ve been leading around on a leash?” Hunter
cut her off, his voice taking on a domineering edge that made her clamp her mouth shut reflexively. That
didn’t seem right. Nia Avery had never let a boy cut her off when she was talking.

Hunter let go of her wrists. She was so shocked by the sudden development, and still reeling from her
own uncharacteristic silence, that she didn’t move, just gawking at one of her newly freed arms.
That gave him plenty of time to, instead, smack both of his big, thick-fingered white hands smack down,
hard, onto either of her asscheeks.

Nia froze. Her eyes shot open. Her mouth worked noiselessly, her brain screeching to a complete halt,
unable or unwilling to conjure up the words her mouth wanted.

She couldn’t fucking believe it.

No one had ever—

No one was supposed to ever touch her like that! Not even the man she’d chosen to let touch her was
supposed to touch her like that!

And this fucking asshole she barely even knew — someone she hated —

She should say something.

She should definitely… say something…

Oh.
Oh fuck…

Even worse than the way he’d just manhandled her…

It felt good.

All it took was for that vague admission to flit across her mind. It was like someone had pulled out the
last brick holding the dam together, and now the water was crashing explosively past, except it wasn’t
water that had just been freed from this dam — it was the months of desperately repressed urges and
frustrations that Trey had left her with.

All the times she’d sworn at him under her breath as she laid there on her bed, writhing, left to find her
own pleasure because that fucking wimp didn’t know how to handle a fucking woman, and that’s what
she was now, they weren’t kids anymore, she was a fucking woman, with a woman’s body, and she
was being fucking wasted on that confused, helpless little man and his confused, helpless tiny dick —

This was what she’d wanted. For so long.

She’d been so scared of that, she hadn’t even dared to let herself finish masturbating the night before.
She’d wanted to stay far away from those thoughts.

And now, with a vengeance, the chaotic maelstrom of lust and frustration that she’d buried was back, a
storm churning in her bared, flat black stomach.

Nia stared at Hunter’s chest, not daring to look up at his face. Her own expression was blank. All she
did was stand there, pressed up against Hunter, enveloped in that strangely intoxicating blanket that was
his body heat and the earthy, masculine odor wafting off of his powerful young form, breathing lightly but
raggedly, trying to absorb every second of what it felt like for such a strong, demanding pair of hands to
finally squeeze and caress all over the fat, bubbly black ass she’d been so secretly proud of for so long,
the one that Trey was scared to even let her catch him looking at, because deep down they both knew
he wasn’t Man enough to handle it.

“I’ve seen the way you stare at me,” Hunter rumbled above her. The gloating oozing from his voice still
made her want to slap him, but all she did was turn her glare up toward him, a little pout on her soft,
pillowy plump lips. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, right now, he could have said just about
anything. His strong, warm hands felt too fucking good manhandling her ass. “Haaah, don’t worry. I like
what I see, too…”

For emphasis, Hunter removed one of his hands from her ass — Nia was viscerally disgusted to hear a
small, barely audible whimper of disappointment escape her lips —

And he swooped the hand back down onto her ass.

He’d laid them down firmly onto her ass to begin with, but this was an outright slap. And unlike the ones
she’d intended for his face, his did not miss.
The meaty, sharp SMACK! rang out like a gunshot, filling the tranquil sunset air, rippling across the
acoustics of the river below. Nia’s eyes shot open again, and now some of the indignance from before
returned as she placed her hands against Hunter’s chest — unable to help rubbing her fingers against it
a little herself, marveling at how sturdy it was — and she leaned back, turning the indignance up toward
his arrogantly smirking face. “Hey — !”

Hunter didn’t let her finish the protest. He squeezed his thick, powerful fingers, hard, into her soft, phat
teen ass over the white fabric of her skintight pants, and he grunted as he forcefully pulled her up
against him even closer, shoving her bared midriff to rest right against his muscular abs, her pelvis thrust
forward —

The words died on her lips as she felt him against her.

Felt it against her.

The world seemed to spin. The ambient sounds of the world around them, the trickling of the water, the
rustling of branches in the breeze, the sound of cars rushing by on the roads near the park, all faded into
a dull roar, leaving only her heartbeat hammering away in her ears.

It was real.

There was no doubt about that anymore.

A distant, foggy memory flashed across her mind, unbidden — the time she’d given Trey his first
handjob. The way she’d undone his pants with such naive excitement, convinced that her loyalty to him
was finally about to be rewarded, that she was going to find there was more to him than any of the girls
who snickered at him knew… only to end up tugging on barely enough black dicklet to match one of her
fingers, and even then only for seconds before, whimpering shyly, he’d lost control and climaxed, his
watery load trickling over her hand.

It seemed an act of criminal unfairness to even refer to that little thing, and what she was feeling now,
rubbing against her groin, throbbing and swelling mightily in Hunter’s shorts, as the same appendage.
Even now, feeling it against her, she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“You wanna see it?”

Nia’s clouded eyes struggled to focus, looking up at Hunter, a blank, dazed expression on her face. He
was staring down his nose at her, sneering like she was something he’d stepped in.

Of course he is! Don’t you remember who this is?!

Nia! Snap the fuck out of it!

This is HUNTER — he beats the shit out of your boyfriend — he ruins girls’ lives just for fun — see the way
he’s looking at you?! You’re just another dumb slut to him, and he thinks you’re gonna give him
EXACTLY what he WANTS, because girls ALWAYS —
One of Hunter’s hands left her ass, the other remaining, fingers sinking into the endlessly soft, doughy
flesh of her chocolate cake, holding her against him as he reached between their groins — and gave a
simple tug down on his shorts.

Nia, DON’T —

But it was too late. Her dazed, clouded eyes had already followed his, pointedly looking toward his
crotch.

Nia Avery’s world ended.

That’s what it felt like, at least, when Nia saw it. Like the world couldn’t possibly keep spinning. Like
everything had to just stop, had to, because it they kept moving, if she kept moving —

Trey…

Nia’s big, wide, almond-shaped eyes teared up as she stared at it. Because even though her thoughts
were a jumbled, chaotic mess, even though her frustrations and repressed needs had turned her into a
wreck that hadn’t even been able to bring herself to stop this fucking brute from pawing at her ass in the
same park her boyfriend was still sitting in, patiently waiting for her — despite all that, she knew one
thing, with complete, perfect clarity.

She would never be able to take him to enough movies, to enough dinners, buy him enough ice cream
cones, to apologize for what she wanted to do right now.

And she wanted to do it… so fucking badly…

Hunter was the last man on Earth she ever should have wanted to do it for. She knew that, too. She
knew that, in a sane and just world, she would have taken advantage of his lowered guard right now,
delivered that slap to his face she’d failed to deliver before, and she would run, run back to Trey, tell
him all about this, then tell his mother all about this, then tell the police all about this — finally see to it
that this monster get what he deserved after so many years of walking all over everyone and getting
away with it —

But in a sane and just world, a man like Hunter wouldn’t have such a beautiful, massive fucking cock.

He wasn’t even hard yet. That was what really broke what little was left of Nia’s ability to think clearly.
His veiny, gnarled uncut white monster flopped out of his tugged down shorts, pressing against her
bared stomach. She felt it hot, throbbing, impossibly heavy, an unspeakable, unfathomable sensation
washing over her as she felt its obscene size and power pressed against the part of her that housed the
core of her very womanhood. A primal feeling that was at once terror and reverence. Something she’d
never felt in her entire life.

and I definitely didn’t feel it when I saw Trey’s limp little worm
The smell it gave off reached her nose as she stared down at it with those glistening, wide, dazed eyes,
her lips parted, breaths escaping light and shallow and nervous. Her broad, dignified African nostrils
flared, flared wider, and she realized, dimly, that she was trying to huff the smell, desperate for more of
it, because it was the very source of that raw, animal male odor she’d detected wafting off of Hunter
earlier, and something about it made her belly not just flip but heat up, a heat that seemed to spread
from his throbbing, swelling monster of a cock pressed to her belly, all the way through her, spreading to
the very tips of her toes and fingers.

It gave a particularly eager twitch — and doubled in size almost before her eyes, with an obscene, alien
pumping motion that made it look like a clogged firehose about to blast out its payload. It bucked
upward, twitching wildly, and slapped back down onto her bared midriff, hard, even heavier, even hotter,
now so fucking huge that the tip of it disappeared up under her shirt and brushed against the bottom of
her soft, sizable black breasts.

The meaty, impossibly heavy slapping sound it made when it slapped against her stomach was
something she would remember for the rest of her life.

Nia’s knees buckled. Her legs gave out. She didn’t even realize it until she processed, sluggishly, that
she had lowered herself down into a squat, her curvy, shapely legs spreading to either side around
Hunter’s, her hands limp and weak as they slid down his waist to rest on either of his firm, muscular
thighs, her dark skin standing out brilliantly against his white.

Hitched under her shirt as she’d lowered, his hard, bucking — and, ominously, still growing

How the fuck is it still growing?!

overgrown bully cock had tugged on her top, so that now, in her squat, it was pulled up over her breasts.
Her cleavage spilled lewdly out around the green bra she’d chosen to match the shirt Trey bought her,
jiggling faintly, but not as much as her big, shelf-like black ass was wobbling around as she situated
herself into the squat, a dazed, helplessly enamored expression on her normally bright and sharp
dimpled black features, licking suddenly dry lips as she got an up close and personal view of the
destructive battering ram her boyfriend’s bully called a cock. Her wide-eyed, reverent gaze followed
every vein tracing along the gnarled white shaft, the rough skin encasing that pulsating monster
tightening around it before her eyes, his foreskin lazily peeling back to reveal a reddish-purple cockhead,
smeared with a creamy, gooey substance that was already starting to ponderously drip down the
underside of his massive length.

Wait — did he already…?

Her first thought, dazed as it was, was that it was semen. That Hunter had already cum.

But no.

She only had Trey to go by as a reference for real life, but like any modern girl her age, she’d sampled
some porn videos online. She knew what cum was supposed to be like, and this wasn’t it.
Which meant —
“…Fuck,” Nia managed to say, and nothing more, after a long moment, her brows furrowed, gaze still
reverent, her lips set in a pout, and even she couldn’t tell if she sounded more upset — or impressed.

It was just Hunter’s pre-cum.

The smirking, insufferable bully’s pre-cum was thicker, creamier, more potent than three of her
boyfriend’s actual loads.

Hatred flashed in her, white hot. Stronger than it had ever been. She hated his fucking guts. Like it
wasn’t bad enough he was such a violent, misogynist asshole —

Why did he have to pack such a big, juicy fucking cock?

And why did she want it in her mouth so fucking bad?

“Trey,” she blurted out weakly, taking a deep, shuddering breath. It didn’t help. It only clogged her
senses even more with the overpowering hyper-masculine scent radiating from the throbbing, swelling
white donkey dong hovering inches above her face, only its potent, enthusiastic pulsing keeping it from
flopping right down to drape over her skin. She tried to conjure the image of Trey, sweet little Trey who
she’d protected and taken care of and loved since they were little children, tried to find strength in the
thought of him. “I love… Trey…”

PLAP.

As far as Nia was concerned, it was the loudest thing she’d ever heard. But she couldn’t even dwell on
that, because now that Hunter’s rock-hard, fully grown monster had just slapped down onto her smooth,
pretty black face, she was too distracted by its heat, its weight, pressing down on her nose and her
plump glistening African lips, his enormous girth draped over her, hiding her features from view as if he
was erasing her identity and reducing her to nothing but a soft pillow to rest his ungodly, stinking white
alpha cock on.

“You think I give a shit?” Hunter sneered over her, like the voice of God from on high. “He’s a fucking
loser. I’m gonna rough him up the next time I see him. Now suck my fucking cock, you fat-assed black
bitch.”

Nia Avery would have never let him talk to her like that. Would never have let him talk about Trey like
that.

But Nia Avery wasn’t here anymore.

“Ohfuckyes,” moaned the girl who looked like Nia Avery but was not her, couldn’t really be her, the
moan low, throaty, desperately needy; she didn’t even process the actual words Hunter had said, not
fully, hearing only the tone, that rough, deep voice speaking down to her so arrogantly, insulting her,
ordering her around, demanding that she obey him through sheer virtue of his power and the potent
virility of that enormous white monster cock.

After months of trying to coax along timid, reluctant Trey, there was nothing in the entire fucking world
Nia wanted more than to obey him.

It didn’t matter who he was. It didn’t matter that he was a pig. It didn’t matter that he beat up her
boyfriend.

All that mattered, right then, was that he could give her what she wanted.

What she needed.

Maybe it was just how pent-up she’d left herself from the night before. Maybe it was the euphoria of
finally, for the first time in her life, tasting on her tongue what a real cock was like, a rush of primal
triumph rushing through her, deep-rooted animal instincts declaring the victory of a bitch in heat who’s
found a truly worthy alpha male to serve.

Whatever the reason, Nia came as soon as she started slobbering all over Hunter’s rock-hard, veiny
white homewrecker.

There was no fluid to show it — but it showed, regardless. Nia was tilting her head back, a long, formless,
throaty moan escaping her lips as she opened wide, extending her pink, slimy tongue, her perfect plump
lips forming a lewd, steamy hot ‘O’, running her tongue up along the bloated, heavy underbelly of her
boyfriend’s bully’s cock, and then her eyes were rolling back, her long lashes fluttering, her hips and
legs twitching, bucking in little spasms. One of her hands left Hunter’s thighs, darting down to rub at her
pussy over her white pants — which, very much conspicuously, were already visible soaked around her
crotch.

She hadn’t thought Hunter could have looked any more smug. He managed it. Gloating oozed from his
face as he watched the most outspoken feminist bitch from his school, squatting in front of him in the
middle of the riverside park, only the late hour and time of year leaving things sparsely populated
enough that they could get away with it, her hips bucking as she orgasmed just from tasting the giant
stinking bully dick of the most brutal teen thug in town. “You love that little wimp, you said?” He
sneered. “He ever do that for you before, bitch? Without even touching you?”

There was just enough of Nia left that she meant to glare at him — but not enough that she managed it,
instead just looking up with those heavily lidded, clouded eyes, meeting his, as she let out another
incoherent, throaty moan and started slobbering her tongue wildly all up and down every inch of his
twitching, proudly towering monster of a cock. Her eyes stayed on his face, clouded, too dazed to realize
how reverently she was staring up at this bully she hated, both of her soft, slender black hands coming
up to lovingly grip the pulsating base of his cock, holding it steady so that she could angle her face from
side to side, sloppily licking up and down, side to side, planting wet, noisily squelching kisses all over it,
a curious, heady mix driving her to worship him almost desperately — gratitude, for the release of
pleasure that the mere taste of his godly white horsecock had just given her — and fear — not of him, no,
but of going back, the thought of this ending and having to go back to that tiny little black worm between
Trey’s legs, fear that this might be the only time she would ever get to serve such a powerful, worthy
alpha monster cock —

It should have inspired enough guilt to give her fresh pause, thinking of Trey so derisively.
Instead, she held her puckered, wet, pillowy lips against Hunter’s dripping, perfect slab of giant
fuckmeat, looking up at him with sultry, lust-crazed eyes, moaning against him as she ran her puckered
lips sloppily back and forth, not wanting to even think it clearly but simultaneously, darkly wanting her
eyes to express to this bully she hated just how much fucking bigger and better he was, because he had
to know, anyone with such a gorgeous cock had to know, deserved to be told with reverence and
adoration what a fucking God they are —

Pain shot through her scalp as Hunter’s big warm hand came down atop her head, fingers clutching in
her hair. Vague, pathetic despair etched itself on her pretty little black face, a thin layer of sweat from his
cock glistening on her skin, his potent smell sinking into it, marking her as his in a way she’d never been
marked before, her mouth slurping wetly off of his drool-slathered monsterdick.

And then her eyes shot open in fresh surprise as Hunter brusquely slammed his cock right into her
mouth.

It hadn’t even been open — but there was no choice other than to open, when such a huge, hard, heavy
slab batters at the gates. Her puffy, shiny wet cock-smokers were stretched obscenely wide open, wider
than she’d ever thought possible, just from the first few inches of his demanding, conquering alpha
meat forcing its way in.

“We don’t got all fuckin night, you nasty cheating slut,” Hunter grunted over her, half-laughing as he
enjoyed the depraved view, only for the sound to turn into a low, rumbling growl of satisfaction, the hot
wetness of her mouth washing over his twitching fuckpillar. “You don’t wanna get caught, do you?
Maybe someone who lives near you walking by… maybe even that limpdick you left over there, finally
nutting up enough to come see what’s taking his bitch so long, haaah…”

Even now, Nia couldn’t believe it.

The salty, indescribably Male taste of that veiny monster in her mouth — the smell of it, so close to her
nostrils — the feeling of being utterly fucking owned, this stomping brute who took whatever and whoever
he wanted taking her, putting her in her place in ways she’d only fantasized about in her darkest,
horniest lonely nights —

And then the idea, prompted by Hunter’s snide, crass deep voice, of Trey seeing this — of that pathetic
little wimp with the helpless confused face who hadn’t even understood what she was giving him,
seeing her fat black ass wobbling and clapping lewdly in her tight pants as she squatted like a stripper in
front of his bully, her pretty little mouth that had kissed him so many times now stretched around the kind
of meaty, bestial bitch-taming cock that would make any beta like him feel a deep, instinctive sense of
inadquacy — serving a bigger, better alpha male who could have squashed the little cuck like a bug —

Who did, regularly —

This time, when Nia orgasmed, it was much more obvious. There was still the bucking of her hips, the
fluttering of her long lashes, but this time, too, a wet, faintly audible splattering against the ground could
be heard, squirting so powerfully in her pants that the fluid instantly soaked right through the thin white
fabric and started dribbling down to the pavement, her long, sustained, muffled moan vibrating along
Hunter’s giant bully cock, her lips squelching and slurping noisily as she bobbed her head
enthusiastically up and down, unable to take even half of his monster but throwing all of her worship into
sucking what she could fit into her lewdly stretched mouth.

She had no idea how many more times she came. It might have only been once more; it might have
been three times, five. Everything was a blur of heat, frothing white hot lust, of reckless abandon,
leagues beyond caring how loud the moaning and slurping of her cheating mouth was slobbering all over
the oversized fuckmeat, beyond caring what a fucked-up betrayal it was of the boyfriend she loved, the
one this hulking brute liked to beat up just for fun.

All she cared about, then, was his cock. Its size. Its power. Its taste. Its smell.

Feminism — academics — being different from the other girls —

Trey —

Nothing had ever been as important as making this perfect alpha monstercock feel good.

Selfless? Not so much, considering how often her curvy, wobbling hips were bucking and twitching the
longer she bobbed her head of bushy black hair, lips slurping loud and nonstop, how constantly the
overflowing femcum soaking her white pants was dribbling to the ground below.

“Look at me, you stupid fuckin’ fat-assed cocksucker,” Hunter grunted, just as her twitching hips were
coming down from another spasm, her hands running adoringly up and down the part of his veiny
monster-shaft that she couldn’t fit into her mouth, her big, bubbly, pillowy black ass clapping faintly but
audibly as it rippled from the aftermath of her orgasming.

She didn’t even think twice. Her long lashes fluttered, and she looked, dreamily, up at him. Saw he was
training his cell phone on her, the camera pointed down toward her.

Nia didn’t so much as pause her feverish, devoted, sloppy sucking. She just looked right up into the
camera, her eyes clouded, sultry, the set of her brow plaintive in its desperation to please him.

She heard the camera snap. Hunter sneered.

Nia didn’t understand why. The why didn’t matter.

Her eyes rolled back. Her hips started spasming again. Her fat, protruding black ass clapped, as if
applauding him. Overcome with that feverish gratitude again, she shoved her face forward, gagging
loudly and disgustingly, her spit and throatslime messily splattering all over Hunter’s massive, hard
shaft, and her eyes rolled back as she fucked her own face as hard and fast as she could.

It was hard to even hear him over it all — the obscene, wet, guttural GLOKGLOKGLOKGLOK of his
overgrown bully meat punching against the back of her throat repeatedly, the wet squelching of her
stretched, plush lips sliding up and down the veiny, unfairly powerful hole-destroying girth — but Hunter
wasn’t Trey. His deep, rough voice, oozing that insufferable arrogance, reached her ears over it all
easily. In that moment, she was irrationally, completely convinced that such a fucking god could have
demanded her attention no matter what else was going on around them.
“Shiiiit, you oughta see yourself right now, bitch… haaah. This look like a ‘feminist’ to you?”

He’d turned the phone screen toward her. The picture she’d heard him take a moment ago was on it.
As her head bobbed back, her loose, fluffy black curls of hair swaying, her hooded, cock-drunk eyes
drank in the sight of herself: the slutty, needy expression on her normally sweet, dimpled black face —
the way that massive white shaft stuffed so crudely past her lips distorted her features so completely,
turned her from the girl she’d always known into something she didn’t even recognize —

For just a second, it penetrated her churning, dazed consciousness that this picture was on Hunter’s
phone. Hunter’s.

The visual in her head was almost as clear as what was before her actual eyes. Trey, sitting on the
couch like he had been yesterday, before he sent her home so upset, so restless, his phone buzzing —
picking it up with that stupid, lost lamb expression on his face that she hated so much but tried so hard
not to — seeing what she was seeing, now, what she was doing, now —

Saw him, minutes ago, the ice cream spilled onto his clothes. A scared, paralyzed little boy.

He’d always been one. He always would be.

And with Hunter’s raw, animal taste on her tongue, his enormous fuckpillar making her mouth gag and
slurp as she slobbered all over it, his potent alpha cock-scent burning into her nostrils, melting her brain…
the thought of Trey’s helpless, confused dork face as he looked at that picture Hunter was showing her,
that picture of her looking up at him needily, the pretty little mouth that had only ever kissed sweet gentle
Trey utterly transformed by the brutal white monstercock of his bully…

Later, maybe — if there ever was a maybe, if she could ever claw her way out of this hot, sticky,
depraved abyss of lust and need and animal craving that she’d been falling down into from the first
sensation of Hunter’s massive cock throbbing, growing, hardening on her belly — she would want to
fucking kill this stomping, crass brute for hurting Trey like that.

Right now?

Nia’s wide, pillowy hips jiggled and wobbled lewdly, bucking in the throes of her wanton, mindless lust,
driven by uncontrollable, flaring heat in the pit of her belly, where she could all but still feel this godly,
heavy, pulsating white alpha meat resting over the womb that every primal instinct within her screamed
should belong to a fucking stud like him, not some prematurely ejaculating wimp like her boyfriend. She
slowly, deliberately turned her clouded, hooded eyes from the phone screen up to Hunter’s smirking
face, and she locked eyes with him as she worked her hips, making her phat, bubbly asscheeks clap
and bounce in her skintight white pants. Wet slurping filled the air, her head steadily moving back, lips
squelching their way along every inch of Hunter’s rock-hard monster in her mouth until it popped, wetly,
loudly, out of her lips, leaving half of it glistening and dripping with her sloppy spit, a faint lipstick stain
marking the point nearly halfway down his colossal life-ruining bully meat that she’d managed to reach.

Her eyes were still on his as her soft, slender fingers, gripped the throbbing, massive base of his shaft, a
low moan escaping her from the fresh wave of heat that came from how fucking hot it was that she
couldn’t even wrap those fingers all the way around his ungodly size — and she set to slapping her
extended, drooling tongue with his cockhead.

The sheer, depraved weight of the wet, meaty sounds, how heavy he was, made her moan even louder.
Her lips curled into a slight, coy smile, her wet, dripping tongue still extended, sultry dark eyes gazing up
at Hunter past the flopping white monstrosity she was slapping against her own mouth like a trashy
fucking whore.

It wasn’t her.

It couldn’t be.

If Nia had ever seen one of the other girls from school, squatting like this in front of Hunter, worshiping
such an awful, misogynist bully, let alone cheating on a kind, respectful boyfriend like Trey for him, she
would have wanted to slap the bitch.

But it was her.

A thrill shot up her spine, making the wobbling of her hips and twerking pillowy black assmeat even more
pronounced. She felt her soaked, dripping pussy clench. Her belly felt like it was about to erupt, it was so
hot.

She’d never been hornier in her entire life.

The heat of her gaze as she stared up at Hunter in wordless reply to his question would have made Trey
look away nervously. She knew that because she’d looked at him with only a fraction of the lust
yesterday, and it had scared him.

Not only did Hunter effortlessly meet her eyes — but his own were so endlessly dark, dangerous, and
intense that she was the one who felt vulnerable, naked, nervous.

Inexplicably, gratitude rushed through her.

She smiled wider. She pulled her tongue in, puckering her fat, moist lips instead, so that as she slapped
Hunter’s enormous cockslab against her mouth, she was kissing it with every downward swing, every
heavy, dull, meaty PAP, strands of saliva flying wildly.

Hunter nodded down at the phone screen again. “That look like a bitch who loves her limpdick
boyfriend?”

Nia bit down on her lip.

Not because she wanted to deny it—

—but because she’d almost moaned her neediest, horniest, sluttiest moan yet. Felt it bubbling up from
the core of her, felt the way her pussy clenched and spasmed because fuck that little wimp who didn’t
know how to handle her, didn’t know how fucking lucky he was that she had tried to give herself to him —
she, who was so far out of his fucking league —

— who deserved a cock like this —

Nia dropped Hunter’s throbbing, hard monsterdick down against her mouth. Tilted her head back. Kept
her hooded, needy eyes locked on his as she opened wide again, and lapped her wet, slimy hot tongue
lewdly all over his oozing, fist-like cockhead… and shook her head.

Hunter’s smirk widened, made him look, impossibly, even more insufferably smug than before. She
should have wanted to slap him, but somehow, with his delicious overgrown cock in his mouth, the sight
of his tall, powerful body filling her vision… it just made her slobber even more whorishly all over his
meat, a throaty little groan escaping her. Without even thinking about it, she ducked her head toward his
groin, his pulsing fuckpillar draped over her forehead as she latched her plump lips over one of his
low-hanging, fat balls. She groaned again, louder, her thick eyelashes fluttering as the raw masculine
taste of his huge churning sack overwhelmed her mouth, a salty, sweaty taste that the Nia everyone in
town knew would have found disgusting but which this Nia, the one squatting and clapping her phat
black ass for her boyfriend’s bully in the middle of a public park, wanted to slobber down for the rest of
her fucking life.

Hunter let out a low, dark laugh. She could all but feel the arrogant, disdainful way he was sneering
down at her as he watched her debase herself, hated herself for giving this fucking asshole such a
depraved view of their school’s most outspoken feminist reduced to just another cock-starved girlfriend
cheating on one of his bullying victims… but the obscene, wet slurping and smacking noises of her
moaning mouth making out with his huge, heavy ballsack only rang out louder.

“Naaah, deep down, you don’t really love him… but right now, you sure as fuck love that big fat white
cock and those sweaty fat nuts, don’t you?”

Nia hated how passionately the muffled “Mmmmmhmmmmmm~” answered him, bubbling out of her
almost against her will, her tongue lewdly lapping and slurping against one of Hunter’s overgrown alpha
nuts.

What she hated even more was how much she knew that she meant it.

And how she knew, but dared not dwell on, even now, that she’d never loved anything about Trey as
much as she loved Hunter’s huge sweaty balls in her mouth right now.

She was almost grateful that Hunter didn’t give her time to even possibly dwell on it. She was
distracted, blissfully, by the he shifted over her, leaning forward, making his veined cunt-stretching
monster rub more firmly against her forehead as she moaned and slobbered all over his low-hanging
bully ballsack — and then distracted even more sharply by the sensation of cool, open air against the skin
of her ass when Hunter grabbed her pants and shoved them down, forcing her phat, pillowy, smooth
black cheeks to spill out, her green panties that matched her bra disappearing into the deep canyon
between her wobbling, soft flesh.

Her lips popped wetly off of Hunter’s balls and let out a gasp as a sharp stinging sensation shot through
her at the same time as his huge, powerful white hand slapped down harshly onto her now-bared ass.
“He never touches you like this, does he, bitch?” Hunter grunted over her. His thick, strong fingers sank
firmly into the doughy black softness of her huge, bubbly asscheeks, a hand on either side, shaking
them around. Nia bit her lip, burying her face against the sloshing, sticky heat of his ballsack, trying to
hide a deep flush to her face that he couldn’t see anyway — and the helpless pleasure on it, too,
because he was right, and fuck had she wanted to feel a rough Man’s touch on the womanly body she
was so proud of, for so fucking long…

There was another loud, fleshy SMACK! that made Nia’s heart leap in her chest, pain shooting through
the sensitive skin of her long-neglected, bouncing black ass-fat. This time she couldn’t contain it. She
moaned, loud, long, wanton lust dripping from the sound, and with helpless need on her beautiful,
dimpled face, she opened her mouth wide, clamping her lips and writhing, slurping tongue back down on
Hunter’s balls, desperate to show her gratitude to him for finally giving her what she needed, what Trey
could never give her —

Only for Hunter to shift over her again, letting go of her stinging, handmarked ass, leaving it jiggling and
wobbling in the lewd aftershock of his delicious abuse — and brief pain to shoot through her scalp,
instead, as he gripped her hair, roughly, domineeringly, getting a vicelike, inescapable hold in it.

“C’mere, you dumb cheating whore,” he grunted thickly, and he might as well have proposed marriage
and given her a diamond ring from the way she dreamily smiled up at him as he roughly tugged her
head back, her lips slurping off of his now-dripping, lipstick-smeared fat balls — a smile that was
plastered stupidly on her drooling lips right up until he brutally rammed his giant, throbbing white cock
right into her throat.

It didn’t make any fucking sense. It should have terrified her, having such a massive cock punch its way
into her throat every bit as harshly as this asshole bully’s fists punched the faces of nerds like her
boyfriend on the regular.

And there was fear.

It was just overpowered by the intense surge of heat in Nia’s churning belly, heat that rippled through
her body like a tidal wave, reaching every limb, every extremity, until her eyelashes were fluttering and
her hips were bucking and her fat, spankmarked bare ass was clapping and bouncing like some
twerking stripper’s and a wet splattering noise could be heard down between her squatting legs as the
most intense orgasm she’d experienced up until then sent her fluids squirting powerfully enough to
dribble through her pants yet again, the heady, fucked-up combination of Hunter’s taste and his
damnable virile horse-hung size and his damnable hate-able smirk that made him look so fucking hot
and the cocky domineering way he was just fucking using her after years and years wasted on that
fucking tepid loser sitting obliviously nearby, all combining to make her cum her brains out.

The orgasm kept going, going, going, as Hunter turned her world into a blur of motion, her fluffy black
curls of hair bouncing wildly and a rapid-fire wet GLRKGLRKGLRKGLRK filling the air as Hunter held
her in place and bucked his hips, roughly helping himself to the hot wet mouth that was supposed to
have been dressing him down and telling him off for the sake of her boyfriend but which was instead
reduced to just another eager slutty oral fleshlight for his bully. Nia’s eyes rolled back into her skull, her
long, thick lashes continuing to flutter like she was having some kind of seizure as she let her brain — the
brain she was so proud of, one that was sharp and proud and full of diatribes about how awful
misogynist thugs like Hunter were — went finally, blissfully blank, instead moaning low and whorishly in
her throat, the sound muffled around Hunter’s thrusting monster cock, one hand reaching up to lovingly
rub all over his firm, muscular gut, the other shoving itself forcefully down past her panties to rub at her
bare pussy, so fucking wet by now that it audibly squelched as she frantically fingered herself.

Squelching that only got louder and sloppier as she came again, hips gyrating, bucking, her phat black
ass clapping audibly, simply because of the sensation of Hunter’s enormous swinging ballsack slapping
into her chin and bulging throat as he savagely jerked off with her slurping mouth, her fertile young body
unable to help reacting to such a display of virile male power.

And with every heavy, meaty slap of those swinging, sweaty alpha bully balls against her chin — every
guttural gagging sound of Hunter’s veined, gnarled battering ram of a dick plunging into her hungry
throat —

Trey slipped further… and further… and further from Nia’s mind.

Trey hadn’t moved from the park bench that he and Nia had been sharing. He didn’t know why he
would have done anything else. Nia had told him to wait here. She was taking a while, but she’d never
let him down before. He’d been nervous at the thought of her confronting Hunter alone, sure. He’d
been nervous for her plenty of times. And there was an endless list of the school bullies of all kinds that
she’d dealt with.

Hunter wasn’t like the other bullies. But Nia wasn’t like the other girls.

He trusted her.
 8 - Chapter Eight

Sunday morning in the Baptiste household.

It was usually Monique’s favorite day of the week, that most perfect of days that was spent in comfort,
at home, her considerable willpower and abilities shifted to taking care of her family and yet with the
comforting prospect of being returned to the work she loved the day after. She certainly couldn’t have
asked for a better atmosphere, today, to facilitate all her favorite things about Sundays; the morning
sunlight was a warm, soothing gold beaming in through the house’s windows, casting some of the
prettiest rays she’d ever seen. The birds were chirping loudly and cheerfully. It was warm outside, but
not too warm, a gentle breeze that was just right whispering its way inside to occasionally caress the
skin.

All of her fondest Sunday memories had been on days just like this one.

But this Sunday…

This Sunday was all wrong.

And how could it not be? Everything had been all wrong, had felt off in a multitude of ways both big and
small, ever since she’d been left, shaking, breathing hard, reeling over what had just happened, in the
Principal’s office at school, that awful night before the weekend. That night which should have been a
triumph for her, for her sweet baby Trey, and for every boy at her school who was supposed to be under
her protection but was instead victimized over and over again by that awful, giant white brute, Hunter.

That night which had turned from her triumph into the worst kind of defeat she could imagine.

Hours after Hunter had sneeringly stomped out her office door — making sure, first, to let her stare
weakly, helplessly, reverently, at the enormous bucking tent in his shorts that didn’t even look real (but
had felt all too real twitching and grinding against her twerking, clapping fat black ass, hot and massive
against her soft slobbering lips when she kissed it at his order) as he swaggered out — Monique had
remained slumped down on the floor, her back against her desk, her gaze fixated on nothing at all,
simply trying to gain control of her racing thoughts and her racing pulse and the nonstop, heated jittering
of her belly.

It was Trey who she couldn’t stop thinking about, the whole time — her gentle, nerdy son, for whom she
had always been so convinced of her pure, unconditional, motherly love, and who she had just found
herself thinking of in ways she didn’t even know she was capable of, ways she couldn’t even wrap her
head around now that the damnable, intoxicating sight and smell and feel of Hunter’s ungodly giant
bully cock about to burst out of his pants was finally gone, and with it, those unnerving, uncontrollable
animal instincts it brought out of her to forget all about the weaker males in her life no matter how much
she loved and cared for them because what could be more important than serving such potent, obscene,
perfect Manhood —

But it was the face of that poor, mousy-looking white boy she’d found on the floor of the math wing
bathroom that she couldn’t stop seeing, the whole time. That four-eyed face, watching with blank,
resigned horror as his jarringly sweet-looking little girlfriend slobbered on his bully’s unfairly overgrown,
potent cock, rewarding that fucking Hunter with her hot, wet adulterous teen mouth for being such an
awful, bigger, stronger horse-hung alpha male right in front of the weak little beta male he’d just
roughed up.

The heart-breaking hope on his face that had managed to break through when Monique showed up.
Hope that, maybe, just for once, Hunter had gone too far, had finally been caught red-handed by the one
woman in their whole world who would make sure he paid for doing whatever the fuck he wanted to
whoever the fuck he wanted, instead of worshiping him for it so obscenely like his girlfriend was doing.

Only for that meek little white face to end up staring, first at Hunter stomping out of her office — then at
the wobbling, bouncing monster tenting his shorts as the bully smirked at him and stomped past — and,
the hope already visibly draining from him, lastly at Monique, still on her knees in front of the chair
Hunter had vacated, the almost legendarily strong-willed Mama Bear of their school looking dazed,
flushed, eyes clouded, drool glistening on the corners of her soft pillowy lips, her jiggling, generous
chocolate cleavage about to spill right out of her shirt… and her huge, bubbly protruding black ass still
thrust out behind her, skirt discarded, presented to the hulking, violent alpha male she’d been supposed
to expel, her fluids of arousal visibly shining in the light of her office, trickling down her bare, thick thighs.

He’d stared at her. She’d stared at him.

His face had collapsed right back to that blank, resigned bleakness by the time he finally stood and,
without a word, left.

Monique didn’t even know the boy’s name. She’d been so caught up in the rush of having Hunter in
the palm of her hand, in the heady realization of the fantasy of expelling him after all this time he’d
terrorized her school, that she hadn’t remembered to so much as ask the boy who he was, who she
should call to come pick him up.

It didn’t matter.

It should have.

But it didn’t. Not really. Not then.

What had mattered — the only thing that had mattered, the only thing that had repeated in her racing,
tumultuous mind over and over, like the beat of a war-drum — was how much that nerdy little white boy
had reminded her of her own son. Of Trey.

So much so, in fact, that she could all but see Trey sitting there in the chair outside her office instead,
staring at her with that same broken, defeated look, at his own mother left on her knees and with her
pussy juices all over her thighs after she’d just given the bully who liked to beat him up and humiliate
him a lapdance, let him feel up her big, bouncing black ass…

At the same shapely, beestung African lips that kissed him goodbye before school every morning,
tainted irreversibly by the sloppy wet kiss they’d just given his bully’s throbbing, massive bulge.

That, if nothing else, had been enough to shake Monique out of her stupor.

It jolted her so sharply that she even made it, stumbling, to her office bathroom, just in time.

Getting sick in her office bathroom would have been bad enough.

Somehow, the fact that she didn’t was even worse. Crazy as it sounded, even to herself, it felt like just
one more betrayal against her son, her husband, everything she’d ever thought about herself and her
place as Mama Bear of this world she’d created for her and her family, that she didn’t even have the
decency to at least throw up because of what she’d done.

Maybe that was why she’d still been lying in her bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling in the dark, in
the small hours of that night. Monique had gone to bed early — easy enough, since by the time she finally
gathered herself enough to lock up the Principal’s office, wishing for the first time in her entire career
that she never had to return to it, both Trey and Janelle had already been locked up in their respective
rooms for the night, as they always ended up after dinner. It usually bothered her, a little, when she
would get home late and find her kids had managed just fine without her. It was an unwelcome reminder
that those rose-tinted halcyon days taking care of two adorable kids were long gone, that her babies
were grown up and soon would be out of the nest. That night, though, she’d been so relieved that she
could have collapsed on the spot.

Instead, she’d collapsed into her bed, hoping that the sweet embrace of a deep sleep would make her
forget everything that had happened. Make her forget that fucking asshole, Hunter, who made her son’s
life a living hell, smirking down at her with the endless arrogance she hated so much as she kissed his
twitching, stinking alpha-bully hard-on, self-loathing flooding through her at the knowledge that she, of all
people, had just stroked his ego even more, made that smirk all the more insufferable by twerking and
bouncing her big motherly black ass around for him when she should have been expelling him.

She probably deserved it, the way sleep had refused to come to her that night. Like some kind of cosmic
punishment for her horrific failure as a mother, as a school Principal — hell, as a decent human being.
One who cared more about what was right, and about the safety and well-being of her family, than her
own selfish, long-repressed carnal frustrations and needs, brought so fiercely out of her depths by the
nightmarish sight of Hunter’s towering rock-hard tent in his shorts and the rough, deep voice bossing
her around like no other man ever had.

Monique had been left to lay there in her bed, tossing and turning more and more restlessly until the
sheets were tossed aside and she was left lying on her back, glaring up at the ceiling as if it was
responsible for everything. She was wearing nothing but a sleeveless, thin black tanktop that barely
contained her heaving, generous chocolaty bosom and showed her smooth, soft midriff, with a matching
black pair of panties (she’d buried the soaked white panties from her outfit earlier as deep within the
laundry hamper as she could), and yet somehow, she felt stiflingly, uncomfortably hot.

Almost feverish.

The house was dead quiet, but Monique could still hear, blaringly loud, the thudding, sensual bass from
the music Hunter had played on his phone while she presented her married, shelf-like phat black ass to
him and worked it like a stripper desperate for a big tip.

A very big… fat… drooling tip…

Fuck, his precum looked soooo thick and creamy —

Monique’s eyes had been fluttering shut, the delirious combination of her fatigue and her shame and
her restlessness and that damned heat that refused to subside coming together to leave her in a state
she could never remember being in before, almost trancelike, her wet tongue sliding along her plush
lips, her wide, cushiony hips writhing on the bed, her fingers trailing down between her long, thick, curvy
black legs—

—and then the bedroom door opened, and Monique gasped, for a moment irrationally but completely and
utterly convinced that it would be Hunter standing there, his towering, muscular teen frame filling the
doorway just like it had in her school office earlier.

Her stomach churned with such powerful, overriding shame at the subsequent flicker of disappointment
when she realized it was just her husband, Christian, that she was almost able to pretend it hadn’t
happened.

Christian worked so late these days that she hadn’t been awake to greet him in weeks. He almost had
looked like a stranger, making his way into the bedroom. But then her eyes, accustomed to the dark by
then, had been able to discern his features, those soft, gentle facial features, so different from the harsh
ruggedness of the white thug who had been leering at her bare twerking ass hours before, and she’d
observed the way he took such care to tread lightly, not making a noise as he got out of his work clothes
and changed into a simple white T-shirt and his underwear before crawling into bed with her…

Monique had wanted to cry, then. Almost had. The delirious, half-asleep, hot and bothered fog cast over
her had already left her vulnerable. The reminder of what a considerate, gentle man she’d married, so
like the equally sweet, considerate, gentle boy they’d raised together, made her hate herself for the
cruel thoughts she’d had about her husband when she was in the throes of lust and want in her office
earlier.

The bed barely creaked as Christian climbed into it, he was being so careful. He glanced toward her
while settling in, idly, like something he’d done a thousand times before and didn’t expect to actually
see anything, just checking to make sure he hadn’t awakened her — only to do a double take, looking at
her again and squinting in the dim light seeping in through their bedroom window, as he noticed her
head turned toward him, her eyes glistening with emotion, brows furrowed in frustration, biting down on
her lip like she was holding in a scream.

“Well hey, beautiful,” Christian said, and he smiled at her so wide and so bright that Monique’s eyes
teared up even more and she swore to herself, on her own soul, on her dead mother’s soul, on God
himself, that she would never think such awful things about this sweet gentle man ever again, that she
would never even think about cheating on him again, let alone with such an awful, aggressive,
misogynistic thug, one who treated her like a cheap whore, one who would never smile at her with such
fondness and love like Christian was then.

Her husband had settled down to lay next to her. She’d smelled his deodorant, the same deodorant
he’d worn every day for fifteen years, some cheap store brand, because why would he pay more for a
brand name that barely smelled any better, he always said, and she often wanted to do more than just
roll her eyes at it, but in that moment she loved that smell. That comforting, familiar smell, nothing like
the raw, animal Male stench that had radiated from Hunter’s massively tented groin.

“What you still doing up?” Christian had asked, looking at her with just a trace of concern, and just that
trace of it was so heartbreakingly pure and considerate that Monique couldn’t stand it anymore.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned onto her side, scooted up to him, and plunged her mouth over
his, locking him in a deep kiss that she’d intended as passionate but which felt, somehow, more
desperate than anything else. Christian tensed, surprised, but as her soft hand cupped his cheek, he
relaxed, leaning into the kiss and returning it.

Monique held the kiss.

Kept holding it.

Held it as long as she could. Waiting.

Waiting for that spark — that spark that should follow, after the onset of such strong feelings of love and
then the locking of lips. The spark that she was positive, if it would just light within her as she kissed her
husband, would fix everything.

But by the time, at long last, that she had broken off the kiss, leaving Christian looking simultaneously
dreamy and dimly surprised… the tears were gone from Monique’s eyes. She stared at her husband, but
didn’t see him.

The whole time she’d been kissing him, she hadn’t seen him.

She’d seen him, instead. That white, smirking face that she hated. Hated all the more because it was so
fucking rugged and handsome.

So different from the rounded, docile features of the man staring back at her from her wedding bed.

“What… was that about?” Christian had murmured, smiling affectionately at her, blissfully oblivious of
the ominous change that had come over his wife’s features during their kiss. “Not that I’m… you know,
complaining…”

And with a ferocity that had scared her, it had all come back. The resentment and frustration that had
been so unexpectedly, terrifyingly vicious back in her office. The resentment and frustration that had
made her not just give in but want to give in to that apex male’s perverted, aggressive appetites, no
matter how much he hurt her son every day. For just a second, a visceral, eternal second that was all
heat and bitterness, Monique glared at Christian, and she wanted nothing more than to blurt it all out —
you clueless, stupid babyfaced little man, you can’t even tell, can you, that you don’t HAVE ME
anymore, you haven’t HAD ME for a long time, you’re such a fucking pushover that you can’t even
smell it on me that I’ve been getting sopping fucking wet for another Man and oh fuck he’s so much
more MAN than you, he’s such a MAN that he made me forget all about how he beats up our son all I
could think about was making him feel good and how good he’d feel IN ME, Lord knows I haven’t felt
YOU in me for fucking years and years and —

“Babe?”

Monique gasped. It was as if she’d just been falling down an abyss and had abruptly landed, right on
her bed, right next to Christian, where a moment ago she’d been kissing him tenderly only for that
yawning, dark chasm to open up beneath her and send her falling, falling, into depths within herself that
she was only just becoming aware she even had.

Depths that scared her.

She didn’t even remember what she’d said to Christian, after that. What empty words she’d blurted out
to explain it all away. All that she did know was that her poor husband only looked more confused by the
time she turned away from him in the bed, pretending to go to sleep.

There would be no sleep for Monique that night. Only the memory of Hunter’s music, keeping the beat
for her to twerk for him.

And that churning, bubbling heat in her gut that refused to go away.

Monique hadn’t even been able to bring herself to get up early and help her baby boy get his Saturday
started. She’d made a point of sleeping in, had been deeply relieved when she heard Nia downstairs
bright and early to take him away. She couldn’t bring herself to face him, not while the memory of
Hunter’s huge, throbbing warm hard-on tenting his shorts, pressed right against her wetly slurping lips,
was so fresh in her mind. It had taken her the whole day of him being out of the house for Monique to
brace herself; she’d even begun to think it was really, truly working. In the stark light of a new day, the
events in her office the previous night almost felt like some kind of horrible nightmare. She’d
determined to shove the nightmare as far as possible into those depths she’d been so scared of within
herself, and do everything in her power never to repeat it, telling herself that as soon as she hugged her
sweet Trey after his date, she would remember what was truly important, how much stronger her love
was for her son than any repressed, animal needs of her own.

If only it had worked out that way.

It had come so close. The sun had been going down. Trey was due home any time. Monique had almost
started to feel back to normal, bustling about the house, a comfortable sweatshirt and sweatpants on as
she carried a load of laundry from the laundry room, past the living room — where she glimpsed Janelle,
sitting on the couch, her laptop on the coffee table in front of her. Monique hadn’t thought much of it,
until she heard her daughter giggling, heard a snippet of what the girl was saying into her phone.

“—you don’t have to remind me, I know he bullies my brother, okay? But have you seen this big hunk of
beef? Ahhhh, girl, I have never seen so much Man in all my life! — ”

Monique’s blood had turned to ice.

It wasn’t fair to Janelle, what happened next. On some academic, distant level, Monique had known
that, as her vision went red and that maddening, persistent heat in her belly had turned into a frothing
fury. She even knew that she was just venting her anger at herself.

But she’d still dropped the laundry basket right on the spot and stormed over to the living room.

Seeing what was on Janelle’s laptop screen — what looked like one of the social media sites her
daughter lived on these days — a picture of Hunter on it, looking fresh out of the shower, a towel
wrapped around his waist and his burly, powerful upper body on display for the camera — only pushed
her over the edge even more.

“What the good GOD DAMN is all this, young lady?” Monique snapped more harshly than she’d heard
from herself in years.

Janelle had jumped on the couch like a bee had just stung her. She looked over her shoulder at her
mother, surprise on her impeccably dolled-up teen face turning rapidly to bitchy indignation. Monique
had always detested that bitchy side of her daughter that came out so quickly, and in that moment,
combined with the skimpy black one-piece dress the teenager was wearing, clinging skin-tight to her
perky breasts and her explosively curvy hips, hitching up so high around her soft chocolaty thighs that
the girl’s panties were just about visible, the kind of outfit they’d fought over so many times, it was all
enough to make her blood boil.

“Mom, what the hell?” Janelle demanded, glaring back at her. “I’m on the phone — ”

“Are you shitting me with this?” Monique cut her off, gesticulating aggressively at the laptop screen.
“Ohhhh no, oh hell no, that had better not be who I think it is, Janelle Baptiste — ”

Janelle glanced at her laptop and her face blanched, just a bit. The indignation on her pretty young
features flickered. She rolled her eyes, tilting her head to one side, clearly figuring out what to say to try
to defuse the situation in her head even as she started to defend herself. “Oh my god, are you really
flipping out over this? Mom, I’m just looking, okay? Hunter sent me this, I didn’t ask him to but like, I
have to at least look — ”

Just the mention of her son’s bully’s name made Monique’s heartrate skyrocket. She felt herself
sliding backwards, back down the slippery slope she’d worked so hard to claw her way out of all day,
and she desperately latched onto her anger, hoping it would keep her from dwelling on the mental
images of Hunter’s smirking rugged face and his enormous powerful manhood.

“Oh you two are on a first-name basis now, is that it?” Monique planted her hands on the considerable
swell of her hips, canting them aggressively, giving Janelle her most poisonous glare. “You had better
not — you had BETTER NOT — tell me that my daughter been sitting here under MY ROOF swapping —
” She gestured vaguely, aggressively, at the laptop screen. “ — shirtless pictures with the awful thug
who beats up your own brother!”

The anger was flowing like a hot river of lava at that point, yes — but not so overwhelmingly that Monique
couldn’t feel heartbreak at the pregnant pause that followed her accusation. At the way Janelle’s face
said it all, in the moment before the teenager could gather herself and plaster her own fury on.

Monique and her daughter had butted heads over the years because they were so different.

It seemed, when it came to the muscular, smirking white boy showing himself off on Janelle’s laptop
screen — to the flicker, barely perceptible, of naked desire that crossed the younger girl’s face when she
glanced toward his picture — they finally had something in common.

“It’s just a picture, you psycho!” Janelle yelled back, unaware of the slip-up. She was on her feet now,
too, her big-screen phone forgotten in one hand, the other clenched in a fist at her side while she
matched her mother’s glare. “And we’re just talking! I have a boyfriend, remember?” She drew herself
up, adding some hurt to her expression. “If you really wanna know, I’m trying to help that little dork!”

Monique’s heart shattered that little bit more.

Trey…please.

Tell me he’s safe

“Oh. Oh so that’s it,” Monique said, half-laughing, darkly. She didn’t know if she was talking more to
her daughter, or to herself. “You trying to help him. Well, you got a weird way of trying to help.”
Janelle looked flustered by the sudden change in her mother’s tone. She worked her mouth a few
times, clearly trying to find a retort — only to freeze, looking past Monique with widening eyes.

Monique followed her gaze. Her own eyes widened.

“How…” she swallowed audibly, her anger evaporating. She felt, abruptly, absurdly, like she was twelve
years old again, caught by her own mother doing something she shouldn’t have. “How long… have you
been standing there, Trey?”

Trey was standing near the corner where their home’s entryway turned into the living room. If Janelle
hadn’t noticed, Monique never would have. Her son was perfectly still, perfectly silent, and completely
stone-faced.

It wasn’t the same as the way that mousy little white boy had stared at her, half-naked and panting,
after Hunter left her office the night before. But it was far closer than Monique would have liked.
Getting over the initial shock, Monique noticed two things. Motherly concern came over her face in a
natural reflex. It was the most normal she’d felt in over twenty-four hours, by that point. She started
making her way to Trey. “Baby, what’s that on your shirt…? Is that… ice cream?” She was close enough
to her son that she started to reach out for him. “Where’s — where’s Nia? That girl knows I like her to
stop in — ”

Trey wasn’t even looking at her. He was flicking his blank, staring eyes from Janelle, to the laptop
screen, and back again. There was a strange, unreadable look on his face.

“I need to get changed,” he blurted out, slipping away from Monique before she could reach him.
Slipping away, and right past her, walking with shoulders hunched and his head down.

“Trey — ” Monique kept her hand reached out for him, aimlessly.

“Hey — little bro — I’m not — Not really — ” Janelle stammered as Trey moved past her in a blur.

Trey’s bedroom door was slamming shut almost before either of the girls could process he was gone.
Monique and Janelle stood there, neither knowing what to do, their argument forgotten.

For the first time in a long time, Monique saw herself when she looked into her daughter’s face.

They both wore the same guilt.

And now, it was Sunday morning. The sun was streaming in warmly. The birds were chirping. Monique
was standing in front of the stove, flipping bacon on a sizzling pan, that savory smell tickling at the noses
of her and her family sitting behind her at the kitchen table. It was her favorite day of the week.

But she couldn’t even bring herself to turn around and look at her husband, sitting at the table with his
newspaper, because every time she’d looked at him since two nights prior, all she’d been able to see
was the mounting concern and oblivious confusion on his face in the darkness of their bedroom, late at
night. The face of a man who knew something was wrong with his wife but had no idea just how wrong,
had no idea that the woman he loved had been grinding her big jiggling black ass against the enormous
hard-on of their son’s bully hours before, had no idea that she’d been thinking about what a fucking
pushover he was while she did it and how much bigger and stronger and meaner and manlier that
smirking white teenager was.

Even worse, though —

Trey.

Monique couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been so at a loss on how to deal with her sweet
baby boy. Trey had always been her little Mama’s Boy; all she’d ever had to do when he got to feeling
down was give him a big hug and a bigger smile, rub his back, let him mumble his way through whatever
was bothering him, and give him a nice, bracing talk until his mother’s love left him rejuvenated and
ready to tackle the problem, in his own quiet, non-confrontational Trey Way.

Not today.

Everything was… off, today.

None of them seemed to want to look at each other. Monique stayed laser-focused on the bacon she
was cooking, her arms wrapped around herself in her white fuzzy bathrobe. Janelle tapped away at her
phone screen, her fake fingernails clacking rapidly at the glass, managing to look ready for her social
media page even before she got cleaned up for the day, her brown-streaked smoothed black hair only
slightly rumpled. Trey stared glumly into a glass of orange juice, lost in thought.

The only one who seemed not to realize anything was wrong, yet, was Christian.

“So,” the oblivious husband said around a mouthful of toast, chomping on it heartily and turning the
page of his newspaper as he looked at his brooding children. “What we doing today, family?”

Janelle kept clacking. Trey kept trying to divine the answers to all his problems in the no-pulp orange
juice turning lukewarm in his glass.

Monique closed her eyes, rubbing at her temple.

Her eyes snapped open. Whenever she closed them, the unwelcome sight of Hunter’s towering cock
ready to rip its way out of his shorts was still burned into her eyelids. Clearing her throat, she tried to
shake the image by busying herself with the eggs as the bacon kept sizzling.

“Well, don’t everybody jump at the chance to hang out with the old man,” Christian said wryly,
spectacularly misreading the room. He chuckled and nudged his elbow into Trey, sitting to one side of
him at the table, making the boy jolt like he’d just been tased, gawking at his father like he’d just
noticed he was there.

“What you think, big guy? Think I can tear you away from that gorgeous girlfriend of yours for a day?”

The scraping of Trey’s chair, loud and abrupt, on the kitchen floor was enough to finally make both
Monique and Janelle glance away from what they were doing. Everyone watched Trey stand in place for
a long moment, looking like he was about to blurt something out —

Only to, without a word, turn and hastily make his way out of the kitchen.

Everyone in the kitchen listened silently as his footsteps thudded up the stairs, fading, until his bedroom
door closed.

Christian looked to his girls, his wife and his daughter, with mild amusement. “What was that about, you
think?”

Another scraping of a chair on the floor. Janelle didn’t say anything, either; she just whipped her head
back, sending her lustrous hair flying over her shoulder, and kept tapping at her phone screen as she
made her way out. Monique was so distracted that she couldn’t even bring herself to feel her usual
disapproval at the tiny booty shorts her daughter was wearing, leaving half of the girl’s big bubbly black
ass that she’d inherited from her mother bouncing and jiggling around wildly with her steps.

The mild amusement on Christian’s face deepened into exasperated confusion. He looked at Monique.
Their eyes met. And for that moment, Monique felt some of that old affinity between them, untainted by
anything that had happened over the last couple of days. Two parents, trading the knowing look of
anyone who’s raised moody teenagers.

“I miss when they were kids,” Christian said wistfully, turning back to stare after where Trey and Janelle
had stormed off.

Monique stared at the same spot.

“Me, too,” she said, and meant it.

The Baptistes were not a practicing religious family. They only rarely went to church, for local events and
the occasional Christmas mass. It was not unusual for them to stay in on a Sunday morning. But usually,
on the one day of the week when they could all be together at the same time, they would do something.
Even if it was as basic as going out for a meal.

Not that Sunday.

That Sunday was all wrong.

And Monique had no idea how wrong it was about to get.

They might as well have been snowed in, despite it being a beautiful, sunny day. By the afternoon, Trey
hadn’t so much as left his room to take a leak, to Monique’s knowledge — hadn’t made a single sound.
Janelle, normally loathe to lay around the house doing nothing, ever pursued by any number of her
friends or lovestruck boys, was unusually stationary, too. She, at least, Monique heard moving around in
her room upstairs, occasionally leaving, audibly giggling and talking here and there on her phone.
Christian, at a loss without some kind of family outing to plan his day off around, made a token effort to
busy himself with some household maintenance before he ended up kicked back in his favorite living
room chair, fiddling around with his dated laptop while cable news chattered in the background.

Monique made a token effort of her own to distract herself, but she’d already handled most of the
household chores the day before. And now, sitting at the kitchen table with a few binders open around
her, pen in hand, her own laptop open with some work-related documents, dressed casually in a
form-fitting white T-shirt that clung vacuum-tight to her considerable, matronly breasts and equally
form-fitting black yoga pants that clung even more vacuum-tight to her huge, pillowy ass, she found
herself gazing out one of the kitchen windows, replaying the scene in her Principal’s office over and
over and over in her head.

She should have been livid about it. Should have been getting only angrier and angrier as she recovered
from it. That had been the cycle for years now; Hunter would do something terrible, and she would stew
in her anger over it, planning her revenge, daydreaming about finally taking him down.

But this time, he hadn’t been the only one to do something terrible. She had been, too.
And this time, all she could think about was how she was going to avoid Hunter in the coming week.

She had to. Had to.

Because if she saw him again… If she let that stomping, swaggering, smirking white bully get anywhere
near her again… if she saw that… thing flopping around in his pants…

Monique realized, dimly, she was rubbing her thick, soft thighs together under the table.

And that was when she heard the knocks on their front door.

‘Knocking’ wasn’t the word — ‘pounding’ would have been more accurate. Dull, heavy, aggressive
thuds, almost like a SWAT team was trying to break in with a ram.

Monique’s heart stopped. She stiffened in her chair, her head of short black hair snapping in the
direction of the living room, through which she could see the front door from where she was sitting.
No. It couldn’t be. She was being paranoid…

She heard her husband hauling himself up from his chair. His padding footsteps got closer until he was
standing between Monique and the door, giving her a benign look of surprise and a shrug. She was
saved from having to respond to it by the sound of one of the bedroom doors upstairs opening, some
light footsteps — and both she and Christian looked up to see Janelle standing at the top of the stairs,
looking surprised herself.

Monique felt a sinking in her stomach. Janelle was dolled up more trashily than she’d seen her daughter
dress for a long time — she knew Janelle liked to dress slutty for attention online, to drive the boys at
school crazy, but they’d clashed over it so many times that Janelle never let her see it. And now there
the teen girl stood, wearing a tiny, midriff-baring black tank top emblazoned with glittery pink letters
across the jiggling, tightly squeezed cleavage of her breasts reading Daddy’s Girl. A pink thong dug into
her wide, endlessly soft black hips, disappearing into the tiny jean shorts that, even from the front,
Monique could see left a good two-thirds of her daughter’s protruding, fat, bubbly black ass exposed.

She didn’t even know when her daughter had sneaked those fishnet leggings into their house. They dug
into her thick thunder thighs, leaving the soft flesh spilling out over the top and appetizingly through
every gap of the fishnet. Pink platform heels matched her visible thong.

Janelle’s phone was in her hand.

Monique found her daughter’s eyes. Janelle found hers.

The answer that Monique didn’t want to believe was right there, in the helpless, almost apologetic look
her daughter gave her.

She started in place, hearing Christian undoing the lock on their front door. Monique’s heart leapt into
her throat. She started to rise from her chair, raising a hand. “Christian, don’t — ”

“’Sup, little man,” a deep, rough, familiar voice said. A voice she hated more than anything. A voice
that did things to her stomach and made her rub her thighs together in a way that made her, the woman
who was always In Control, feel like she didn’t control anything at all.

She was too late.

Christian looked back at Monique, hearing her too late but still hearing her and the tension in her voice.
Slowly, he turned back to the towering, brawny white teenager filling their doorway. Between that deep,
rough voice, the lazily arrogant grin on the bully’s face, and the beefy muscles he was showing off in his
sleeveless gym shirt and baggy shorts, his presence immediately seemed to fill the entire house.

No matter what Monique felt about her husband at this point of their marriage, there was nonetheless a
pang of a strange, inexplicable pity as she saw him standing there, completely dwarfed by a boy their
son’s age. The only word for it, seeing them right next to each other, was outclassed. It would have been
a simple mistake for anyone looking in on the scene to think Christian was the boy, and Hunter the man.

“Can I help you?” Christian said. There was already a slight tremble to his voice; from the set of his
shoulders, not too different from the way Trey had set his the day before as he stormed up to his room, it
was obvious he was nervous. Of course he was. All of them knew, Hunter and Christian, Monique and
Janelle, as the younger girl slowly, tentatively made her way down the stairs, watching over the side —
on a deep, animal level, acknowledged consciously or not. As soon as Hunter had showed up, Christian
had ceased to be the man in this house. In the presence of Hunter, he wasn’t a man at all.

“Yeah,” Hunter grunted, and after a sneering, casual sizing up of the much smaller male in his way,
he’d already all but dismissed Christian. He craned his neck a bit, looking into the house — and
Monique’s heart thudded loudly in her ears, her cheeks flushing, her stomach immediately back to
doing the somersaults she remembered from her Principal’s office, as her son’s bully flashed her a big,
toothy grin, nodding his strong stubbled jaw at her. “You can get the fuck out of my way.”

Some vestige of Monique’s pride, of her hatred of Hunter for everything he’d done to her son,
compelled her to try to hold the hulking white boy’s gaze. She glared at him, gathering her considerable
willpower, turning all the restlessness and confusion and shame of the last couple days into a fresh
resentment of him, steeling herself to march over and take over for her husband, who she could already
see getting more and more nervous —

Hunter’s gaze swiveled down to her body. He smirked even wider, puckered his lips a bit through his
smirk in wordless approval of what he saw, reached down and ‘adjusted’ the crotch of his shorts.
Every ounce of composure Monique had gathered evaporated. The gathering storm cloud on her face
vanished. She gasped helplessly, eyes widening, staring at the giant, flopping, briefly perfectly visible
outline of Hunter’s cock under his shorts.

Her thighs were already rubbing together. Just like that, she was back in her office, on her knees in front
of him, her entire world completely overpowered by that ungodly, giant fucking white cock, unlike
anything she’d ever seen in her whole life, the smell of it alone making her want to shove her hand
down her panties and fingerfuck herself until she came and came and...
Christian didn’t even notice that. Anxiety written all over his chubby, docile face, he’d heard Janelle’s
heels clacking their way down the stairs, and was looking back toward them. His eyes widened until they
were stark white saucers on his dark features as he drank in what Monique had already seen, his
beautiful teen daughter dressed like some kind of trashy porn star, her wide hips and fat ass bouncing
and clapping and her perky breasts jiggling around wildly in her tight midriff-baring shirt as she
sauntered up toward the front door, head cocked to one side, one hand toying with her silky, straight
brown-streaked black hair, flashing Hunter a shy, pretty smile.

Conspicuously silent behind her, it was still enough to make Monique blink in surprise.

Was that really Janelle? Her Janelle?

She had never seen her loud, confident, Queen Bitch daughter look so… bashful.

Her poor husband barely had time to wrap his mind around that before turning back around to face
Hunter — and receiving another blow that sent him blinking rapidly and taking a couple stumbling steps
backward, staring down toward the teen brute’s crotch. It was impossible for him not to notice it, would
have been impossible for anyone not to notice. Monique was sure as fuck staring at it like her life
depended on it. Staring at the already giant, aggressively twitching tent forming in his shorts after a mere
moment of watching Janelle jiggle and bounce her way over to him.

“Hunterrrr,” Janelle whined, her voice chiding but simperingly sweet. She stopped a couple steps
behind Christian, placing one hand over the thong strap disappearing in the soft, doughy flesh of her
curvy hip, the other still toying with her hair coyly. She spoke in a hushed voice, like they were
discussing something secretive… but she was smiling up at him the whole time. “I thought we were just…
messing around. You weren’t supposed to actually…”

As distracted as Monique was, as shaken as she was by how easily Hunter had already thrown her off
her balance just by looking at her the right way and flaunting that monster in his pants, she was still
present enough for the alarm bells to start ringing in her head. She glanced nervously up toward the
stairs, knowing that Trey was still up there, wondering how much of this he could hear — glanced toward
her husband, then, his wide eyes going from Hunter to his daughter, looking more and more like a
spectator in his own house.

The alarm bells weren’t for her daughter.

They were for the husband that she knew Hunter could snap like a twig.

She didn’t dare to open her mouth and say it aloud, but she willed Christian to somehow, some way,
pick up on her desperate mental urging — Just shut up, Christian, don’t say another word, for the love
of God —

“Fuck,” Hunter growled. He was looking Janelle up and down with a naked, primal hunger that Monique
recognized all too well.

She hated herself for the flash of intense jealousy that it gave her to see him looking at Janelle that way
instead of her.
“You look even hotter in that shit in person than you did in all those pictures,” the towering white bully
continued. As his hungry gaze reached Janelle’s wide, curved baby-bearing hips and her long,
explosively curvy legs in their fishnet leggings, he let out a low rumble deep in his broad chest, licking
his lips, and he blatantly rubbed at his angrily twitching, visibly growing monster hard-on over his shorts.
He glanced toward Christian, standing nearby with helpless horror on the older man’s face at what was
happening, and Hunter snickered. “Your baby girl here got a whore body just fuckin built for taking my
big fat white cock, you know that, old man?”

That, at least, was enough to provoke something like anger from Christian. Monique’s heart froze, her
blood running cold, terrified he would do something stupid and really get himself hurt.

But she needn’t have worried.

She should have known… it was just her Christian, after all.

He gasped sharply, gave Hunter an angry, indignant look, drawing himself up. It didn’t add much to his
posture. “I — What did you — EXCUSE ME?!”

Hunter wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Of course; why would a stomping brute like him even
notice a man so much smaller and weaker puffing himself up? Especially when Janelle had reacted to
what he just said, too. Gasped just like her father. Only her gasp had turned into a wide, dazzling grin,
and Monique’s little girl was looking up at Hunter with a face that all but screamed You shouldn’t have
said that… but it’s fucking hot that you did anyway.

“Who the hell do you think you are— ” Christian spluttered.

Hunter, still not looking at him, shoved one of his huge hands against the smaller man’s chest, and with
an effortless flex of his burly muscles, sent Christian staggering backward until he fell, with a loud THUD,
back onto his rear and his hands.

“Christian!” Monique cried, and whatever spell Hunter had cast on her, to her relief, wasn’t enough to
override her concern for her husband. She bustled into the living room, trying not to think about the little
show her body put on with its every considerable pillowy curve wobbling around with her steps in the
form-fitting clothes she had on. She crouched next to Christian, cooing over him, rubbing his chest
where Hunter’s brutal nerd-pummeling hand had just shoved him. “Oooh, baby, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. He was staring in disbelief as Hunter swaggered into their home after shoving him to
the floor like that, the giant growing tent in his shorts wobbling. Staring in disbelief at how Janelle hadn’t
so much as flinched when this hulking white brute had just shoved her father — how she was only
standing there, watching him approach, her eyes fixated on the monster in his pants.
Monique recognized the way her daughter was rubbing her thick thighs together all too well.

“I told you,” Janelle said in a small voice that as at once nervous and obviously excited. She looked up
at Hunter as he loomed over her, putting on a decidedly unconvincing Bitch Face that Monique had seen
her wear countless times when turning down boys. “We were just… playin’. I already have a boyfriend.”
“And I told you. I don’t give a shit.”

Once again, Hunter left both Janelle and her father gasping at the same time — this time, by stopping
right in front of Janelle, wrapping those big, brawny arms of his around her bare waist — and
SMACKING both of his big white hands down onto her mostly exposed, phat black teen ass. The dual
fleshy smacking sounds rang out loud and sharp. It might as well have been a fucking bomb going off.

“H—Hey…” Christian protested, but his voice was far too quiet already, and it trailed off completely as
Hunter pulled their daughter roughly up against him, his hands digging roughly into the soft, jello-y black
skin of her ass, his strong, thick white fingers standing out starkly as they sank hungrily into the doughy,
easily yielding flesh of her smooth teen asscheeks, and plunged his mouth over hers in a ferocious,
territorial kiss.

Janelle’s gasp turned into a long, muffled, sensual moan that mingled lewdly with the loud wet slurping
and smacking of their lips as Hunter angled his face slowly from side to side, his mouth wide open over
hers, even from Monique’s angle all too clearly dominating her daughter’s mouth thoroughly with his
probing, hungry tongue. And just as clear was the fact that, after a moment, Janelle was letting her
tongue writhe and wriggle against his, brief flashes of the slimy pink muscles slurping against each other
visible whenever their mouths would separate slightly.

Monique tried to tell herself that she was simply shocked; that was why she was frozen in place, her
mind practically blank as she watched Janelle sloppily making out with her brother’s bully in their own
living room. Moments after he’d assaulted her father, no less.

But the truth was, her mind wasn’t blank. It was simply unable to move past an inexplicable, irrational,
and completely detestable surging of that same jealousy she’d felt watching Hunter eye up her daughter
instead of her.

She was so occupied glaring at her daughter, unaware of the sulky pout on her lips, of the little frustrated
furrow of her brow, that she didn’t even notice the way Hunter glanced, sidelong, down at her, a little
curl tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The wet squelch of their lips popping apart was the most obscene sound to taint their living room yet.
Hunter let out a low, lazy sneer as he took in some breaths, his eyes back on Janelle, smirking down at
her, watching her already clouded, lust-drunk teen face staring up at him with a stupid smile as she
panted for air and moaned with pathetic, naked need.

“So?” He grunted, his deep voice commanding attention so effortlessly even when uttered softly, a far
cry from how everyone in the room had ignored Christian when he tried to stammer something a
moment ago. Grinning wolfishly at Janelle, Hunter roughly smacked one of his palms down onto her ass
again, making her cry out whorishly, her long fake lashes fluttering as her phat chocolate cheeks
clapped and bounced lewdly. He clamped his big hand down on the still-jiggling cheek — and shoved her
groin roughly forward, so that it rubbed right up against the throbbing monstercock tenting his shorts.

Janelle’s eyes shot open. Her jaw dropped, her glossy pink beestung lips forming a perfect, silent ‘O.’
She didn’t even muster a gasp. She just stared, wide-eyed, with almost childishly pure awe, up at
Hunter’s smirking, rugged white face. She wriggled her curvy, wide hips a little, grinding herself up
against him, like she was trying to make sure of what she was feeling, so big, so hot, so hard and
throbbing, against her crotch. And then she wasn’t just wriggling them. She was smiling that stupid,
lust-drunk smile, wider than ever, her eyes on Hunter’s, seeing nothing but him anymore, panting lightly
with animal lust, sensually gyrating her broad, subtly jiggling hips, bucking up against the alpha bully
stud-cock that was so ready to claim her, his rough domineering hands groping and pawing at her huge,
pillowy black ass.

“You still got a boyfriend, you stupid fat-assed black slut?” Hunter breathed.

“AHHHH~! AHHHHHHHHH~! AHHHHHHHNNN~!”

The living room TV might as well have been on mute. For the entire hour since Janelle had led Hunter,
by a hand gripping his wobbling, rock-hard tent in his shorts, up the stairs, they certainly hadn’t been
able to hear it.

“FUCK~! FUCK~! FUUUUCK~! YESYESYESYES POUND MY FUCKING PUSSYYY~”

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

At first, when their daughter’s bed had started slamming against the wall upstairs, Christian had flinched
with every THUD. She’d helped him up onto the couch, and there they had both sat, wordless,
paralyzed, trying to wrap their heads around what was happening right under their own roof. But
Christian wasn’t flinching anymore. He was just staring dead ahead.

He looked, Monique observed, just like the mousy little white boy who had been waiting outside her
office as she twerked and gyrated her fat cheating ass on Hunter’s throbbing cock. The same brutal
white monstercock that was now defiling their daughter upstairs, making her scream so loudly that the
entire neighborhood could probably hear it.

“OhHhHHHmyYYyyGooooddDDD you’re SO FUCKING HUGE~! HOW ARE YOU SO BIIIIG~

SPLITTING MY LIL PUSSY IN TWOOO~ YOU’RE A FUCKING GOD, DADDY~! AAAAHN~”

A pause.

Monique and Christian both turned their eyes up toward the ceiling.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP—

Janelle let out a long, ululating, rapturous scream that Monique swore made several of the pictures lining
the walls rattle. But then, that was probably just how savagely Hunter was making her bed bounce on its
frame, sending it slamming into the wall over and over. And over. And over…

Monique heard the deep, rumbling basso of Hunter’s voice saying something. Unlike Janelle, he wasn’t
being loud enough they could make out his words. But whatever he said, they most certainly heard the
sharp, fleshy smacking sounds that followed it, and their daughter’s sultry, slutty moaning, and that
constant creaking of her mattress as Hunter fucked her brains out in their own house, with the entire
family around to hear it.

“AHHHHHHHFUCKFUCKFUCK YES DADDYYYY~! WHAT… WHAT BOYFRIEND~? THAT LIMPDICK

ISN’T EVEN A FUCKING MAN COMPARED TO YOU AND YOUR BIG FAT WHITE CAWWWK~”

Monique had never heard her daughter so pliant and obedient in her entire life. Janelle had always
prided herself on being loud and in-charge, just like her mama. For all their differences, Monique had
begun to think there would never be a man Janelle wouldn’t be able to keep wrapped around her
slender, dainty finger.

And now she was moaning and screaming like a bitch in heat, frantically desperate to please the
smirking white bully who spoke to her like she was a dumb whore, who liked to beat up her brother, and
who had just shoved her father to the ground right in front of her, her voice rising and falling in time with
the brutal, deep dicking-down he was giving her.

The rumble of Hunter’s voice became audible again. More sharp, fleshy smacks. More desperate, shrill
moans and cries of wanton pleasure.

“OH FUCK~! OH FUCK DADDY! OF COURSE NOT~! HE’LL NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN~! HAHH~
HAAAHN~ ONLY YOU, DADDYYYY~ MY PHAT BLACK WHORE ASS BELONGS TO YOUU~”

Monique hadn’t even thought it was possible, but somehow, the brutal thudding of her daughter’s bed
against her bedroom wall became even louder and faster.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

“OHHHHMYGOD OH MY GOD DADDY YOUR FAT FUCKING BALLS ARE SLAPPING… HAHHH!
SLAPPING MY CLITTY YOU’RE STRETCHING ME SO FUCKING WIIIIDE~ I’M GONNA CUM I’M
GONNA CUUUUM~”

Janelle almost sounded like she was sobbing.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

Monique’s ears rang with the shrill, long, euphoric scream that issued from the upstairs of her home.
She knew a female orgasm when she heard one.

She had just never heard one so…

So…

Monique gulped audibly. She observed, vaguely, that she had forgotten to breathe for the last minute or
so.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, barely able to hear herself over that nonstop, rapid-fire thudding
and the careless, whorish moans and screams of her daughter. She was, just briefly, afraid her husband
would notice — but he was still staring blankly ahead. He looked like a statue.

She wasn’t even sure he registered her abruptly getting up from the couch. She didn’t say anything.
What was there to say?

Monique made her way upstairs like she was in a trance. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Her
mind, reflexively, frantically tried to convince her that she had finally had enough, that she was coming
up here to kick the door down and physically drag that awful Hunter and his awful, life-ruining white
horsecock out of her house if she had to.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she had almost convinced herself.

Janelle let out a particularly sharp, piercing scream of pleasure.

“YES! YES DADDY~! AHHHHHN FUCK MY SLUTTY LITTLE FACE MMMNNF—”

The thudding had stopped, letting Monique hear the bed creaking like a great bulk was shifting on it —
and then came the slurping and the gagging and the muffled, rapturous moaning.

GLOGLOKGLOKGLOKGLOKGLOKGLOKGLOK

It was an awful sound, the rhythmic, guttural, wet gagging of a throat being well and truly deep-fucked by
a giant fucking cock. Monique’s stomach churned sickly.

Just the thought of her daughter lying on her bed, that big brute’s muscles glistening with sweat over
her as he went to town on her sweet little teen mouth…

She heard Hunter letting out low, primal grunts and groans of his own dark satisfaction. Heard the
sloppy wet gurgling and slurping of Janelle’s throat being pounded brutally by that ungodly white bully
dick. She remembered how fucking huge it had felt, throbbing against her ass… How was her poor little
daughter even…

Then she heard something else.

PAP. PAP. PAP. PAP. PAP.

The mental image of the only thing that could be causing those dull, heavy, meaty, faintly wet slapping
noises flashed so vividly across Monique’s mind that it made her gasp sharply, right outside Janelle’s
door, now. The mental image of Hunter’s huge, low-hanging ballsack, swinging mightily and heavily,
slapping against her daughter’s chin and bulging throat as he fucked the ever-loving shit out of her
pretty little face.

Monique’s knees turned to jello. The heat that had been churning in her gut ever since she got home a
couple nights before erupted back into that terrifying inferno that had consumed her in the Principal’s
office while she twerked and put on a depraved show for the same disgusting, crude teen bully who beat
up her son, had attacked her husband of almost two decades, and who was now turning her own
beautiful daughter’s womanhood into a fucking irreversibly defiled, owned crater with his giant cock —
She didn’t even hear herself moan. Didn’t even notice she had collapsed against her daughter’s
bedroom door, her back against it, her bosom heaving and her breaths coming out raggedly as her hand
writhed and danced under her tight black yoga pants, the wet squelching of her fingers pumping in and
out of her pussy completely drowned out by the depraved guttural gagging and choking noises filling the
entire house.

She was falling so fast, so deep, into that black chasm that she didn’t even pause when she heard the
breathless, taunting laughter from Hunter inside Janelle’s room as he used her throat like a disposable
fleshlight.

“That you out there, Mama Bear?”

It had always been a term of respect when other students used it. Coming from him, it dripped with
derision.

Monique’s eyelashes fluttered. Her hand worked her pussy even more frantically.

“Some Mama Bear you turned out to be, huh, fat-ass? You couldn’t even stop me from breaking your
daughter under your own roof!”

Monique heard Janelle moaning with desperate pleasure through the door behind her. Hunter grunted,
the bed continuing to creak and thud on its frame as he deep-fucked her daughter’s throat.

“Take a reaaal good listen, bitch…”

Monique let out a stifled, throaty moan of her own.

“You’re next.”

Monique’s vision went white. Her lower body jerked and twitched spasmodically, her hand going into
overdrive under her yoga pants, her big motherly tits jiggling in her tight white T-shirt, as she came in her
pants, harder than she’d cum in years and years and years, her tongue lolling out and her fluttering,
clouded eyes rolling back.

Trey had been waiting for Nia to text him back all day. She hadn’t texted him at all since they parted the
night before, not even giving him a peck on the cheek after an awkward walk home where she hadn’t
said a word.

He’d been staring at his phone on his bedroom desk when he’d heard the commotion downstairs.

He kept staring at his phone, unmoving, when his sister’s bed started slamming into the wall dividing
their bedrooms. Kept staring at it, eyes blurring with tears, his cheeks hot with embarrassment, as her
loud screaming and moaning rang out so clearly that she might as well have been in the same room.
He kept staring at it, too petrified to move as he heard the familiar deep voice of Hunter drawling and
laughing, treating his sister like just another one of his dumb whores. Kept staring at it, oblivious to the
fact his mother was cumming her brains out on the hallway floor outside, frantically masturbating to the
sounds of Janelle’s defilement.

Nia hadn’t even texted him back by the time the third hour of Janelle’s bed slamming sporadically into
their dividing wall started and she began screaming all over again.
 9 - Chapter Nine

The school’s front office secretary hadn’t been able to believe it when Monique called her the next day
and let her know she was taking a sick day. Monique couldn’t believe it either. She couldn’t even
remember the last time she’d used any of her sick leave; how was she supposed to stay In Control, as
she’d spent her whole life doing, if she stayed on the sidelines for even a day?

But Monique Baptiste, for the first time in a very long time, didn’t feel In Control. She didn’t feel, after
listening — along with her mute, shellshocked husband and unseen son barricaded in his room and,
likely, the entire neighborhood — to her own daughter getting her brains fucked out, under her roof, by
the same stomping swaggering smirking white thug who’d made her son’s life hell for so long, that she
was very much ‘In Control’ of anything.

Right there, under her roof. In the one place her control should have been the most absolute, where her
family should have been at its safest. He’d assaulted her husband, groped their daughter in front of
them, and then made her scream like a wild animal as he rutted her late into the night. And Monique
hadn’t been able to do anything about it.

Well — that wasn’t true, was it?

She hadn’t been able to do anything about it—

—besides sit in the hallway outside her daughter’s room, drooling stupidly, eyelashes fluttering as she
feverishly masturbated to an explosive orgasm of her own, right as she listened to the sloppy, guttural
noises of Janelle’s throat getting punched in brutally by Hunter’s enormous, homewrecking bully cock.

Was it any wonder that she had well and truly sounded sick, when she called the school secretary the
next morning to let her know she wouldn’t be signing in to work?

She hadn’t even wanted to leave her room, when she’d finally awakened, half an hour later than she
usually did on a weekday. She was alone within, having weakly stumbled into it after sitting in that
hallway, staring blankly at her daughter’s door, listening to the unceasing thudding of the bedframe
against the wall and the fresh wave of slutty moans and cries her once sweet, innocent baby girl had
been filling the entire house with, trying to wrap her mind around the intense carnal urges that had
overtaken her at the sounds and left her trembling in a puddle of her own orgasmic juices.

Her husband had never joined her in the bedroom, clearly too scared to even head upstairs while the
towering, muscular teen bully defiling his daughter was up there.

The house, which had, for hours, been a cacophony of those brutal, depraved fuck-sounds, had been
dead silent. Monique hadn’t known when, or if, Hunter had left — didn’t want to know, didn’t want to
think about what might have happened to her poor Christian when he’d finally stomped downstairs, that
ungodly, giant white bully-dick swaying in that damnable potent way she couldn’t stop seeing whenever
she closed her eyes, shaft dripping with Janelle’s sweet teenaged juices. She could only pray, her heart
in her throat, hammering almost as hard as Hunter had made Janelle’s bed hammer into her wall, that
he hadn’t hurt her husband, just because he could, on his way out.

The Monique that she’d always known would have been infuriated just at the thought of that, would
have propelled herself out of bed, a stormcloud of righteous fury and indignation, her jaw set as she
marched out to set things right.

But this new Monique, the one she found herself trapped in, had found herself trapped in ever since
Hunter had stomped into her office for expulsion and left it with her lipstick faintly smeared on his
enormous, throbbing crotch-bulge—

She did not leave her bedroom that day.

She hardly left it the next day, either, other than to dart out and grab food, ashamed of how relieved she
was to find she was the only one staying home during work and school hours.

Maybe Monique never would have left it at all, paralyzed by anxiety and anger and self-loathing and the
sheer, mind-bending, heart-breaking confusion of a proud wife and mother trying to come to terms with
how badly she’d failed at those roles in the last week, if the house hadn’t been so god-damned quiet.

Because in that quiet, a quiet more total and complete than any she’d ever observed in her own home,
a quiet that did not break for the entire two days she called in sick from work, there was no quiet for
Monique Baptiste at all.

In that false quiet, lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling, all Monique Baptiste had been able to hear
was the thudding of Janelle’s bed, the obscene, unfiltered, unashamed whorish need in her daughter’s
screams and moans, like nothing she’d ever heard in her entire life (certainly not from herself, not with
any man, not Christian or those scant forgettable few who came before him), a need that was at once
desperate and rapturous, the meaty smacking of flesh colliding savagely with flesh…

And Hunter’s deep, rough, endlessly self-satisfied voice that she hated so much and that made her
heartbeat pick up and her belly flip, that voice so utterly different from her sweet husband’s—
You’re next

It was when, hearing that in her head again for the millionth time, Monique had caught her fingers
rubbing at her sopping wet pussy, her wide, cushiony curved hips twitching, that she realized she
needed to get the hell out of there.

And the next day, she gamely returned the relieved smile of the front office secretary upon seeing her
come through the school’s main entrance.

Her own smile didn’t reach her eyes.

They were too busy darting around to make sure he wasn’t there.

—
Monique had hoped, against hope, that returning to school, to the passion that was her work, would help
her forget those sounds that had echoed endlessly in her mind for the last two days. That it would be like
diving into the deep end of a frigid pool, headlong, and coming up for air so distracted by the new
circumstances that she wouldn’t have room to think about anything else.

It didn’t work.

The Sunday a few days prior had been All Wrong, and today was All Wrong, too.

The whole school felt — different. They were the same surroundings she’d been in for decades, the
same surroundings that had been a second home to her for so long, and yet they didn’t feel the same at
all. Hallways and classrooms and offices that she knew like the back of her own hand, suddenly,
seemed alien. She felt as if she was seeing the whole school for the first time.

Even through the distracting anxiety that was gnawing at her, making her fidget and gnaw at her lip
through the first few hours of her day, through the meetings and the phone calls in her office, Monique
knew it wasn’t the school that had changed — it was her.

This place depended on her. The people within it, teachers and students alike, depended on her. When
she came across them today, they looked at her with the same trust and respect that they always had.

It made her want to scream.

Why are you looking at ME like that?! I don’t deserve it! Do you have ANY IDEA what’s been
happening to me? What’s been happening to my family?! You don’t know me — I’m not the Mama
Bear, I’m the fucking awful failure of a mother who twerked her married black ass on her son’s bully’s
mutant fucking horsedick and came like a god-damned horny schoolgirl just from listening to my
daughter get her HOLES STRETCHED OUT on that thing! How are you gonna look at ME with respect
when I don’t think I’ll ever be able to respect MYSELF EVER AGAIN —

No.

The school was the same as ever, but everything had changed.

Maybe that was why Monique didn’t notice the fact that a lot of the looks she was getting, as the day
wore on, weren’t the usual deference or friendly respect that she was accustomed to, or the way
students were exchanging hushed whispers as she would walk by — whispers that, for once, weren’t
accompanied by stares at her huge, protruding motherly ass wobbling around in her tight pencil skirt, or
her exploding cleavage bouncing appetizingly in her button-up purple shirt that, as ever, she couldn’t
button up all the way, leaving soft chocolate mounds of flesh jiggling for all to see.

If she’d noticed those things, maybe what happened next wouldn’t have caught her so off-guard.

Maybe a lot of things would have been different.

But they weren’t.

—

Monique had always enjoyed her mid-day flurry of administrative phone calls. It was a non-stop gauntlet
of local bureaucratic diplomacy and micro-management that she thrived on.

So it already threw her off balance when, in the middle of ploddingly, grudgingly entering a fresh batch of
digits into her office phone keypad, something she usually performed with a gusto, she felt a burst of
relief at the knock on her door — a knock whose source she could instantly identify, since only one man
in the entire building could manage to knock a door with such delicacy.

Monique pulled her hand back from the phone, leaned back in her high-backed executive office chair,
and ran slender black fingers over her tired eyes. Their lids felt so heavy. But she couldn’t close them,
didn’t dare, because whenever she did—

—and there it was, the memory of her husband, sitting there on the living room couch, the blank, helpless
expression on his face all but melting into the memory of the mousy-faced white boy who had sat
outside this very office a few days before, the sounds of Janelle’s screams for her new Daddy to pound
her harder ringing in her ears —

“Yes, Mark, just— come in!” Monique snapped, at the same time as her eyes snapped open, and though
she was furious, it seemed right then, at everything and everyone, most of all herself, she still was a little
ashamed of herself for snapping at poor, harmless, good-natured Vice Principal Mark Brennan that way.

The guilt only grew when, after a pause, the door softly clicked open, and Mark himself was standing
there, his graying eyebrows furrowed in concern on his middle-aged caucasian features.

“Sorry, is… this a bad time, Monique?” he asked, hesitantly.

Monique was about to blurt out her genuine regret for snapping at him, only for the words to catch in her
throat. Her brows furrowed, too, and she stared back at Mark for a long moment.

She’d known him for years. She knew how to read him, by now.

She didn’t think just the sharpness of her summons could have made him look this tense.

“No,” she managed. Monique shook her head slightly, clearing it, and managed, surprising herself, to
smile. It was a small, terse smile, but a smile nonetheless, and it was a much needed little victory for
her. She straightened in her seat, clasped her hands on her desk, and tilted her head at Mark as she
had so many times to indicate she was listening. “It’s fine. Sorry if I sounded, uhm… tense, just now.
Just… still feelin’ a little under the weather.”

Even as the concern on Mark’s face receded slightly, and he set about stepping into her office and
closing the door behind him, Monique felt her mask slipping. Felt the smile falter as, unbidden, the
thought flashed across her mind —

You’re just like them, aren’t you, Mark?

Christian.

That poor white boy I found in the math wing bathroom.

You’d just sit there with that same stupid blank look on YOUR face if Hunter stomped right into y’house
and pushed you to the ground and then took YOUR woman upstairs to pound her till she screamed and
moaned like you NEVER could make her do, wouldn’t you?

If Mark noticed how oddly she was regarding him, he didn’t show it. He was too busy looking around the
office. Looking, in fact, at every last thing he could find to look at, other than her. He was shuffling a little,
too. He looked more like a troublemaking student who’d been sent to her office than her
second-in-command on the administrative hierarchy.

“Sorry to, uh… hear that,” Mark mumbled. She noticed, belatedly, that he was holding a phone, hefting it
around restlessly in one hand, and that it was not the phone she’d observed him using for years; he’d
stubbornly kept using an older, small-screen cell phone for ages, and the one he was holding now had
one of the big deluxe-sized screens from newer models. Her daughter had one like it.

She was back on the living room floor of her home — her hand was still on her husband, tending to him
after Hunter had shoved him, but her eyes were locked on the way the bully’s huge hand was swooping
down onto Janelle’s big wobbling teen ass — her daughter’s whorish, approving moan echoed in her
ears —

“Still… feeling sick, then?” Mark’s awkward, very clearly distracted, attempt at social courtesy mercifully
brought her crashing back to the present.

Monique felt suddenly very tired. Was she going to be flashing back to the night her daughter screamed
out in orgasm literally more times than she could count on that fucking giant cock Hunter was so smug
about, every time she looked at or even thought about Janelle, for the rest of her life?

“Monique?”

Monique realized that she was biting down, softly, on her plump, moist lower lip, staring unseeingly at
the phone in Mark’s hand. She caught herself rubbing her thick, warm thighs together under her desk.

FUCK, woman, get your shit together!

Monique cleared her throat and renewed her smile. Like the one she’d given the school secretary that
morning, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hnn… n—no. No, ’fraid not.” Monique shook her head and blew out a
breath, forced herself to focus. “But don’t go worryin’ about me, Mark. What’s up with you? You look like
you just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”

She didn’t know what she was expecting the response to be. All she did know was that nothing could
have been less welcome than the sudden shift on Mark’s face — the shift from nervous and
uncomfortable, to…
Pity.

And not just casual sympathy, either. The look on her Vice Principal’s face now was something she
would have expected a coworker to give her only if someone in her family had just died.
Monique’s heart leapt into her throat so fast that she thought she might throw up. Her pulse hammered
in her ears.

Hunter had just spent a night in her house.

Oh Lord… oh Lord, no — Hunter — I didn’t see him leave — he woulda had to go right by Christian if that
man slept on the couch all night — oh no what did he DO —

Then the hammering in her ears stopped, because her heart had just skipped a beat.

What if it wasn’t Christian?

Trey…!

“I wish I didn’t have to be telling you this right now, Monique,” Mark was saying. His voice was dripping
with genuine remorse, and that only made Monique’s blood freeze even more. The middle-aged man
paused, visibly choosing his words carefully, before gesturing back over his shoulder, toward the school
outside her office. “But, uh… well, I just handled a call from one of the teachers about an… incident in his
class, and, well… I thought you’d want to hear about it right away.”

Monique gawked at him.

She should have felt a fresh wave of relief. An incident. Just an incident. Mark had come into this very
office to tell her about ‘incidents’ almost every single day for the entire time he’d served as the
school’s Vice Principal and she as its Principal.

But then… why was he still looking at her like she’d been freshly widowed?

“It’s… about that awful Hunter. And your son. Trey.”

Monique heard her chair creaking before she absorbed the fact she was leaning back in it. She was,
oddly, faintly, dizzy. She stared at the chair across from her office desk, the chair where, less than a
week before, Hunter had been sitting. Where he was sitting when she should have been expelling him,
and preventing what Mark was about to tell her from ever happening.

“Of course it is,” she said, quietly.

“He was, uh… well, Hunter, that is… he was passing around his phone — I have it here…” Mark made his
way up to her desk, approaching it as if he were walking on eggshells. “The teacher — it was mister
Clark, you know, good history teacher but, well… bit of an easy target — tried to stop him, but… apparently
Hunter was going on and on to the whole class about how he crashed a date between your son and his
girlfriend.” Mark stopped right in front of her desk and blew out a miserable sigh, shaking his head. He
looked tired, too, but nowhere near as tired as Monique felt. “He didn’t even try to lock his phone when
I took it. It was like he… wanted me to see it.”

Monique’s eyes were locked on the phone in Mark’s hand, its back still to her. Dread was pressing
needle after needle right into her heart.

No…

No. It can’t be. There’s just… no way.

Not Nia. Not that girl.

Never her…

The words rang hollow even within the sanctuary of her own mind.

And were drowned by the sounds echoing within it so much louder and clearer: the thudding of
Janelle’s bed against the wall. Her orgasmic screaming. The slap of flesh against flesh.

“Do you… even want to see it?” Mark asked hesitantly. The tone of his voice made it all too clear what
he was hoping he’d found a way out, if only slightly, from the full brunt of this unpleasantness. “It’s…
supposed to be him, and— that poor girl, Nia Avery, but, I mean — Monique, you know who we’re talking
about here, it’s Hunter, of course he’d say anything to hurt your kid — ”

“Let me see it,” Monique said faintly. The words were like acid in her mouth.

Mark worked his mouth a few times, hesitating again. He started to hold his hands out to the sides,
plaintively. “Photo-shopping these days — I mean, you’ve seen what some of the kids can do with
computers lately — it could be fake — I wouldn’t put it past him — ”

Monique finally turned her dark, almond-shaped eyes up toward Mark’s. Stared into them.

She saw everything she needed to see in them. He didn’t believe what he was saying for a second.

Mark couldn’t hold her gaze. He slumped, deflated. He blew out a defeated sigh through his nostrils,
turning away from her, and placed the phone he’d been holding this whole time onto her desk, the
screen turned up toward her.

On that screen, Monique saw the end of her son’s whole world.

Seconds passed as she stared at it. Then, minutes. The silence in her office became as total, as stifling,
as the silence had been in her home for the last two days, after an entire night of loud, raucous sounds
that her whole family would hear in their dreams forever. Monique didn’t so much as move. She sat,
staring down her broad, flaring African nose at the picture Hunter had been passing around his class, a
picture that was no doubt already being talked about more and more around the school grounds. Her
beautiful dark-skinned face was a statue.

Mark’s sympathy was rapidly turning back to confusion as the minutes mounted. He fidgeted near her
desk. She could practically feel his anxiety building until, at last, it overpowered his respect for what he
perceived as a mother’s grief. “God, Monique, I… I don’t even know what to say. That sweet young Nia
— and your Trey — they’ve always been so — ”

“Is he out there?” Monique didn’t raise her voice, and yet spoke over him effortlessly.

Just like them, aren’t you, Mark?

Christian’s face, flashing across her mind’s eye.

That mousy-faced boy from the math wing bathroom.

And now, a needle digging into her heart — Trey’s face, too.

Mark glanced toward the office door, then at her. He nodded.

The needle was still digging into her heart — but not enough to stop it from skipping a beat, or to stop her
stomach from flipping, at that.

Monique’s tongue ran across her lip. Her eyes were locked on Nia Avery’s, depicted on the phone
screen, stretched so obscenely wide around the same thing her daughter had been sloppily gagging on
a few nights ago.

“Send him in.”

Mark automatically moved to obey, taking a step toward the door — only to pause. He opened his mouth,
closed it. Opened it again. He held up a finger tentatively. “I can — stay in here with you, too, if you — ”

Monique had already started slowly shaking her head before he started speaking. So he stopped.
Nodding curtly, he opened her office door and stepped out. She heard his voice speak to someone
outside her office, taking on a tone that was no doubt intended to be gruff and cold. Staring at the picture
on Hunter’s phone, knowing who it was that harmless little Mr. Brennan was trying to intimidate,
Monique had a brief, crazy impulse to burst out in laughter.

She heard the now-familiar stomping approaching. The door clicking shut. The now-familiar scent,
vaguely earthy, vaguely animal, wafted across her nose.

“You got something of mine, bitch?”

Hunter’s voice, most familiar of all. It’d been playing over and over in her head for two days straight,
after all.

You’re next, it had said.

Monique turned her heavily lidded, glaring eyes up from the phone toward Hunter.

She didn’t know which she hated more, in that moment — his smug, smirking thuggish face… or the heat
building between her legs, unbidden, like a reflex conditioned by frantically masturbating while she’d
listened to that same deep rough voice demeaning her daughter as he reshaped her little teen pussy
around the same gargantuan white bully cock her mommy had been twerking on a couple days before.

“Where the fuck you been hiding the last couple days, anyway?” Hunter’s voice drawled. It was
surreal, hearing it in person again after that night back at the Baptiste household. It had been one thing,
just remembering it, but hearing it again brought everything that had happened crashing back down onto
Monique, every emotion that this voice had ever triggered in her flaring up within her more intensely than
she’d ever felt it.

If the only thing it had ever triggered had been anger, that would have been fine.

His voice hadn’t only made her angry, though.

Monique was already breathing a little harder as she drank in the sight of him. Her heart skipped a beat
at the fact that he was clearly drinking in the sight of her, too. He was standing there right in front of her
office door, dressed in a sleeveless red shirt that clung tightly to his hard, broad pecs and firm abs,
flaunting his beefy white arms by clasping his hands behind his head of short, messy brown hair. The
white athletic shorts he had on were as baggy as ever —

Monique’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes reached his crotch.

It wasn’t even hard.

And it was so fucking big.

She should have been well accustomed to the sight by now. She’d been seeing Hunter flaunt his huge,
flopping flaccid bulge all over the school for years. She’d seen it up close and personal at its full size in
this very office. Had even kissed it, meekly asking if her son was safe as she did it. Knowing full well he
wasn’t.

But somehow, seeing it in the same room as her, now… with the picture on his phone right in front of her,
Nia’s sweet little mouth that had kissed her son so many times, defiling itself for that monster just as
eagerly as her daughter did…

Monique realized, too late, that she was gawking at it. Her mouth had gone slack, her heavily lidded
eyes staring intently at that huge, prominent bulge in Hunter’s shorts. That her breathing had gone
noticeably ragged. She had a bra on, but her nipples had still become visible, creating thick, hardening
nubs under the thin fabric of her tightly stretched button-up shirt.

She realized, too, that Hunter was well aware of it. He was flashing his teeth at her in a dark, smug grin.

“I asked you a question,” he rumbled in that rough growling voice. He started swaggering his way
deeper into the office. Where Mark Brennan had tiptoed around it, Hunter stomped in, as ever, like he
owned the fucking place. The same way he walked everywhere. Like he believed everywhere he
stepped did belong to him, for as long as he was there.

God, she fucking hated him. She wanted to slap him. Expel him. Right now, she wanted to throttle him —
for having the nerve to act so casual and smug in HER office, after he’d just been caught spreading
around a picture of HER SON’S girlfriend slobbering on his overgrown, disgusting white bully cock —

Monique gulped audibly as Hunter stomped up to her. Her hooded, resentful eyes watched that massive
bulge in his shorts wobble and flop around heavily, helplessly following its movements like a cat
watching a ball of string.

“I said, where you been, bitch?” Hunter pressed. He stopped in front of her desk. His enormous bulge
hovered over it, right over the phone whose screen was still showing the picture of Nia. He glanced
down at it. Looked back at Monique. Smiled wider.

Monique was so torn between getting up to wrap her hands around his neck, and shoving her hand
down her skirt, that all she could do was sit there, finally tearing her eyes off of his crotch to glare at his
smug face. Her thick, soft thighs rubbed against each other under her desk. Hard.

The fact that she knew how wrong this was, that she should have been furious, erupting in anger,
screeching in outrage, inexplicably only made the heat spreading from her groin throughout her body
grow even hotter. You fucking… prick…

Big prick.

Huge…

You think you’re… just going to get your way again, don’t you?

Like always…

Like you did with my daughter. And my son’s girlfriend…

Always getting your way…

Just because you’re… meaner… and stronger… and… and…

Bigger.

So much fucking BIGGER…

Her eyes were locked on his crotch again. It was starting to twitch — and grow. Her mind reeled all over
again at how unfairly, obscenely big it already was.

How could it be getting even bigger?

And why did it have to be HIM?

Against her will, Monique released a stifled, tormented groan under her breath. She shifted, restlessly, in
her chair, suddenly more aware than she’d, maybe, ever been of the way it made her big, heavy
motherly breasts bounce and jiggle in her tight shirt.

The breasts her husband had never known how to handle.

“I’ve missed watching that big, phat black married ass of yours wobble its way around school, bitch,”
Hunter grunted, sneering. She could feel the way his dark, intense eyes were drilling into her, absorbing
all of the body language she was so helplessly failing to contain. The more he observed, the more that
giant bulge in his shorts throbbed and swelled, until now it was already a powerful, twitching tent
pressing what looked like a foot clear of his crotch, casting a huge, swaying shadow over the phone
screen on her desk. Monique watched it every bit as intently as he was watching her, her lower body
shifting and writhing more and more restlessly under her desk. Her plump, pillowy lips were so dry. She
couldn’t stop running her tongue over them.

“You know, like I watched your faggy little kid’s girlfriend’s big black ass jiggle around while I used her
throat like a fuckin’ fleshlight right around the corner from him, at the park, ” Hunter said
conversationally, nodding his jaw down at the phone.

That, at least, was enough to make some spark of the Mama Bear flicker back to life. Monique had loved
Nia Avery for almost as long as she’d loved her Trey, loved her like a daughter — soon to be, she’d
always expected, a daughter-in-law. The fact that she’d betrayed her trust, and far worse, her son’s
trust, for this awful white thug — and to hear him refer to it so casually, like it was just another everyday
occurance for him, making a girl who’d loved her boyfriend since they were little kids in one way or
another slobber on his disgusting, unholy monster of a cock —

“You… stop that… right now,” Monique managed to get out, but the words were so weak that they were
almost a whisper. Her lashes fluttered , trying to clear the accumulating haze clouding her vision. It was
like trying to scrape through molasses with a feather. “Nia is a…” she had to pause to swallow, a weak
groan following the gulp. “…a good… girl. You don’t even deserve… to speak on her — ”

“I’m surprised your loser kid didn’t hear that shit,” Hunter drawled over her. “That fat-assed four-eyed
milk chocolate slut was so fuckin’ starved for my big fat white cock that she was sucking and slurping on
it nice and loud. Haaah, now that I think about it, it’s almost like she wanted him to hear it…”

Monique’s hips jerked so spasmodically under her desk that her leg thudded loudly against the wood.
Her thick eyelashes fluttered weakly, helpless frustration making her want to scream, but all that came
out was a feminine, simpering whimper that sounded utterly unlike her.

“S—Stooop,” she demanded. She meant to demand it, anyway. It sounded more like weak, desperate
pleading.

Hunter was still smirking down at her, but the snickering was gone. His dangerous, rough features
looked like they had the previous week, when his lust had started taking over, making him look less like
a horny, self-satisfied teenager and more like the demanding, intimidating apex fuck-stud that he was
born to be. He moved away from the front of her desk, the shadow of his throbbing cock leaving the
phone screen, and instead demanding her attention to follow it bouncing and wobbling in his shorts. It
was hard as a fucking rock as he stomped slowly around her desk, coming right behind it to where she
was sitting. Monique turned her chair toward him unthinkingly, her clouded, conflicted eyes locked on the
towering pillar of alpha meat so hard and powerful that it jutted straight out from his hips despite its
enormous size, the blood pumping vitally through it keeping it upright — and pointing right at her as he
swaggered up to her, coming closer and closer, until he was standing right in front of her, his twitching
monster inches from her face. The eye-watering, indescribably and utterly masculine stink of it was
wafting clear through his shorts to fill the air around her. If it had been hard to think before, it became
downright impossible now, Monique’s broad African nostrils flaring needily as she huffed up his smell,
eyes turning even more clouded. A thin trickle of saliva glistened in the light of her office, seeping down
from the corner of her dumbly gaping, fat lips.

Needless to say, it all rather negated the angry look she tried, valiantly, to turn up toward him as he
loomed over her, a smirking, arrogant tower of muscle and raw teenaged male virility. All she managed
was a furrowed brow and a sulky pout.

Her husband wouldn’t have recognized her. Not her son, either. No man she’d ever known would have
recognized the Monique sitting in her office chair right now. That Monique had never had a problem
exerting her willpower over any of them. She’d left men bigger than her meek and brow-beaten more
times than she would ever be able to put a number to. She was Monique Baptiste, and she was In
Control.

But the woman sitting in front of Hunter, his giant, twitching rock-hard cock about to rip out of his shorts
inches from her face, couldn’t even control the way one of her hands was idly rubbing at her pussy over
her soaking wet white panties, her curvy legs sprawled apart, skirt hitched all the way up over her plump
smooth black thighs so that Hunter could see every second of her touching herself as she pouted up at
him.

“Stop?” Hunter echoed the word, his dark, hooded gaze watching her fingers rubbing at the spreading
dark stain on her panties. Then he looked right back at her, smirking wider. “I didn’t stop when your little
hubby tried to make me, back at your place, did I?”

Monique groaned, her distress mingling with her helpless, animal arousal to make the sound as
despairing as it was horny. Her fingers rubbed harder at her wet mound, making faintly audible little
squelching noises.

“I pushed that pathetic weak-ass babydick right down and made him and your punching bag son listen to
me make your pretty little daughter worship allll of this fucking cock, all fucking night.”

Monique didn’t process that she had been moaning, a thick, guttural sound of depraved, helpless lust
that came from deep in the very core of her, until she’d been doing it for at least a few seconds of his
crass, harsh tirade. Her fingers were a blur, rubbing and slapping at her dripping cunt over her panties,
the fabric soaked so thoroughly that it was almost see-through, letting Hunter see the sweet, shaved
black pussy of the school principal, of his bullying victim’s mother.

She was letting him see it.

Letting him get exactly what he wanted, like he always did.

For years, that thought had driven her crazy with anger and resentment. Had made her plot her revenge
against him, night after night.

Now?

All she could think in her delirious, lust-crazed mind was:

Because he fucking deserves it.

All of it…

FUCK.

Look at him!

He deserves whatever the FUCK he wants!

She saw her husband, looking like he was about to piss himself as he laid there on the ground after
Hunter shoved him.

Looked up now and saw Hunter, his rough, handsome, smirking white face, his powerful teen muscles,
and most of all—

He tugged his shorts down.

Monique came.

She couldn’t fucking believe it, but she came. As soon as Hunter’s cock came flopping out into the
open, it pushed her already sensitive, overly-stimulated, desperate womanhood over the edge more
explosively than she could remember happening in her entire life. That gargantuan, indescribably bestial
white monstercock that she’d been fantasizing about for so many restless nights, that she’d heard
turning her daughter into a screaming, brainless bitch in heat, that had turned sweet, loyal Nia Avery of
all people into a cheating skank sucking her boyfriend’s bully’s dick in the middle of a public park — it
presented itself to her with all the crude, brute force simplicity of an alpha who knew exactly what he
had, that it made him better than the others, that it entitled him to her and Nia and Janelle and whoever
the fuck he wanted — its unfiltered, eye-watering alpha cockstench burned at her nose, a scent that was
cock and masculinity but also the faintest traces of feminine arousal and Monique could almost, vividly,
see her daughter bouncing on this veiny, uncut white battering ram of a cock —

Monique’s thick eyelashes fluttered wildly. Her eyes rolled back. Her mouth worked noiselessly a few
times, only to let out a loud, sustained moan that was probably just a bit more than her thick office door
could stifle entirely, but she was so far past caring that the thought didn’t even occur to her. She was
too busy riding out the tsunami of white-hot heat rippling through her body, spreading from the core of
her all the way to every extremity, making her wide, curvy hips twitch and buck and her pussy spasm
desperately as she rubbed at it, the dark stain spreading rapidly on her panties. Her huge breasts jiggled
and bounced appetizingly in her top, one button undoing itself from the nonstop shifting of so much
doughy, soft weight.

“I said your fat whore ass was next, remember?”

“Yes~!” Monique cried out, unable to stop herself, her voice more desperate and pleading than ever.
She nodded frantically, her hand still rubbing at her mound, breathing heavily and hotly, her every soft,
plush mature curve jiggling, lower body bucking, riding out the subsiding waves of her climax. “I do~! I
remember~! FUCK, I haven’t been able to STOP thinking about it!”

Pain shot through her scalp — Hunter had grabbed her hair, roughly, his thick fingers clutching
demandingly onto her short black curls. Monique gasped sharply, her world blurring as her son’s
hulking bully forcefully angled her head back, turning her flushed, panting face up toward him — only for
the gasp to turn into a low, throaty groan as he pushed his hips forward and let his enormous, throbbing,
hot white cock flop onto her face.

The dull, meaty PAP! of his monster’s obscene weight coming down to rest on her matronly black
features might as well have been the death knell of her entire life as she’d known it. A fresh wave of
spasms rocked her lower body, making her hips twitch and buck needily. Her clouded eyes rolled in their
sockets. Her hot, slimy wet tongue lolled out, instinctively licking at it, and the way it bucked powerfully
against her made her moan again.

“Ohmyfuckinggawwwwd~” she breathed hotly, feverishly, half-groaning, and licked it again, and then
again, letting out a loud, sustained moan with every noisy slurping sound. “Mmmmmmn~ So~ fucking~
BIG~”

And in that moment, with all pretenses stripped away, Monique could admit to herself what she’d been
too afraid to, while Mark was in the office. Could admit all of it.

She hadn’t been upset with Nia, when she saw that picture of her, looking stupidly up at the camera
with her pretty little mouth stretched impossibly wide around her boyfriend’s bully’s enormous, veiny
cock.

She’d understood. Perfectly.

She loved her son.

She loved her husband.

But they were fucking wimps.

There was more capital-M MAN in one inch of this giant, beautiful, obscene homewrecking cock draped
over her face right now than there was in Trey and Christian’s entire bodies combined.
Her heart had broken for poor Trey. Kept breaking for him, now, with every long, slutty drag of her
cheating MILF tongue up along every gnarled, fat, throbbing inch of Hunter’s godly bully-dick, her
heavily lidded, sultry gaze fixated on the white bully’s arrogant smirk, the smirk she’d always hated but
which now was making her dripping cunt twitch and convulse needily.
Because she knew what he was. And so did he.

He was a fucking stud. An alpha.

And she knew what her poor son was, no matter how much she pitied him for it. He was a loser. A beta.

Most of all, she knew what she was.

She was a bitch. A fucking fine one, too. She’d always known it. She’d been wasted on the limpdick
beta husband who’d given her a limpdick beta son for far too long.

Fuck, I need this…

I’m… I’m sorry, Trey…

Mommy needs your bully’s massive fucking white dick so fucking BAD~

She felt the weight on her scalp remove itself. Hunter’s hand had left her hair.

Monique could only gasp, sharply, again, as he instead grabbed her button-up purple shirt — and ripped
it harshly wide open.

She would have been livid if Christian had ever tried anything like that, let alone in her office, at school,
in the middle of the day. Several of her shirt buttons went bouncing around on the floor, and a SNAP!
rang out immediately afterward, Hunter’s marauding, domineering big hand grabbing the middle of her
bra and roughly pulling it right off of her, tossing it onto the ground, letting her bare, full, heavy chocolaty
breasts come jiggling out into the open, her dark brown nipples erect.

But it hadn’t been Christian. And Christian never would have done anything like that, too considerate —
no, fuck that, too scared of her.

So he never would see his wife look at him the way she looked at Hunter now. The way she placed her
hands behind her on her office chair, pushing her chest out, presenting her deliciously wobbling, pillowy
black breasts to her son’s bully and his powerful, twitching alpha horsecock, a coy smile tugging at the
corner of her full, plump lips as she sultrily looked up at him… and set to wiggling her torso from side to
side, making her fat breasts sway side to side, knocking softly against each other.

Hunter grabbed her hair again. She couldn’t help moaning again as she looked up at him more
submissively than she’d ever looked at anyone in her entire life. No man had ever touched her like this,
treated her like such a… bitch. After years of marriage to her tepid husband, it was already making her
teeter on the precipice of another orgasm.

She came even closer to that precipice when Hunter thrust his hips forward, letting his white-hot,
pulsating, veiny monster of a teen cock slap down onto her cleavage. She felt it flopping and smacking
against her heavily as she kept jiggling her tits around for him. Her breaths came out more raggedly by
the second.
“Well? The fuck you waiting for, you dumb cheating old cunt?” Hunter growled, smirking that
insufferable smirk down at her. “Thank me for beating up your loser kid and fucking his girl.”

Monique should have slapped him.

A lot of people, probably, should have slapped him, over the years. Including his own mother.

Instead, her hooded, cockdrunk eyes still on his, she let out a helpless, instinctive moan at his
brusqueness and his power and his cruelty, her hips twitching — and she reached up, placed her hands
on either side of her breasts, and squeezed them, firmly, around Hunter’s rock-hard bully cock.

It was strange — she couldn’t see it, with him forcing her to look up at his rough, sneering teen features,
but somehow, just feeling it between her doughy-soft black mommy tits, her soft flesh effortlessly
yielding around it in a warm, sweaty, cushiony embrace of the flesh, made her reel over his impossibly
virile, potent size all over again. Even if she’d wanted to focus on the awful thing he’d just said to her,
about Trey, about Nia, practically daring her to snap out of it, she wouldn’t have been able to. Her
eyelashes fluttered, she moaned low and deep in her throat, her pussy clenching and unclenching
desperately, her entire body lost in the throes of the primal, overpowering euphoria of a bitch who knows
she’s finally pleasing and serving a true alpha male.

Monique had never really had much opportunity to jerk a man off with her breasts before. As proud as
she was of them, no man she’d ever been with had been big enough Down There, and any attempts
had been clumsy, awkward, not pleasurable for either of them, quickly abandoned for other ways to
make each other feel good. She’d never tried it with her husband. He’d never tried to prompt it. He
seemed almost scared of her breasts, like if he acknowledged them, it would remind them both that they
were just another part of her that he didn’t deserve.

It was almost scary how naturally it came to her now. Her desperate desire to please this hung brute
who made her son’s life hell was all she needed.

She hadn’t expected it to be so noisy. Outside her office, Mark Brennan, patiently hanging around and
waiting for her to finish dispensing justice on their school’s worst bully, was curious enough at the
muffled noises he was hearing to glance toward her door a few times — but just as her husband had sat,
passively, on their living room couch, hearing their daughter cumming her brains out on Hunter’s
massive dick, Mark simply kept standing there, oblivious to the fact that inside Monique’s office, she
was eagerly bouncing her lewdly squeezed-together, wobbling fat black breasts up and down Hunter’s
cock, filling the air with a sloppy concerto of wet squelches and fleshy slapping noises every time her
generous titmeat bounced like jello against Hunter’s firm, muscular groin.

“You don’t think I’m actually gonna stop bullying that little fag or anything, do you, bitch?”

Monique barely even understood the words. She just knew that the deep, rough tone, the arrogant,
superior cadence, made her belly flip, made her blood boil, made her smile stupidly up at him in a way
that was not Monique at all, licking her lips whorishly, lost in the boiling desire that was overflowing in
her simply from the act of servicing such a godly, veiny fat white bully cock. She kept working her
breasts up and down his twitching meat, moaning as she felt it throbbing more and more aggressively,
responding to her lewd ministrations.
“Maybe I’ll even stop by your dump of a house again sometime and see if your limpdick husband wants
to go another round. What you think?”

This time, the meaning of what he was saying managed to penetrate the haze of Monique’s
consciousness more — and later, when quiet was back upon her, Monique would be ashamed of the
queer, perverse thrill that shot up her spine at the thought of this absolute fucking stud asserting his
superiority again over the wimpy husband she’d grown to resent over the years.

Mercifully, she was saved having to answer him by his slimy, oozing fist of a cockhead bumping against
her lips after a particularly eager forward motion of her torso in the process of bouncing her wobbling,
cushiony black mommy-tits up and down his towering white Manhood. Unthinkingly, she moaned under
her breath and opened her mouth, letting her slimy pink tongue loll out over her fat glistening lips and
sloppily wriggle all over Hunter’s hard tip. Her moaning only grew in volume, her breathing growing
more ragged, her stomach flipping and flipping again excitedly, as she obsessed over the fact just his
cockhead felt bigger against her mouth than her husband’s entire cock.

It may not have seemed like an answer to her.

But it was the only answer Hunter needed.

“Fuck, everyone in this shithole thinks you’re some kinda fuckin queen, but you’re just another nasty
cheating whore with too much fat black ass and not enough Man in your life, aren’t you?” He breathed
hotly. “C’mere, bitch…”

Monique was more than a little embarrassed by the pang of genuine, heartrending disappointment when
Hunter’s rock-hard monster squelched its way out of the warm, pillowy embrace of her huge breasts —
but didn’t have time to dwell on it. Her dumb moans hitched in her throat, turning into a gasp as her
son’s bully placed his firm, strong hands on either side of her waist — and hauled her, bodily, right out of
her chair.

She could only blink, for a second. She was a whole lot of woman, and didn’t think anyone would ever
be able to manhandle her so easily.

She was even more surprised by the delirious, feminine giggle that came out of her when her sluggish
brain processed that Hunter had just managed it.

“So strong~” She slurred, processing the fact she was now standing on her feet, her chair sent skidding
back to thud against the wall behind her — just in time for him to spin her around, so that she was facing
her office door across her desk. A desk that came flying much closer when Hunter placed a rough hand
on the small of her back and shoved her forward, forcefully bending her over the imposing wooden desk
over which she’d spent the last decade of her life disciplining students, meeting with parents, hearing
the complaints and requests of school faculty.

A desk which, now, her low-hanging, heavy black breasts squished against, sending important papers
skidding to the side, crumpling under her torso, a few pens rolling off of the surface of the desk to clatter
to the carpet below, as the worst bully her school had ever known bent her over on top of it and roughly
hitched her skirt up around her wide, curved baby-bearing hips, exposing her shelf-like, 55 inches of
wobbling, faintly clapping black ass.

The rush of cold air against so much bare skin dispelled some of the heat that she’d been smothered by
ever since Hunter came into her office today — no, that was a lie, a self-serving lie, it was a heat that had
been smothering her ever since Mark Brennan had placed the phone on her desk and she’d seen her
wimpy son’s gorgeous girlfriend sucking off his hung white bully. Not much of the heat; it was much too
overpowering, by now, to dispel completely. But enough to make Monique, for just a moment, see her
situation clearly — bent over her desk in her own office, the heat from Hunter’s wet, hard homewrecker
monstercock radiating against her ass as he grabbed her soaked panties and shoved them brusquely
down, her wobbly, bubbly thickness making them hitch prematurely around her upper thighs.

“Oh fuck,” Monique whimpered in a small voice, her heartbeat freshly pounding in her ears. The
coolness of open air brushed over her sopping wet pussy and the dark pucker of her asshole, the feel of
Hunter’s strong, aggressive hands smacking down onto her phat chocolate cakes with sharp fleshy
noises and spreading her wide open making her entire body shudder. Whether it was more with dread or
anticipation, she couldn’t say.

In that moment, Monique had a sudden, desperate wish that she could take it all back.

She stared at her office door dead ahead — saw through it to Mark Brennan, standing there obliviously —
saw through him, through the hallways, through the classrooms, through everything, clear through to her
son. She could all but see him, in her mind, her sweet, meek, dorky Trey, sitting in one class or another,
still hurting from hearing his sister screaming in pleasure on Hunter’s cock two nights before…

…but comforting himself with the thought of his mother, who would always be there for him. Who would
always set things right.

“Wait,” Monique said. But she didn’t say it. She whispered it, weakly, barely able to hear herself. She
could almost see Trey perking up, hearing her even though Hunter couldn’t, turning to look at her over
his shoulder, giving her his shy little smile.

“Wait,” Monique whispered again. “Wai — ”

It happened all at once.

There was a sharp, meaty SMACK! that rang out like a gunshot, Hunter giving her big, bubbly black
mommy ass another hard, domineering slap.

It was followed, a split second later, by another slap. This one was fainter, duller, fleshier, but still
resounded in Monique’s ears for hours afterward.

It was the slap of Hunter’s crotch bumping against her bare, perfectly smooth phat black asscheeks as
he bottomed out inside her soaked cunt with one brutal thrust.

Trey’s gentle smile in her mind’s eye shattered like glass as she cried out, piercingly, just once.
Monique fainted.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

Her poor body wasn’t able to process it all. She’d never felt so much Man inside her. The feeling of her
pussy folds being brutally spread wider than she’d ever experienced, her entire hole instantly being
filled with so much cock that it sent tidal wave after tidal wave of pain and pleasure rippling through her
with catastrophic, mind-shattering force —

— the feeling of his powerful, fistlike cockhead, conquering her core, her womanhood, so utterly and
effortlessly that it knocked right up against her womb, as if to declare his right to claim it —

Monique didn’t hear herself crying out, easily loudly enough for the front office outside her door to hear.
The way everything paused outside her door, the secretaries and her Vice Principal all turning, curiously,
to look in her direction, didn’t even occur to her. The entire world stopped as her body overloaded. She
blacked out.

But Hunter wasn’t the type to let that stop him.

Monique came back into the world — her new world — already crying out in orgasm, her whole body
shaking and twitching and wobbling all over, her head tossing back and her tongue lolling out, her thighs
thumping rhythmically into her desk as Hunter pounded away at her sloppily squirting pussy, every slap
of his hips against her big black ass sending it gelatinously bouncing and wobbling and clapping.

She’d never felt anything like it. Never felt anything close to this. Her mind couldn’t wrap around it, and
so it did the only thing it could do: it shut down.

And without thoughts to get in the way, that last, fleeting opportunity for Monique Baptiste to ever be In
Control again was washed away by the white-hot euphoric pleasure gushing out of her pussy in wet,
sporadic bursts around the giant, marauding white bully cock thrusting roughly in and out of it.

“Oh FUCK,” she moaned, her eyes rolling feverishly, lashes fluttering, her voice coming out loud and
monotone like she’d just been deafened. Her hands scrambled randomly all over the surface of her
desk, fingers clutching and relaxing and clutching again, wrinkling countless papers, spasms of her arms
making them lash out and sending binders thudding to the floor. Her hips twitched and bucked in
uncontrollable, rapturous pleasure so frantically that it looked as if she was twerking, making her phat
cheeks ripple and jiggle all the more appetizingly for her son’s bully’s leering, hungry gaze. “Oh god oh
fuck oh FUCK OH FUCK — ”

She’d felt her orgasm tapering off — only for another thrust of Hunter’s hips to impale her on his
enormous, rock-hard gnarled alpha cock, every single fucking inch of him — and there were so many of
them, inch after inch after inch after inch pumping its way aggressively into her — rubbing her in all the
right ways, ways she’d never even imagined, making her feel things she’d never thought it was even
possible to feel. That strange, overwhelming heat so hot that she thought she would die but which made
her feel more alive than she ever had, erupted from the core of her again, and her toes curled, and her
hands spasmed on her desktop, and her entire body twitched and bucked and jiggled as a fresh burst of
hot, sticky fem-cum squelched and squirted out of her, sputtering messily out of every tiny gap that was
formed between her obscenely stretched pussy folds and Hunter’s giant, pumping bullydick.

This was the fucking worst.

This was the awful thug who had assaulted her husband — who bullied her son, had fucked his
girlfriend’s throat on what was supposed to be a pleasant date for the two of them —

And his mother’s sweet, honeyed cunt juices were splashing all over his bully’s lap as he made her
squirt for the second time just from a few thrusts of his unfairly well-endowed monster dick in and out of
her adulterous womanhood.

No — it turned out there was something worse.

Even worse was how all of that made Monique gush hot, spluttering climax all over Hunter’s big fat cock
again.

“I’m sorry, babyyyy…” she whined plaintively, and she tried to see Trey’s face again in her mind’s eye,
but there was nothing, nothing but the heat in her core and the pulling and stretching and fullness of her
pussy and the raw, animal stench of Fuck that filled the air around her.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry — ”

Monique bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut, tears of shame burning at her lids, repeating it over
and over again for as long as she could, hating the helpless little whimpers of pleasure that escaped out
of her no matter how hard she tried to rein them in, hating how with every passing second, the mantra of
remorse that she was clinging to in what was left of her mind was overpowered more by the deep, feral
grunts of snarls of pleasure coming from Hunter, behind her, as he conquered the fattest, finest ass in
school, in town, the one ass that no one ever thought he could conquer; by the nonstop, fleshy PAP!
PAP! PAP! PAP! PAP! of her heavy, doughy black asscheeks bouncing and clapping against his hips as
he ravaged her pussy just as thoroughly as he’d ravaged her daughter’s in full earshot of her helpless
husband; by the occasional sharp SMACK! of the bully’s strong white hands groping and manhandling
and spanking, making sure every inch of her perfect, bubbly mature black ass knew exactly who owned
it now.

By the way her stifled whimpers, quickly, turned back to moans. Sluttier and sluttier, more and more
reckless, until her head tossed back, and her eyes rolled back, and her tongue lolled out, and she smiled
stupidly up at her office door, the ashamed apologies to her son that he would never hear forgotten, her
vows to her husband forgotten, her basic moral decency forgotten, all of it melting in the face of tidal
wave after tidal wave of white hot pleasure sent rippling through her body by Hunter’s life-ruining
monstrosity of a white bullydick — and thanking him for it, time after time, with burst after burst of her hot,
sticky cunt juices, splashing messily back onto Hunter’s abs and his crotch and his veiny, pumping cock
and his swinging, heavy shaved ballsack, slapping meatily into her quivering, soaked thighs with every
thrust.

—
Outside the office, Mark Brennan exchanged a grim look with the front office secretary. He tried, again,
one of his patented, delicate knocks on the door; he was still too cowed by the Monique Baptiste that
he’d always known to dare anything more bold.

The office doors in their school were heavy enough that they soundproofed most everything — but he
could still hear Monique’s voice, at a volume he’d only ever heard when she was yelling at someone,
and it sure as hell didn’t sound like angry yelling right now.

He tried the doorknob again, his concern for her overriding his anxiety for a second.

Still locked. He’d thought he heard Hunter locking it when he shut the door, but he hadn’t thought much
of it, assuming the Mama Bear of their school would have it all Under Control, like she always did.

Mark looked back to the school secretary. She wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. She was staring
at the door, her lips faintly parted, a slight flush to her cheeks, clearly hearing exactly what Mark
suspected he was hearing but did not want to believe.

Somehow, the fascinated look on her face was what really made Vice Principal Mark Brennan feel well
and truly defeated.
 10 - Chapter Ten

Nia Avery was missing.

Not actually — no, she had been born in this unremarkable suburban town and had never given much
serious thought to leaving it for long. She was as much a town fixture as the statue of the abolitionist
icon in the commercial district, as the park through which the local river gurgled and trickled and, at
times, raged, as much a fixture, incidentally, as Monique Baptiste, the strong, independent matriarch so
heavily involved in local education and public events. People of the town knew Nia Avery. They smiled at
her when they saw her, felt the comforting warmth of the familiar and of her dimpled, bright smile.

But the girl who looked like Nia Avery no longer seemed like the one they knew.

It was the strangest thing. She’d been seen, practically skipping around town, just the weekend before,
arm-in-arm with the shy, quiet boy they knew equally well (and remarked, more often than they knew
they probably should, by any reasonable scale of decency, how odd it was for such a beautiful girl to be
dating such a nerdy, scrawny guy). All had seemed right with the world. Nia Avery and Trey Baptiste, out
on the town, handling the doting remarks of friendly adults at the movie theater and the ice cream shop
about what a cute couple they were with chipper grace and mumbling embarrassment, respectively.
They’d been seen at the park, licking at ice cream and giggling up a storm together.

Nia, though — Nia had never come out of that park.

The girl who did was a dead ringer, certainly — looked like her, sounded like her —

But surely this girl couldn’t be Nia Avery? The real Nia Avery?

It was a teacher who noticed it first, the Monday after Nia had been seen at the park. Her favorite
teacher, incidentally. There were other students in Mrs. Yannoupolis’s advanced World History II course
who downright dreaded the corny good rapport between her and Star Pupil Nia; rarely did a day go by
where they weren’t making nerdy history jokes together, where Mrs. Yannoupolis wasn’t lavishing the
girl with praise and remarking about how far she would go when she graduated, where Nia wasn’t
thrusting her hand into the air to answer a question mid-lecture as fiercely as if she were trying to create
a sonic boom from the motion instead of merely beating some less ambitious student to the punch.

Nia Avery did not raise her hand a single time that day. Barely made a peep any other day that week, for
that matter. She did her work, sure, and when, concerned, Mrs. Yannoupolis outright prompted her with
questions during her lectures to make sure the normally raptly attentive girl now staring idly out the
classroom windows was paying attention, Nia gave the right answers, albeit distractedly — but that was
not the Nia Avery anyone knew.

The girls who joined Nia at her usual after-school feminist club — a club that Nia herself had lobbied the
Principal for (and, of course, received permission almost immediately, since she was dating the
Principal’s son) — noticed that she was missing next. By then, it was mid-week, as it always was when
the club met in what was normally a journalism classroom (ASK QUESTIONS - BE INTREPID - BE
OBJECTIVE blared the banner over the marker board). A strange rumor was going around campus,
involving Nia and that awful, swaggering bully, Hunter, and the girls from the Feminist Voices club were
desperate to talk to their leader and hear with all of Nia’s normal confidence and boldness that the
rumors were bullshit, and plan exactly what they were going to do to get back at that misogynistic brute
for trying to smear the good name of a strong woman.

They were all relieved to find Nia Avery waiting for them in the Journalism classroom. And were promptly
left alarmed when, after talking frantically over each other about the rumors going around and asking Nia
what they were going to do about it, the girl who looked like Nia but could not really be her stared past
them for a moment, then gave them a forced, unconvincing smile, asked “Come on, girls, does that
sound like me?” and then excused herself and left, her bushy black hair bouncing and her wide hips
swaying as she made her way out of the room.

That wasn’t Nia Avery. It couldn’t be. For them, that girl was a role model. The youngest among them
practically saw her on the same level as the feminist icons they’d read about in their history classes.
She wouldn’t have left them with more questions than answers.

It was Nia’s parents who felt their daughter’s absence the most keenly.

It was a literal absence, in their case. They were at a loss — the girl who looked like their daughter was
acting like a bad, hollow impression of her. She’d always been such a bright spot in their home. She
would come bouncing in after school hours, offering to help around the house however she could,
proudly going on and on about her day while she did her homework in the kitchen or the living room
where they could rejuvenate their weary old bones with her youthful exuberance and daughterly love for
them.

Not this girl. This girl said the right words to them when she did have to interact with them, but they
seemed more like canned lines than the real thing, fake smiles and fake assurances that everything was
fine. Mostly, she closed herself in her room, and only emerged to get food, use the bathroom, and leave
for school the next morning. When, trying to start conversation one afternoon, her mother asked how
Trey was doing, Nia flinched as if struck, flatly answered that he was the same as always, and stormed
off, even the pretense at normalcy forgotten.

Their daughter was missing, and they did not know what to do about it. Nia’s mother even tried calling
Monique Baptiste, wondering if there was some blow-up between their kids that had left them in bad
moods that she might know about, but the normally warm and accessible Monique went silent at the
question, said she had work to do in a strangely, excessively apologetic tone, and abruptly ended the
call.

Surely they would have been even more confused had they known that almost the entire time this girl
who looked like their daughter but could not really be her was locked in her bedroom, she was moaning
into her pillow, her big, wobbling naked teen ass up in the air, frantically pumping her fingers in and out
of her tight virgin pussy as she went over the events in the local park the previous weekend over and
over again in her head, desperately trying to find just a fraction of the mind-shattering pleasure that had
rocked her fertile young black body over and over and over again as Hunter used her mouth and throat
to jerk off his giant, stinking white bully cock.

The more she rubbed and slapped and fingerfucked her desperate, needy cunt, the further that euphoric
high her boyfriend’s brutal bully had given her seemed to slip from her desperately grasping hands.

How was she supposed to focus on anything else, when all she could think about was the weight and
power of Hunter’s massive fuckslab draped over her face and the queer, dark thrill that had shot
through her from core to extremities whenever his deep, smug rough voice spoke so arrogantly down to
her?

Nia, too, knew something was wrong with her.

Of course she did. How could she not? She’d slobbered and gagged adoringly all over the throbbing,
veiny monstercock of the absolute last man on Earth she ever should have pleasured so eagerly — her
boyfriend’s bully, right around the corner from that same oblivious boyfriend, so close it was hard to
imagine he couldn’t have heard the occasional reckless throaty moan or sloppy squelching slurp of her
plump African lips pumping rapidly up and down Hunter’s giant white cock.

Oh, she’d made a real effort to pretend everything was fine, at first. She’d left Trey even more on edge
than he already was from being left alone and waiting in the park for so long, ice cream drying on his
shirt, when she returned to him far too chipper and bright, even for her. The giggling at the stain on his
shirt, something she always would have done, rang false instead of affectionate. When he asked why
her shirt was stained, too, when it had been spotless before, she’d loudly spoken over him about how
they had to get going, it was getting dark, and she hadn’t stopped talking the entire walk back to their
neighborhood, refusing to give him a chance to ask any questions. There had been no usual parting
kiss. She was terrified her poor, sulking Trey would smell his bully’s alpha male cockstench on her
breath if she tried that.

And that was when it had really sunk in that everything was not fine.

That everything was all wrong, in fact.

Most wrong of all was the way the lingering, nervous, bubbling heat deep in her belly, left there ever
since Hunter had blasted his salty, thick load right down her throat in the middle of the park, only
bubbled and frothed hotter still at the knowledge of just how wrong it all was.

For her, the week was a blur. She didn’t so much as notice the increasing concern of the world around
her. None of it mattered, right now. Mrs. Yannoupolis’s desperate attempts to engage her in World
History II — her feminist sisters’ scandalized gawking when, instead of full-throatedly denying the rumors
that Hunter had been spreading around campus, Nia had been forced to bite her plush, glistening lower
lip, her phat soft thighs rubbing together and her belly heating up at the mere mention of the bully’s
name… and brushed them off.

They would have been even more scandalized had they known Nia had gone right down the hall, to the
nearest ladies’ room, sat down in a stall, and spent the entire length of the Feminist Voices club
meeting with her long lashes fluttering and drool trickling down her delicate jawline, a lewd, subtle wet
squelching noise filling the bathroom as her hand worked frantically under her soaked panties, knowing
deep down she was developing a serious, crippling addiction to touching herself and reliving in her
delirious mind the savage facefucking Hunter had given her in the park, and still unable to stop herself.

Unwilling to stop herself.

Trey had texted her, for what had to be the dozenth time since they’d parted ways the previous
weekend, as she sat there on the school bathroom toilet, her jeans discarded to one side, her curvy,
long teen legs spread and her bushy black hair cushioning her head as she rested it on the wall behind
her, moaning dreamily under her breath as she remembered the stinging pain of Hunter’s huge white
hand brutally slapping her wobbling, clapping doughy-soft black assmeat as he so thoroughly claimed
her throat with an effortless, cruel dominance so unlike her pussy-ass far-too-gentle boyfriend. Nia, her
eyes clouded and lidded, had glanced at her phone, resting atop the toilet paper dispenser nearby. Had
seen the frantic texts from the sweet, nerdy boy she’d protected and doted on for her entire life, only to
cheat on him in a heartbeat as soon as his bully draped his throbbing, hot, monstrously heavy horsecock
over her face.

And Nia knew too, then, that the girl she’d always been was gone, because all the sight of his frantic
texts did was make her fantasize again, just like she had at the park, about him, instead of sitting on that
park bench like a good little puppy waiting for his owner, stumbling on Hunter using her, seeing his
muscular, towering white bully smirking as he pumped his perfect, juicy, enormous cock in and out of her
gagging, slobbering throatpussy, making her entire fertile, ripe young body jiggle and wobble and spasm
with orgasm just from his roughness and his dominance and his Male power — and Nia could only pray
that no one else had come into the bathroom as she lost herself in that heated, fucked-up vision,
because it was what made her head loll back and her long lashes flutter and her broad, soft curvy hips
buck and convulse, cumming all over her feverishly masturbating hand in the stark lighting of the school
restroom, getting off on the memory of Hunter’s degradation and objectification of her even as the
feminist after-school club she herself had founded was meeting down the hall.

It took a long time, it seemed, for her to come down from that climax. Nia wondered if this was what drug
addiction felt like. She sat there, staring dreamily at the wall ahead of her, panting for breath, her entire
body tingling, her trembling, slender black fingers unable to stop rubbing idly at her dripping, starved
womanhood, her other hand unconsciously squeezing and pawing at her own perky, soft breasts over
her shirt, wishing it was Hunter’s hand instead.

All she could think about, the stubborn, insistent thought flashing through her mind, over and over again,
in time with the drumbeat of her own pattering heartbeat in her ears, was that as good as this felt — the
real thing had been even better…

Her phone buzzed again, screen lighting up with another text. Nia had ignored Trey’s texts for days,
usually too busy pumping her fingers in and out of her cunt to handle her phone. He’d timed this one
just right, though, apparently, because as she was still riding the aftershocks of this most recent orgasm,
she was distracted enough to reflexively reach out and pick up her phone, her clouded eyes running
over the message a few times.

Nia’s brow furrowed as, after a few re-reads, the content of her boyfriend’s message managed to
penetrate a mind that had been dick-drunk for the entire week just from sucking his bully’s fat white
monstercock once. She sat forward on the toilet, her heartbeat, which had been calming down, picking
back up.

It was the reaction Trey would have wanted to his text.

But not at all for the reason he would have wanted it.

Her eyes were only scanning, re-scanning, scanning again, over one portion of the desperate, pleading
message:

Hunter will be there

Hunter was far from the only one there.

It was a Friday night. The school week was over. And the kind of classmates that Nia and Trey had
always been diametrically apart from, the ones that had been baffled for so long by Nia’s refusal to join
their ranks of attractive and popular students and who had always essentially just ignored Trey other
than to occasionally comment on how weird it was Nia dated him, were unwinding at a party to kick off
the weekend, like they often did.

It just so happened that this weekend, Janelle Baptiste was hosting it.

It wasn’t often that she could. After all, her mother was Monique Baptiste, Mama Bear, the
well-respected queen of their high school fiefdom. It was hard enough for most of the more popular kids
to find a night they could host a party at their home, let alone the daughter of the school Principal. But for
the first time Janelle could remember in her entire life, her mother was missing in action as the usual
Stern Matriarch — in fact, she was missing in action, period. She’d not seen much of Monique the entire
week, and while it wasn’t unusual for her mother to stay late at work, it was certainly unusual to receive
a text letting her know that there was, apparently, so much work for her to catch up on that she wouldn’t
be home tonight, that she would be staying at a hotel.

It was probably the strangest text Janelle had ever received from her. It set off more than one alarm bell;
she didn’t buy for a second the explanation for her mother not coming home tonight.

For just a moment, Janelle became sharply anxious. She thought of how her mother had been ‘off’ only
since that world-shattering afternoon when Hunter had stopped by, after days of what she’d assumed
was innocent flirting with him online, and plowed her all night long in her bedroom, making her entire
family listen as she screamed and moaned and came over and over and over again on her brother’s
bully’s massive bitch-claiming monster cock. Had her mother been more upset by that than she
realized? Whatever was wrong with her now, was it Janelle’s fault?

Janelle, however, was not like her brother. She didn’t dwell inside her own head. Not ten minutes later,
she’d already sent invites to everyone who mattered at school to come get fucked up and have fun at
her place that night.
Her mother — let alone her father, as ever at work until much later, and who she was far from worried
about anyway, never having less respect for him than she did now, after how effortlessly Hunter had
swatted him aside and manhandled her right in front of him — was the farthest thing from her mind now,
as bass-heavy, catchy pop music blared on the speaker system that had been set up in their living room
during simpler times, when its only purpose was family movie nights, dozens of sweaty, tipsy high school
seniors ranging from suggestively to barely clothed laughed and shouted and gyrated on the cleared
living room floor. Janelle stood by the kitchen table where she’d set up the booze and the food, enjoying
the sight of the first party she’d been able to host at home since she was a freshman and her parents
had been off on a trip. All of the usual living room lights were off, only the lamp from her own room that
she’d set up down here flashing through various colors in rhythm with the music thanks to the wonders
of The App.

She laughed along with everyone else as one of the more intoxicated students, a muscled football team
star player, toppled to the carpeted floor, coughing up beer after a failed attempt to down an entire
six-pack. One of his jock friends, yelling barely comprehensible taunts, upended his own beer over the
half-coughing, half-laughing star player, prompting more laughter and trash-talking from the other
students. His girlfriend rolled her eyes and stormed off toward the bathroom, stumbling a little herself,
clearly not wanting to suffer the embarrassment of being associated with him right now. Janelle allowed
herself a sly smile into her red plastic cup as she sipped some beer herself. She hated that bitch. If she
hadn’t been dating such a hot football player, she would never have invited her.

That didn’t keep Janelle’s attention for long, though. Enjoying the sight of the party she’d set up was
only part of why she was standing back here where the view of the whole thing was best.
There was only one invite she’d sent out that had sent a thrill up her sprine, made a perverse heat
originating between her thick, curvy legs tingle through her entire body. There was only one guy who she
was trying to impress with her slutty outfit, a skin-tight black strapless dress with plunging neckline that
left the considerable, soft cleavage she’d inherited from her mother jiggling scandalously every time she
moved, artful gaps in the cloth running down both sides of her torso to show her flawless chocolaty
complexion, only for the bottom of the dress to end right beneath her groin, leaving almost her entire
legs smooth and bare, the bottom of her enormous, shelf-like asscheeks spilling out behind, and six-inch
stiletto heels clacking on the tiles as she shifted restlessly.

And then she saw him.

Janelle wasn’t taking a sip from her drink, but she still gulped as if she had. Her expression turned
dreamy as she saw him there — she didn’t know when he’d shown up, but Hunter was sprawled out on
the living room couch, shoved to one side of the living room. He was the only one there, the other
students understandably keeping a distance, the other guys terrified of him, more than one of the other
girls clustered together giggling and looking toward him. Janelle felt a flare of jealousy, glaring at one of
them who she’d just caught checking him out like she wanted to stab her. Not that she could blame her.
Hunter was wearing one of his usual sleeveless, form-fitting shirts that showed off his burly, powerful
torso, and sitting like he was with his strong, muscled legs sprawled to either side, that enormous bulge
in his shorts was catching the flashing, cycling light just right…

“Yo holy shit, is that who I think it is?”

The naked surprise in the voice coming from near Janelle shook her out of her dreamy admiration of
Hunter. She glanced over to where she’d heard the voice, saw a couple of the students pouring
themselves some beer gawking, not at Hunter like she expected, but toward the front door of the house.
Curious, Janelle looked that way.

Her jaw dropped.

Nia hadn’t felt so many eyes boring into her since she’d played the female lead in a school play two
years earlier.

Even with the music blaring loudly enough that the neighbors were probably going to end up calling the
police for a noise disturbance, it was almost instantaneous — everyone at the party, it seemed, was
staring at her, more than one mouth agape.

Nia wondered if it was more because of the fact she had showed up to one of their parties at all —
something she’d never done and had sworn she never would — or because the girl who, all week, had
looked like Nia Avery but surely couldn’t really be her now did not even look like Nia Avery.

She still had the fluffy bush of black hair framing her head. She still had the cute, pleasantly rounded,
dimpled face and big, pretty, long-lashed eyes and soft, plush lips. She still had the glasses with the
thick black frames.

But Nia wasn’t just owning the rocking body that she and everyone had known she had for years, like
she usually did, with clothes that did not hide it.

She was flaunting it.

She’d never dressed like this in her life, for anything. She only had the outfit because she’d hoped, one
day, to thrill Trey with it, back before the naive dream that he was more than he ended up being was
shattered by her first nervous, excited reach into his pants. After that day — after she’d been left staring
in disappointment at the feeble, watery offering her boyfriend’s tiny penis had produced for the trouble
of her soft, warm female touch — she’d let the clothing gather dust in her closet, forgotten.

Forgotten until she’d seen Trey’s text begging for her to come save him from the party his sister was
planning to throw tonight. The text where he mentioned his bully would be here.

Suddenly, this outfit was the only thing she’d been able to think about.

Nia blushed as she made her way into the house, into the heat of the bodies and the thud of the music
and the flashing of the dim lights, feeling all those eyes on her gawking as her curvy, thick body jiggled
and wobbled all over, showcased by a top that was more of a bra than anything, a pinkish flesh-colored
piece that wrapped around her chest and made her breasts practically spill out over the top, squeezed
tightly together, leaving her midriff completely bare. It was matched by the same-colored thigh-high
leggings she wore, just as the way the soft, pillowy flesh of her thick black thighs was left bare matched
her smooth, flat belly. White heels clacked on the floor, her decency only protected by a tiny white
miniskirt that her wide hips and protruding, wobbling fat black ass reduced to an even smaller size than it
was designed to be, every shift of her legs as her heels clicked on the floor and brought her deeper into
the Baptiste residence making the skirt move around and provide tantalizing glimpses at the pinkish
panties beneath, stark against her darker, flawless skin.

Her progress into the house was stopped, briefly, by two classmates she vaguely recognized, too busy
gawking at her to get out of the way. One of them, a tall long-haired Asian boy with a pleasantly smooth
deep voice who had once tried harder than most to get a date with her, swallowed visibly as she stood
before him, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He was trying so hard not to stare right down her tiny top and
her generous, wobbling cleavage that she could practically see the sweat beading on his brow from the
herculean effort.

“N—Nia?” He managed, eloquently.

“Hi, Alex,” Nia said in a small voice, feeling her cheeks flush deeply. The spell that Hunter had cast over
her had made her want to wear this outfit for him more badly than she could remember wanting anything
for quite a while, but suddenly, she was regretting the decision.

The music shifted to something even faster, livelier, catchier. There were some approving exclamations
from the students on the living room floor that had become a dance floor. Mercifully, many of them,
distracted by the music, returned to dancing and yelling at each other to be heard over it, though there
were plenty of curious, lingering glances her way.

“Wow,” Alex croaked, his eloquence knowing no bounds. His voice sounded like he’d been stranded in
a desert without water for years. He cleared his throat. He had lost his noble inner struggle and, Nia
observed, was now staring blatantly right down her cleavage. “You look…” He searched for the
appropriate, stirring words, and ended up with: “…Wow.”

His friend elbowed him, harder than he probably had to. Alex winced. “Hey, what the fuck?”

“Dude! You’re staring right at her tits!”

“Whatever! So are you!”

“Shut up!”

Nia was saved the trouble of having to respond to any of this by a soft hand suddenly grabbing her by
the elbow. She turned to see Janelle standing there. Nia brightened without thinking about it, relieved to
see a familiar face. “Nellie!”

Janelle had a strange look on her face that Nia couldn’t quite read. She was staring at her body, just
like everyone else had been. The expression on the slightly older girl’s face when she did turn her
long-lashed eyes up toward Nia’s, however, was much easier to read, her well-groomed eyebrows
furrowed in confusion. “Nia, what are you doing here?”

Nia had been lulled into such reflexive comfort, being around her boyfriend’s sister, a girl she’d known
for just as long as she’d known Trey, that for just a moment she was about to respond like she always
would have, mild indignation on her face, the words forming in her mind and ready to spill out of her lips:
What do you mean, what am I doing her? I’m Trey’s girlfriend! This is his house! I’m here to see him,
of cou —

But that wasn’t true, was it?

That much was even clearer on her features as she stared back at Janelle — and then past her, where
she could see Trey emerging out of the darkness surrounding the dance floor to stand hesitantly by the
kitchen table, where drinks and snacks were laid out. He looked absolutely miserable. Of course he did.
He was Trey Baptiste, and he was stuck at home while his sister threw a party full of all the kinds of
classmates he had never gotten along with.

Nia’s heart melted, at that. Melted even more as, when their eyes met across the party, the discomfort
on his face was broken, just slightly, by a hopeful little smile. His Nia had shown up to rescue him, like
she always did.

Nia felt her lips twitch, her heart breaking as she returned his smile, thinking about how, hours ago,
she’d just finished frenziedly rubbing her pussy to climax thinking about him watching Hunter gag her on
his huge bully cock in the park. Thinking about all the texts she’d ignored from him over the last week
because she was too busy touching herself and wishing Hunter was touching her instead.

But seeing that little, hopeful smile on his face… feeling the old reflex to protect it that she’d had since
they were both just a couple of little kids, sneaking spiders into Bobby Ray’s lunchbox…

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe the girl who was only pretending to be Nia Avery, right now, could be Nia Avery for real again.

“Shit, I don’t know which one of you fat-assed black sluts looks more fuckable right now.”

Nia’s smile vanished at the same time Trey’s did. Janelle’s hand tightened on her arm.

Hunter loomed over the two of them, his white teeth bared in the usual vicious, dangerous grin.

Alex and his friend scurried away, the former looking over his shoulder up at the towering, burly bully
with almost just as much awe as he’d displayed staring at Nia’s breasts. They moved off in the
direction of the kitchen table, obscuring Nia’s view of Trey just as her poor boyfriend’s face was
collapsing into naked dread at the sight of Hunter stomping up to his girlfriend and his sister.

Flustered, Nia turned to face Hunter instead, her heart thudding loudly in her ears — and now it was her
turn for her jaw to drop.

Janelle was pressed right up against her brother’s hulking bully, grinding her hips right up against his
crotch, her huge bubbly black ass wagging like an excited dog’s tail as she locked lips with him.
The wet squelching of their lips mashing together was audible to her even over the thudding, thumping
music filling the entire house.

“Do you mean it… mmn… pwah~ …Daddy~?” Janelle cooed between the wet, greedy kisses, looking up
at Hunter with a neediness that made even Nia, knowing full well how needy she’d felt over the last
week, curl her lip a little. “Do I really look…. mmmmn~ …fuckable~?”

The music around them seemed to fade into a dull roar in Nia’s ears. Her heart raced in her chest. She
stared at Hunter and Janelle, brow furrowed, mind racing as she absorbed what she was hearing.

Daddy…?

Did Janelle just call him… Daddy?

The heart thudding in her chest broke all over again.

She’d had no idea.

She’d known Janelle was a flirt, sure — that she’d even crossed the line in the past by flirting with
Hunter, despite the fact he made her brother’s life miserable —

But this…

Nia looked, helplessly, over toward the kitchen table again. She had a clear view of Trey. A clear view of
him frozen in place, his face bleak and miserable as he watched his own sister making out with and
grinding up against his bully in front of everyone.

Oh, Trey…

If I’d known… oh Trey if I’d known, I never would have…

She didn’t even realize she was starting to instinctively move off toward her boyfriend until Hunter’s
deep, gruff voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Nia froze, stiffened. She clamped her lips together, taking a deep breath, and turned back to face Hunter
and Janelle. She was still melting into the towering, muscled white boy, one of her slender black hands
caressing over his hard, burly chest, pouting sulkily at Nia and giving her a resentful look that all but said
You interrupted my kiss, you bitch.

Hunter had one big, thick-fingered hand planted right on the swell of Janelle’s phat teen ass, hitching
her black dress up as his powerful digits sunk possessively into the soft flesh, squeezing and kneading
at it. Janelle licked her cushioned African lips, pushing her ass back eagerly into his hand and smiling
dreamily at up him, even as his gaze was focused entirely on Nia.

Nia hated the surge of ferocious, all-consuming jealousy that flared in her at the sight of Janelle with
Hunter more than she’d ever hated anything.

Hunter’s hooded dark eyes followed along with where Nia had been moving off to. His grin widened,
turning even more predatory, as he noticed Trey standing there. The smaller boy looked like he was
about to piss himself — like he wanted to turn tail and run, but his legs had forgotten how to work.

“Haaah, guess I shoulda known that little wimp would be here, but I thought maybe he’d at least have
the brains to run off and hide with one of his punching bag friends,” Hunter crowed, snickering. His
dangerous eyes turned back to Nia, and openly looked her up and down, hungrily drinking in the sight of
all the soft, jiggling flesh she was displaying. After a lifetime of despising men for such behavior, it still
shook Nia just how different it felt when Hunter did it. How, instead of disgust, all she felt was her belly
doing somersaults, heating up, a sick desperate thought slipping into her consciousness before she
could even begin to clamp down on it — oh god I hope he likes it does he like it am I good enough oh
please please please —

“I think we both know who you dolled yourself up for like that, bitch,” Hunter drawled, that insufferable,
endlessly self-satisfied grin on his rough, thuggish face as his intense eyes locked with hers. Nia’s
knees wobbled. “And it wasn’t for that fuckin cuck.”

Nia was paralyzed. Her breaths came out in light, ragged panting. Her entire body felt strangely,
inexplicably white-hot.

She didn’t know which Nia was stronger. The one that wanted to run over to Trey, comfort him like she
always had, make sure he knew that even though his sister was betraying him in such an awful way, he
could still always count on her —

Or the Nia that had spent the last several days cooped up in her bedroom, her phat black ass up in the
air, her juices staining her sheets over and over again as she masturbated non-stop to the memories of
slobbering on Hunter’s cock in the town park.

She wanted to fucking slap him, right now, but that wasn’t why her hand was trembling.

She observed, with the distant, academic air of a scholar taking notes on animal behavior, that it was
taking every ounce of self-control she had not to shove her hand right down her panties to rub at the
pussy she could feel soaking them right now.

That was the moment Nia realized —

She did know which part of her was stronger.

She just didn’t want to admit it.

Hunter gave Janelle’s ass a firm smack that sent her thick, bubbly black cheeks bouncing and clapping
together, made her whimper approvingly, and then he let go of her, and stomped up to Nia, instead. Nia
watched him approach with all the helplessness of a wounded gazelle watching the approach of a
hungry lion, every last vestige of the girl she’d ever been mustering to at least let her glare up at him. At
least, until her eyes were drawn, just as helplessly, to the sight of that massive, stiffening bulge in his
shorts, bouncing and flopping heavily as he walked up to her. Several of the students around them
slowed in their dancing, stopped, watching tensely.

“Well?” Hunter’s deep, rough voice rumbled through the core of her from so close, just as it had in the
park. Butterflies erupted in Nia’s belly only to melt in the heat bubbling within it, too. She rubbed her
thick, soft thighs together under her tiny white miniskirt. “You dress up like that for the Man who gives
you what your limpdick boyfriend can’t, fat-ass?”

Nia’s mouth felt impossibly dry. She told herself that was why she had to take a moment to answer,
running her slimy pink tongue over her lips as she slowly turned her eyes up to Hunter’s face, glaring up
at him. It was meant to be as vicious as she could muster. All she could muster was a pout. “You’re…”
She swallowed thickly. “You’re… a fucking asshole.”

She gasped, the pout vanishing and replaced by a look that was at once fear and something else,
something she didn’t want to believe was arousal, as Hunter abruptly grabbed her by her hair and
forcefully tugged her head back, forcing her to look up at him even more directly, baring her neck — and
her jiggling chocolate cleavage — to him in a primal display of rough submission. “I asked you a fucking
question,” he growled, his breath hot on her face.

The music kept thudding, but the air around them felt stiflingly quiet, somehow, as every student in
eye-line and earshot had stopped and was staring at what was happening, some of them looking back
and forth from the two of them over to Trey. Likely the ones who had grown up with them, had seen Nia
and Trey as inseparable for their entire lives, had begun to think nothing could come between them.

It almost came bubbling out of Nia like water bursting out of a damn that could no longer hold it back. A
week’s worth of pent-up, desperate need. A week’s worth of desperately wishing that this fucking brute
she hated could manhandle her like this again in the way she loved, had craved for far longer than
she’d been willing to admit. She stared up at Hunter, silently pleading, a low whimper escaping her,
panting, one hand coming up to rest gently on his burly arm… and the other, irresistibly, creeping down
between her thighs, unable to help herself despite everyone watching.

Despite Trey watching.

Nia, her eyes locked on Hunter’s, nodded.

It didn’t even matter, really, what he’d asked. Most of the people watching had no idea, thanks to the
thudding, all-consuming music blaring over the speakers. Trey certainly couldn’t have heard it, from his
distance.

But what he saw — what everyone in the room saw — said everything. Hunter looming over her, his shorts
tenting with that monstrosity of a teen bully-cock crammed into them, his hand domineeringly gripping
her hair — and her, a hand idly rubbing at her crotch under her skirt, a pleading, submissive look on her
sweet, pretty black face as she nodded obediently up at him.

It was what they all saw next, though, that they would be gossiping about at school for a long time to
come.
—

Janelle had thought she’d seen it all when Nia Avery, of all people, showed up at her party. And not
only that — she’d showed up at the party dressed like a fucking skank.

She’d known, right then, that something was up. The obvious explanation anytime Nia had shown up at
the Baptiste household, ever since they were little kids, had been to hang out with Trey. But no one, not
even Nia, would have ever showed up for Trey dressed like that. Childhood sweethearts Janelle could
buy, to some extent. She’d even always been vaguely appreciative to Nia, as weird as she thought the
younger girl was, for giving her poor, loser brother a bright spot in his life, a shot with a girl so far out of
his league.

Nia wasn’t dressed for a childhood sweetheart. Sure as hell not this one.

She was dressed for a Man.

And there was only one Man at this party that Janelle had known, deep down, right away, could ever
change some do-gooder feminist type like Nia so thoroughly, so fast.

She’d been right. And as annoyed as she was to have Hunter’s attention turned elsewhere — the
lingering, stinging sensation on her wobbling black asscheek as she moved around the fringes of the
party now only made her more annoyed that Hunter wasn’t making her big fuckable teen ass hurt even
more — what she was seeing now, on the dance floor, made it all worth it.

“Bet you didn’t know she could dance like that, did you, little bro?”

Trey didn’t so much as indicate he’d heard her as she joined him at the kitchen table. He was too busy,
like so many others at the party, watching Nia and Hunter dance.

Well — it wasn’t really fair to say that they were both dancing. All Hunter had to do was stand there.

Nia was doing all the work.

Janelle had to admit she was impressed. She didn’t know the prudish, stridently feminist girl had it in
her. Gone was the girl she’d always known, striding around town with a look that practically dared any
and all men to say something about the curvy, fertile teen body she and everyone else knew she had —
and in her place was just another high school slut, tossing her curly black hair over her shoulder as she
bent forward at her waist, her breasts all but spilling out of her tiny top, shoving her phat black ass right
up against the massive, visibly throbbing tent in Hunter’s shorts, grinding and twerking against it,
making her shelf-like, cushiony asscheeks bounce and clap and jiggle lewdly for everyone to see.

Everyone knew there was only one person that Nia cared about seeing her wanton, slutty display of
desire, though. And he wasn’t any shyer about showing it. Hunter was smirking with even more
arrogance than usual, watching goody-two-shoes Nia, fabled warrior against bullies throughout her
school career, the girl who had defended Trey Baptiste from countless of them over the years, bouncing
her big wobbly black ass back and forth against his crotch despite knowing full well he was the worst
bully who had ever tormented Trey.
Janelle puckered her lips through her sly grin as she watched, cooing in theatrical approval as Nia
popped and locked her curvy hips with a particular flourish, making her clapping asscheeks rotate
around and wobble more lewdly than ever, her tiny white skirt hitching up around her waist so that only
her flesh-colored panties provided any decency at all. There were hoots and calls from the students
dancing around them as Hunter rewarded her for it by slapping a huge white hand down onto her
twerking ass, filling the air with a sharp fleshy SLAP! that rang out clearly even over the music.

That much, at least, finally got a reaction from Trey. His whole body flinched at the sound, at the sight of
his bully smacking his girlfriend’s fat black ass right in front of every popular senior from school — and
her only responding with a sultry, feminine cry, the same dimpled smile that had always brightened his
days now on her sweet face as she looked pleadingly back at Hunter and rubbed her jiggling gelatinous
ass-padding firmly up against his throbbing, monstrously tenting crotch.

Despite the wicked amusement Janelle couldn’t help feeling — she’d never really liked her brother very
much, sometimes detesting being stuck as the sister to the kind of weird dork she’d always mocked and
avoided at school — he was still her brother, and a pang of sympathy shot through her at the clear
humiliation and pain Trey was going through.

Only a pang, though.

Because as fucked-up as it was…

this fucking turned her on.

Her brother was a little beta male. It had always bothered her, on some level, that he’d been able to
avoid the truth of that for so long thanks to Nia’s protection and attachment to him, and that she couldn’t
teach him his place, either, as his sister, their mother always making sure she was nice to him.

Hunter, though — Hunter was all Man.

He was the kind of Man who got whatever the fuck he wanted. Took it, from beta males like her loser
brother. Her loser father.

And seeing him take Nia Avery from Trey Baptiste — so effortlessly — the sheer brute force of his Male
power making a girl that pure and loyal betray her childhood sweetheart, in front of so many others —

Janelle knew, on a basic moral level, that she should have been kicking Hunter out of her party for doing
this. But all she wanted to do, instead, was saunter out there onto the dance floor, shove his shorts
down, and worship that perfect, giant, veiny white bully cock of his for being such a fucking stud.

She couldn’t resist. She made her way up to her brother, leaning in over his shoulder to speak, low and
intimately, right into his ear, making sure he could hear her over the music and the heartbeat no doubt
thudding in his ears.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Trey~?”

Her brother stiffened.

“Oh, I bet I know…” Janelle let out an exaggerated, simperingly feminine sound of sympathy, a wicked
smirk tugging at her plush African lips as she glanced down, noticing the tiny little stiffy in her brother’s
pants. She had to fight to hold back laughter at the sight. She was so deep in her lust for Hunter’s alpha
brutality that it only made her want to rub it into this limpdick she had to call a brother even more, no
matter how wrong she knew it was. She leaned in closer, her soft lips brushing against Trey’s ear, her
breath hot on his skin. “Watching your girlfriend rub her nice, soft ass all over your bully’s big, fat, strong
cock like that… mn~ I bet it makes you think about how she would look bouncing alllll that ass up and
down on his perfect fucking stud-cock instead of just grinding on it, huh~?”

She let the last words come out in a sultry, breathy tone, wicked arousal pulsing through her from her
pussy on up, letting out years of pent-up derision for what a wimp her brother was. She giggled at the
way his breathing was picking up, the way she noticed his fist clenching in helpless, impotent frustration.

The way that pathetic, tiny nub barely pushing at his pants was straining so hard, like it desperately
wanted to try to size up to the big, life-ruining cock so clearly tenting his bully’s shorts and turning his
loyal, protective girlfriend into nothing but a cheating bitch in heat.

Janelle let out a taunting, musical feminine laugh into her brother’s ear.

“Awww, you poor thing~! Look at that little babydick… no wonder she’s so desperate for Hunter’s big
mean bully cock~”

Janelle observed, distantly, that she was picking up on Nia’s cue from earlier, reaching right under her
dress to rub at her soft, damp mound over her panties. The memory of how brutally Hunter had split it
open, claiming her every way a Man could claim a bitch, in ways her perma-virgin brother would only
ever be able to dream of doing for a woman, made the wicked arousal pulsing through her burn even
hotter. She watched Nia and Hunter on the dance floor with her brother as she kept breathily moaning
into Trey’s ear, watched the younger girl straightening up, her back against Hunter’s powerful broad
chest, one arm reaching up to hook around his shoulder, a dainty hand resting against his neck as she
leaned slightly forward again and rapidly twerked and bounced her bubbly, clapping black ass against
his massive cock-outline in his shorts, her pretty face clouded, unseeing, teeth biting softly and lewdly
down into her plump lower lip with blatant lust.

“Did you tug that little limp worm when you saw the pic going around school, little bro…? C’mon~ I know
you saw it~ Everyone has… Nia looked so fugging pretty with her lips wrapped around his giant fugging
white cock, didn’t sheee~?”

Trey’s whole body bucked, shaking Nia out of it for just a second as mild, reflexive concern borne from
an entire life as his sister broke through the fugue of her tipsiness and the heat brought on by Hunter’s
dominance of her and her brother and his girlfriend — until she absorbed what had caused it.

A dark, all-too-obvious stain was spreading over the tiny little nub poking at Trey’s pants.

Janelle burst out laughing, unable to help it even if some stray stirring of mercy had compelled her to. It
was the same laugh Trey would have seen her and her bitchy friends directing at the dorks they would
make fun of at school, a look of derisive amusement on Janelle’s beautiful, trashily made-up black
features, one hand covering her mouth as the other pointed at his crotch.

“Ohmygawwwd Trey are you serious~? Did you just cum in your fucking pants~? Like it’s not bad
enough you have such a pathetic little dickie in the first place, you actually came watching your girl twerk
all up on your bully’s big fat dick~? Aaaahahaha you really are a fucking loser~!”

Trey was staring in horror at his own crotch, like he couldn’t quite believe it for himself what had just
happened — only for his attention to twitch back upward, toward the dance floor, as they heard a stirring
in the crowd. They were moving aside, making way… as Hunter, hitching Nia up against himself with his
powerful, muscled arms, her curvy black legs wrapped around his waist, her breasts jiggling right up
against his face, making her giggle breathlessly at his display of strength, stomped off with her, heading
toward the stairs that led to their house’s bedrooms. The crowd cheered them along uproariously,
though Janelle noted more than a few of them were not cheering, looking more concerned and
disquieted at the display of their school’s longtime purest girl reduced to a trashy slut grinding and
twerking up on the worst bully their class had ever known.

“Oh, my,” Janelle simpered with false concern, coming up behind Trey and wrapping her arms around
his waist, giggling at how stiff and uncomfortable he felt in her embrace. “Where do you think your
girlfriend is off to with Hunter, baby brother~?” She leaned in to murmur into his ear again, her tone
cutesy and mocking. “Whatcha gonna do about it~?”

Her brother, known best for his silence and his meekness, did what he so often did. He said nothing. But
from the broken way he stared at the staircase his girlfriend had just disappeared up into with his bully, it
was clear he knew just as well as she did.

Janelle only wished she was the one he was taking upstairs again.
 11 - Chapter Eleven

It wasn’t just all the other senior students Janelle had invited to her house party watching the girl who
looked like Nia Avery, but was not her, debase herself in front of everyone — including her own childhood
sweetheart — by twerking and grinding her big, bubbly black teen ass against the throbbing monstrous
bulge of the school’s most brutal, mean white bully.

The Nia Avery they all had known for so long was watching, too. Somewhere, locked away, deep down
in a consciousness churning and burning with heat and repressed animal needs, unable to claw her way
back to the surface, she watched herself. Didn’t even recognize herself.

Who was this girl, her poofy bush of curly black hair swinging with wild abandon from side to side,
shooting sultry looks over her shoulder at the big stomping misogynist brute she was supposed to hate
as she made his giant rock-hard cock, about to burst out of his shorts, bounce and flop around on her
jiggling, clapping fat ass on the dance floor? Who was this girl looking up at him with a naked neediness
that all but begged him to approve of how she popped and locked her wide, curvy hips for him,
presenting her ass like a bitch in heat, moaning out loud for all the classmates she’d worked so hard
and so long to impress as Different From The Other Girls as Hunter smacked one side of her bouncing
chocolaty assmeat and then the other, spurring her on so crudely, instead of turning around, calling him
a pig, and slapping him?

Oh.

She knew exactly who this was.

This was the Nia Avery whose position had been reversed, a couple years back — watching, from within,
frustrated and annoyed and simmering with resentment, as Trey Baptiste, too nervous to make eye
contact with her, told her she looked really nice in that pretty orange dress… but begged her please,
don’t make him take her to the school dance. He didn’t know how to dance, and a lot of the guys there
would probably want to mess with him, and besides she knew him, dances just weren’t his thing.

The Nia who had wanted to scream at him — when are you going to stop being such a pussy, Trey, it
was kind of cute when you were a kid but we aren’t KIDS ANYMORE, TREY, I’m a woman now and
you’re supposed to be a MAN, MY MAN, and you need to STEP UP and let me FEEL LIKE A WOMAN
ONCE IN A WHILE — even as the other Nia, on the outside, smiled sympathetically, tried not to look
down at the dress she’d spent her saved-up money on to try to dazzle Trey enough to make him go
against his own nature and actually want to take her to a dance, show off the gorgeous girl on his arm,
resigning herself instead to simply pecking him on his cheek with her soft moist lips and telling him it was
okay, not to worry about it, he was still her Blabbermouth.

She’d even really convinced herself that it was okay, for a while.

And then Hunter had come along.

This fucking asshole she wanted so badly to hate, a hulking, muscle-bound sexist bully who liked to
push around sweet boys like Trey…

And that giant… throbbing… heavy… meaty cock.

Why did he have to be such a…

Man?

Why did he have to be so much more of a Man than…

No. It hadn’t been okay, after all, back then.

And now here she was, because of that night and so many others like it, bent forward with her hands on
her knees, her eyes heavily lidded and clouded with desire, her normally sweet dimpled smile a sultry,
slutty perversion of itself, looking over her shoulder at her boyfriend’s bully, in her boyfriend’s house no
less, thudding pop music booming in the air as she wiggled her fat wobbling black asscheeks up against
the twitching monstercock tenting his shorts so obscenely, girls she’d once told herself she was so
much purer and Better Than watching with scandalized smiles and judgmental, gloating eyes, boys
she’d turned down for trying to get with her like this countless times watching jealously but still enjoying
the show they never thought they’d see.

She didn’t care.

She’d needed this, back in the town park. She’d needed it, more and more desperately, all week, ever
since.

A thrill shot through her, like none she’d experienced before, a heady, giddy thrill, when Hunter grabbed
her by the back of her tiny tube top, spun her around roughly, and hauled her right up off the floor with
an effortless flex of his huge, beefy white arms, holding her up against his warm, powerful teen body.
Her thick, curvy long legs reflexively wrapped around his waist, her breasts pushing more eagerly up
against his smirking, thuggish face than they needed to, and she heard a ditzy, excited giggle escape
her as she felt his twitching hardness rubbing right up against her groin.

That other Nia could only despair, somewhere far within herself, wishing that Trey could have just given
her this. Wishing he could have made her feel even a fraction of this, this sensation of delicious
vulnerability and gut-churning excitement that she felt while being manhandled by his massive, strong
bully. Wondering if everything could be different, if on that night, a couple years ago, her sweet, shy
boyfriend had just manned up enough to take her to the dance and let her feel beautiful, feel
appreciated, feel like a woman.

Wondering if instead of Hunter roughly throwing Trey’s bedroom door open right now, and tossing her
onto the bed, it would have been Trey doing that.

It sounded like a joke even in her own head.

And then it hit her. Nia’s eyes widened as she pushed herself up onto her elbows on the bed, looking
around herself at the dim surroundings, lit only by the hallway outside and the computer lights flickering
on the desk nearby.

Her dignified African nostrils flared, picked up the faint smell she recognized so well after all these years.

The lingering smell of Trey’s body spray.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, panic breaking through the haze for the first time since Hunter had stomped
up to her tonight.

He’d just taken her up to Trey’s bedroom.

The last time she’d heard her heart thudding in her own ears so hard, in this bedroom, had been
months ago — Trey’s birthday, when she’d finally dragged him away from his doting mother (“Have
another slice of cake, Trey baby, c’mon now don’t give your momma no lip you are so skinny”) and
brought him up here to give him a special present of her own. A present that she’d hoped, against hope,
would be a gift for her, as well, reaching into her boyfriend’s pants to feel his manhood for the first time…

Her thudding heartbeat had faded real fast when her fingers wrapped around the tiny little thing in
Trey’s pants.

It sure wasn’t fading now.

Her stomach did a somersault, then another. Her cheeks flushed. She looked up at Hunter as he
swaggered up to the bed of his favorite bullying victim, that enormous tent in his shorts heavily,
ominously swaying and bouncing as he leered down at her, enjoying the view of her generous, faintly
jiggling cleavage ready to bust out of her tube top.

“Please,” she managed to whimper, her slender black fingers clutching the bed sheets beneath her.
How many times had she laid on these sheets, laughing and chatting with Trey as they did their
homework in this room…? “Not… not in here…”

Hunter didn’t say anything. He’d reached the bed. He grunted, low and deep, sounding like the
stomping, dangerous bull that he was, as he lifted one of his legs, planting a huge foot down on the bed
next to her, positioning himself over it — over her — like the depraved conqueror he was. Nia whimpered
again, briefly forgetting how to turn it into any kind of coherent thought, her long eyelashes fluttering as
she processed the fact his swaying, heavily drooping monster of a cock, still barely contained in his
shorts, was mere inches from her face, looming over her tantalizingly. Its strong, potent masculine scent
was forcing its way right through the thin fabric, already filling her poor mind with that queer, oppressive
fog, the mere hint of the smell of his raw, apex masculinity enough to utterly fuck her ability to think.

In the very depths of her, buried deeper and deeper by the second, the other Nia made one last reach
for the surface. Nia gulped, hard, audibly, pushing herself up more on the bed so that she was sitting
mostly upright on the edge of Trey’s bedroom mattress, both her hands behind her on the sheets. She
dragged her eyes, with an effort that physically exhausted her, away from the twitching, swelling
monstrosity in Hunter’s shorts, up to his face. “Hunter, no — listen to me — I am not going to — not in
here — ”

She didn’t even convince herself. Her voice was weak, whiny, not firm and authoritative like she’d
worked so hard over the years go perfect. Worked so hard, over the years, to emulate Monique Baptiste,
in that way.

Hunter wasn’t convinced by it, either.

He pushed down his shorts.

PLAP.

Nia almost came on the spot. Her wide, fertile teen hips bucked on the mattress, her long smooth legs
restlessly twitching and writhing.

She stared up, cross-eyed, at Hunter’s enormous, rock-hard, veiny white bully cock as it draped over
her face, just as it had in the town park a week before. She felt like she would collapse at any second
under its weight, it was so fucking big, so fucking heavy; felt like she would melt into a puddle of her own
juices and femcum and drool, it was so fucking hot, radiating heat like a furnace, vital and alive and
utterly Male.

The voice of the old Nia was still frantically trying to remember words, remember how to protest, but her
whining had been replaced only by shallow, heavy panting, Nia’s hot moist breaths washing over
Hunter’s throbbing monstercock and making it strain and buck like it was trying to get even bigger. Her
clouded, fluttering eyes wandered down, to the smooth, bloated sweaty ballsack bunched up over his
waistband, practically churning with the sheer volume of potent alpha semen he’d been so unfairly
blessed with…

The memory flashed across her mind, unbidden: the weak, watery little load Trey had offered up for her,
on this very bed, when she’d given him his birthday handjob.

The flicker of pity she felt for him was overpowered, with a fiercenesss that scared her, by resentment.
By white-hot, angry approval, lust, for those enormous, virile bully nuts filling her actual vision.

“You’ll worship my big fucking white cock whenever and wherever I tell you to, bitch,” Hunter’s deep,
rough voice sneered from far above her, the voice of a cruel, commanding God.

Nia heard a deep, throaty, guttural moan coming from herself.

The next thing she heard was the loud, sloppy wet slurping of her lips slobbering and licking all over
Hunter’s ballsack.

Her head felt like it was throbbing. Heat was consuming every inch of her, that heat she remembered
from when Hunter had draped his fucking disgusting bestial perfect monster cock over her pretty little
cheating black face for the first time, a heat bellowed like a raging furnace from right between her
restlessly writhing, grinding pillowy-soft thighs.

Her entire world was consumed by that throbbing, veiny bully cock dwarfing her vision. The taste of his
salty, churning massive ballsack washed over her tongue, at once a taste she knew that she should
detest and yet wanted to slurp and swallow it down for the rest of her fucking life.

She couldn’t smell Trey’s body spray anymore.

All Nia Avery could smell was Hunter’s huge, godly, utterly perfect cock and balls. Raw, earthy, animal,
inexplicably but utterly Masculine in ways that stirred things she didn’t even know were within her.

And the sweet, cloying scent of her own juices, growing stronger by the second as her sopping wet cunt
grew wetter and wetter with every noisy squelch and slurp of her plump, soft lips on Hunter’s sloshing,
hot, sweaty alpha balls, her eyes rolling back deliriously and another long, throaty moan escaping her as
the mere sensation of how fucking heavy his sack was over her mouth made the heat between her legs
explode even more intensely.

The thought hit her, strangely, strikingly coherent in a mind that was otherwise nothing but heat and
static —

It had all been such a lie.

All of it —that she wanted a Nice Guy, that she wanted a man who would treat her like a queen, that she
wanted to be strong and respected —

that she was Not Like the Other Girls —

She’d never wanted any of that.

She’d never been different.

In the end, it didn’t matter how many labels she applied to herself. Different — feminist — daughter —
girlfriend —

In the end, there was only one label that really mattered: she was a woman.

She was a bitch.

And when everything else was stripped away, when it all came down to animal instinct, to what she
really wanted, all any bitch wanted was the biggest, meanest, strongest, most fucking hung stud around
to fucking own her. Claim her. To walk all over little wimpy beta males like her boyfriend and show him
how a real Man handled a bitch.

Looking up at Hunter, looming over her, so effortlessly dominant, his size and his strength, that cocky,
self-assured smirk on his rough, thuggish white face — feeling the weight, the heat, the fucking power of
his monstrous, gnarled, bitch-stealing horsecock throbbing on top of her soft sweet features, a wordless,
primitive declaration of ownership that she was sloppily thanking him and rewarding him for with her hot
wet mouth making out with his churning, bloated alpha male ballsack —

Nia’s hips bucked spasmodically upward. Her long, thick lashes fluttered. Her legs writhed, flailed in
mindless, frantic reflex, a long, muffled moan sending vibrations through Hunter’s fat nuts as she
slobbered and kissed and licked at them with a frenzied animal desperation, staring at them and at his
cock in turn with mindless adoration, and came.

Her panties were soaked so thoroughly that they weren’t nearly enough to stop her juices from
splattering and dripping right down onto Trey’s bedsheets.

She was cumming her fucking brains out merely from making out with his bully’s huge, sweaty, heavy
balls, on the bed where they’d spent countless after-school evenings giggling and kissing and telling
each other their hopes and their dreams.

And that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was that thinking about that made her cum even harder.

“Man, I still can’t even believe it, bro.”

“For real. Was that really even her? Like, was that actually Nia?”

Janelle smiled into her plastic cup as the two partygoers taking a break from dancing helped themselves
to more booze at the kitchen table, right near where she was still standing next to the frozen, trembling
Trey.

“Yeah, but like — not even just that. With Hunter? Since when is she with — ”

The other guy was nodding along — only for him to nearly do a spit-take with the beer he’d just swigged
down, looking with wide eyes at Trey. He waved his free hand at his friend, who stopped talking and
stared, equally wide-eyed, at the scrawnier boy.

It was far from the first time the quiet, shy Trey had gone completely unnoticed by classmates like them.
But Janelle was pretty sure it might have been the first time they would have ever looked so nakedly
guilty when they did notice him.

“Yikes,” the one who’d been talking said under his breath, gritting his teeth.

“Yikes,” the other agreed. They exchanged looks, swigged from their cups in unison, and hastily made
their way back to the dance floor that was usually the Baptiste household living room.

Janelle was another whole drink deeper than she’d been when Nia was twerking her fat black ass all up
against Hunter’s lap in front of everyone — and all she’d been doing, as she drank herself into a
pleasant buzz, was standing at the table, smirking at her heartbroken brother and subtly fingering herself
under her skin-tight black dress as she imagined what Hunter was doing to his girlfriend upstairs.
“Aww, don’t feel too bad, little guy,” Janelle cooed with mock sympathy, condescension dripping from
every honied, feminine enunciation. She came up behind Trey and ruffled his short, curly black hair with
one of her slender-fingered hands, giggling at how he flinched from the touch. “It could’ve been
worse~” She tilted her head to the side so that he could see her gorgeous, impeccably made-up teen
face smirking at him with every ounce of the bitchy Queen Bee venom their mother had protected him
from for all those years. “They could’ve seen how you squirted your little beta-boi load all over your
pants while you watched your bully get a fucking lapdance from your girlfriend~”

Trey was staring down at the floor, nervously avoiding eye contact with her. Annoyance flared sharply
within her. She didn’t have much of a filter even at her most cogent, but now, buzzed and horny, she
didn’t even have a split second to think about it before her long-nailed hand was curled roughly in
Trey’s hair, making him cry out in surprise and pain as Janelle forced him to look up, toward the
staircase that Hunter had hauled Nia up minutes ago.

“God, you are such a fucking pussy,” Janelle spat, years of repressed disdain coming out in the words
and the curl of her lip. “Do you think if you stare hard enough at your own feet, all your problems will go
away, loser?” She jerked his head, making him wince. “Look up there, dork. That girl, who’s stood by
you ever since you were both fuckin’ toddlers? The only girl who’s ever even looked at you twice? She’s
up there right now with that big bad bully with the big bad cock who likes to push you around~” She
leaned in and half-giggled, half-moaned with exaggerated sultriness into her brother’s ear. “What do
you think they’re doing right now, huh~? If she was bouncing that fat ass of hers all over his lap while
everyone was watching… I wonder what she’ll do for him when they’re alone~ Don’t you~?”

Trey’s bed was a mess.

Not just because Nia was cumming again, for the third time, her femcum splattering messily all over the
sheets between her twitching, jiggling thick black thighs as her fluffy hair curls bobbed and bounced
wildly in time with Hunter’s huge, powerful white hand forcing her head up and down, pumping her
noisily slurping, squelching, sloppily dripping plump lips up and down his giant rock-hard cock. All that
saliva and throatslime he was dragging out of her throat was leaving plenty of indelible traces on Trey’s
bed, too, of just how much of an eager, gagging dick-drunk whore his once strong and independent
girlfriend was willingly degrading herself into, in her desperate primal urge to please and worship his
bully’s overgrown elephant trunk of a cock.

Hunter was treating her mouth like a cheap fleshlight. Like it was nothing but some throwaway object he
was jerking off with, sneering down at her with his lip curled, looking at her like she was something
utterly beneath him as he grunted and growled with deep, brutish sounds of satisfaction, mingling lewdly
with the feminine moans that came from her, the rapid, sloppy squelches and slurping filling the
cockstench-tinged air.

Nia looked right back up at him with her fluttering, dazed eyes.

Eyes filled with more devotion and adoration than poor Trey had ever received from them in his entire
life.
Hunter pulled back too far on a thrust. A loud, wet POP! rang out, his hard, veiny monstercock slurping
its way messily out of her mouth, leaving it wide open, her slimy pink tongue extended, a torrent of
cloudy, sloppy saliva and throatslime splattering lewdly down onto Nia’s heaving, jiggling cleavage.
He’d been using her mouth so savagely that her breasts were all but popped free, the smooth dark
brown of her aerolae almost entirely visible, one thick nipple popped over the neckline. Nia stared
dumbly down at the mess glistening and dripping down the soft wobbling swell of her tits — and then
gasped in dazed, sluggish shock as Hunter reached down, gripped her top, and ripped it wide open with
a flex of his burly, muscular white arms.

“Heyyyy-uh!” Nia whined, her eyebrows furrowing in distress. She started to look up accusingly at
Hunter, her drooling, panting mouth taking on an indignant set. “You can’t just GLRRRRGH
GLRKGLRKGLRK— ”

Hunter hadn’t even let her finish the sentence. He’d gripped her hair, forced her mouth to line up where
he wanted it — and rammed his entire twitching, glistening, dripping bully cock right down her throat,
holding her firmly in place as he flexed his muscled, firm hips, harshly and shallowly pumping himself in
and out of her noisily gagging, obscenely bulging gullet.

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid fat-assed bitch,” he grunted roughly, his voice seeming to become even
deeper and more brutish the hornier he got, her accusing wide eyes staring up at the arrogant sneer on
his face while he defiled her throat, the mouth that had spouted so many proud feminist rants over the
last few years reduced to making nothing but depraved slurps and squelches and choking noises. “You
can ‘talk’ at that little cuck boyfriend of yours all you want later. Your cheating whore mouth isn’t for
talking when my fat white cock is out, you fuckin hear me?”

He reached down with his spare hand, and Nia’s glare evaporated, her eyebrows relaxing into helpless
euphoria, her lashes fluttereing, as his strong, warm, thick fingers clamped down, hard, on one of her
soft, cushiony teen breasts, the white of his skin standing out brilliantly on the smooth chocolaty
darkness of her own. Nia moaned rapturously, her belly fluttering, hips bucking, a pleasure she’d never
felt before overtaking her, a twisted biting pleasure that mixed deliciously with the discomfort of
Hunter’s massive demanding cock punching its way into her throat nonstop.

Fuck!

It’s not —

It’s not fair!

None of this is fair!

Why does it feel so good to be treated so baaad~?

Her moan turned into a muffled, instinctively nervous whimpering, Hunter’s hand giving her abused
breast a harsh slap before both his hands were on top of her head, shoving her brutally down all the way
on his throbbing monster bully-cock. Her world went dark, nose smushed into her boyfriend’s bully’s
shaved, sweaty crotch, her chin buried in his huge, sloshing hot sticky balls, every inch of his shaft
plunged all the way down her throat. Her hands searched blindly, frantically, for his strong muscled legs
— found them — started slapping at them, lightly at first and then more desperately, as she felt herself
running out of air —

Fuck why was she getting wetter —

The desperate gulps for air she was drinking in a moment later, when a snickering Hunter finally,
roughly, shoved her head back and let his spit-drenched, lipstick-stained monstrosity of a dick slurp out
of her gasping, whimpering teen mouoth, were the sweetest breaths of her life.

Hunter didn’t let her enjoy them for long. Nia whined as he pushed his hips forward, letting his twitching,
life-ruining horsecock slide up onto her face, hot and pulsating and dripping and glistening with her
saliva and the slime of her poor ravaged throat, rubbing it all over her face, back and forth, every gasp
for air perversely rewarding the same cock that had left her so winded with hot, wet breaths washing
over it.

“’S’not… ’s’not faiiiir~” Nia moaned deliriously, barely even aware she was vocalizing her dazed,
incoherent thoughts, her heavily lidded, clouded eyes staring up at Hunter’s flopping alpha Manhood
with helpless reverence. She bit her fat, glistening lower lip, realized she was frenziedly masturbating,
her hand shoved right down her panties, slapping and rubbing desperately at her pussy. “Why is it… so
fugging biiiig~” Her tongue lolled out stupidly, eyelashes fluttering, her words turning into a guttural,
throaty moan as the slimy pink muscle sampled his hardness, his power, his size, her head angling side
to side and her lips slurping noisily at his already sloppy wet veiny shaft, kissing and licking between
slurred, simpering words. “Haaaahn~ Haah~ Fuck… I… I love your cock~ Mmmmmnn~ Mm~ Such a
fucking… Man~ ohfuck~”

Pain shot through her scalp, making her whimper. Hunter jerked her head back, sticky, shining strands
of saliva still connecting her lolling, writhing tongue to his brutal fuckpillar, only for those strands to snap
as he reared his hips to one side — and swiveled them to the other. A heavy, meaty SMACK! rang out,
his massive cock slapping Nia right across the face — she cried out as he face snapped slightly toward
the opposite direction —

Hunter stopped her in her tracks with his grip on her hair, forcing her head back, neck arched, making
her look right up at him —

She gasped as he spat right down onto her face.

Nia Avery had never been treated like that in her whole life. Had made sure no boy would ever
disrespect her like that, with her pride, and her independence, and her strength.

The corners of her gasping mouth twitched. Curled upwards like they had a will of their own.

In all the years they’d been sweethearts, after all the gifts Trey had given her, all the sweet, heart-felt
compliments he’d given her beauty, her brains, her spirit —

The stupid, dreamy adoration on her face, smiling up at Hunter now, was purer —more loving— than
anything she’d ever shown to Trey.
—

The music wasn’t booming anymore. The playlist on Janelle’s phone, hooked to the home theater
system, had ended minutes ago, and no one had bothered turning on something new. The party had
become nothing but loud voices shouting and laughing and crying and fighting, a chaotic cacophony of
hormonal young adults in varying degrees of drunkenness mingling and letting loose.

It was loud, still —

But no doubt Trey wished the music would come back on.

Because without the music, in every small lull of conversation and chaos on the first floor of the Baptiste
household where the weekend party raged, the sound from upstairs carried all too well.
Janelle had stopped being subtle with how turned on she was. Not that she would have had much of a
choice in the matter — she hadn’t felt this delightfully twisted, churning heat in her belly since the last
time Hunter was here, when he’d just about knocked out her father and then plowed her senseless for
hours so the whole house could hear her scream and moan. The sounds from upstairs went from
nothing, to faintly audible moans, to the faint thudding of a bed rocking on its frame, until now, steadily,
they could regularly hear muffled, reckless gagging and slurping.

Janelle had enough clarity of thought to realize, if they could hear that, Hunter hadn’t even bothered to
close the door of whatever bedroom he’d dragged Nia into.

She hoped it was Trey’s.

She was panting lightly, her hooded, lustful eyes flicking from her scared, helpless brother to the
staircase down which all the sounds were reaching them, only Trey’s body next to her providing any
cover from her classmates seeing how her dainty, well-manicured black hand was shoved into her
panties rubbing at her pussy. Not that any of them were paying attention to her — anyone else at the
party who would pause, their ears perked as they tried to figure out the noises they were hearing, would
only look to Trey, wearing expressions ranging from dark amusement to genuine pity.

Trey showed no sign that he noticed.

He did, however, give a whole-body reaction, every part of his scrawny, skinny, weak teen form tensing,
at what everyone heard next — a loud, piercing feminine cry — a single, heavy, ominous THUD from
overhead.

And then another THUD.

THUD.

“AAAAAAHNNNNN~ FUCKFUCKFUCK IT’S TOO BIIIIIG~ IT HURRRRRTS — ”

THUD.
THUD. THUD. THUD.

The voice, so clearly Nia’s, the sweet, melodious, gentle voice they’d all known since they were kids,
moaning louder and louder by the second, pain and discomfort obvious in every sound… but, building
with every sound, too, was that undercurrent Janelle recognized all too well.

The mind-shattering euphoria of a bitch whose entire world was being overwhelmed with brutal, powerful
alpha male cock.

Janelle’s cunt pulsed, throbbed; her fingers were soaked with her own juices as they writhed in her
panties. She threw her head back, then forward, her smoothed-out blonde-streaked hair swaying,
flushed, smirking arousal on her panting features, her squeezed-together tits jiggling alarmingly in her
dress and her huge, shelf-like phat asscheeks clapping audibly together, stumbling back against the
table and moaning breathlessly loud enough that everyone in earshot, already stunned and staring
toward the staircase, looked at her instead.

Trey stared at her, his eyes shocked, pleading, as if even after hearing her scream at Hunter to fuck her
harder for hours mere days ago, even after seeing her making out with him and smiling at him while he
squeezed her ass on the dance floor tonight, even after she’d been taunting him while Nia went upstairs
with his bully, he still didn’t want to believe she was getting off on Hunter stealing the only girl who’d
ever loved him.

Janelle met his eyes. She didn’t say anything, but her widening smirk said it all:

No momma to protect you now, is there, loser?

Her eyes rolled deliriously, lashes fluttering, as the heat in her core exploded, and she fingered herself
harder, faster, listening with everyone else as the thudding of the bed upstairs and Nia’s desperate
screams and moans filled the house.

Even after everything, Nia hadn’t quite been able to believe it when Hunter, after slapping his throbbing,
bitch-taming monstercock down onto her face and rubbing his spit into her already glistening, sloppy
skin, had brusquely shoved her down onto the bed, grabbed her by her hips, and flipped her over onto
her stomach, so that her back was to him and her big, wobbling, bubbly black ass was thrust up toward
him, her miniskirt that was barely a skirt at all completely hitched up so that the only decency she had
left was her thin pinkish panties — which were so thoroughly soaked through by her femcum at that point
that it was no decency at all.

Wait—

Is this actually—

Is he really going to—

Am I really going to—

—on Trey’s BED?

It was as if her mouth was full of cotton balls. As if she’d been injected with novacaine. There were so
many things she wanted to say, that she knew she should say, but her mouth didn’t want to work, her
vocal chords straining and only managing a faint, shaky “W—Wait — ”

The word was swallowed up by a sharp, surprised squeal prompted by the sharp pain that suddenly shot
through her ass — and the even sharper, loud, fleshy SMACK! of Hunter’s big brute hand spanking one
of her big jello-y chocolate asscheeks hard enough to make her back arch.

“Fuuuck, you got an ass just made for swallowing up all this big fat white cock I got, don’t you, you
dumb cunt?” Hunter breathed, his rough, deep voice making no secret of his intentions. Those strong,
firm fingers dug harshly into Nia’s endlessly soft, effortlessly yielding black ass-fat, jiggling it around,
squeezing and kneading with that rough possessiveness so unlike any touch Trey had ever given her,
when he found enough courage to touch her at all. Another meaty SMACK! rang out, his squeezing
stopping long enough to spank her again, sending her huge, bubbly asscheeks wobbling around
appetizingly, colliding audibly together with lewd, fleshy clapping sounds. Nia moaned loudly without
even meaning to, and buried her face into Trey’s bedsheets, squeezing her eyes shut.

What was it she’d been trying to hard to say…?

It had seemed so important, finding the words, a second ago…

But she could hear Hunter’s coarse, rough hands caressing, squeezing, manhandling her fat, jiggling
black teen ass, now. Could feel the constant spikes of adrenaline, the thrill shooting up her spine and
making her belly flip over and over, with every dominant squeeze and slap and caress of the big, wobbly
ass she’d been so proud of for so long, that had been wasted for so long…

With her face buried in the sheets, for the first time since they’d arrived in Trey’s room, she could smell
him, again.

For a moment, it was like she was back in time, laying here just like this after she’d given Trey his
birthday handjob, groaning into his mattress while he cleaned up in the bathroom down the hall, trying so
hard to tell herself that everything was fine, trying so hard to bury the bubbling heat in her gut that she’d
hoped would finally be let loose but which the boy she’d doted on and protected and loved since
childhood had had no idea how to handle.

Nia moaned, now, her pussy spasming eagerly, desperate for the huge, virile bully cock she’d just been
lubricating so sloppily with her hot, wet, cheating mouth, her entire body on fire simply from having
Hunter looming behind her, spanking her phat bouncing doughy black ass back and forth, groping,
abusing it.

Hunter didn’t see it. No one ever would.

But in that moment, one last time, the Nia that Trey, and Janelle, and Monique, and her parents, and all
the classmates downstairs, had known for so long, shined through on her face. Staring, sadly, pityingly,
at Trey’s bed pillows ahead of her, where she could see the indent of his sweet, gentle, clueless head.

Trey…

I’m sorry.

I really, really am.

I do love you, you know…

And I tried, baby. I WAITED for you.

For so long.

But…

That glimpse of the old Nia flickered as a particularly harsh smack of Hunter’s hand against her ass
rang out, sent her smooth, bouncy chocolate asscheeks rippling and bouncing and clapping, and he
shoved her panties down to bunch up around her thick thighs, letting the cool air hit the gushing juices of
arousal leaking from her desperate, fertile young pussy.

“Haah, bet that little loser’s limp dicklet couldn’t get past all this ass even if he tried,” Hunter drawled,
gloatingly, behind her. “Not that he ever got that far, I bet. Am I right, fat-ass?”

Before she could process the words, there was another heavy, meaty slap — but this one was different.

Nia’s eyelashes fluttered deliriously. She breathed out, shakily, moaned softly. Her hips twitched.

All Hunter had done was let his hard, throbbing, impossibly heavy fuckslab flop down onto her jiggling
ass, nestling it between her warm, pillowy asscheeks, and already, the sheer sensation of such Male
size and power, so close to her pure, un-defiled little holes —

Teetering on the edge of climax, a raw animal need stronger than she’d ever felt rushed through her,
that trace of the old Nia fading once and for all, her face twisting into clouded, stupidly grinning
excitement, her cheeks dimpling like they used to for Trey as she licked her lips and moaned, long and
sultry, pushing her wobbling, faintly clapping fat black ass eagerly back against Hunter’s hot, twitching
monster bullycock.

But he’s right, Trey.

I’m fucking done waiting for you.

You’ll always be a little boy.

And I need a MAN.

The Nia that everyone had seen downstairs, grinding sluttily against Hunter’s lap on the dance floor,
looked back over her shoulder at him. She was free, now. There was no Other Nia to fight against.

The old Nia had died here, on the bed of her lifelong sweetheart.

And on that same bed, the Nia she’d become looked up at Hunter with hooded, smoky eyes, a naughty
smile on her plush, soft, drooling lips.

“You’re right… Daddy~” she said, cooing out the word nice and slow for emphasis, licking her lips and
smiling wider. “His tiny little babydick could never handle all… this…”

She turned her gaze, as best she could from her angle, toward Hunter’s eagerly throbbing, rock-hard
enormous white dick. And, biting her lip through her coy smile, she did exactly what had started this —
worked her wide, curvy hips, making her huge, bouncy, wobbling black ass bounce and twerk for him,
the most primitive display of a bitch presenting herself to a worthy male.

This time, there were no clothes to get in the way. Hunter’s veiny monster flopped around heavily
against her clapping cheeks, bouncing back and forth from one to the other with dull, heavy, fleshy
smacking noises. Her own saliva, thickly dripping down his shaft, splashed all over her smooth chocolaty
mounds, making the display of rippling jiggling flesh even lewder, little droplets flying everywhere.

Hunter’s snarl was her only warning.

Then, suddenly, his hand was pressing down, hard, on her head, pushing her face sideways into the
mattress, her glasses going crooked — he loomed right over her, the bed creaking under his massive
bulk as he situated himself, mounting her from behind, his free hand pushing down into her doughy
black assflesh and spreading one cheek to the side so he could line his twitching horsecock up with her
tender, gushing-wet womanhood —

Nia’s shallow, nervous breathing was the only noise in the room for a moment as he lowered his hips.
She couldn’t even process all the animal instincts rushing through her in response to having this
hulking, hung alpha brute pinning her down, his giant veined cock about to claim her once and for all.
Excitement — fear — arousal — shame — all of it, sharper and more poignant than she’d ever
experienced, one after the other and back again.

Down… down… down… she felt an impossible, crushing pressure against her sensitive pink pussy folds,
felt, briefly, irrationally, convinced he was about to crush it into paste under the ungodly, destructive
weight of all that cock —

He growled, low and deep, as his fist-like, brutal cockhead pushed its way, relentlessly, past her
tightness. The bed thudded noisily against the wall, wobbling on its frame, in response to his
considerable weight shifting over her, caught off guard by just how tight she was.

Nia’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened into a stupid, surprised ‘O,’ working noiselessly, helplessly.
Her breathing stopped.

She screamed.
—

Nia’s screaming stopped when the first wave of sharp, acute discomfort and pain from between her legs
stopped — and then started right back up as, with another bestial grunt, Hunter jerked his hips, pushing
another inch of that throbbing, relentless monster bully-dick into her sopping-wet teen pussy.

She hadn’t known what she expected, but it certainly hadn’t been this.

The sensations racking her body were too much. It was an overload, all of it blurring together into
something that was not merely the overwhelming painful fullness of it or the flashes of knee-jerking,
hip-bucking euphoria when that beast of a cock rubbed against her inner walls, but an all-consuming,
oppressive heat within her, a heat so oppressive that it made her wail like a prey animal on the verge of
its end. Nia screamed into Trey’s mattress, her glassy, clouded eyes rolling, lashes fluttering, her pretty
mouth contorting from pain to delirious joy and back to pain again.

There was another THUD of the mattress as Hunter shifted on top of her, his hand leaving her wobbling
ass to instead press down on the bed, needing the extra support as he went through his own struggle —
finding enough leverage that he could keep ruthlessly pushing his hips downward, impaling Nia’s tiny
pussy with more and more of his homewrecking alpha cock.

Nia’s wailing changed pitch. Her eyes widened again, her mouth working, drool gushing idly out of the
side of her mouth to pool on Trey’s bedsheets.

Oh.

Oh.

The pain was still there — but with that thrust, more of Hunter was inside her, taking her, claiming her,
and the more that pushed in, the more she could feel herself stretching… and just as abruptly as the pain
had racked her, now there was something else.

It wasn’t pleasure. That word didn’t do it justice.

No—

What had just rippled through her, fleetingly, had been rapture. A flash of something so decadent and
all-consuming that it made her toes curl and her tongue loll out, eyes rolled brainlessly back.

Only for Hunter to push his hips down yet again, and this time she could literally feel how the tightness of
her pussy stopped him in his tracks, making him grunt in surprise and shift his cock to the side. That
tantalizing glimpse of euphoria was replaced by a pang of discomfort, and Nia, giving into her anxiety,
screamed out —

“AAAAAAHNNNNN~ FUCKFUCKFUCK IT’S TOO BIIIIIG~ IT HURRRRRTS — ”

Through his own ragged, hot breathing, Hunter laughed.

Trey would have been off of her in a second flat if she’d ever protested like that. Would have been
immediately fretting over her, asking if she was okay, what he could do to help, if he should call his
mommy.

Hunter? He smeared his hand, roughly, against her face, pushing her down harder into the mattress —
and then his hand was off of her, letting her breathe easier, letting her lift her head from the bed, as he
straightened up behind her, the bed creaking and groaning on its frame as Hunter shifted again, this
time to tower over her prone body —

— and fill the room with the sharpest, most violent SMACK! of the night, slamming his hand down onto
one of her already mottled, spankmarked bubbly asscheeks, sending them both bouncing and rippling
against each other, massaging part of his throbbing, battering ram shaft that was so brutally breaking
down her gates.

Nia was still in the process of screaming because of that unexpected wave of pain when he casually
jerked his hips forward, handling the problem of her tightness exactly as she should have guessed he
would — with brute force, using his sheer size and weight, both of his body and of his ungodly white
monster cock, to punch right past the protests of her tender, unprepared young womanhood, pumping
another few inches of his effortlessly conquering shaft into the gushing wet pussy of his favorite bullying
victim’s girlfriend.

On some ghost of a reflex that seemed like it might as well have belonged to another person entirely,
Nia had already been in the process of whipping her head around to glare at Hunter for his rudeness.

By the time she finished looking back at him, though, she’d forgotten all about it. Her face had frozen,
her lips puckered in a dumb, surprised ‘O’ again, her eyes heavily lidded and fluttering.
She realized, belatedly, she wasn’t screaming anymore.

She was moaning. Loudly enough to be mistaken for a scream — but a moan nonetheless.

Her slender eyebrows furrowed in helpless, almost childlike confusion.

That should have hurt.

So why did it feel so… fucking… amazing?

Her hips twitched, making her spankmarked, gelatinous shelf-like black booty bounce and wobble
appetizingly. She breathed, hard, riding out the waves of that new, utterly overpowering Something that
Hunter’s cock was making her feel, more and more by the second, as he forced himself deeper and
deeper into the tiny, pure little pink cunt that Nia had spent her entire life convinced would one day
belong to Trey Baptiste.

The bed thudded into the wall as Hunter, clearly past the initial surprise of her tightness, jerked his hips
forward again — and this time he grabbed her soft, pillowy wide hips, and growled hotly as he bodily
pulled her entire lower body back toward him, forcing her partially up onto her knees, ass in the air, her
breasts squished against the mattress, hands clutching the sheets desperately tight.
Between the thrust and forcing her up onto her knees, it wasn’t just another inch or two that went in this
time.

Nia saw stars.

It was as if the air had been punched out of her. She wondered, fleetingly, if Trey had ever actually had
the air punched out of him like this, by the hulking, snickering brute who was now helping himself to what
could have been his.

If there was even a hint of guilt at that thought, it was immediately wiped out by the white-hot surge of
bliss that racked Nia’s body as her pussy stretched wide, wider, wider still, felt Hunter’s rock-hard
powerful cockmeat rubbing against the core of her womanhood —

She felt so fucking full —

So fucking owned —

And that was it, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t just the mind-shattering waves of pleasure that coursed through her with every stirring, every
bucking, every movement of Hunter’s massive cock inside of her that was making her feel so fucking
good.

It was thousands of years of evolution, flicking aside her lifetime of misguided beliefs, swatting down any
last traces of her affection for Trey Baptiste, and replacing it all with the deeply rooted, instinctual
euphoria of being pinned down and fucked by a big, strong, mean, virile alpha male.

It didn’t matter that he was Trey’s bully.

It didn’t matter that he was making her squirt and gush, right now, all over Trey’s bed, her long curvy
legs twitching and flailing between his, splattering messily onto the bedsheets, filling the air of his
bedroom more and more with the raw animal smell of Sex.

It didn’t matter that he saw her as nothing more than just another dumb whore, so helpless in the face
of his cruel dominance and his massive, unfairly well-endowed cock that she would throw the boy she’d
loved her entire life under the bus just to serve his bully.

It didn’t matter that she was now moaning and screaming and blabbering so loud that Trey could no
doubt hear it all, downstairs, that every classmate down there who had known her entire life could hear
her begging deliriously for Hunter’s cock.

Nothing else mattered.

All that mattered was this — this fullness, this overpowering, all-consuming heat, and the perfect, big, fat
stud-cock that had finally let Nia Avery feel like a woman.

“OHMIGOD~ OHMIGOD~ AH~ AH~ AHHHN~ OH MY FUGGING GAWWWD DADDYYY~ YES~ YES~
YESSSS~ DEEPER, DADDY~ OH MY FUCKING GOD I’M CUMMING DADDYYYY~ OOOO YESSS~
I’M CUMMING I’M CUMMING ALL OVER YOUR CAAAWWWK~ ”

The party downstairs wasn’t over yet, but it might as well have been. Without music playing, in no time
the only sound overpowering everything else was the bed upstairs, thudding rhythmically, slowly at first
and then faster and faster, into a wall — and the increasingly depraved, whorish moans and screams of
the girl that had once been the paragon of their entire class, dragged out of her in the course of one
night by the stomping, brutal bully that most of them either hated or were afraid of.

Many of the students had started filtering out of the house. Some of them seemed like their buzz had
been ruined, like they were sad to see Nia brought so low; some of them seemed like they were just
annoyed that Hunter had taken over everything, like he always did one way or another; but most of them
seemed delighted. On their way out, several guys hollered up the stairs for Hunter to give it her good, or
for Nia to remember to take care of the balls. One girl, who Janelle distinctly remembered displaying
bitterness toward Nia’s holier-than-thou attitude many times, snidely called up the stairs to Nia that she
would let all her ‘little dyke club members’ know all about tonight.

Janelle barely noticed any of it.

She was breathing heavily by now, so turned on that she was leaning back against the kitchen table, her
long, curvy bare legs spread to either side, her panties writhing as her hand worked eagerly under the
fabric, lewd squelching noises ringing out audible even despite the thudding and meaty slapping and
reckless simpering moaning from upstairs as she fingered herself. Trey had collapsed into one of their
kitchen table’s chairs, a few feet away from her, his back turned, staring at the floor, shoulders slumped
dejectedly.

Janelle curled her lip, glaring at his back as she rubbed and slapped at her clit. Some part of her had
hoped, against hope, that maybe her goading would wake something up inside her little brother, and he
might actually save some face by going up and trying to stop what was happening to Nia. Sure, he
would probably have gotten his ass beaten down, but at least he wouldn’t have just fucking sat there
looking like he wanted to cry.

But no.

Trey would always be Trey. A fucking beta loser who had never deserved Nia in the first place.

And Hunter would always be Hunter. An alpha bully stud who deserved whatever fat piece of ass he
fucking wanted.

Janelle’s belly heated up, flipped. Nia had had enough fun all to herself…

Janelle delicately pushed herself back to her feet, clearing her throat. She noticed Trey flinching on his
chair as the bed upstairs thudded particularly loudly, followed by a hoarse, desperate pleading scream
from Nia.
“NO! NO DADDY! I DON’T GIVE A FUCK IF HE HEARS US~ AHHHH~ AHH~ FUCK THAT I WANT
THAT LITTLE VIRGIN TO HEAR US~ LET HIM HEAR A REAL MAN MAKING ME SQUIRT ALLLL
OVER HIS FUCKING BEEDDDD~ HAAAAHN~ AHHHH FUCK DADDY I’M CUMMING AGAIN
YOU’RE SO GOOD DADDY YOU’RE SO FUCKING GOOD SO FUCKING BIG AAAAAH~”

A single tear dropped into Trey’s lap. It didn’t even have time to sink into his jeans before something
else dropped right on top of it — a pair of frilly black panties. Very wet, heavily stained, frilly black panties.

Trey looked up, shocked enough to finally do so — and saw Janelle standing over him, pushing her
skin-tight black dress down, her big soft chocolaty tits so much like her mother’s wobbling as she
sneered down at him.

“Those would just get in my way,” she said, her smooth, feminine voice taking on the same biting
condescension he’d heard her direct to so many guys like him at school — the tone their mother had
tried so hard for so long to make sure Janelle would never direct at him. Janelle’s curled lip twisted into
a smirk, one of her hands idly curling her hair along a finger. “So like, I’m gonna go make out with your
bully’s big fucking white alpha cock, little brother. Then I’m gonna let him fuck my fat black ass on your
bed, just like he’s fucking your girlfriend on it right now. Okayyy~?”

Trey stared up at her, his mouth working helplessly a few times.

Janelle noticed, just barely, a tiny little twitch of his crotch, under her warm, wet panties. Saw the tiny
little bulge tenting the black fabric.

She knew, in that moment, that Trey would never be her baby brother again. That she would never be
able to look at him without seeing him like this, impotent, helpless on a kitchen chair while the love of his
life screamed and squirted all over his bully’s giant cock upstairs, a tiny nub tenting the wet panties
she’d just tossed onto his lap.

From now on, he was just the limpdick little beta cuck who lived in her house.

She nodded at her panties. “Feel free to hang onto those, loser~ Those are the closest a babydick beta
bitch like you is ever gonna get to a girl’s panties ever again. Fucking bet.” She started walking away
from him, toward the stairs, felt his helpless, weirdo perma-virgin gaze helplessly glued to the generous
portion of her bare, explosively wobbling protruding black bubble-butt bouncing and rippling with every
clacking step of her heels on the floor. Just to rub it in, she put an extra saunter to the sway of her hips,
making sure to torment him with the knowledge of all the soft, warm, doughy feminine flesh his bully was
about to be enjoying, and that he would never get to experience in his entire life. “Oh, and clean up the
mess down here while you listen to us treat Hunter like the fucking King he is, okay~? You can clean up
the mess we’re gonna make in your room tomorrow~”

Her heels clacked their way up the stairs. By then, everyone else at the party was gone.

Trey, alone, surrounded by the aftermath of his sister’s house party — plastic cups strewn all over the
living room and kitchen floors, booze stains here, there, a couple condoms scattered about (including
one that looked suspiciously like it had been used), furniture knocked over — stared down at Janelle’s
black panties, stained with the gooey, clouded juices of her arousal, arousal that had poured out of her
from listening to his bully fucking his girlfriend…

…and listened as, in no time, his big sister’s moans and slutty, pleading cries started mixing with Nia’s.

Their voices didn’t stop crying out and simpering Hunter’s depraved praises all night.

Trey didn’t even make it two minutes before he’d messed in his pants again.
 12 - Chapter Twelve

It wasn’t even that long ago that Monique Baptiste had been In Control of it all — her home, her family,
the school that she administered with the firm but warm, motherly hand of a woman that everyone in
town, adult and student alike, respected and loved.

It wasn’t even that long ago when she had spent day after day, days that could be taxing and stressful
but were also fulfilling in every way she’d ever thought she wanted, sweeping authoritatively through the
hallways of her school, exchanging jokes and pleasantries with staff, helping them with work issues, or
snapping warnings to students who were getting a little out of hand, giving them the patented,
well-practiced glare of a mother who had raised two children and knew exactly how much sternness to
put on her face in order to put the Fear of Mom into a kid.

It wasn’t even that long ago —

— and yet it felt like a lifetime ago.

—
How long had it been, since Hunter had stomped into her office with that damnable, hated smirk on his
thuggish (and handsome why did he have to be so handsome what kind of just and benevolent God
would make such an awful, awful boy so god-damned rugged and easy on the eyes), finally caught
red-handed by her personally, finally having given Monique all the justification she needed to expel him?

How long had it been, since she’d finally won, only to lose in ways she’d never thought were even
possible for her, for Monique Baptiste, for the woman who was so strong and proud and capable?

Sometimes, now, Monique felt like she didn’t even know. Every day, ever since That Day, was like a
fever dream, some horrible, lucid nightmare that was at once filled with self-loathing and guilt and shame
but also the most decadent, white-hot, hedonistic pleasure she’d ever known, week after week of her
long-neglected body being racked with sensations that made her toes curl and her eyes roll back and
any semblance of will-power she could build back up, in rare moments of respite, shatter and burst —
burst almost as explosively as her cheating, married pussy was bursting, time after time, on the
enormous, unholy white cock of her son’s teen bully.

To the rest of the world, Monique gathered, vaguely, it had been three weeks since Hunter had bent her
forcefully over in her office, her own office, the place where she had always been the most In Control,
and with one brutal thrust of his hips sent her massive, soft, shelf-like black ass rippling and wobbling —
and her life into a tail-spin.

Everything had felt different, in her school, even right at that time. But now?

It was barely recognizable.

And neither was she.

It wasn’t just the occasional sneaked, lecherous glance that the hormonal teenagers Monique was
meant to strike fear and respect into gave her mature, explosively curvy black body now. Now, as
Monique’s high heels clacked sharply on the tiled hallways of the school, there was no respect or
friendly smiling on the faces of the students and teachers she passed. There was only confusion, and
disapproval, and most of all, on the faces of all the boys who had once been too scared to stare at her
fat, bouncing ass or her jiggling, soft cleavage for longer than a second at a time, lest they receive a
patented Down-Home Motherly Talkin’ To about their male gaze — there was an awful lot of open
leering, these days.

Because Monique Baptiste wasn’t In Control anymore. She hadn’t been In Control for weeks.

Hunter was in control, now.

And he had made sure, more and more over the recent days, that everyone in town could see it.

Monique had resisted at first, of course, when he had told her to start dressing skimpier at school. She’d
even resisted pretty strongly, had been proud of herself for mustering it up despite the fact she had been
so caught off-guard by the loud, sharp, fleshy SMACK! of Hunter’s thick-fingered white hand on her ass
in the middle of the hallway, right in front of dozens of other students on their ways to various classes. It
had been the first day back at school after her daughter’s house party. Monique had been furious when
she’d sneaked back into her own house in the dead of night, finding the unkempt mess of her home, her
dejected-looking sweet baby Trey slumped over in a kitchen chair with his sister’s damp panties on his
lap —

and worst of all, what she’d found upstairs.

The sight of her daughter, naked, her bubbly, smooth black ass up in the air, raw with spankmarks, her
holes still leaking thick, gooey wads of semen, a contented smile on her pretty teen face as she
snuggled up to Hunter on Trey’s bed, had been bad enough.

—almost as bad as the sharp pang of jealousy Monique had tried, and failed, to clamp down on—

But seeing — actually seeing, in person, not just on a phone screen — that sweet, sweet girl who had
been the brightest spot of Trey’s life for as long as any of them could remember —

The same sweet, dimpled smile on her face that she’d directed so many times at Trey, at Monique, as
she dreamily rested her head against one of Hunter’s strong white legs, her tongue lapping at the
bully’s massive, sloshing smooth balls as she fingered a pussy still oozing with a fresh load of cum just
like Janelle’s…

The explosion of maternal, protective rage within Monique at the sight had been almost reassuring. It
had told her that as badly as she’d fucked up, she was still her. She was still the Momma Bear. She
was still Trey’s momma. And she would be damned if she was going to let Hunter get away with that.
The fact that she had not stormed into Trey’s room and hauled that terrible, hulking white boy out of her
son’s bed, had not kicked him out of her house — had instead stumbled into her dark bedroom, locked
her door, and ended up writhing and moaning on her bed, her fingers pumping rapidly in and out of her
soaking wet pink pussy folds, playing out in her tumultuous, horny mind all the ways Hunter must have
destroyed her daughter and her son’s girlfriend’s tight little teen holes, on Trey’s fucking bed —

That had just made her more determined to give Hunter a piece of her mind the next day.

One more thing to repent for.

I’m going to make it up to you, baby, she had sworn to herself, as she sneaked out of the house before
the sun even came up, too ashamed, too guilty, to face any of them — Hunter, or Nia, or her children —
and paused in the kitchen, gently stroking Trey’s cheek with her soft black hand. She’d almost wanted
to cry. Her son had looked so sweet, so innocent, sitting there. Did he really deserve all this just because
he was a pushover? Why should a boy like Hunter be able to take everything from him just because he
was bigger and stronger and meaner? Just because, in some cruel joke of nature, such an awful, violent
thug had been given such an awful, overgrown cock?

Oh, Trey… I don’t know if I can ever make it up to you… your momma fucked up, honey. Fucked up in
ways I didn’t even know I could.

But I swear I’ll try.

She’d kissed Trey on his forehead and left, steel in her long-lashed, almond-shaped eyes, summoning
every ounce of her willpower as she swore to herself that by the time she returned back to that house at
the end of the day, she would make things easier for Trey.

That same steel had been in her eyes, a far cry from the clouded, helplessly adoring lust in them the last
time Hunter had seen her, as he’d smacked her ass in the school hallway later that morning, and she’d
whirled on him, already raising a sharp, accusatory finger.

Trying desperately to ignore the way her pussy was already throbbing and leaking at the strong,
possessive smack of Hunter’s strong hand against her still-clapping, wobbling black rump.

“Oh, hell no,” she’d hissed, and she’d made her first mistake then, her black heels clacking on the
floor as she stormed right up to Hunter and jabbed her finger onto his chest. He’d simply smirked down
at her, and it had felt like she was pressing her finger onto a solid mass of muscle. The way he towered
over her… the strength of his young, powerful teen body…

And she’d felt it, coming up to him so close.

That huge, meaty bulge in his sweat pants, pressing against her belly.

The steel in her eyes had already begun to melt.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She’d managed to keep hissing, nonetheless, trying to keep her
voice down so that the various students passing by and watching with open curiosity couldn’t make out
the morbid details of what she was saying, but enjoying the fact, at least, that plenty of people would be
able to talk about the fact Mrs. Baptiste was still the Momma Bear, lecturing the big smirking white bully
so many of them feared and hated.

She felt her cheeks flush at the way Hunter wasn’t even looking at her face, instead staring right down
her semi-unbuttoned purple dress shirt and watching her generous chocolaty cleavage bounce around
along with her jabbing finger motions.

“I saw what you did at my house, you… fucking pig,” she’d spat, her cheeks flushing even more at how
her flustered nature was making it hard to find words. Lectures were an art she’d mastered long ago,
and yet for some reason, despite the fact she had better reason for this lecture than almost any other in
her life, she already felt like she was floundering, in the face of this muscular, leering white thug radiating
smugness like a too-strong cologne, openly ignoring what she was saying to eye her up instead. “I
don’t care… I don’t care what’s gone on with us, that is between you and me and Lord knows I regret it,
but — you have crossed a line, mister — ”

Strange.

It was so strange.

One second, she’d been spitting hot fire, her heart thudding, a little stirring of hope in her bosom at
hearing herself like that, like her old self. Telling herself that maybe she wasn’t too far gone, after all.

And it felt like the next second, she was covering her own mouth, her eyelashes fluttering, the custodial
closet Hunter had roughly dragged her into near where he’d smacked her ass filled with a whole lot
more smacking, a steady, alarmingly loud stream of fleshy lewd PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! noises as
his strong hips slammed hard and fast into her bouncing and clapping gelatinous black ass, every thrust
of his giant, rock-hard white cock into her gushing pussy making her body thud into the door loudly
enough that anyone passing was sure to notice it. Just like they could probably notice, even with her
hand covering her mouth, the helpless, muffled moans of pleasure escaping her no matter how hard she
tried to stop them from coming out.

“You dumb fat-assed black bitch,” Hunter’s deep voice had grunted behind her, and perversely, even
though it made Monique’s mind reel, she felt her belly flip in heated delight at those crass, cruel words,
only for it to heat up even more when he punctuated them by slamming his hand right back down onto
her bouncing, soft fat asscheek, right where he’d smacked it in the hallway, the flesh now turning darker
and darker from how many times he’d slapped it in this supply closet. “Don’t you fuckin get it yet?”

SMACK!

Monique moaned so loudly that her hand might as well not have been over her mouth at all. Her eyes
rolled in their sockets, bleary and glistening with tears — tears of pain, and frustration, but worst of all —

tears of euphoria.

She didn’t understand.

How could she hate him so much —

and still feel this fucking good when that giant, life-ruining white bully cock was pistoning in and out of
her squirting, married pussy?

Every time it punched its way so brutally and crudely balls-deep into her, making his low-hanging, fat
balls slap against her quivering, wobbling thick black thighs, she saw stars. Felt the heat in her core
bubble and froth and, over and over again, explode into the hot, glistening sticky wet geyser splashing
all over Hunter’s thrusting, veiny monster dick while he pounded her in the supply closet.
“Those fat African whore lips of yours aren’t for flapping at me with boring-ass lectures anymore, are
they…?”

SMACK!

The custodial closet door had rattled in its hinges as, at the same time Hunter swooped his big hand
down onto Monique’s rapidly bouncing, jiggling bubbly black ass, he’d slammed his hips forward
particularly harshly, his twitching, powerful teen horsecock forcing itself all the way into her like a fucking
battering ram, sending her body rocking forward onto the door. Monique’s hand fell from her mouth,
making her loud, long, guttural moan come out completely unfiltered, her hands instead idly, spastically
grasping around at the walls to either side, trying desperately to find some kind of purchase, any kind of
purchase, something she could hold onto to stop herself from drowning in this awful, perfect, terrible,
amazing convulsing and squirting and melting that her son’s bully was putting her poor little ruined cunt
through.

“I said, are they, bitch?”

SMACK!

The closet door rattled and shook as Hunter had started pumping in and out of her in fast, shallow
thrusts, not letting more than an inch or two of that mind-shattering enormous white slab of dick out of
her gushing fuckhole, making its veined length rub and gyrate and stretch her out in ways that made
Monique’s entire world collapse and reform and collapse over and over again.

“NooooOOoOOo!” Monique heard herself groaning in a sensual, submissive tone that she couldn’t
even recognize using her voice. She felt herself starting to pop and lock her wide, curvy, motherly hips,
felt herself pushing her big clapping black ass up and down in a desperate fuck-frenzy against Hunter’s
strong muscled groin, putting on a depraved display of just what a bitch in heat he was turning the
school principal, the mother of his favorite bullying victim, into. Monique panted rapidly, little moans
escaping between every breath, a tear dripping out of one squeezed-shut eye as she thought, briefly, of
how sweet and innocent Trey’s face had been that morning, how she’d sworn to make up for how
she’d betrayed him, how his sister and his girlfriend had betrayed him —

But even that wasn’t enough to make the dumb, shaky smile leave her face as her tongue lolled out in
mindless, animal rapture.

“I’m sorry Daddyyyyy~” Monique had heard herself moaning with a simpering tone that she’d never
thought she would hear from herself in a million years, her heart hammering as she called a man
‘Daddy’ for the first time in her entire life, her cunt gushing at how naturally it came to her to call this
muscular, brutal white teen that word as he utterly fucking ravaged her in the dusty, cramped school
supply closet. “’M sorry ’m sorry I’m so fucking sorrryyyy~ I won’t do it again Daddyyyy~
AaaAAAAaAaaAAAhhh~ P-P-Pleeeeasse! Let… let these fat African lips make it up to youuuu~”

Monique had never apologized to a man in her entire life. None of the men who would have taken the
apology, chivalrously, and stepped off, the situation resolved.

And that, the thought flitted across her shattered, lust-drunk mind as her eyes rolled and her tongue
lolled and her ears filled with the obscene PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! of Hunter’s hips slamming into her huge,
pillowy black ass non-stop, making it bounce around and clap loudly, as if applauding his brutal alpha
male dominance — that was why she’d never apologized to any of them.

And why she was apologizing, over and over again, in breathy, needy moans, to her son’s bully as he
rewarded her obedience only by smacking her ass and pounding her soaking wet motherly cunt even
harder, treating her like even more of a dumb, useless whore.

She didn’t even know what she was apologizing for, anymore.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing else mattered.

All that mattered was the sensation of utter, complete, unfathomable fullness that Hunter’s giant white
cock gave her every time he thrust into her — the raw, animal smell of that perfect, godly alpha fuck-slab
filling the closet — the intensity of his presence, of his towering, virile male power, taking whatever the
fuck he wanted from her and her son and whoever the fuck he wanted, because he was a fucking Man
and every other male around him was like a little fucking boy, and the irrational, desperate need to
please him and satisfy him and worship him that stirred in Monique because of it was making her squirt
all over his pumping monster cock so many times that she ended up slumped into the closet door, her
plump breasts squished lewdly up against it, eyes rolled back so far in their sockets as her huge globes
of soft rippling assmeat bounced and clapped on Hunter’s lap that she looked like a woman possessed,
and sounded like one, too, her low, guttural moans almost a constant noise that rose and fell in pitch in
time with the thrusts of the alpha bully making her his bitch.

Was it any wonder, then, that the order had been burned into her mind at the basest, most instinctive
level, that day, when Hunter had grunted at her that she had better start giving him more eye candy
whenever he saw her in the school hallways, if she didn’t want him to send her poor son to the fucking
hospital?

Monique Baptiste — Momma Bear — the woman who had used to inspire fear and grudging respect in so
many of the teen boys of her school who might have otherwise been acting up in all manner of ways,
always a source of desire among them with her curvy, wobbly mature body and proud, beautiful
features, but her bearing with that body, her proud ownership of it and demanding of respect for it,
making it just another aspect of her matronly power.
No more.

It wasn’t just the outfits she started to wear for Hunter. It wasn’t just the way that she started to show
up on campus with clothes that showed more and more skin, almost daily increasing her urgency to
appease and please the smirking, awful bully who tormented her son and was taking everything and
everyone he loved; slight variations of her usual work outfits, at first, a dress shirt that would be buttoned
up one less than usual so that her heavy, jello-y dark-skinned cleavage would spill out more, a pencil
skirt that climbed a few inches higher up her curvy, thick thighs and opened up more at the side — only to
end up, weeks later, clacking her way down the school corridor with slutty-looking white high-heeled
boots, a skirt that was technically within the dress-code and yet, on her voluptuous, fertile body, was
barely a skirt at all and more of a mini-skirt, the tight black fabric barely covering her constantly leaking
pussy and shifting dangerously every time her wide, wobbling hips moved; the shirt above it was
technically a dress shirt, still, but instead of being pulled neatly over the hem of her skirt, or tucked into it,
at a casual order from Hunter she’d started to tie the shirts up over her belly button, showing her soft,
slightly chubby black midriff. Not that many people would be paying attention to her belly, considering
how she only bothered to button up to just under her huge, wobbling tits, letting them spill out so much
that every step made them bounce and jiggle so alarmingly freely that they looked like they would burst
right out, the tantalizing glimpses of her dark brown aerolae letting every horny teen student leering at
her breasts know that she wasn’t even wearing bras anymore.

Hunter hadn’t even ordered her to stop wearing them. He’d simply ripped up so many of them, when
he would shove her into an empty classroom, or supply closet, or show up for any number of detentions
in her office, that Monique had run out of bras.

The fact that the school principal, the pillar of the community for so many years, had been showing up to
school for weeks looking trashier than any of the most promiscuous female upperclassmen, her tits
bouncing lewdly and her shelf-like fat black ass slipping constantly partially out of her tiny skirts to
wobble around in plain view, was still not as jarring as the shift in Monique’s demeanor.
The Momma Bear who had been on top of the school food chain now acted like one of the prey
animals.

Monique no longer bustled through the hallways with confidence and authority. She was far too
distracted for that — far too distracted blushing at the feeling of cool air on all of her bare, wobbly soft
black skin. Far too distracted by the constant obscene orders that would come for her on her phone,
Hunter ordering her to one part of the school or another, sending her pictures of his giant, proud white
bully dick either just on its own or in her daughter’s mouth, or slamming in and out of Nia’s pretty little
pink pussy in video clips that would make Monique stumble into the walls of school hallways in plain
view of students and staff and moan under her breath, all of her willpower required for her hand not to
slide right into her skirt and start rubbing her own cunt. Willpower that would only last as long as it took
for her to find the nearest empty room or closet.

But most of all, far too distracted by the knowledge that, at any time, Hunter could show up and
demonstrate for everyone in school, student and teacher alike, exactly who was responsible for how far
their Momma Bear had fallen. Swaggering right up to her, smacking her ass and making it bounce and
clap in front of onlookers, her once renowned lectures replaced by her cheeks flushing and her eyes
staring at the floor meekly, the shouts that reminded so many students of their own mothers when they
were in trouble replaced by whimpers; the woman who had once taken such effortless control of faculty
functions, who had always checked in with every teacher she could to help them with supplies or
troublesome students or any number of things, increasingly AWOL, too busy screaming in helpless
euphoria on Hunter’s cock in her office for meetings or staff briefings.

That was all bad enough.

The first time her son had seen for himself, up close and personal, what Hunter was doing to her had
been far worse, though.

Trey had surely heard plenty of rumors by that day in the nurse’s office. It was a week after Hunter had
shoved Monique into the janitorial supply closet and made sure she would never talk back to him again.
By then, the gossip about how Something Was Wrong with Mrs. Baptiste was everywhere, the stories
about every incident in the school hallways where the formerly fierce principal meekly submitted to
Hunter’s rough touch and crass comments about how she needed to show more of her tits — stories that
were no doubt even harder for her poor baby boy to hear, since they were all over the school at the
exact same time as the ones about Janelle’s house party.

Monique’s heart had always ached for her sweet Trey. Knowing that there was so much good, and
pure, and gentle about him, as surely and truly as only his mother could know it; knowing, too, that the
world was cruel, and that the good, and pure, and gentle are all too often seen as simply weak, or
overlooked completely. It was only the knowledge that Nia, that girl who was a blessing straight from
God, was always by his side, protecting him, that gave Monique some solace.

But the last time she had seen Nia Avery, she had been a rumpled, freshly-fucked whore snuggled up
against Trey’s worst bully, on Trey’s bed, slurping at Hunter’s fat, virile alpha male ballsack while his
massive load of semen glistened on her skin and oozed from her cunt.

Monique could only imagine how hard it had been for Trey at school, ever since that night. The entire
school gossiping about how his sister and his girlfriend, the girl everyone knew was so loyal to him — to
the confusion and annoyance of so many — making out with his bully at Janelle’s party, the fucked-up,
depraved things they’d heard Nia screaming for him upstairs being whispered and snickered between
students all around him. There was no Nia to protect and comfort him now. Monique didn’t know exactly
what was going on with Nia and her son now, but she did know, deep down, irrefutably, the second
she’d seen Janelle and Nia with Hunter in Trey’s room, that Trey had well and truly lost his guardian
angel.

It broke her heart that she couldn’t step in to fill that void for him.

She wanted to. Every day after that house party, even at the same time as she would be on her shaking
knees in front of Hunter in the principal’s office, her juices shining on her soft thighs as she would lap at
the bully’s heavy, bloated white balls while he was supposed to be serving detention for whatever awful
thing he’d done that day, whatever weaker, smaller boy he’d beaten up, Monique would feel pangs of
guilt and shame and motherly longing deep in her heart, wishing she was doting on her son, instead, in
the ways a mother would dote on her son.
And then Hunter would grunt at her to shake her fat black ass for him, and he would grab her hair and
shove her whimpering, matronly dark-skinned face roughly into those sweaty, hot, churning alpha nuts,
and she would dote on her son’s bully, instead, in the ways a mother never should, eagerly shaking her
hips to make her big, protruding, cushiony black asscheeks lewdly wobble and twerk for Hunter to leer at
as her mouth slurped and smacked wetly on his huge virile sack and his hard, throbbing cock flopped
around on her forehead, smeared all over with her lipstick.

How could Monique have shown her face at home, with the taste of Hunter’s monstrous bully-cock and
balls on her mouth all the time? With his endless loads of yogurty, potent young stud-nut damp and
heavy in her panties from when she’d awkwardly pull them back up after he would shove her up against
a wall somewhere in the school and pump her fat ass hard and fast between classes, making her moan
helplessly at his brutal masculinity whenever some male teacher who could never size up to her son’s
teen bully would pass them and simply scurry off, scared, when Hunter would grunt at them to keep
moving or get their face beaten into bloody hamburger?

She hadn’t seen Trey since the morning after Janelle’s house party. That morning when she’d
caressed his cheek, and kissed his forehead, and promised to herself to stop sliding down that slippery
slope, to make things right. Whether it was because Hunter would keep her late after school, hours and
hours after everyone else had left, his ‘detentions’ reduced to him making her worship his towering,
veiny white cock while he kicked back at her desk — or because he would order her, with a texted
message and a video clip of him smacking his giant fuckslab against random faces of female students,
to go rent them a hotel room and wait for him there, in the lingerie he would make her buy with her
husband’s credit card, with her ass up in the air until he would show up hours after she did, finding her
fat ass still obediently presented and her juices dripping all down her thighs onto the sheets — or simply
because, on the rare occasions she could go home, she couldn’t bring herself to face her family, now,
and would hole herself up in her bedroom — Monique, who had once been the dominant, motherly force
of her home as much as her school, couldn’t be there for her own son, when he needed her the most.

In a sick, twisted way, it was almost a welcome escape, every time Hunter would shove her down, and
flop out his gnarled, destructive white home-wrecker, and make her forget what a dismal failure of a
mother she was being. Make her forget everything.

But she couldn’t escape the reminder of her failure that her vice principal, Mark Brennan, brought right
to her office, that day a week after the house party.

Monique had been holed up in her office, ignoring the phone ringing on her big, beautiful wooden desk.
There were so many backlogged calls she was supposed to be handling that, lately, the phone never
seemed to stop ringing. Monique swore to herself over and over again that she would get back to them,
to all of them, and she had been promising herself that very thing as she stood in front of the mirror in
the small bathroom attached to her office, hating the silent desperation on her once proud and warm
features while she fiddled with the buttons on her dress shirt, trying to decide if Hunter would like it better
if she unbuttoned one more or if she gave him something more fun to rip open the next time she saw
him.

Not for his benefit, of course.

For Trey’s.

She had to keep his bully happy. It was starting to take hold in her mind — that maybe, just maybe, her
failure as a mother might at least save her baby boy, even if it wasn’t in a way Trey ever would have
wanted. That if she didn’t have the strength to resist Hunter, and his big, powerful muscles, and his
stupid, loathsome, smirking rugged face, or most of all that flopping, heavy, veiny white cock that looked
like it belonged on a horse instead of a teenaged bully, at the very least she might keep him so
distracted beating her face with his giant cock that he would forget to beat Trey’s face with his giant
fists.

And then Mark Brennan had been standing there in her office, staring at her. He hadn’t knocked;
Monique didn’t know if he’d simply walked right in, taking advantage of the fact she’d forgotten to lock
the door, or if she had forgotten to close the door in the first place. She had been forgetting a lot of
things lately, after all. Thoughts about Hunter’s big, smelly teen alpha cock seemed to take up more and
more of her brain, lately. Thoughts about how to make his rough, thuggish face turn into that approving
smirk that always made her stomach heat up and do somersaults…

She didn’t know how long Mark had been standing there. She did know, however, that the look on his
face made her feel like she was a little girl again, caught by her own momma with her hand stuck in the
cookie jar when she was supposed to be in bed.

He looked so…

Disappointed.

Face flushing, so embarrassed at being caught fiddling with her scandalously exposed, softly wobbling
black cleavage that she forgot to be angry at Mark sneaking up on her, Monique cleared her throat
daintily and turned to face him. Her cheeks flushed even more at the way Mark didn’t stop staring at her
body, and the barely-any clothes obscuring it, with that resigned disappointment on his middle-aged
white face. Mark had always made such a point of looking her in the eye whenever they were together,
going out of his way not to so much as glance at her body inappropriately like so many other men
couldn’t resist doing. Now he was staring at her just like all the horny, snickering boys in the hallways,
staring more and more boldly because they knew she was too busy looking around for Hunter like a
stalked gazelle to notice them.

That made Monique sad.

Sad…

Her eyes started to lose a little focus, her mind drifting back to the day before, when Hunter had made
her pick up the phone right here in her office, her husband’s name on the screen.

She’d barely even thought about that limpdick Christian in days — the only times she had, it was
because Hunter’s giant slab of dick was punching over and over again right against her cervix, making
her entire body shake like a leaf, eyes rolling in their sockets, drool pouring out of her mouth, a dark,
depraved spite making her cum even harder on Hunter’s pounding cock while she would think about
how her husband couldn’t even get past all her fat clapping assmeat to fuck her like this, and their
son’s bully had so much big fat virile cock that he was spearing right past it and had more than enough
to spare, his cockhead punching against the entrance to her womb as if claiming ownership on it with
every harsh thrust. He’d been pounding her just like that, on her desk — even now, the papers on its
surface were scattered messily about — when the phone rang.

“Haaah, isn’t that your limpdick pussy of a husband?” Hunter had panted, barely audible over the rapid
PAPPAPAPAPAPAP of his muscled groin slamming into her phat, rippling, clapping black ass. “Pick it
up, fatass.” He’d grabbed her hair, forcefully arching her neck, and used his other hand to spank her
ass, sending it clapping and rippling even more lewdly than it already had been from the power of his
thrusting.

Monique’s shaking hand had fumbled around on the desk until it found her phone. She was so lost in
the pleasure of Hunter’s massive white cock, in the explosive, repressed heat that it brought out of her
to finally be treated this way be a real fucking Man, that she didn’t even think twice about picking up. A
twisted smile was on her face, her tongue licking at her lips, her glazed eyes still rolled back in delirious
satisfaction, as she pressed her phone to her ear. “Haaaahn~ haaaaah~ what do you want, Christian?
I’m fucking — ohfuck~! ohhhhmyfuckinggoddaddy~ nnngh… I’m… I’m fucking busy~”
Christian had started talking. Monique had no idea what he said. Strange — so strange. The last time
she’d seen him, in person, she’d felt a genuine concern for him, because Hunter had just shoved him
to the floor so roughly and made him watch as he groped and made out with their daughter.

But then? Right then?

It didn’t matter what he was saying.

It was all just… noise.

And every word that came out of that familiar voice, over her phone, only made her think of the pushover
in her bedroom, night after night throughout her marriage, meekly rubbing the back of his head and
apologizing for how he just wasn’t big enough to handle all that ass of hers, baby, but at least let me
make it up to you, just lie back and let me tongue do the work —

But you didn’t make it up to me, you fucking limpdick. It wasn’t enough for me.

It never was…

Resentment had bubbled over in her like an erupting volcano. Or maybe it was just the white-hot
pleasure rippling through her like a tsunami as Hunter snickered behind her, gave her ass a ferocious
smack, and utterly fucking slammed his powerful young hips into her loudly, lewdly clapping fat married
black ass while she was on the phone with the husband he’d so effortlessly swatted aside in hiss own
home, his massive teen bully cock rubbing against her ravaged pussy wall in all the right ways while he
pounded the little beta male’s wife just as savagely as he’d pounded their daughter.
Whatever it was, the heat had poured right out of her mouth, the words babbling out at the same time as
her phone speakers would have been picking up the fleshy PAP-PAP-PAP-PAP of her huge wobbling fat
ass bouncing on Hunter’s lap like it had never bounce on Christian’s lap in their entire marriage, the
wet squelching slurping noises of her soaking wet pussy folds sliding their way up and down the bully’s
huge battering ram of a cock like a hungry, drooling mouth, and the low, guttural moans that came
randomly out of Monique between words.

“Aaaaaahn~ Shit, are you still talking, little man? Ain’t nobody wanna hear a grown man bitch like a litle
girrrrl~” She held the phone away, arm jerking to the side, a fresh wave of euphoric convulsion and
fullness rippling through her as Hunter laughed tauntingly and rewarded her vitriol for her husband by
adjusting the angle of his hips, pushing them upward in a way that made his cock rub against her
obscenely stretched cunt walls differently. Monique’s tongue lolled out, drool lewdly dangling from its
pink, slimy wetness, a long, low, sustained groan filling the office.

“AaAaaAAaAAAahhhNnNNnnn~” The phone dangled loosely from her fingers, her hand swaying and
bobbing in time with her entire body bouncing up and down, Hunter’s possessive, rough grip in her hair
and his thick, strong fingers digging greedily into one of her bouncing, doughy-soft black asscheeks
combining with his endless, youthful alpha vigor pumping her full over and over and over and over again
making her squirt messily all over his cock and his groin and his firm, toned stomach behind her, her
hanging, heavy breasts swinging wildly. She didn’t know how much the phone was picking up, but she
did know she was moaning loudly, volume going up and down every time Hunter punched his massive
cock into her or felt as if he was pulling out her insides whenever he reared his hips back to prepare for
another savage, cunt-claiming thrust.

“OooooOOOOoOOoOOhhh~ OOooOohhhfuuuuck~ He ain’t even a maaaan compared to you, Daddy~

Ah~ Ah~ Ah~”

“Yeah? Who’s a man, then, you stupid fat-assed slut?” Hunter growled behind her, and his hand
swooped down from on high in a ferocious SMACK! that sent one of Monique’s raw, spankmarked
chocolaty asscheeks bouncing lewdly into the other, making them clap and ripple more than ever.

Monique’s long eyelashes fluttered deliriously. Her free hand scrambled over the desk surface, fingers
clenching, unclenching randomly, sending papers and pens falling to the floor, her entire wobbling,
voluptuous body spasming in pleasure. Hunter’s rough grip in her hair forced her head back even more,
and so she screamed it hoarsely up at the ceiling, eyes rolled back, her lips twisted in a stupid smile.

“YOUUUUU~! YOUUU, DADDYYYY~ YOU THE MAN, DADDYYYY~! OOHHHH~

AHHHHHHNNNN~ YOU THE ONLY MAN WHO OWNS THIS PUSSY~ HAAAAAAHN~ HIS LITTLE
BLACK DICKLET COULDN’T EVEN GET PAST ALL THIS ASS~”

As she screamed it, she wiggled, twerked, popped and locked her wide wobbling hips, pushing her phat
bouncing ass eagerly against Hunter’s pistoning white horsecock at the same time as he was grunting
and snarling like a bull in heat, pounding her quaking black mommy-cheeks so hard and fast that her ass
was starting to go numb. The obscene squelching and slurping sounds from her pussy were louder than
she’d ever thought was even possible, the thick oozing precum gushing out of Hunter’s cock and the
endless torrents of hot sticky fem-cum splattering out of her folds combining to form a depraved
cacophony that was sure to be filling her husband’s ears, as well as the ears of whatever custodial staff
was outside her office cleaning up the school after-hours.

Monique didn’t remember hanging up. All she knew was that when she found her phone on the
carpeted floor later that night, her legs still weak and shaking from the countless orgasms that had
racked her body, she had tried to feel bad for letting her husband of almost two decades hear all of that.

And all she’d felt was her pussy getting wet all over again.

Monique was staring at the spot on the office floor where she’d found her phone that evening, her gaze
distant, when Mark Brennan had snapped her out of it.

“It’s your son, Monique.”

Monique’s eyes came right back into focus. Her heart stopped. Of a sudden she was back in her
house’s kitchen, caressing Trey’s sweet, sleeping face.

“I just brought him to the nurse’s office. It’s, uh…” Once, not so long ago, when Mark had brought her
bad news related to her son, sympathy had been all over his face. That afternoon, though, what she got
instead — was an unexpected, accusatory glare. Monique’s heart had stopped a second time, at that.
She’d never seen anything that harsh from her milquetoast Vice Principal, a man she was quite
convinced would have tried to be diplomatic to a man in the process of mugging him.

“It’s Hunter again. Looks like he roughed the poor kid up pretty bad.”

The whole world seemed to spin around Monique. She’d planted her hand on the bathroom sink next to
her, her generously exposed chocolate cleavage heaving and jiggling subtly as her breathing picked up.

God damn him…!

God damn that white boy!

Haven’t I done enough for him?!

He was supposed to leave my baby alone!

The words repeated endlessly through her brain as her heels clacked on the hallway floors, making her
way toward the nurse’s office as fast as she could, her heart thudding loudly in her ears.

Those words — and the ones Mark had said next.

“At least, Trey said it was him. We can’t find him.

I thought maybe you’d know where he is.”

The words, so pointed. All but saying it out loud, what he knew, what the whole school was coming to
know.

Monique had tried so hard not to think, over the week leading up to that day, about the fact that,
eventually, Trey would know it, too.

Part of her wanted to take a hard turn, right then. To head for the school’s front entrance and walk out,
never to return. Find her car — get in — just fucking drive, somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t here, get
away from it all, from all of them — from Mark’s accusatory glare, from Hunter’s smirking face, from that
sweet gentle face of her son’s that she had failed so many times, oh God she had failed it so much and
in so many ways —

But she was still his momma. No matter what had been happening to her, knowing he was hurt, there
was only one place for her to be.

She didn’t say a word to the school nurse when she barged into the older white woman’s office, a
modest affair with enough room for her desk, a few chairs across from it for students to sit in while they
waited for her help, a supply cabinet, and one connected, smaller room with an infirmary bed. Its door
was closed. Monique looked to it; the nurse followed her gaze, the sympathy on her face mingling with a
kind of mild disapproval as the older woman took in Monique’s considerable amount of bared skin, and
nodded.

Monique had comforted her son so many times over his life after a bully would rough him up or pick on
him. As she approached the infirmary room’s door, she could almost feel herself going back in time to
any one of the countless instances so similar to this one, when she would walk up to her son’s bedroom
door, gently clicking it open and putting on her warmest, most loving smile. Hoping that her smile,
combined with the ones she knew Nia had already given him, would make it all better.

They always had.

There was no smile on her face as she opened the door this time. Because she knew, in the pit of her
churning, guilty gut, she couldn’t make it better. Not this time.

The little room was dim, the light off as Trey lay on the cheap cot, on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
In the moment it took for him to process the door opening, and the daylight streaming in from the larger
nurse’s office outside, Monique’s heart broke at the gloomy look on her son’s nerdy black face, at the
obvious despondence in his limp body.

Her heart broke all over again at the blood coming from her son’s nose; the black eye; the cracked lens
on one side of his glasses.

“Oh, Trey, baby,” Monique breathed, choking up. She started to move toward him, ready to hug him, to
hold his face to her soft motherly bosom, to coo all those sweet nothings at him that a mother tells her
son to make him feel better in the cold face of the world —

“M…Mom? What are you… wearing?”

Monique stopped in her tracks, her shapely brow furrowing in mild confusion.

Wearing? What was he talking abou —

Oh.

Oh. Right.

Monique stood there, a few paces from her son’s bed, suddenly acutely aware of how every soft,
doughy curve of her mature black body was bouncing or jiggling or wobbling in almost plain view, her
huge breasts just about ready to spill out of her midriff-baring white office shirt she was wearing that day,
her tan-colored skirt hitched so far up her wobbling thick thighs that she could feel cool air brushing over
the crotch of her panties beneath.

Suddenly remembering how she had spent the entire week before that moment failing her son in the
worst possible ways.

Monique opened and closed her mouth a few times wordlessly, her mind reeling, trying to push aside the
unwelcome torrent of memories of all the times she’d been slobbering or bouncing on Hunter’s big fat
white cock lately, so that she could find the appropriate words to say in that moment.

Looking at Trey, she could see, almost as vividly as her son, Hunter, sprawled out in her office chair the
day before, smirking arrogantly down at her with one of his hands flopping his flaccid and already
enormous cock up and down as she crawled submissively up to him on all fours.

How could she even look her son in the eye, when not twenty-four hours before, that had been what she
was seeing instead?

Monique averted her gaze. She restlessly fidgeted with her hands, one of them idly smoothing over her
hair, irrationally afraid it might still be messy from the last time Hunter had gripped it, the other
smoothing out the front of her skirt, suddenly terrified she might still be leaking some of his cum from her
ruined, cheating pussy.

“I — I, uhm — it’s, it’s nothing, Trey, it’s just — ”

“And where… where have you been?” Trey had propped himself up on the cot with his elbows. His tone
wasn’t angry, or suspicious. It was worse. The simple, genuine, mildly hurt confusion was far worse
than any anger.

He wasn’t looking at her outfit anymore. He was staring into her eyes.

She almost wished he would go back to staring at her barely-clothed body.

“Dad’s been worried about you,” Trey said softly. He looked down. “…Me, too.”

Monique’s heart ached so badly she thought she might die right there.

She started to move toward him again, her guilt and shame evaporating in the face of her motherly
concern, ready to caress his face just like she had in their home kitchen a week before, and this time
she would tell him everything, she would apologize, and this time she really would make it right if it was
the last thing she ever did, she would fix it, she would fix it all —
Trey sucked in his breath sharply. He crawled back on his bed, staring wide-eyed right past Monique,
toward the door.

Confused, Monique turned to see what had startled him so badly —

It was her turn to suck in a breath.

Hunter was standing there, his massive bulk filling the doorway completely. His strong, brawny arms
were bared in a sleeveless white shirt that clung to his powerful chest. The baggy sweat pants he was
wearing bulged obscenely at the crotch, just like everything else he wore, his sheer size impossible to
hide.

It was like her brain had just submerged into molassess. On a delay, Monique processed what this
meant, what might be about to happen. Her blood turned cold. Her heart started thudding in her ears
again. She looked from her son, back to Hunter, back and forth, her breathing coming out faster.

“It’s — it’s okay, baby — ” Monique had said to her son, that day. Had lied to him, right to his face. She
held up a hand toward him, trying to calm him. “Just — just wait right there, okay? Momma will — ” She
looked at Trey, made sure to catch his eyes. She gave him her bravest, warmest smile.

“Momma will handle this.”

She turned away from him and left the little infirmary room, her fat, barely covered motherly ass shaking
and wobbling as her heels clicked on the floor and she approached Hunter, her wide hips swaying.

The last thing Trey say as she swung the door shut, obscuring the room he was hiding in in darkness,
was the daylight in the nurse’s office shining off some kind of liquid trailing down his mother’s right
thigh.

Had Monique known it was a lie, even as she’d said it?

Or had she only known when the door was closed behind her, and there she was, her back against the
door that separated her from her son, Hunter looming over her with that cocky grin on his rough young
face, making her heartbeat pick up and her breathing hasten just from being so close to him, from the
scent of his body and the hint of his potent alpha cock-stench wafting from his groin?

“I — should I call someone?” The school nurse was stammering, looking confused and uncertain. Of
course she was — once upon a time, it would have been obvious what to do. Call Mrs. Baptiste. Call
Momma Bear. She’d take care of it. She could take care of anything.

But that might as well have been a lifetime ago.

This wasn’t Monique Baptiste’s school anymore.

Monique didn’t say anything. She was too busy breathing harder still, biting her lip, as Hunter stepped
up to her, planting a hand on the door by her head, pinning her against it even more, his own hot breaths
washing over her face as they stood close together, the massive bulge of his crotch pressing up against
Monique’s bared midriff.

“You… hurt him.” The words were soft. They almost sounded slurred. It was not the roar of a Momma
Bear protecting her cub. Far from it.

“Yeah?” Hunter’s deep voice, drawling voice overpowered hers effortlessly, just like his body language
was overpowering hers. He pushed his hips forward, grinding his now visibly throbbing, swelling
cock-bulge against her stomach, and he snickered. “So fucking what?”

Monique looked like she was about to say something, but then he pushed his hips forward again, that
monster in Hunter’s sweatpants twitching violently against her stomach and suddenly seeming to
double in size. Whatever words she had started to say faded into a low, frustrated moan. Her lashes
fluttered. This time, she didn’t even manage that far cry from a roar. All she managed was to look up at
him, brow furrowed, and stick her lip out in a pout, like she was upset but had forgotten how to express
it.

“I told you, bitch,” Hunter growled, leaning down toward Monique. One of his hands reached up and
slowly wrapped around her slender neck, her breaths picking up raggedly as his thick, strong fingers
clamped down around it. The school nurse watched in gruesome fascination as Monique Baptiste, the
woman who had once brooked no nonsense, rubbed her thick, leaking thighs together, panting like a
teenage girl in the throes of heat while the worst school bully in local history choked her right against the
infirmary door containing her freshly beaten-up son.

“I’m gonna keep beating up your little betacuck loser of a kid,” Hunter growled at her, grinding his hips
back and forth, making the ominous, angrily growing monstrosity in his sweatpants rub firmly up and
down over Monique’s belly. “Whenever the fuck I want. Because I can. Because I fucking own him.”

Monique gasped softly as Hunter’s grip on her throat tightened, the door behind her rattling a little as he
shoved her head back against it, forcing her to look up at him. The school nurse’s jaw dropped. She
couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Monique looked like she was still trying to be angry, yes —

— but any woman would recognize the look the school principal was giving Hunter right then.

The heated, flushed arousal on Monique’s face was every bit as clear as the glistening pussy juices on
her bare, black thighs.

“Just like I fucking own you, you fat-assed black slut,” Hunter breathed.

Monique moaned out loud, just in time for Hunter to plunge his smirking lips over hers. The sounds they
made, as the school nurse stumbled out of her chair, shocked, were like those of a kiss — but what she
was witnessing was not a kiss so much as just another declaration of ownership. Wet smacking and
slurping filled the office as Hunter growled into Monique’s mouth and she whimpered submissively into
his, their faces angling from side to side, tongues writhing together wetly and sloppily, drool spilling down
between them and splashing onto Monique’s jiggling, plump breasts; she gasped, and then giggled,
almost drunkenly, into his mouth as he shoved his hips forward, sliding his now visibly rock-hard obelisk
of teen cock up over her bared stomach, making the door behind her rattle again, and his rough palms
audibly slid up along her smooth dark-skinned thighs until they were up under her skirt, helping himself
to a rough, possessive squeeze of her phat shelf-like warm asscheeks.

Monique moaned into his mouth again. The school nurse watched with that gruesome fascination, on
her stumbling way past them, as the woman whose son this bully had just beaten up slid her own hand
lovingly up Hunter’s neck until it was in his hair, caressing the top of his head not so differently from
how she should have been caressing her son’s hair instead.

Hunter pulled his lips away from hers, finally, a wet squelch ringing out as their mashed-together lips
parted. Monique let out a loud, throaty moan, her lashes fluttering, a faint, stupid smile on her beautiful
motherly face that the school nurse would never in a million years have predicted she would ever see on
the no-nonsense school principal.

It was the nurse’s turn to gasp as a sharp SLAP! rang out in the office, Hunter sending Monique’s face
jerking to one side as he smirked down at her and gave one of her cheeks a rough smack.

Surely that would shake Monique out of it.

The nurse’s heart sank as Monique slowly turned her face back toward Hunter — and the dumb smile on
it was even wider. Her clouded, heavily lidded eyes looked up at the bully with what could only have
been described as adulation, almost reverence, her tongue extended, writhing it lewdly to send the
strings of saliva extending between their mouths falling to splash onto her wobbling black titmeat.

Hunter dug his thick fingers into either side of Monique’s face, crudely squeezing her cheeks together,
making her thick, glistening African lips form a puckered ‘O’ shape as he leaned in closer and growled
into her ear. “From now on, when I beat up this little four-eyed faggot? You don’t go running
to him anymore, fat-ass.”

The school nurse was at the office door, one hand on the knob, ready to sneak out — but she couldn’t
help lingering, staring, as Hunter demonstrated just how utterly he’d broken down the proudest,
strongest-willed, most widely liked and respected woman in their town. And the reason why became all
too clear, all too quickly — the nurse couldn’t help sucking in a sharp breath, holding a hand to her heart,
as Hunter shoved his pants down, and released more veiny, hard, destructive teen monstercock than
she’d thought anyone on Earth could even have, the eye-watering natural mind-melting musk of it filling
the entire office instantly.

Against her will, the nurse, who hadn’t been with a man in almost a decade, felt a long-forgotten aching
between her legs.

Hunter released Monique’s throat and took a step back, sneering down at the woman who, not so long
ago, had been hell-bent on expelling him from this school, his enormous, uncut white bully dick waving
heavily side to side. Monique was staring at it, wide eyed, following its movements like a cat watching a
ball of yarn.

“From now on, you come running to me so you can fuckin thank me for beating up that wimp.”
The nurse would remember the look on Monique’s face, in that moment, for the rest of her life. There
was a despair there, clear as day — for just a second, the heartbroken mother inside of Monique Baptiste
was visible. But it was helpless, in the face of that towering, smirking, brutal alpha bully, in the face of
the base needs and primal urges that overtook the black woman’s face as she stared reverently at his
low-hanging, obscenely heavy white monster cock.

And Monique, instead of telling him to fuck off, instead of telling him to go to hell, that Trey was her son
and she would never do such a thing, let out a low, throaty, needy moan… and slowly sank down against
the door behind her until she was squatting against it, her skirt riding up to reveal white panties soaked
so thoroughly that the nurse could see her soaked pussy right through it, her hardened nipples poking
against her thin shirt as her wet tits wobbled and jiggled.

She looked right up at Hunter with those clouded, adoring eyes. Opened her mouth wide, extending her
drooling, pink tongue.

The long, sustained moan she released was muffled against the bully’s hard, throbbing horsecock,
pushing its way firmly and demandingly into her obediently presented mouth, inch after inch, stretching
her jaw wider and wider around its obscene cunt-destroying girth. Her hand shoved itself greedily into
her wet panties, and subtle wet noises of her fingers rubbing at her pussy joined the building slurping of
the principal’s lips on Hunter’s shaft.

The nurse’s heart froze as Hunter, casually, turned to look at her.

He flashed her a wide, endlessly self-assured roguish grin that, in the nurse’s younger days, might have
made her get almost as wet as Monique was right then.

But at that time, it only made her blood run cold. Because it was the face of a monster who had won.
Who always won. And knew he always would.

He bucked his hips forward, forcing an undignified spluttering and muffled, guttural GLRRRK! out of
Monique as his unfairly massive homewrecker violated her throat. Then another. Another.

GLK! GLK! GLK!

The depraved noises followed the nurse all the way down the hallway as she finally stumbled her way
out of the office, still not quite able to believe what she had just witnessed.

That poor, poor boy…

 13 - Chapter Thirteen

How many times had Nia stood here, on these steps leading to the front door of the Baptiste
household?

She couldn’t even count them all. Not due to any fault in her memory — but because she had been
coming here, her sweet dimpled smile on her innocent, pretty dark-complected face and her heartbeat
picking up slightly in the manner of all little girls visiting the boys they liked, to see Trey Baptiste ever
since she was so small that she had to stand on her tip-toes to reach the doorknob.

Those memories felt so distant now. Like if she wanted to reach them, she had to strain harder and
harder each time she tried. And when she did find some of those hazy, bygone memories, they played in
her mind’s eye like damaged videotapes, scattered, fragmented, muted.

But there was one memory that was crystal clear — the last time she had been standing here, just like
she was now, staring at the door, a delicately and colorfully wrapped birthday present tucked under one
arm, one year before.

It might as well have been a different person’s memory. If she could have shown it to anyone else, they
probably wouldn’t have been able to recognize the Nia she remembered, compared to the young
woman reflecting on that day a year ago.

She had been smiling, then. So brightly. Her heart had been hammering harder than it ever had when
she’d visited Trey, because it hadn’t just been a special day for him; it was going to be a special day for
her, too. The real present she had in store for her still-recently official boyfriend, the boy she’d protected
and loved since they were little, wasn’t the one in the box she cheerfully presented to him as he opened
the door for her.

The real present had been the one she’d given him when they were alone in his bedroom.

At least — it was supposed to have been.

She’d been a woman for her man

Yeah, some ‘man’

for the first time in her life — for the first time in his life — and what had she gotten in return?

And that was the most vivid part of the memory. What she’d been thinking about, so bitterly, so
resentfully, the last time she was in Trey’s bedroom, much more recently, the bed bouncing, mattress
creaking, someone else’s white muscular hips slapping loud and meaty, PAP-PAP-PAP-PAP-PAP,
against her big, bouncing, clapping black teen ass…
The monstrous, powerful white cock making her scream that night had been so different from the tiny
little black dick she’d fished out of her lifelong crush’s pants, weakly dribbling the watery, impotent load
she’d coaxed out for him on his birthday last year.

The fact that was all she could think about, right now, today, as she stood here at the door to the
Baptiste residence, somehow made her feel even more awful than she already had, so many times, ever
since that night at Janelle’s party.

So Nia told herself what she’d been telling herself ever since, over and over, time after time: she was
going to end it.

She had to make this right, today. Somehow. Today, of all days — the day that the boy she loved had
come into the world, the day she’d celebrated him every single year for well over a decade. The day
they’d held hands for the first time. The day she’d given him his first kiss.

The day she’d realized she loved him.

Trey’s birthday, throughout their lives, had been so important for them both.

Nia looked skyward, let the soft breeze play with the curly, soft locks of her black hair as she squeezed
her eyes shut and prayed, to who she didn’t know, that just one more time, Trey’s birthday could make
the girl with the dimpled smile and the boy she called ‘Blabbermouth’ feel the love that, one way or
another, had always existed between them.

Because she did still love him.

Didn’t she?

Hunter sure as hell hadn’t believed her, when she tried telling him as much.

She supposed it must not have been very convincing, the way she’d weakly murmured it as he
swaggered up to her in a deserted school hallway he’d ordered her to meet him in during lunchtime.
After all, a couple nights before, she’d been screaming rapturously that he was making her cum again,
again, holy shit how was he making her cum again she’d never come so much in her whole life, working
her fat wobbling mounds of soft black ass-padding up and down on the bully’s strong lower body with a
frenzied desperation she didn’t even know she had in her, only getting more and more turned on by the
sounds of her boyfriend’s own sister noisily making out with the awful white brute as they made poor
Trey’s bed a complete mess.

No. Not very convincing.

Even less convincing, since she had shown up at all. Even though he’d just sent her a selfie that had
made her gasp in appalled shock and disgust and horror, a selfie of him holding a bruised Trey by the
collar of his shirt in the locker room.
How was Hunter supposed to believe her, when she didn’t even believe her own rationalization for
showing up, that she’d come to give him a piece of her mind?

All she’d ended up giving him was a piece of her ass.

“Please…” she’d breathed, hating herself for that loathsome, delicious, fucked-up, perfect heat churning
in her lower belly as Hunter had shoved her against the wall between some lockers, her cheeks flushed,
her breaths coming out raggedly, and holy fuck her pussy had been so fucking wet already, why was
she already so wet, why did this fucking asshole do this to her even though she hated him so much?

Even though she…

“I… I love him,” Nia whimpered, and she felt tears in her eyes, even as her belly heated up even more,
did a series of somersaults, even as her pussy throbbed at the rough way Hunter was shoving her tight
jeans down. She felt the cool air brushing over her doughy, jiggling fat black ass just before the hot
stinging sensation of the huge brute hand that had just beat up her boyfriend sent those bubbly dark
asscheeks wobbling and clapping against each other with a hard, territorial SMACK!, making her take a
shuddering, sharp breath and cry out — a sound that was both helpless despair and equally helpless lust.
“P—P—Pleaaase! Hunter you don’t understand, I… I still — I still love — ”

Hunter hadn’t given her a chance to finish. Of course he hadn’t. Her world had become a blur of
motion, he’d spun her around so that she was facing him, her stinging, spankmarked, soft shelf-like
teen ass pressing into the cold hard wall behind her — and then suddenly his mouth was over hers, the
mouth that insulted and humiliated both her and, far more harshly, her boyfriend, and his tongue was
shoving itself against hers just as effortlessly possessively as his strong, warm white hand was shoving
itself down her panties to rub harshly at her pussy, letting him feel how embarrassingly, awfully sticky
and wet and needy it was for him, her thick wobbling thighs shaking and twitching at his rough,
demeaning touch as their lips smacked noisily and wetly together in that quiet, deserted school hallway.

Touching her like Trey never did. Making her feel things that Trey never did.

That Trey never could, even if he’d nutted up enough to try.

“Yeah?” Hunter had grunted, when he’d finally parted his lips from hers, his deep, sneering voice
rumbling through her in their close proximity, his breaths hot on her skin as those terrible, dark, violent
eyes stared intently into her big, teary, sad ones. “You got something to say, you dumb, fat-assed black
slut? Go on. Tell me what you love.”

“I love… I… I l—love…”

How had she gotten here…?

When had she squatted down like this, her jeans around her ankles, her big, round, endlessly soft black
ass bouncing and jiggling, her white T-shirt stained heavily with drool?

When had those loud, sloppy wet slurping and squelching noises started filling the air as her plump,
shapely African lips desperately slid up and down Hunter’s rock-hard, veiny monstrosity of a white
cock?

“Fuck~” Nia gasped, her simpering voice almost unrecognizable from the last time she remembered
hearing herself talk. Had that been a second ago? A minute ago? Ten minutes ago? A lifetime? She
didn’t know. All she knew was that her heart was hammering in her ears, and her stomach felt like an
oven with no off switch, and she couldn’t stop fucking rubbing her convulsing, dripping cunt as she
sloppily slathered the adoration and worship all over Hunter’s godly, veined alpha horsecock that it so
richly fucking deserved. She plunged her lips down the throbbing, enormous beast of a dick as far as
she could, her thick lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back, as its obscene size made her jaw ache, lips
stretching lewdly in a vacuum seal that sent her thick saliva splattering down onto the floor and onto her
wobbling, clothed tits. “So~”

Shlrrrrp

POP!

“Fugginggg~”

Glrrrrrk!

GLK. GLK. GLK. GLK. GLK.

Pwaaaah~

“Haaah~ Haaaah~” Nia panted loudly for breath, a few sultry, throaty moans escaping between gasps
for air. Her glistening, sloppy saliva dripped from her mouth, her slimy pink tongue slowly moving around
her plush red lips. Her hooded, heavily glazed eyes stared with a brainless, animal reverence at the
giant, rock-hard slab of apex masculinity that was Hunter’s proudly towering pillar of cockmeat, a
perverse, twisted pride making her heart flutter at the knowledge that all the saliva dripping from it and
the lipstick smears trailing all along its veiny, gnarled battering ram length were her handiwork. “Sooo
fugging biiiig~” she slurred dumbly, barely even aware she was saying it, and she giggled stupidly as
she leaned in, moaning low and needy in her throat, her lips smacking noisily in a sloppy, loving kiss on
the side of Hunter’s monster bullycock, making it twitch and strain to grow even bigger. “Aaaahn~” Nia
turned her heavily lidded, lust-dazed eyes up toward Hunter, her soft, feminine fingers delicately gripping
the enormous base of his cock, the way her fingers couldn’t even wrap all the way around it making her
heart flutter. Almost as much as it made her heart flutter to see that damnable, handsome, thuggish
white face smirking down at her with its endless arrogance, arrogance that had once made her want to
slap him and now, for reasons she couldn’t understand, that she didn’t want to understand, made her
want to worship his big, fat, perfect fucking cock.

Her mouth was already way ahead of her there. She let his hard, throbbing monster drape across her
face, looking reverently cross-eyed up at it as she sluggishly processed its obscene size dwarfing her
normally sweet, angelic face, and a fresh series of depraved, wet slurping noises rang out as she set to
loudly making out with the bloated, low-hanging shaved ballsack of the hulking misogynistic bully who
had just roughed up the boy she’d once protected from thugs like him. This awful, loathsome asshole
who got off on taking not just Trey’s dignity and self-esteem by pushing him around, but taking every
woman in his life who’d ever loved him, too, just because he could.
Just because he had this giant, veiny white alpha cock whose size and weight and heat as it draped
over Nia’s face were making her pussy spasm needily.

Just because he had these juicy… heavy…

virile…

fat balls…

Nia moaned long and low under her breath, her eyelashes fluttering dreamily, her hot, slimy pink tongue
desperately licking and slurping and lapping at Hunter’s swollen, sloshing, grade-A egg-sized bully
nuts.

“Ohhh, shit…” Hunter smirked wider so far up above her, the insufferable arrogance radiating from him
getting worse by the second as he enjoyed the view of the proud, strong-willed Nia Avery, once the
purest girl in town, with her fat black ass lewdly thrust out behind her for his enjoyment as she
desperately made out with his big churning nutsack, her drool and lipstick smeared all over his massive
hard cock as it flopped around heavily over her face. Nia felt butterflies fluttering in her belly simply from
the sound of his deep, rough voice showing even a hint of the satisfaction she was giving him. She
hated herself for that, for the twisted, desperate pride it gave her when he threw her the crumb of his
sneering pleasure as a reward for her feverish worship.

“Wassamatter, fatass?” Hunter grunted, and he leaned forward over her, his strong, abusive white hand
sinking its thick fingers into the doughy, wobbling chocolaty flesh of her cheating teen ass and shaking it
around roughly. He gave it a harsh smack, filling the hallway with a meaty slapping sound. Nia moaned
loudly, muffled into his huge, fat ballsack, and her fingers pumped faster in and out of her leaking,
dribbling pussy. “Doesn’t it bother you that I just beat up that faggy nerd you call a boyfriend?”

Somewhere deep inside Nia, there was a distress at that mocking question.

Hunter’s cock twitched so powerfully that it lifted up off of her sloppy, flushed sweet face — and slapped
back down onto it with a dull, meaty PAP, feeling somehow, impossibly, irrationally, even bigger, even
stronger, even more powerful.

Nia’s eyelashes fluttered. A low, vaguely despairing moan issued from deep in her throat, only adding to
the pleasure she was giving Hunter, the sounds muffled into his overgrown ballsack as she continued to
mindlessly slurp and slobber all over it.

“Haaah, of course it doesn’t,” Hunter gloated, a sound that had once made Nia glare daggers at him
but now only earned that clouded, dreamy stare from her, her lips wetly popping free of one of his fat,
virile nuts and her tongue lewdly sliding out to lap greedily at it instead, the wet muscle pressing down
between his huge balls and sliding back and forth, another sultry moan escaping her at the feeling of
how heavy and full they were.

“And you know what else, you stupid, wobbly-assed breeding cow bitch? I think it makes you fuckin
wet.”
There was another wet POP! Hunter’s low-hanging, bloated balls popped out of Nia’s mouth again,
glistening all over with her drool.

That, at last, had been enough to shake Nia out of it, make her want to glare at him like he deserved —

But…

Instead all she could do was squat there, her fingers frozen over her gushing teen pussy, breaths
coming out of her raggedly, her mouth gaped open as she stared dumbly up at him, unable to muster up
the glare.

Because it wasn’t him she hated, for saying that.

Nia hated herself, for making it true.

She was almost grateful that Hunter didn’t give her time to dwell on it. Next thing she knew, he had
crudely shoved her down onto the cold, tiled hallway floor, his strong hands gripping her curvy, soft bare
hips and hauling her into the position he wanted her in with an effortless strength that made Nia
breathless all over again, a little gasp of awe escaping against her will as Hunter loomed over her from
behind and pulled her big, wobbling black ass back toward him so that it was up in the air, her torso on
the floor, her tight white T-shirt mercifully preventing her bare tits from having to be pressed against the
cool surface.

“I fuckin knew it,” Hunter sneered from behind her. Nia’s cheeks flushed. She closed her eyes,
whimpering under her breath, a sick mixture of disgust with herself and excitement at Hunter’s touch
warring within her, his thick, coarse fingers running slowly, firmly up between her soaked pussy lips and
gathering up her juices. “Getting turned on by how that little wimp’s big bad bully walks all over him so
easy… that’s pretty fucked up, you know that, right?”

He didn’t give her a fair chance to answer. Of course he didn’t. Playing fair wasn’t even a concept in
the world of a brute like Hunter. Nia could only whimper, looking over her shoulder up at him with her
glasses crooked, her eyes big and shining and glazed, her plump, drooling lips stuck out in a pout, while
Hunter knelt down on one knee behind her and let his enormous, hot, sticky monster cock PLAP! meatily
down between her pillowy black asscheeks.

“Well, don’t feel too bad, bitch,” Hunter breathed hotly, naked, animal greed etched on his thuggish
face as he drank in the depraved view of his throbbing pillar of white life-ruining fuckmeat sandwiched
between the bubbly, wobbling asscheeks of his bullying victim’s girlfriend. Worse than that was
knowing just how accustomed he was to being rewarded for his awful behavior by that very view…

And the absolute worst part?

How that made Nia’s belly heat up.

“Because that’s all you are. Just a fat-assed bitch.” Hunter’s big hand swooped down onto her ass, a
sharp fleshy SMACK! echoing in the deserted school hallway. Nia tried to stop the moan, but couldn’t. It
came out loud and needy, her teeth biting down into her lower lip to contain it far too late, loving the
rough sting that the territorial smack had sent through her body even though she didn’t want to, turned
on by his casual objectification of her even though she didn’t want to be, a squirt of fem-cum splattering
down onto the ground between her quivering, smooth black legs.

“You can’t help it, haah… just like he can’t help being a fuckin limpdicked beta loser.” Nia wished she
didn’t love how strong and warm his hands were as he helped himself to rough grips on either of her
doughy, easily yielding chocolate ass-mounds, pressing them together on either side of his powerfully
throbbing white monsterdick. She wished she didn’t love how fucking right it felt for all of that ass she’d
been so proud of for so long, which had gone wasted for so long, to finally be put to use, softly and
lewdly sandwiching her boyfriend’s bully’s unfairly bestial, massive cock.

She wished she didn’t love how fucking right it felt for her ass to be pleasing a real Man, after being
squandered by an impotent little boy for so long…

“That’s why he gets to sulk in the nurse’s office cleaning up the bloody nose I gave him,” Hunter
grunted, his voice seeming to almost become deeper, more brutish, as his lust built, and that, too, sent a
depraved thrill through Nia. “And I get to help myself to all this fat black ass you’ve been wasting on
him all this time… and that he’s never gonna fuckin touch again.”

His fingers sank even more harshly into her wobbling, pillowy assflesh. He pressed her cheeks more
firmly around his twitching monster bully-cock.

And slammed his hips forward.

PAP. Nia’s huge, globular dark-skinned asscheeks bounced and rippled.

Again.

PAP.

PAP.

PAP. PAP. PAP. PAP.

He didn’t even have to penetrate her. Just the sounds of his strong, muscled body slapping into her
tender, jiggling ass, making the phat soft mounds clap and ripple and shake — just the deep, rough
grunts of a bull in heat from behind her —

Just the crass, arrogant certainty in his voice as he’d claimed ownership of her like that —

Nia came several times, lying there on the hallway floor while Hunter jerked himself off between her
warm, doughy asscheeks, before he finally emptied those spit-slathered, lipstick-stained alpha balls all
over her spankmarked mounds.

—
She did still love Trey, though.

She did.

It’s what she told herself, after that encounter in the school hallway immediately following Janelle’s
house party — it’s what she told herself after, over and over and over and over again, every day that
followed, every time Hunter would make her sneak into a male restroom at school to suck him off during
class, every time he would make her ride that damned monster of a dick he was slinging between his
legs in the beat-up old car he drove to school every day, every time she would lie in bed at home, her
sheets becoming wetter and wetter as she would spend hours writhing, her body drenched with sweat,
masturbating to the memories of all the ways Hunter was defiling her body, to the video clips he kept
sending her of his giant, veiny, beautiful white cock that she seemed to think about and obsess over
more and more every day.

But—

If she did love Trey —

Then why, fucking why, did it make her cum her fucking brains out when one of those video clips Hunter
had sent her was of him sitting in Monique Baptiste’s office chair, smirking up into the camera while he
held it high enough for Nia to see that all-too-familiar head of short, curly black hair bobbing desperately
up and down over the bully’s lap, the camera picking up the tinny audio of Monique’s moans and wet,
sloppy slurping?

And if she did love Trey—

Then why, two weeks after the house party, had her bedsheets been getting drenched — not for the first
time — by not her own fingers in her cunt, but Hunter’s huge, mind-bending white bully-cock slamming in
and out of it?

She knew how bad things were getting for Trey. She knew, even before that video Hunter had sent her,
that he had gotten to Monique, too — there was plenty of word around school, and Nia herself had seen
Monique, more than once, her thick, explosive mature curves spilling out of skimpier and skimpier
clothes around school, walking with the bow-legged stride that Nia was starting to know all too well
herself.

Nia had been crushed by that. The woman she’d always looked up to, the woman she’d wanted to
model herself after, so impossibly strong, independent, so fiercely loving and protecting of her son Trey
— Nia was weak, she knew that now, but she’d never thought that Hunter could ever get to Monique.
Not her. Not Momma Bear.

That he had not only gotten to her, but had brought her so low that she was clacking around campus in
her high heels looking like a freshly fucked slut half the time…

Her heart had broken for Trey.

It had still been breaking for him when simply writhing around on her bed rubbing her pussy to the awful
thoughts of what Hunter was doing to Monique weren’t enough, and she finally texted two simple words
to her boyfriend’s bully.

Come over

He did.

He didn’t even bother to introduce himself to Nia’s parents, that first time he came to her house. Her
father had looked, at first, shocked at the sight of the hulking, muscular white teen filling their doorway —
and then more disappointed than Nia had ever seen him look in her entire life, when, glancing from the
smirking thug at the door and Nia, standing timidly by the hallway in her underwear and a tank top,
gnawing at her lip, the body language she was giving off all he needed to understand what was going
on.

That broke Nia’s heart, too. Her parents had never been anything but proud of her.

By the third time Hunter had kept them awake deep into the night with Nia’s bed slamming into her
bedroom wall, his hips slapping loudly and meatily into her quaking, clapping fat black ass, her
increasingly reckless and wanton screams and moans filling the house, she doubted her parents were
very proud of her anymore.

She understood.

How could they be, when the could hear for themselves exactly what Hunter was turning her into?

“AH~ AH~ AH~ OooOooOOOooohmyyyGaawwWWWwdd Daddyyy~ Yes~ YES~ YESSS~! RIGHT

FUCKING THERE, DADDY~!” Nia’s hoarse, rapturously moaning voice climbed in pitch with every
savage, brain-melting slam of Hunter’s hips down against her wobbling, spank-marked chocolaty
asscheeks. Gone was the strong, confident voice that had once presided over the after-school feminist
club she’d founded. Replacing it, filling her house night after night now, was the simpering, slutty
dick-drunk voice of a girl whose every waking hour revolved around the hard, veiny, homewrecking
alpha monstercock that was turning her pussy out day in and day out, defiling it in ways a sweet girl like
her had never even thought possible, reshaping the very core of her femininity around his brutal,
toe-curling size, every time his massive length plunged balls-deep into her pussy pounding into her his
ownership of her.

Not that it was much in question, by then. As her curvy, ripe young body bounced on her mattress, prone
and pinned under Hunter’s naked, muscular form, his firm hips bucking with animal fuck-frenzy up and
down over her quaking protruding soft bubble-butt, it was easy to see just at a glance that she was an
owned bitch. The proud girl who had once strutted around campus with aggressive slogan-bearing
T-shirts about equality and female empowerment and toxic masculinity, whose most daring flaunting of
her body had once been tight jeans and a midriff-baring shirt with a symbol from her boyfriend’s favorite
video game on it, looked like an on-call hooker now — her naturally long lashes extended, her sultry,
glazed almond-shaped eyes coated in smoky makeup, her plump, gaped, drooling lips glistening with a
shiny pink gloss, big hoop earrings and bracelets jingling in time with her lingerie-clad body bouncing on
the mattress in time with Hunter’s grunting and snarling thrusts. She’d used her father’s credit card to
buy the fishnet stockings through which her thick, smooth black flesh was spilling, ashamed but already
getting wet as she’d done it, Hunter’s throbbing monster cock in one hand as she’d put in the order,
his sneering, deep voice assuring her that her father wouldn’t do shit about it. His credit card had
secured, too, the gaudy pink high-heeled boots on her feet, currently flailing limply in the air behind her;
the crotchless panties digging into her soft, wide, baby-bearing hips; and the skin-tight fishnet mini-dress
that was brusquely shoved up so that Hunter could abuse and ravage her phat wobbly cheating black
ass.

“OHFUCK~ OH FUCK~ OHFUCKFUCKFUCK~ ’M CUMMINNNNGG~ ’M CUMMING DADDY ’M

GONNA CUM ALL OVER YOUR BIG FAT WHITE COCK AGAINNNN~” Nia couldn’t even help it — the
babbling, rapturous moans just poured out of her. Even the first night Hunter had broken in her bed,
when she’d tried to keep quiet, she hadn’t been able to last a few minutes of the white bully’s ungodly,
destructive cock pumping deep inside of her before she’d been screaming with depraved pleasure.
She’d given up trying, after that. Her eyes were rolled back, sheer stupid bliss on the face that had once
smiled that sweet dimpled smile every morning at the parents now forced to hear her whorishly crying
out for the cock of exactly the kind of abusive, demeaning thug that was more than likely her father’s
worst nightmare.

It was a nightmare for Nia, too.

A nightmare that, right then, she had never wanted to wake up from.

“AaaAAAAAAAaaaAAAAaAaaHHhhhhhHHHnnNnnNN~” She screamed out, long, sultry, voice rising

and falling every time Hunter pounded his entire considerable body weight into her, loud heavy fleshy
PAP-PAP-PAPs ringing out as an obscene undercurrent to Nia’s scream of pleasure. Her tongue lolled
out, drool splattering down onto the pillow where she’d used to hide her face in embarrassment after
sending sweet clumsily flirting text messages to Trey, never fathoming that years later she would be
lying on her stomach wearing fishnets and heavy, slutty makeup, pinned under the worst bully he’d ever
had — and her wide, curvy hips spasming, long lashes fluttering, as she explosively geysered hot, sticky
sweet fem-cum all over the bully’s pistoning, veiny white horsecock.

The stream of her orgasmic juices came out in sloppy fits and bursts, interrupted every time Hunter,
grunting as he planted his hands on the bedframe in front of them, flexed and thrusted and gyrated his
hips, not just pumping into her like a machine but effortlessly alternating between slamming into her and
then stirring up her insides in ways that made her mind fucking melt, made her moan low and long and
throaty and kick her high-heeled feet around like a frustrated kid, trying and failing to process the
overwhelming sensations of such a massive, powerful alpha male cock ravaging her little pussy. Every
time she thought the climax was about to taper off, Hunter would buck his hips a certain way, swivel his
throbbing, rock-hard battering ram of a cock around inside her, rubbing against a particularly sensitive
portion of her inner walls, and she would be screaming all over again, her running makeup and her
lolling tongue and her crossed, glazed, stupid eyes like a cruel parody of exactly the sort of hedonistic,
self-demeaning dumb cock-crazed slut she’d once despised and sworn never to be.

Nia came back into herself when the orgasm finally did taper off, as she had so many times over the last
couple weeks, as if she was slowly, sluggishly trying to snap out of a trance, her glassy eyes rolling in
their sockets, her breaths coming out heavy and ragged, her slender, feminine fingers scrambling
against her bedsheets.
“I… I ca— I caaaan’t,” she wailed, in a small, pouty voice, the protest turning into a helpless moan of
pleasure; Hunter was very slowly, deliberately pulling his pulsating monstercock out of her cunt, an
obscene squelching ringing out as her pink folds were tugged along with the motion. Nia’s limbs
twitched and flailed randomly, her tongue lolling out again, riding out the queer, vaguely distressing
sensation of his cock leaving her pussy, some animal instinct panicking at the notion of this virile alpha
male pulling out of her and moving on. “Dadddyyyyyyy… pleeeeaaase! I need a breaaak! If… if you keep
stirring me up inside with that fucking monster, I’m — I’m gonna lose my miiiiind — ”

Nia cried out in a combination of distress and reflexive lust as Hunter shut her up by slamming one of his
huge hands down onto her already raw and spank-marked doughy black ass. Her phat cheeks clapped
together, rippled, wobbled lewdly, the sheer size of her pillowy rear making it bounce back against the
bully’s muscular groin even though he was pulling back.

“M—My parents! They have to work in the morni — "

This time there was no distress when Nia cried out. Her entire expression reset immediately when
Hunter abruptly shoved his hips forward, every inch of his cunt-gaping monster cock plunging balls-deep
inside her with effortless strength, his groin slapping meatily into her jiggling fat ass and then pressing it
down, down, down, as he snarled over her shoulder and ground himself as deep into her as he could,
swiveling his hips, his massive, bloated ballsack slapping lightly from one of her thick black thighs to the
other as he sent shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through Nia’s helplessly twitching and
trembling body, her eyes rolling back until they were almost all whites, her teeth gnawing together at first
in a futile effort to clamp down — only for her loud, wanton scream of rapture to make the cute framed
selfie of her and Trey on her bedside table rattle.

“How many times I gotta tell you, you dumb bitch?” Hunter grunted, that low deep voice sending an
involuntary thrill through Nia’s flipping somersaulting belly, a thrill that only intensified when her
boyfriend’s bully roughly grabbed her hair, sending pain through her scalp as he forced her to look
straight up at his thuggish, growling face, arching her neck in a way that awoke deep primal feelings of
submission. “Fuck your parents. You don’t got an old man anymore. What you got instead, fat-ass?”

He bucked his hips forward roughly. He was already balls-deep inside her, so all it did was make her
body bounce on the mattress — and send white-hot pleasure scalding through her as his fist-like
cockhead battered against the entrance to her womb, his all-consuming, endlessly unfair girth rubbing
against every most sensitive part of her core. Nia cried out again, her tongue lolling stupidly out of her
mouth, a shaky, feverish smile tugging at the corners of her lips, a few sporadic squirts of her fluids
splashing out onto Hunter’s swollen ballsack and the mattress.

“Ahhhh… Ahhhh… AHHHHHH~! I— I DON’T NEED AN OLD MAN ANYMORE~! I GOT A DADDY~! OH
FUCK~ I GOT A BIG DADDY WITH A BIG FAT PERFECT FUCKING COCK~!”

Hunter laughed over her. A low, dark, taunting laugh, a sound that made her feel low, made her feel
stupid, made her feel worthless.

Her hot sopping wet cunt squirted out a few more bursts of pussy juice, convulsing needily in response.
The stupid, desperate smile on her plump glossy lips widened.
She was moaning so loudly, a long, monotone sound of brain-dead carnal bliss, as Hunter slowly pulled
himself out of her in preparation to slam himself back in yet again, that she almost didn’t notice the
buzzing and vibrating coming from her bedside table.

But Hunter did.

Of course he did.

“Oh this is too fucking good,” he’d said, paying no attention to the fact Nia’s moan had turned into a
little whimpering sound of frustration at the way his hips had stopped eroding more and more of what
little was left of her mind with every thrust and pivot.

Nia shook her hair away from his suddenly lax grip, her brows furrowing, looking up to follow his gaze,
right over to —

Her cell phone.

It was rattling around on her bedside table, right by the picture of her and Trey.

And on the screen was…

“Ohno,” Nia whispered, her eyes widening, some of the clouds in them dispelling.

Hunter grabbed the phone and held it near her face, making sure she couldn’t avoid it — the picture of
Trey on the screen, the text saying ‘BLABBERMOUTH’ (because of course she had used his
affectionate nickname for her Contacts list) confirming beyond a doubt that it was her boyfriend calling.

Nia, of a sudden, didn’t want this nightmare of feverish, unending, forbidden pleasure to go on forever.

She wanted it to end. Right then, right there.

Her mind, struggling to regain some kind of clarity, couldn’t stop racing—

What time was—

Why was he calling now—

Was something wrong—

When was…

When was the last time she’d even spoken to him?

The memory of the last time she’d seen him, in person, flashed across her mind. Trey, standing there
by his kitchen table, across from her on the dance floor that had once been his living room, a hint of
hope dawning on his face as he saw her.
Hope that had crumbled into ashen horror when Hunter had stepped in her path.

Oh, fuck.

Oh fuck it’s all gone so wrong…

Hunter’s rock-hard monstrosity of a white cock twitched inside her. He leaned down, breathing hotly into
her ear, half-sneering as he said it:

“Pick up.”

Nia had spent night after night up until then doing everything Hunter had said, but for just a moment,
right then, she hesitated.

Hunter’s voice moved even closer to her ear. She shivered as his deep, domineering, threatening tone
vibrated through her prone, trembling body.

“You gonna make me repeat myself?”

Oh. Right.

This wasn’t Trey. This wasn’t her father. This wasn’t any countless number of the beta males Nia had
encountered growing up, the ones who had made her scoff at the very notion of male authority.

This was the Man whose enormous, throbbing battering ram of a cock, currently half-buried in her
obscenely stretched pink pussy, had taught her what real male authority was. Taught her that it was the
one thing she’d always wanted, needed, deep down.

Nia’s trembling finger had pressed the Accept Call button before the thought process could even fully
form in her brain.

For a moment, there wasn’t a sound. All three of them on the call that was meant for only two of them
were silent. Hunter sneered quietly into Nia’s ear. Nia panted for breath, her heartbeat pounding in her
ears, knowing her breaths were soft despite how ragged they were and yet convinced they must seem
like the loudest thing on Earth to Trey.

On the other end of the line, she heard Trey, simply breathing into the microphone for a few long beats.

“N—Nia?”

Nia felt, suddenly, like she was about to sob.

She’d almost forgotten that voice.

That sweet, gentle, ever-tentative voice. That voice that sounded like it was nervous to speak every
word it uttered.
It was the farthest cry she could imagine from the rough, sneering, arrogant deep voice of the bully who
had been dominating her, her body, her home, her entire life, for the couple weeks leading up to that
night.

It was a voice from a different world, from a different lifetime—

And in that moment, Nia wanted more than anything to go back to that voice, to that world, to that
lifetime.

“I— are you there?” Trey’s voice stammered, sounding so nervous even though it was just a phone call.
Nia’s urge to cry swerved, just as wildly as it had emerged, into an impulse to laugh — not at him, not at
her sweet dorky Trey, but to laugh like she always had at his awkwardness and his nervousness, to
laugh fondly and warmly.

“It’s just… I mean, I’ve called and texted you so many times lately, and you just… well, it’s the first time
you’ve… picked up.”

“Trey — ” Nia started to say, a wavering, affectionate smile spreading on her face—

She’d forgotten herself. Where she was.

Who was with her.

Hunter shoved his hips forward.

It was like the air had been punched out of her. Nia’s eyes went wide. Her mouth worked noiselessly a
few times, the impulses to scream and to not make a sound warring in that instant just enough to make
sure not a peep escaped her, her entire body stiffening, her adrenaline surging and taking the brunt of
the ferocious wave of sensation that Hunter’s giant veiny white cock slamming all the way into her
pussy ignited.

And just like that, it all came back to her.

That world, that lifetime, that the sound of Trey’s voice had made her so nostalgic for—

It had never been further away.

She was lying on her stomach on her bed, a bed that she had been ravaged and pounded and defiled
on so many times over the last few nights that it reeked of sweat and semen and fluids and fuck; clothes
were discarded all around her, outfits that had become sluttier and sluttier at Hunter’s demands just like
Monique’s; her ample curves and soft flesh were lewdly on display in a fishnet mini-dress, fishnet
leggings, and pink high-heeled boots, all for the benefit of the smirking, brutal white bully who was
pinning her down onto her bed, grinding his muscular hips against her fat, jiggling, doughy-soft black
teen ass, stretching her cunt so wide open that the tiny little thing Trey had between his legs would
never have even registered inside of her if Hunter had disappeared right then and Trey could take his
place.
The face that Trey was no doubt imagining on the other end of the line, the cherubic, dimpled smile of
the only girl he’d ever loved and who had ever loved him, almost unrecognizable now, her hair damp
with sweat, messy, straggling over smokily made-up eyes, her makeup running down her cheeks, her
eyelashes extended, her plush lips smeared with slutty gloss.

Shame washed over Nia, almost nauseatingly strong—

Only for Hunter to unexpectedly buck his hips back, and then forward, stirring up her insides all over
again.

This time Nia couldn’t contain it. She plunged her face into the pillow in front of her, just in time to muffle
her whimpering, high-pitched moan of reflexive pleasure, her hips twitching convulsively, making her
huge black ass wobble and ripple lewdly. Hunter sneered, slowly moving his throbbing, massive
bullycock around inside of her, faint but audible wet squelching noises ringing out.

“…Nia…?”

Nia’s eyes were glistening when she finally turned her face over on her pillow, one cheek still resting on
the soft surface, her cheeks flushed, her breaths coming out heavier… but they weren’t glistening
because she was sad.

Shouldn’t she be…?

Hunter let out a low, rumbling growl, still holding the phone over her, but looking away from it, looking
down past his powerful chest and abs to instead watch as he worked that ungodly, loathsome, beautiful
monstrosity of white cock around inside of Nia, making her gasp, sucking in a shuddering, whimpering
breath that came out just as shuddery, faint, feminine whimpers punctuating every breath. Her
eyelashes fluttered. She bit down on her thick, juicy lower lip, her fingers writhing on the sheets to either
side of her body, her hips twitching… and starting to gyrate, taking on a will of their own, pushing
themselves back, to the sides, her animal instincts taking over and responding to the alpha male
horsecock using and owning her fertile young womanhood.

The fertile young womanhood that Trey had never even seen. Let alone touched.

and that he’s never gonna fuckin touch again

That endlessly confident, cruel statement Hunter had made, Lord knew how many days before, while he
jerked himself off with Nia’s phat wobbling black asscheeks in a school hallway echoed in Nia’s ears.

Heat exploded in her stomach.

She was staring at the selfie of her and Trey on the bedside table. His voice spoke up again on the
phone, tentative, nervous… and suddenly, it didn’t make her feel fondness. It didn’t make her want to
laugh warmly.

It made her want to fucking puke.

All those years she’d spent on this bed, flirting with him, thinking about him, dreaming about a future
with him—

And this was how it had turned out.

Because of him.

Because of that weak, uncertain, boyish voice on the other end of the phone.

The heat was spreading to every corner of Nia’s body. Every motion of Hunter’s hips, every swivel,
every slow, deep, driving thrust, every time he firmly, possessively ground his crotch against her
wobbling, shaking, shelf-like fat ass, making her his bitch the way a fucking Man should, made the heat
explode even more intensely. And not just from the raw physical pleasure.

From a white-hot, resentful satisfaction that surprised even her. A satisfaction that made Hunter’s cock
stirring up her insides feel even better than it had before.

This was what he deserved. For being such a fucking pussy. For wasting her time all those years. For
blurting out that she was ‘scaring him’ when she’d thrown herself on him on his living room couch, a
lifetime ago, to try to comfort him when he’d confessed all his fears about Hunter.

Hunter never would have done that.

Hunter would have…

“Mm… mmnnnn…” Nia realized, belatedly, that she was moaning softly, her eyes glazed and unseeing
as the stared ahead at the portrait of her and Trey on her bedside table, a naughty smile tugging at her
plump African lips, the bed starting to creak rhythmically as she worked her ass up and down, pushing
herself back and forth on Hunter’s powerful, rock-hard monster cock, fucking herself on her boyfriend’s
bully’s bigger better dick while that same boyfriend listened on the phone.

Thinking about that turned her on so fucking much that she felt her pussy spasming feverishly, squirting
out a few bursts of her juices messily around every small gap that formed as her squelching pink pussy
folds greedily moved up and down Hunter’s massive cock.

“O-Oh…? I think I hear… Nia, is that you?”

And just like that —

the sheer, pure vulnerability in Trey’s sweet voice — that dawning of hope at just catching what might
have been the sound of her voice —

Nia’s eyes cleared up a bit. Her heart ached.

Fuck.

I am such a fucking mess…

“Yes,” Nia said, her voice so faint even she could barely hear it. Her hips stopped working on Hunter’s
cock. She started turning on the pillow, trying to angle her mouth more toward the phone, and she said it
again, louder, clearer. “Yes, Trey, I’m — ”

She barely managed to dive her face back into the pillow to muffle the loud, sultry moan that Hunter
forced out of her by slowly, relentlessly plunging every inch of his veiny battering ram of a cock right
back inside her. She swore she could almost feel her stomach bulging out from the impossible,
monstrous size so deep inside of her.

“Nia? Is everything okay?” Trey sounded genuinely concerned — and more than a little suspicious. After
everything that had been happening in his life lately, Nia supposed that made sense.
The shame washed over her all over again, for the exact same reason that, moments before, had made
her so horny she had started to squirt all over Hunter’s monster bully-cock conquering her cunt — for the
fact that the last girl who had ever wanted to betray Trey was now on the phone with him while her fat
black ass was clapping audibly, fleshily, against his bully’s white hips, her sweet, precious juices
dripping all along his destructive, throbbing length. Juices that she’d always intended only for Trey.

God, how could she have even answered that question?

Is everything okay? IS EVERYTHING OKAY, TREY?

I will always love you, Blabbermouth — some part of me will —

But how fucking CLUELESS do you have to be — ?

After everything that’s happened — everything you’ve heard — seen —

You ask if EVERYTHING IS OKAY?

The resentment flared in her anew. She realized she was glaring at the phone, panting, idle little
whimpers and moans escaping her, and that she was bucking her hips again, her huge black ass
pendulously wobbling and clapping and rippling as she worked it back and forth on Hunter’s thrusting
cock, meeting his increasingly quick, rough motions that were sending more and more intense
sensations through her pussy.

Fuck, who was she?

“Nia — ”

“FUCK~” The word burst out of Nia before she could stop it as Hunter gripped her hair with his free
hand, tugging it back, using it as a grip while he set to not just using her cunt but really fucking it, now,
his massive swinging balls slapping meatily against her thighs and the mattress, a steady fleshy
PAP-PAP-PAP-PAP ringing out every time his groin slapped against her bouncing, jiggling ass-pillowing.
“No! No, Trey, everything isn’t — ” Nia squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth, letting out a muffled
sound of frustration, not wanting to let Trey know anything was wrong. He should have already known,
how the fuck did he not already know, but as long as he didn’t as long as there was some part of her
that still — she didn’t want to —

Hunter snickered. His hand left her hair — and instead, suddenly, his huge, burly, beefy arm was
wrapping itself around her neck in a chokehold. His huge, muscular bulk bore down on top of her even
more than it already was, mounting her exactly like the bitch he had turned her into — Nia’s heart shot
into her throat, a sickly combination of anxiety and excitement making her belly flip, heat up —

If her parents had managed to fall asleep in the lull since Nia’s last outbursts, they were certainly woken
up now.

Suddenly, Hunter wasn’t just slow-fucking her. He was fucking rutting. The entire room was filled with
the steady THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of the bedframe thudding into the wall — the fleshy rapid-fire
PAP-PAP-PAP-PAP of his hips slapping into her bouncing fat ass — the rhythmic creaking of the
mattress bouncing up and down as his massive bulk shifted up and down and up and down on top of her
—

Nia saw fucking stars. She stared dead ahead at the wall, her face flushing as Hunter semi-choked her
out, her mouth gaping stupidly as she tried to process what was happening. Her animal instincts and her
conscious thoughts became a jumble, at once terrified of Trey hearing what was happening, of her
parents hearing, but that fading more and more as her primal urges took over, the panic of a bitch being
overpowered by a violent alpha male stirring up with a growing and intensifying white-hot lust at being
pinned down and fucking used like this, creating the most dizzying cocktail of emotion and pleasure and
fear and euphoria that she’d felt in her entire life —

Nia’s legs shook like leaves, her eyes rolling back, her tongue lolling out, a low, guttural, sustained
moan issuing out of her throat as she came. Her considerable, doughy amounts of ass-meat rippled and
bounced, her thighs quivering and shaking and twitching, her high-heeled feet flailing wildly, her
explosive geyser of fem-cum making a mess of Hunter’s thrusting lower body, of the bed beneath them,
and of herself.

Hunter casually hit the End Call button on her phone. Tossed it aside.

His newly freed hand shoved itself down under her belly. His fingers started rubbing, hard, fast, roughly,
at her clitoris.

Nia came again. So hard that she feared she might faint.

The stray thought would cross her mind, at some point, in the jumble of moaning and screaming and
cumming and twerking that made up the rest of her night —

On the other end of that call, back at the Baptiste residence — after Hunter had hung up the phone — had
Trey jerked his miserable little beta dick, coaxing out one of his impotent, watery loads, before falling
asleep? Oblivious to the fact that, not too far away, his bully was jerking himself off with his girlfriend’s
sweet, tight teen pussy, fucking her so hard and so fucking good that she was nearly fainting from the
overload of carnal pleasure on his huge cock?

She was too far lost in her own sick pleasure to notice the twisted little smile on her face as she thought
about that.

A shame that she hadn’t noticed it, too.

If she had, maybe Nia would have known that it was hopeless. That even now, in the present — in the
stark light of a different day, of Trey’s birthday — she couldn’t outrun the truth that her face had
betrayed back there, on her bed.

Instead, Nia braced herself. She adjusted the green, midriff-baring shirt that Trey loved so much, that
she’d dug out of her closet just for this occasion. Checked to make sure the skin-tight jeans he liked
were showing off her legs and hips for him. Gave an idle smile at the present she’d bought for him —
she’d really splurged on this one. It was the least she could do.

Nia knocked on the door.

 14 - Chapter Fourteen

The last two days were the longest Monique had been home in weeks.

It showed, too — in a hundred different ways, big and small. The house was tidy again, almost even felt
warm again, the living room restored impeccably to the same clean, cozy setup that the Baptistes had
enjoyed together on family movie nights for years and years; the kitchen was so clean that it sparkled,
the smell of food lingering more often than not in the air. The sheets on all the beds were soft and
fragrant and tucked in with the almost militaristic efficiency of the Momma Bear.

To all appearances, the Baptiste household was back to normal.

Why, then — why — did it feel, to Monique, like ‘normal’ slipped further and further away from her, the
harder she tried to restore it?

She did not want to think on it, but perhaps her frantic, almost desperate efforts to make Trey’s birthday
this year the best he’d ever had — or at the very least, for God’s sake, something that would not make
his life more miserable than she knew it must have been lately — had been tainted from the start.

After all, she had forgotten all about Trey’s birthday until Hunter had off-handedly mentioned it.

With his damned, mutant, overgrown white bully dick shoved down her throat at the time, of course.

That damned… veiny… throbbing… abusive… monstrous…

Delicious… thing.

“Oh, shit,” he’d grunted lazily, the passenger side front seat of Monique’s sleek silver SUV — the
vehicle which had carried her family around town for so long — reclined far back as, right there in the
school’s front parking lot, in the parking space marked PRINCIPAL so close to the building’s front
entrance, he was making the car rock subtly around with how brutally he was plunging Monique’s
gagging, slurping mouth up and down his towering, club-like white monster cock. One hand had been
roughly clutching her hair, the other swiping casually at his phone, scrolling through social media. “That
little punching bag loser’s birthday is comin’ up, huh? What you think I should get him this year,
fat-ass?”

He’d let go of her hair just long enough to reach over her back, as she was bent over in front of him, her
knees digging into the driver’s seat, her wobbling, phat mature asscheeks shoved up against the the
window — and filled the car with the all-too-familiar meaty, flat SLAP! of his hand, the same hand that
had given her son a black eye as recently as the day before, swooping down in a territorial spank to her
huge, bubbly rear, sending the doughy-soft black cheeks wobbling and clapping lewdly.

Monique had barely noticed. Her eyes, which had been clouded and dazed, lost in stupid, lash-fluttering
lust and need, were wide-open, then. Her heart had stopped. Her plump, pillowy African lips, stretched
so obscenely wide around Hunter’s twitching, slobber-glistening horsecock, worked in noiseless
distress.

If there had been any doubt remaining what a horrible mother she was, it had been cleared up, that day.
Because not only was she bent over in her car, her big, motherly tits pressing against the armrest
between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seat, her ass bouncing around like some slutty black
whore’s in a rap video, slobbering and gagging all over the giant destructive cock of the bully who
tormented her son — but she had thought about that son so little, lately, that she hadn’t even
remembered his birthday was coming up.

That was the first night in a long time she had returned home at a normal time. Her soft, feminine
dark-skinned hand had rested on the doorknob for a long time before she’d worked up the courage to
go inside at an hour when her entire family would be there, only her all-consuming, terrible shame over
her neglect of her children giving her the strength to finally turn that doorknob and walk inside on wobbly,
weak legs, desperately praying she’d cleaned up enough after Hunter had brusquely shoved her down
onto her office desk an hour before to pound her phat, married ass so hard that her screams and moans
had made the front office secretary spill her drink. Desperately hoping as she’d wobbled her way into
her home, her chocolaty tits just about spilling out of her skin-tight purple shirt with its plunging neckline
that Hunter liked so much, that his cum wasn’t oozing down her bare, smooth, jiggling thick black
thighs.

Ultimately, though, it wasn’t the shame, alone, that had kept Monique home for the last two days,
bustling around the house with a determination that was almost anger, barely-contained desperation
radiating from her as she cleaned and scrubbed and cooked and, for the first time in weeks, acted like a
mother, like a wife, like she should —

It was the way Trey had looked at her, when she got home that night. How he’d slowly sat up in the
darkened, lonely kitchen of their house, looking shocked — and then flashed her a slow, heartbreakingly
tentative smile. A smile that looked scared to be there. A smile that was half-expecting to be turned into
a frown any second.

Monique had never hugged him harder. Held him to her bosom, squeezing her eyes shut to try to stop
the hot tears burning her lashes, her stomach churning sickly as she thought about all the awful,
depraved ways she had been rewarding her sweet baby boy’s bully with her mouth and her body, how
all of her kisses had been reserved for Hunter’s gnarled, stinking alpha bully-cock instead of her
beloved Trey.

That was it, Monique had sworn, as she cradled her son’s confused, but happy, face to her soft breasts,
his glasses knocked crooked against their warm doughy flesh.

She was done.

She was never going back to Hunter. She was never leaving her baby boy alone ever again. She
wouldn’t go back to that school, where he lurked, stomping, swaggering, like some awful, predatory
animal, looking for weaker, gentler boys’ lives to ruin — she would quit her job if she had to — they could
pack up, they could leave the town, leave the state, hell they could leave the country, go someplace that
Hunter’s smirking, arrogant white teen face would never show up again to turn everything bad and
murky and confused and make her stomach heat up and flip in that way she hated —

No more.

That determination was stamped all over Monique’s face, now, as she bustled around the kitchen,
surrounded on all sides by the cheerful chaos that was the birthday bash she was preparing for her son.
Presents, all of them wrapped colorfully and lovingly, surrounded and were piled onto the kitchen table,
more presents than Trey had ever gotten for his birthday before. Glittering silver letters hung over the
table, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! surrounded by multi-colored balloons, more of which were scattered around
the table and chairs. She was just now putting the final touches on the piece de resistance, after which
she would be ready to call Trey down from his bedroom, where she could hear the comforting, nostalgic
sounds of a normal weekend morning in her home, sounds she’d heard so many times over the years
while she was down in this very kitchen tidying up or preparing lunch, the tinny, digital music and sound
effects of whatever game Trey was playing on his computer upstairs.

Normal…

For just a moment, as Monique bent forward at her waist to peer into the oven and check on Trey’s
birthday cake, its sweet smells filling the kitchen, the composure slipped from her face. The carefully
maintained poise and calm crumpled from her soft, matronly black features, and she stared, unseeingly,
ahead, gnawing anxiously at her plush lower lip, her brow contorting with worry.
She had tried, so hard, for the previous two days, to bring things back to normal. Trey, so nervous and
wary himself at first with the sudden reversion of his long-absent mother, had clearly been starting to
believe it. He’d come to say good night to her as she folded laundry by the living room couch, just like
old times, and the smile on his face had been warm and genuine as he hugged her.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he’d said, simply, making Monique want to cry all over again.

“Me, too,” she’d said back, softly, cradling Trey’s face to her generous bosom.

But…

The words had rung… hollow, somehow.

Like she didn’t even believe them.

That muted desperation that had radiated from her as she bustled around the house, tidying it back up
after weeks of neglect and absence, wrapping the presents she was spending far too much money on,
adding one after the other because no matter how many she bought for Trey it didn’t feel like enough,
didn’t feel like it made up enough for all the awful ways she had betrayed him, betrayed his father,
betrayed their family, betrayed herself — that desperation had come from one simple, grim struggle within
herself. A struggle that she was losing.

The struggle to convince herself that things ever could be normal again.

Even now, standing at the oven, watching the decadent chocolate cake she was baking for Trey,
surrounded by the Normal clean kitchen, the Normal birthday festivities, the Normal sounds of Trey
gaming upstairs, the buzz of her phone as her husband, just as relieved as Trey to see her the last
couple of nights, texting her to let her know he’d be leaving work early to join them as soon as he could
—

Well, this wasn’t really Normal at all, was it?

Bent forward at her waist, there was still far too much cool air brushing over Monique’s bare flesh,
because there was no more Normal where her clothes were concerned. Over the last few weeks, Hunter
had torn up, thrown away, modified too much of her old wardrobe. Although Monique had tried to
scrounge together the most modest clothing she could with what she had, the simple truth was, all she
did have anymore was clothing meant to make Hunter’s giant bully cock hard at school. She fully
intended to buy new clothes, but first she’d had to focus on making Trey’s birthday as special (and
Normal) as could be — and so all she’d been able to throw on today was the most modest thing she had
left: a skin-tight white T-shirt that was one size too small, barely able to even contain her big, motherly
soft breasts, the neckline plunging indecently low and the midriff stopping short of her belly button — and
an equally skin-tight pair of gray yoga pants, the fabric stretched so thin over her shelf-like, protruding
bubbly fat ass that the leg coverage stopped short of where it would, just reaching her calves. It was
force of habit for her to always wear shoes, even at home, just in case, and so, with no sneakers left,
she was wearing open-topped high-heeled sandals, her delicate black toes covered by their brown
leather tips.

She was dressed for him even though she was done with him. For good.

For good…

Bent over at her waist, watching the cake, gnawing at her lip, the memories bubbled up unbidden, her
defenses lowered for just long enough — how Hunter had bent her over just like this in hallway after
school hallway, making her breath catch in her throat from how roughly he was manhandling her,
treating her in ways no man ever had because there had never been any men in her life, not really — the
heat pooling between her legs and flaring in her belly and capping her swaying, wobbling breasts as,
with students and staff just around the corner, that fucking brute would shove her skirt down, run those
thick fingers over her sopping wet pussy, and then fucking ram his giant, rock-hard monster right inside
her, making her hyperventilate, making her long eyelashes flutter as her tongue would roll out and her
juices would immediately start gushing and splattering like a leaking faucet all over Hunter’s groin as
the meaty PAP-PAP-PAP of his hips slapping into her fat clapping ass would start to fill the air around
them —

Monique gasped, coming back to herself as if she’d just snapped out of a trance. Her heart hammered
in her ears, her blood racing. Her cheeks heated up, slowly at first and then rapidly, as she realized,
belatedly, she had been sultrily swaying her big, jiggling asscheeks around behind her, that one of her
hands was sneaking up between her hot, thick thighs to rub at her crotch over her thin yoga pants.

Clearing her throat, Monique straightened up, looking around to make sure Trey hadn’t come
downstairs to see that. The relief that flooded through her as she confirmed he was nowhere to be seen,
that the sounds of explosions and music from his bedroom upstairs were still ringing out, made her
knees weak.
“Oh thank the Lord,” she whispered, stumbling back a few steps to rest against the kitchen counter,
resting her head against the cabinet behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling, suddenly, like she
wanted to cry, for the dozenth time since she’d returned home two nights before — this time, because
she knew the truth, and desperately didn’t want to, desperately wanted to fight it, but right then, didn’t
know if she could.

There was no going back.

But there has to be!

That poor boy… oh my sweet, sweet Trey…

Hasn’t he suffered enough because of that… that…

Hunter’s smirking white face flashed in front of her squeezed-shut eyes. Monique hissed in a shocked
breath, and she frantically snapped her eyes open, not wanting to subject herself to the thought of him
for a second longer than she had to.

Just thinking of him still… did things to her.

I just… need more time, that’s all.

More time, away from him…

Even those words, urgently spoken to herself in the confidence of her own mind, rang hollow.

That was when Monique heard the knock on the door.

Nia had never been so nervous to see the doorknob of the Baptiste residence turn, to hear the door
creaking open as someone on the other side answered her knock.

In that moment, she was overcome by an abrupt, overpowering urge to run. To turn around, drop the
present for Trey that she had spent so much money on, and to forget all about this.

What had she been thinking?

How had she thought this could work — how could she think that she could ever face Trey again, after
what had happened at Janelle’s party — after all the things she’d done over the last few weeks —
Right after that fucking asshole had beaten him up, even —

Yes. She should leave. This was a bad idea.

Too late.
It took a lot of Nia’s strength — something she had once prided herself in but which had seemed, lately,
like something she had run out of — to drag her eyes from the ground and see who had answered the
door. If it was Trey… if it was that sweet, innocent, stupid boy she had fallen in love with over a lifetime
together… she wasn’t sure she could take it.

But it wasn’t him. It was Monique.

Nia didn’t even have a chance to flash the older woman the irrepressible, relieved smile she felt coming
on before it faded on her lips, instantly.

Over the years, Monique had answered the door to greet Nia countless times. Nia had come to love her
boyfriend’s mother almost as much as she loved her own, to love her warm, boisterous greetings, the
love and gratitude Monique had for her always worn on her sleeve, because in this cold, cruel world that
so often rejected shy boys like her Trey, Nia was there for him.

There was none of that, now. Monique slowly inched the door open, peeking out with obvious fear,
looking ready to slam the door shut at any second.

And when she did process who it was, standing there — though the door swung all the way open,
creaking slightly on its well-worn hinges, the fear on Monique’s matronly black face was replaced with
something that was almost worse.

Sadness.

Nia felt her already tender young heart crack that little bit more, at seeing the Momma Bear she’d
idolized for her entire childhood looking at her as if she was actually upset by her presence.

“Oh,” Monique said, simply. “It’s you.” She paused, craning her head to one side, then the other. As
she did it, Nia observed, with a slightly furrowed brow, what the older woman was wearing. The bared
midriff, just like hers — the plunging neckline — the skin-tight pants that showed off her curvy, long legs
and that big, protruding pillowy black ass. A woman dressed to impress.

Nia knew who she was dressed up for… but who was Monique dressed for?

The concept that it might be for her husband didn’t even enter into the equation. Nia knew exactly who it
had to be for.

Her heart started beating faster.

Whether it was fear, or anticipation, she almost did not want to know.

“Just… you?” Monique added, voice wavering slightly.

Was that a trace of… hope in her voice?

Hope that Nia was, in fact, alone? Or…

Nia wasn’t sure what to say. The implication in the question was there, plain as day, for both of them.
They had never been with him at the same time — but they both knew.

He liked to brag about it, after all. Not just to them. To everyone at school, too.

“Yeah,” she finally said, awkwardly shuffling on the front step of the house. She fidgeted with the
midriff-baring hem of her green T-shirt, plucking at it, avoiding Monique’s gaze. She was, irrationally,
convinced that if she met Monique’s eyes, Monique might see right into them — see all those vivid,
all-too-recent memories of the things Hunter had done to defile and ravage her, to make sure a boy like
Trey could never satisfy her again. “Just… just me.”

There was a long, tense silence. Both of them just stood there, one in the threshold of the house, the
other on its front step, trying to figure out what to say to each other.

What an awful thing, Nia reflected. They were, both of them, one of the only women on Earth who could
understand what the other was going through, lately… but neither of them wanted to put it to words.
Terrified that, if they so much as spoke his name out loud, he might simply appear to turn their worlds
upside down all over again.

Then Monique did something that made Nia’s big, almond-shaped brown eyes widen behind her
glasses.

Monique smiled.

It wasn’t the smile Nia knew. It was a shadow of itself, thin and unconvincing — almost sad.

But it was a smile, nonetheless. And it was enough to make a faint ray of hope break through the
confused haze in Nia’s soul.

“Good.” Monique nodded, then nodded again. She drew herself up, planting a hand on her wide, curvy
motherly hip, and gamely widened her smile, trying to look as warm as she could. Nia loved her for that.
“That’s — that’s good. He’ll…” Monique’s voice softened. “He’ll be… so happy to see you, girl.”

Nia smiled back. Not wide enough to create dimples. She nodded.

Monique stepped aside, and let her in.

Nia almost couldn’t believe her eyes.

She hadn’t known what she expected to see, entering the Baptiste home that day. All she knew was
that she hadn’t been expecting this.

It was just like she remembered it. Just like she always pictured Trey’s house, in her head — the way
she’d been seeing it since she was a little girl, and he was a little boy, and the world made sense.
It was so… Normal.

Even after everything…

It made her happy. Unreasonably so. More than it should have, really.

“Trey, baby?” Monique called out, just like she used to when Nia stood only as high as the older
woman’s waist, the same tone, like she knew she was about to make her son happy with what she was
announcing for him. “Someone’s here to see you!”

There was a thumping sound upstairs. Nia could almost picture Trey jolting in his seat, like a nervous
rabbit who’d just been surprised by a stray leaf floating by, and then practically falling out of the chair in
his clumsy effort to get up.

The soft, fond giggle that escaped her at the mental image sounded so alien to her at this point that she
didn’t even recognize it as her own, for a second.

Monique turned that shadow of a smile to her again. She brought a soft, warm hand to Nia’s slender
shoulder and rubbed it. Nia tensed, at first — no don’t touch me please don’t touch me like that not like
you love me I don’t deserve that — but willed herself to relax, and smiled back.

Monique moved away, her high-heeled sandals clacking on the floor, her considerable, bubbly ass
wobbling and bouncing in her skin-tight yoga pants as she walked into the kitchen. Nia watched her, her
smile fading.

Monique’s ass was so much bigger and… bouncier than hers.

Did he… did he like it more…?

“Nia!”

Nia’s heart jolted in her chest.

She tried to tell herself it was because of Trey’s voice from the top of the stairs, not because she’d
caught herself thinking about Hunter.

And there he was — just like old times. Trey, standing at the top of the staircase, beaming down at her
with a big smile on that dorky face of his. Looking, and sounding, just like the little boy she’d grown up
with, who had once been so excited to run outside with her to join up with the other neighborhood kids
and tucker themselves out with whatever game they were all into.

It should have made Nia happy, that he was happy to see her.

It had always made her so happy.

But today… it just made her sad.

Why?

Why was he happy to see her?

What was wrong with him? Why was he smiling? Why wasn’t he yelling at her — why wasn’t he cursing
at her, calling her a whore, a cheating, awful whore, telling her to leave, telling her he never wanted to
see her again —

What kind of man would see the woman who had cheated on him — in his own home, making him listen
to it — and be happy?

No man at all, the words insidiously slipped across her mind, before she could stop them.

None of that showed on her face, though.

Nia smiled back at him. This time, the dimples that he loved so much were there.

“Happy birthday, Trey!” she chirped, as brightly as she could, and she presented her gift to him with a
flourish, letting out a little giggle that sounded so forced to her that she wanted to puke.

Trey didn’t notice. Of course he didn’t.

He stormed down the stairs, just like the excited kid he’d once been. He threw himself at Nia, wrapping
her in a tight, almost desperate hug, knocking the present aside. Nia, caught off guard, only stood there
for a long moment, tense, the smile vanished from her face, her eyes wide and blank as she stared at
the stairs over Trey’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Nia,” Trey said, his voice muffled into her own shoulder. “Thank you… I’m so glad you’re
here.”

Nia stared blankly at the stairs. The feeling of Trey’s scrawny, skinny body clutching to hers, for just a
moment, had her back in her bed at home, feeling Hunter’s enormous, muscular bulk pressing down on
her like a force of nature, his deep, bestial grunts filling her ears over the meaty nonstop slapping of his
hips into her bouncing, spankmarked fat teen ass, twisted, dark thrills shooting through her body at the
sensation of his strength, and his awful brutal animal power and how deliciously helpless and pinned
down she felt under his weight —

Nia let out a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself not to think on it.

“Yeah,” she whispered, and then she collected herself, found her voice, spoke softly and tenderly as
she wrapped her arms around Trey, reciprocating the hug. “Of course I’m here, you big dummy. It’s
me, remember?” She lowered her chin down onto Trey’s shoulder, closing her eyes and murmuring,
one hand rubbing at her boyfriend’s back. “I’m here, Trey. I’m here…”

Nia’s brown eyes flickered open, heavily lidded. Beneath her long, thick lashes, her gaze was flat, dull.

She was rubbing right up against him. Their bodies were closer than they’d been in a long time. She
was wearing his favorite outfit of hers.

She couldn’t feel anything down there. Not so much as a stir.

His groin was so flat against her that he might as well have been a woman.

Nia’s belly heated, flipped, as she remembered being pressed up against Hunter like this, back in the
park, a lifetime ago. How she’d felt his giant, hot, pulsing cock grinding up against her under his shorts,
his masculinity proud and brazen and hungry…

Nia closed her eyes again, and she kept rubbing Trey’s back, comforting him.

Monique couldn’t have asked for more. It was, already, more than she’d hoped for, Nia showing up like
that.

Even the fact that Janelle was nowhere to be found, and that she wasn’t responding to Monique’s
texts, was better than she’d expected. It was a motherly reflex, wanting her daughter to be there for her
brother’s birthday party — but at the same time, she knew, deep down, that Janelle would have been
trouble, today.

No. It was perfect. Her husband would be home in an hour or so — he would bring a few more presents
back for Trey — and for now, it was just the three of them, the kitchen awash in golden afternoon
sunlight, the girls singing ‘happy birthday to you’, Monique bringing over the huge, elaborately
decorated chocolate cake with the words ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY TREY!’ written neatly in vanilla frosting
across its surface, Nia sitting next to Trey, and him, the birthday boy, at the head of the table, a shy
smile on his face, nose scrunched, listening to his girls sing. He’d always hated when they sang it for
him. It embarrassed him.

He looked visibly relieved when they stopped singing, Nia clapping her hands and laughing while
Monique finished setting down the cake and reached over, placing a delicate hand on Trey’s shoulder
as she leaned in to give him a big, wet kiss on the top of his head.

“C’mon, guys, you didn’t need to do all this,” he mumbled bashfully, staring down at the table,
managing to look like he was blushing despite his black skin. “It’s just the three of us, like… c’mon.”

“Just the three of us?” Nia echoed, putting theatrical indignation on her face. She leaned away from
Trey, giving her best angry girlfriend look. “Oh I’m sorry, are we not enough for you, your royal
highness?”

“That’s what he said,” Monique confirmed airily, only the hint of a smile belying the mock-indignation
on her own face. She kept one hand on Trey’s shoulder, the other grabbing the nearby knife on the
table — its usual wooden surface covered by a bright red table-cloth with various cartoon party hats,
confetti, and presents drawn all over it — and starting to cut up the cake with practiced, careful slices.

“Oh I heard him,” Nia said, before Trey could reply, the flustered look on his face deepening even
through his own dorky smile. Nia pretended to start getting out of her chair. “Well maybe I should just
take that expensive present over there and leave, so you can find whoever you actually want here on
your birthday — ”

Trey started laughing, holding up his hands, the palms looking huge on his skinny arms. “I didn’t mean
—”

The front door slammed open.

Just like that, it was as if whatever blessed, fragile spell had been cast over the kitchen table for those
last few minutes, transporting Monique and Nia and Trey back in to a better time, shattered. Nia froze,
her hands on the kitchen table, half-risen from her chair; Monique’s short-haired head whipped to the
side, the knife freezing in the midst of the chocolate cake, one hand on Trey’s shoulder; the smile slowly
faded from Trey’s face.

Janelle had showed up, after all.

Monique watched with pursed lips, the picture of the disappointed mother, as she had so many times, as
her only daughter came stumbling through the slammed-open door, giggling like some drunken ditz on
Main Street after the bars closed. Where Monique and Nia had tried their best to dress like old times,
Janelle had made no such effort. She was dressed to match the way she was giggling. Her big teen
breasts, so much like her mother’s, bounced and jiggled alarmingly in a tiny leopard-print tube top, the
dark brown of her big smooth areolae peeking out over the constantly shifting, slipping cleavage line. A
red thong plunged from her plump, curvy, jiggling hips down into the tiny white miniskirt that was
stretched so thin over her wide, ample baby-bearing curves that it was more of a belt, every movement
of her bare wobbling thick thighs making it shift and provide tantalizing glimpses of her red thong digging
into her bald pussy. Her perfectly shaved legs were bare, long, curvy, and thick, white high-heeled boots
clacking noisily on the wooden floor of the hallway, her many bracelets jangling musically on her slender
wrists, huge hoop earrings catching the sunlight as she sauntered into the kitchen, her tits bouncing so
much they were about to pop right out of her tube top, her mostly bared asscheeks clapping and
bouncing.

“Yaaay, we made it~!” she cooed, her voice even more simpering and ditzy than Monique
remembered it being. Her daughter raised her hands upward in celebration. The motion made her
chocolaty, soft tits jiggle even more, and her tube top slipped just enough that one of her plump brown
nipples nearly slipped out. “Ohmygawd I thought that handy I gave him in the car earlier would make us
late~!”

Monique had barely seen Janelle since their lives started spiraling so rapidly out of control a few weeks
prior. She was staring her daughter up and down with morbid fascination, her slender eyebrows
furrowing together more and more as she drank in all the little, awful changes that brute had been
bringing on in the teen girl’s appearance — the trashy outfit, the new piercings, from a belly button
piercing dangling over her soft flat stomach to the visible little nubs of nipple piercings under the tight
leopard-print top, the heavy makeup and the glittering, slutty lip gloss all combining to make her look like
every mother’s worst nightmare for her daughter.

She was so distracted by her growing, bubbling resentment for how her son’s bully had been so
thorough in taking over and ruining their lives that it took her a moment to catch what Janelle had just
said.

Monique’s face shifted instantly from disappointment to naked fear. Her voice shook. “Janelle. You did
not — you better not have — on his birthday?!”

Trey looked from Janelle and then back to Monique, back and forth, alarmed. “Momma? What do you m
—”

“Holy shit he does still talk to her like he’s six years old!”

Monique and Nia reacted at the exact same time. Monique gasped sharply at the sound of that deep,
rough, drawling voice, dropping the cake knife to the tabletop with a loud metallic clatter and withdrawing
as if she’d just been burned, stumbling back a couple steps. Nia fell right back down into the chair
she’d been rising out of, a look of dull, stupid surprise on her face, slack-jawed, staring wide-eyed
toward the source of the voice.

Hunter slammed their house’s door shut behind him and swaggered inside, his sneakers thudding into
the floor, a wolfish smile on his rough, handsome teen face.
 15 - Chapter Fifteen

It wasn’t fair.

Why was everything so unfair?

Nia had just been starting to remember — starting to remember what her life had used to be. How much
she’d liked it. Her love for Trey. Her respect and admiration of his mother. The way the afternoon
sunlight was so warm and glowing in the Baptiste household this time of day, the casting a golden light
over countless memories just like the one they’d been forming today, the three of them sitting at this
very table, laughing and teasing and taking care of the sweet, shy, dorky boy they loved.

And now…

Why was everything so unfair?

It was something Nia asked herself a lot, lately. Ever since the first time Hunter had shoved her down in
the park and let that massive, hot, sweaty, veiny life-ruining white monstrosity of a cruel cock flop down
onto her face, all power and virility and just so fucking unfair.

When she had been a little girl, fairness had been so important. Nothing was more important, as a kid,
than being fair and earning the respect that got you, making sure you didn’t end up being a Bobby Ray,
the kind of kid everyone hated for being mean and bossy and playing dirty.

They weren’t kids anymore.

And Nia had learned something, these last few weeks, a lesson that was pounded deeper and deeper
and deeper into her very core with every brutal, ass-clapping, tongue-lolling, pussy-squirting thrust of
Hunter’s giant, hard, utterly unfair alpha horsecock into her cheating, needy cunt.

The world wasn’t a fair place.

In a fair world, none of this would have happened. In a fair world, this wouldn’t be happening now,
Trey’s bully stomping his way into the Baptiste house on his birthday. No — in a fair world, the nice boys,
the sweet boys, boys like Trey, would be the ones with a cock like that obscene beast flopping around in
Hunter’s shorts. In a fair world, Trey would be the one who would make Nia’s heart stop and her blood
race and her pussy wet.

Instead, this was a world where, as Hunter’s muscular, fit white teen body stomped in to crash the
party, Nia felt her pussy starting to reflexively soak her panties just from watching that monster bulge in
Hunter’s pants bounce and flop heavily. This was a world where, as horror and despair turned Trey’s
face bleak, Nia couldn’t help biting her lip and breathing a little harder in the presence of her poor,
sweet boyfriend’s hulking alpha male bully and that huge, brutal cock.
She wanted to hate him. So badly. Especially now. Especially for ruining Trey’s special day, a day they
had been trying so hard to make good and nice and fair for him.

But for some reason…

Nia felt wetter for this awful, loathsome, violent asshole than she ever had.

And as Hunter, drawling and laughing and saying all manner of insulting things about Trey that Nia
barely processed, stopped right in front of them at the table, one of his huge, burly white arms wrapping
around Janelle’s curvy waist and roughly pulling her up to his body, the other reaching out with those
thick, abusive fingers that had left Nia’s fat black ass raw and stinging so many times over the last few
weeks, and scooping crudely right into Trey’s elaborate chocolate cake, helping himself to a big,
heaping handful, biting right into it as Janelle looked up at him adoringly, rubbing his broad chest with
one hand and the other fondling that throbbing monster in his shorts…

It was so unfair.

It was so mean.

But it was so… right.

So natural.

Trey’s eyes were on her, watching with frozen, shocked horror, as Nia moaned under her breath, one
hand shoved down the front of her jeans, rubbing slowly at her wet, audibly squelching cunt.

“Mm, shit… thanks for the cake, little guy,” Hunter drawled, towering so far over the seated Trey as he
stood right in front of the birthday boy, speaking around a mouthful of the cake he’d just ruined with one
casual reach of his big nerd-pummeling hand. He chomped loudly and crassly on it, some still in his
hand as he sneered and looked down at Janelle, his free hand snaking around her bare, curvy waist to
give her fat, mostly bared black ass a domineering squeeze and then a hard smack that made the girl
moan, her eyelashes fluttering at the harshness of his touch. Her slender, soft hand with its long
perfectly manicured nails rubbed faster up and down the rapidly growing, hardening monstercock
running down one leg of his shorts, growing so fast that Monique’s wide, shocked eyes staring at it
could only wonder how much longer until the fist-like head of it grew right past the length of the fabric.
“Love me some chocolate.”

His thick white fingers sunk roughly into Janelle’s doughy-soft, endlessly pliant bubbly black ass and
shook it around. The daughter that Monique had once hoped would grow up to be a strong, independent
woman, just like she’d always been, pouted her glossy, painted plump lips and cooed like a dumb
whore, staring with adoration that bordered on religious worship up at the smirking, insufferably arrogant
face of her brother’s bully.

It had all been going so well.

Monique couldn’t believe how quickly it was all going wrong —

— but that wasn’t true, was it?

It hadn’t been quick at all.

It had all been going wrong for a long time. Ever since the first time her husband, the man she’d
married, had tried to push his modest, boring little dick past her thick, wobbly mounds of black ass, and
hadn’t been able to do it, leaving a burning ember of resentment in the core of her that, unbeknownst to
her, would ignite an inferno decades later.

Things had been going wrong, in a hundred different little ways, all around her, for so long—

All the while with her convinced that she was In Control.

What a fucking joke.

She wasn’t In Control. So she tried something that maybe, just maybe, Hunter would understand
instead.

“Please,” she said faintly, so softly that it was barely audible — and yet every head in the kitchen of her
home turned to her as she said it, even Janelle managing to look surprised, the naked slutty thirst for the
hung white thug who had ruined their lives replaced by raised eyebrows and a slack jaw as she stared at
her mother, who she’d never heard plead for anything.

“What?” Hunter grunted around his mouthful of chocolate cake, staring intently at Monique with those
hooded, dangerous dark eyes of his. There was no surprise on his face. Just a terrible expectation that
made Monique’s knees tremble, made her thighs, perversely, squeeze together.

That—

That was true control.

This bully who had beaten and humiliated her son for so long, who had beaten and humiliated so many
other weaker boys from the school she administered, had stormed into her home, on her son’s birthday
—

And he knew, with utter surety, that he was going to get exactly what he wanted. Because he always
did.

Because despite all the advancements society had made, despite the walls around them, the
climate-controlled air, the dozens of technological wonders that made their lives so convenient and
comfortable, the simple truth was that they were all still just… animals.

And he was the biggest, the strongest, the meanest… and had that giant thing tenting his shorts that, no
matter how hard Monique tried, she couldn’t stop staring at.
“Please…” Monique said again, swallowing audibly, her body shaking slightly. She wondered if her son
had noticed the way her nipples were hard, creating lewd, plump nubs on that skin-tight white T-shirt she
was wearing. Or if she had started staining her yoga pants yet with how wet she was getting. “Please…
not today.” Monique’s face crumpled, and for a moment, she looked like a sulking little girl, pleading
with an obstinate, angry father. “It’s— it’s his birthday!”

Hunter finished chewing on his mouthful of Trey’s cake.

He didn’t say anything. He just flashed Monique his wolfish, ferocious grin — and swooped his hand right
back into Trey’s cake, helping himself to another handful, making her son flinch.
Monique felt her face collapsing even more. It humiliated her, but she couldn’t help it. She had never felt
so helpless in her life. Her plaintiveness turned simpering, her eyes watering slightly, voice hitching— and
the word slipped out before she could even begin to process that she shouldn’t say it, not now, not with
Trey in earshot. “Daddy, please!”

Trey’s head snapped toward her, his eyes wide behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

Nia giggled, the sound slurred, almost drunken, from his other side. He turned to look at her instead,
looking like a deer caught in the headlights as the pieces started falling, so undeniably, into place right in
front of him, after those blissful couple of days where his mother, and today’s arrival of his girlfriend,
had almost convinced him things were Back to Normal.

“Don’t be silly, momma,” Janelle said in a sweet voice that didn’t match her darkly flushed, aroused
expression or her twisted smile. She reached down with the hand that had been on Hunter’s burly,
powerful chest, so that both of her hands were instead lovingly holding up the throbbing, enormous tent
in his shorts, showing it to her mother. “You know, don’t you~? It doesn’t matter who it is~ It doesn’t
matter what day it is~ None of it matters~ All that matters is that Daddy is a fucking big bully stud with a
big fat fucking white alpha cock, and that means he should get to do whatever he wants, to whoever he
wants~”

Nia let out a strange, choked sound that Monique was pretty sure was a moan that she’d cut off at the
last second. The girl shifted in her chair, panting harder, the green shirt that she’d always worn for Trey
turning damp with sweat so that it clung even more tightly to her big, softly jiggling breasts, her nipples
visibly hard under the cloth. Her hand was moving faster under her jeans.

Monique realized, late, that she was breathing hard, too, that she was leaning against the kitchen table,
supporting herself with both shaky hands on the tabletop, bent forward and staring at that baseball bat of
a cock that looked ready to burst right out of Hunter’s shorts, cradled in her daughter’s soft, dainty
black hands.

It occurred to her, then, with crystal clarity — the one thing left that she could still control.

It was his birthday.

He didn’t need to see this.

“Leave,” she said, not even looking at Trey.

Her son, understandably, didn’t seem to catch on she was talking to him, assuming she was talking to
the bully who made his life hell and was trying to crash his birthday party. After a long moment, though,
his expression turned even more crestfallen, and he looked up at her, desperately searching her face for
answers. “W—What? Me? But — ”

“Trey Baptiste.” The words came out of Monique like she had to drag them out with great force, her
lashes fluttering, visibly fighting to keep her composure. Hunter’s cock gave an eager twitch in his
shorts that made it visibly grow bigger. Monique moaned under her breath, recovered by turning the
moan into words. “You will… listen to your momma, now. Go. While I… deal with… him.” Monique turned
her eyes up to Hunter’s face, glaring into his eyes. The bully met her gaze effortlessly, smirking. She
wanted to slap him. She wanted to stab him with the knife on the table.

God she wanted to suck that giant fucking cock.

“But momma, I — ”

“Oh my GOD, Trey, go away!” Nia had never risen her voice like that to him for as long as Monique had
seen them together. She wasn’t even looking at him, either. She was staring at that monstrosity in
Hunter’s shorts, too.

Being yelled at by the girl who had only ever yelled at others, on his behalf, was finally enough to jolt
Trey. His chair scratched loudly over the kitchen floor as he pushed himself back, clumsily hauling
himself to his feet, and he stumbled away from them, towards the staircase, keeping as much distance
between himself and Hunter as he could.

As he went, he looked over his shoulder, one last time — and wished he hadn’t.

Janelle had dropped into a squat next to Hunter, facing in her brother’s direction as he looked back
toward them. She smiled right at him and lolled her tongue out, moaning loudly and whorishly, lowering it
down to Hunter’s clothed throbbing tent in his shorts and starting to lap at it in depraved, open cock-lust.
She theatrically rolled her eyes back, eyelashes fluttering, and started twerking her phat, bubbly black
teen ass like a bitch in heat. Behind her, Monique let out a low, throaty moan, licking her lips, one hand
reaching between her thick, soft thighs. At the table, Nia was panting openly now, her chair wobbling as
she rapidly rubbed her pussy under her jeans.

It was that mental image, emblazoned permanently into his memory, that Trey would be seeing every
time he closed his eyes for a long while.

And it was that moment, that he would never forget for as long as he lived, when he knew:

He’d lost. Really, truly lost.

Not just against Hunter — against that ominous, massive cock pushing out his shorts, as overgrown and
violent and terrible as the rest of him —
He’d lost before he’d even had a chance to fight.

Because he was Trey…

And Hunter was Hunter.

Hunter was better.

He didn’t even make it all the way up the stairs before that simple, terrible, unshakeable truth made him
stop in his tracks, lower himself to sit on one of them, and lower his face despondently into his hands,
listening meekly and brokenly to the sounds that came, louder and louder, more and more depraved,
from the kitchen downstairs.

“Young… lady…” Monique’s voice was thick, slow, like she had marbles in her mouth. She watched,
eyes hooded, cheeks flushed, her thick soft lips parted, as Janelle twerked on the floor and licked up
and down Hunter’s increasingly damp, rock-hard enormous tent in his shorts. “Stop… that…”

Janelle let out a breathy, hot laugh, looking coyly over her shoulder back at her mother, her pink, slimy
tongue still lewdly extended, dripping glistening strands of saliva down onto the bully’s twitching
monster. “Why? Jealous?”

The table shook, the various paper cups and plates and presents clattering, the cake shaking around on
its platter, as Monique stumbled forward a step, glaring at her daughter with dazed indignance. “I —
what?! What’s that supposed to — ”

Nia rolled her eyes, but not for long, going quickly back to staring at the obelisk of bully cock pointed
toward her where she was seated, the head of it covered in a dark, gooey stain of pre-jizz at this point.
The cloying, primal scent of it reached her flaring, broad nostrils, making her heart flutter and the heat in
her belly intensify, her spread-apart legs thrumming and trembling. “Haaah… haaah… Christ, Monique,
he’s gone now, okay? You can… stop pretending.” Nia licked her lips, looking up at Hunter’s lazily
smirking white face. She unbuttoned her jeans, slid down the zipper, and slowly pushed her jeans down
until she kicked them off, laying bare her soft, thick black thighs — and her soaking wet panties, her
fingers moving back to rubbing her pussy over them. “She is right, though… why are you so mean to
him~?” Some part of Nia had meant it as a genuine question, an earnest accusation — but for some
reason, the words came out almost flirtatious. She rubbed her soft wet lips together, writhing in her chair,
an inexplicable heat bellowing in her gut as she moaned. “It’s his… birthday… you asshole~ ohfuck~”

Monique gawked at her, watching with a troubled mix of heartbreak and arousal as the girl who had
brightened her son’s days for their entire lives openly got off on his bully’s casual cruelty toward the
weaker boy. “Nia…”

A flare of annoyance broke through Nia’s heat. She glared at Monique. “What?” She snapped. “You
gonna lecture me, bitch? You’re his mom, and the whole fucking school knows how you let Hunter bend
you over all across the fucking building day in and day out — ”
The heartbreak rapidly faded on Monique’s face as the younger girl dressed her down, replaced by
growing, flustered anger. Monique glared at her, spluttering. “Now who’s jealous? At least I ain’t the one
who was gettin’ spread around the whole town in pictures where you were suckin’ that cock in the middle
of the god-damn park — ”

PLAP.

The kitchen went quiet immediately as the arguing girls clamped their mouths shut, their bodies
reflexively perking up at the familiar, dull, meaty smacking sound.

Hunter had just shoved his shorts down, letting his rock-hard, angrily pulsating, veiny white monster
bully-cock slap down onto the kitchen table, the white fuckslab resting on top of the cheerful red
birthday-themed tablecloth that Monique had bought for her son’s special day like some perverse
metaphor for how that destructive slab of alpha masculinity allowed him to effortlessly claim whatever
the fuck he slapped it down on. Janelle let out a long, loud, guttural moan and dived her face right into
the bully’s low-hanging, shaved churning ballsack, openly and wantonly huffing its powerful male scent,
rubbing her features greedily into the sweaty, hot cum tanks.

“Why?” Hunter grunted, letting his hands fall down by his sides as he simply stood there, Janelle’s
snorting and moaning and wet slurping filling the air, his massive shaft throbbing and twitching on the
table, extending impossibly far from the edge toward the center. “Because I fucking can. The fuck you
gonna do about it, you fat-assed black cunts?”

It wasn’t all that long ago that Trey Baptiste had been sitting at that very kitchen table, one unassuming
morning before school, his spirits lifted as he looked at his gorgeous, strong-willed mother and sister, as
Nia’s flirty, cute texts made his phone buzz on the table next to him. His three girls. The girls who loved
and protected him, who helped make the world seem a little less harsh and cruel, who comforted him
after hard, humiliating days at school with his big, hulking white bully.

And now — with the glittering silver HAPPY BIRTHDAY! letters idly swaying over that table, where he
should have been munching on cake and opening his many presents — the heads of all three of those
girls were crowded together in front of that same bully’s crotch, wet slurping and gagging and moaning
filling the air nonstop as his mother, his sister, and his girlfriend all knelt in front of him and worshiped his
ungodly, life-destroying alpha bully cock.

Monique had spent an entire lifetime envisioning the future of her family, working hard to mold it and
direct it in the best possible ways. And now here she was, her knees aching on the cold tiled kitchen
floor, staring plaintively up at Hunter’s arrogant, smirking face as her jaw stretched to the point of pain
around his gnarled white monsterdick, her muffled, wet, guttural gagging noises ringing out nonstop,
GLRK! GLRK! GLRK! GLRK!, her spit and throat-slobber wetly falling down to her wobbling, bared
chocolate mommy tits, their heavy, cushiony soft flesh bouncing and jiggling around wildly as she
choked herself desperately on the stinking alpha fuckslab of the boy who made her son’s life a living
hell for so long.

On either side of her, Janelle and Nia moaned and whimpered mindlessly, the former on all fours,
whorishly twerking her fat, bared black teen ass around, making it clap and wobble lewdly for Hunter’s
enjoyment as he stood there over them in the middle of the kitchen, the latter on her knees just like
Monique, her own ass wiggling eagerly around, making it wobble and jiggle more subtly, both girls wetly
and sloppily licking and slurping and kissing all over his huge, bloated bully ballsack, long glistening
strands of saliva dripping from their moaning squelching lips, from his soaked, lipstick stained huge nuts,
creating wet puddles on the floor below.

Janelle let the sloshing, overgrown virile ball she had been nursing in her vacuum-sealed, hot wet mouth
POP! wetly free, that side of his sack lewdly shifting and churning under its intimidating weight, Nia’s
lips still desperately slurping and kissing at the other side. Janelle kept her slimy pink tongue extended,
her soft glossy lips curling into a naughty smile, giggling as she panted for breath and watched with open
lust as her mother fucked her own face on Hunter’s throbbing monstercock, eyes rolled back to their
whites, her normally dignified, matronly face contorted obscenely into nothing but a gagging, sloppy wet
fuckhole for her son’s bully.

“Haaaah~ Mmmmmn, momma, you look like such a fugging dirty whore with Daddy’s big fat white cock
in your throat~” Janelle let out another slurred, sultry giggle. She smiled wider, looking up at Hunter, her
tongue lewdly writhing around outside her plump lips and lapping at the bully’s enormous, soft, sweaty
ballsack, popping and locking her wide soft hips to keep twerking her phat black ass for him. “Is she
making that perfect fucking god-cock of yours feel good, Daddy~?” She simpered — and then, her sweet
smile turning wicked, she reached up with one hand, planted it on the back of Monique’s head, and
roughly shoved her mother’s head down on Hunter’s hard pillar of homewrecking cockmeat.

Hunter let out a loud, deep groan of satisfaction, letting his head fall back and enjoying the sensation of
Monique’s tight, married throat, the throat of the school principal who’d tried for so long to get him
expelled, engulfing his entire monster shaft, while her daughter’s mouth and his favorite bullying
victim’s girlfriend’s mouth both lavished hot, wet worship all over his swollen ballsack. Monique let out
a muffled sound of alarm as her face was plunged forward, nose forced to grind up against Hunter’s
shaved crotch, her chin buried against his balls, her extended tongue writhing helplessly, gagging and
choking, spit and throatslime spluttering past every tiny gap between her lips and Hunter’s cock. Forced
to lean forward, she rested her hands against Hunter’s knees… and wiggled her wide, curvy hips,
making her huge, shelf-like globes of phat black mommy ass bounce and ripple.

“Ahahahahaaa~ C’mon, momma, you can do better than that!” Janelle laughed, hot and bitchy, twisted
lust stamped all over her pretty, heavily made-up teen face as she watched her mother choke and
splutter on that giant bully-dick. She pulled herself up slightly to get better traction on the floor, her other
hand joining the first, all ten slender fingers curling up in Monique’s short, curly black hair. “Admit it,
bitch~ Throwing a party for my limpdick little brother would have been boooring~ You gotta thank Daddy
for showing up and sending that loser off crying so we can worship Daddy’s big juicy bully cock~”

Janelle and Monique had butted heads plenty of times over the younger girl’s teen years. Monique had
almost always come out on top.

It was hard to argue with her daughter, however, with her son’s bully’s pulsing battering ram of white
cockmeat shoved balls-deep down her throat — and so all she could do was splutter and stare, wide
eyed, at Hunter’s toned abs in front of her as they became a blur of motion, Janelle’s hands in her hair
brutally shoving her head up and down Hunter’s entire, enormous cock, her tightly sealed lips noisily
slurping and squelching up and down, every forward plunge filling the air with a guttural GLRK! GLRK!
GLRGGGH!, her entire wobbly, curvy mature body jiggling and shaking, spit flying everywhere.

Nia leaned back and watched, too, her once sweet angelic dimpled smile perverted; the dimples were
still there, but the cutesy air of it was replaced by a twisted, dark lust, the sight of the woman she’d
always admired and looked up to now gagging and choking on the brutal, bestial bully-cock of the
hulking white thug who had turned her from the alpha female of the town into a cock-dumb, twerking,
cheating whore — in her own house — on her son’s birthday — making her so hot that she came, panting
breathily, her fingers rapidly slapping at her clitoris, her juices wetly squirting down onto the tiled floor.
“Ohfuck~ oh fuck~ Yeah~ Choke on it~ Choke on Daddy’s big white cock… oooohmygawd~ just like
that… aaAAAaaAaaAAAaaAAaahn~” Without even thinking about it, the girl who had championed
feminism at her school looked adoringly up at Hunter as she came, smiling stupidly up at him as she
moaned and whimpered, admiring the fucking stud who had managed to break even Momma Bear and
make it possible for her to cum her fucking brains out watching the older woman choking on his powerful
cock.

Janelle only gave her mother a break when Monique had started slapping her hands frantically against
Hunter’s muscled white legs, her eyelashes fluttering wildly, torso heaving like she was about to retch.
With another sultry, dark laugh, Janelle finally jerked Monique’s head back. Her mother’s lips
squelched and slurped their way rapidly up along Hunter’s soaking wet, pulsing length until it popped
entirely out of her mouth, left to droop heavily under its own weight, swaying side to side, randomly
bucking upwards with its powerful, virile twitching, while Monique loudly gasped and panted for air,
sticky, long strands of saliva and throatslop dangling between her and Hunter’s cock. Her eyes
remained rolled back, foggy, her long lashes a mess of stray saliva, her makeup running down her
matronly black cheeks, her mouth a lewd, perfect O with her tongue hanging out.

“Oooooh~ Fuck yes, momma~” Janelle cooed, letting go of Monique’s hair to instead run her fingers
through the strands of saliva connecting the older woman’s mouth to Hunter’s bucking stallion-cock,
taking some onto her fingers and looking suggestively up at the bully as she leaned her head back and
dangled the strands into her own moaning, open mouth. “Mnnnn… I wish Trey was watching~” she
simpered, licking her lips, her hips bucking as the thought aroused her so much that it made her pussy
spasm and gush. “Only birthday present that cuck deserves is seeing what a slut his mommy is for his
big bad bully and his big bad cawwwk~ Aaaaahn~” Janelle’s lashes fluttered. Her hips spasmed again,
sending her phat chocolate asscheeks bouncing and rippling, a dumb, slutty smile on her glossy fat
African lips.

Monique didn’t protest. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. The way she only kept staring dumbly
ahead, adoringly, at Hunter’s soaking wet, dripping monster bullycock, the way she moaned low and
throaty, said it all.

Nia moaned, too, but it was muffled abruptly as she dived her mouth for Hunter’s enormous, bucking
white cock-slab. The muffled moaning continued while she looked up at her boyfriend’s bully with
lidded, clouded, sultry eyes, her soft, pillowy, puckered wet lips slurping up and down the side of his
alpha Manhood, making it twitch and throb anew.

Janelle noticed this and bit her lower lip, giggling airily and watching hungrily. She got back onto all
fours, moving closer, her face inches from the other side of Hunter’s pulsing monstercock, looking all
along its veiny, powerful gnarled length with stupid, primitive adoration. “Nnnnnghh… hee~ don’t tell me
you actually bought that loser anything for his birthday, Nia?” The last few words came out soft and
muffled as she brought her own puckered, glossy fat lips to the side of Hunter’s cock and started kissing
it wet and sloppily, hooded eyes continuing to stare reverently at it.

Nia nodded, making her lips squelch louder up and down over Hunter’s hot, throbbing shaft. A shy smile
tugged at her lips as she paused in making out with it, the cute dimples Trey had always loved indenting
her chubby dark-skinned cheeks, not matching the heated, clouded lust in her eyes staring up at
Hunter’s arrogant smirking face. “Haaah~ Mnn… You should take it, Daddy…” she said softly, breathily,
her cheeks flushing as if she couldn’t quite believe she was saying it. Her smile widened, turning
naughty. “Just like… you took me~ mmmmmnnnn~” Her long lashes fluttered. She reached feverishly
between her legs, faint wet noises joining the louder slurping and squelching of Janelle’s lips running
lovingly up and down one side of Hunter’s giant elephant trunk of a cock, rubbing her pussy as her own
lips returned to the other side, lavishing adoring, sloppy, hot wet kisses all over Hunter’s meat.

Monique sat there on her knees directly in front of Hunter’s angrily twitching monster dick. Watched her
daughter, and the girl she’d loved like one, both getting off on trash-talking her son just to please the
muscular white alpha bully who had turned them against him, worshiping his utterly unfair, virile
bitch-breaking horsecock that he used to treat them like dumb whores instead of the queens Trey had
always treated them as.

She realized she was rubbing her pussy. Hard. Panting. Leaning in, closer and closer, until her own thick
pair of lips was smooching Hunter’s angry, purplish monster cockhead, tasting his salty, potent pre-jizz
on her tongue. It made her whole body shudder, pussy clenching desperately around the fingers she
had shoved into it.

“Ohhh… ohhhhfuck… Take… take all of them… Daddy~” The strong, commanding female voice that
had long spoken over her school’s loudspeakers was unrecognizable. As her married lips kissed softly
and wetly all over Hunter’s huge cock-crown, her voice was gentle, slurred, thick with fucked-up,
all-consuming lust. “Take… Take whatever… you waaant~ Aaaaaah mmmf~”

He was going to anyway.

Why try to stop him?

Especially when thinking about it — how he would just take whatever he fucking wanted, whether she
liked it or not — made her belly so hot she thought she might explode…

Monique’s eyes rolled back as she plunged her lips over the first few inches of Hunter’s cock and
started bobbing her head, lips slurping wetly and noisily up and down, while Nia and Janelle stared
lovingly up at him from either side, their puckered lips slobbering wetly all over the sides of his veiny,
gnarled monster-shaft, all three sets of phat, bubbly, doughy black assmeat wiggling and twerking and
bucking in the primal need of bitches in heat, the meaty clapping sounds of their pillowy ass-mounds
applauding him — for his aggression. For his dominance. For his giant, perfect, homewrecking white
cock. For being such a hung bully stud.

For winning.
—

It was just a little earlier that the kitchen of the Baptiste household, bathed in golden afternoon sunlight,
had been filled with the sweet, warm voices of Nia and Monique, singing ‘happy birthday’ for Trey.

Now, instead, the birthday boy, sitting slumped and defeated on the dark, shadowy staircase, was being
made to listen to those same voices singing a very different tune in the kitchen around the corner.

Unlike when his mother and girlfriend had sang for him, there was a backing track this time, too:
nonstop, loud, meaty smacking sounds filling the air. The sound of soft, warm, pillowy asscheeks,
clapping and bouncing against another body. A sound Trey had only ever heard in porn videos.

He was finally hearing it, clear and unobstructed, in person, as his girlfriend screamed and moaned
rapturously.

Squirting, over and over, on his bully’s huge cock.

The kitchen wasn’t as dark as the staircase Trey was sitting on, but it was getting there. The golden
afternoon sunlight was fading, leaving the kitchen dimly lit with no lights on. The silver lettering hanging
over the table (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!) no longer glistened, nor did the cheerful wrapping paper on all the
presents that had been heaped up for Trey in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to make up for all the awful
things that had been happening lately.

Presents that — like Trey — weren’t important anymore.

The kitchen table shook and rattled on its legs, occasionally scraping noisily a few inches in one
direction or another. The PAP! PAP! PAP! PAP! PAP! of Nia’s explosively curvy, bubbly, wobbling shelf
of black teen ass slapping into Hunter’s muscled groin, as loud as it was, was barely even audible over
her screams of pleasure. She was bent over the table, her soft, slender fingers twitching and clutching at
the birthday-themed tablecloth, rumpled and wrinkled beneath her trembling torso and her bare, jiggling
chocolaty tits squished and rubbing on the table’s surface. She stared with heavily clouded, wildly
fluttering eyes straight ahead of her, at the seat that Trey had been seated in earlier, her tongue lolling
out as she moaned low and deep and throaty and worked her hips, pushing them back enthusiastically
to meet Hunter’s grunting, savage thrusts that sent her entire body flying forward with every
ass-clapping forward pumping of his powerful hips.

She could almost see him there, still. Watching with that same confused, helpless expression on his
four-eyed face while her creamy, hot juices splattered all over his bully’s conquering battering ram of
white alpha cock, helping itself so roughly to the pussy she had intended for her entire life to give to
Trey.

Could almost see him, too, a year before, with that same helpless look on his face after she’d jerked off
his tiny, impotent little dark cock.

“AhHhHhHh~ … AAAaaAAAAAhhhn~ AAaaaAAAahhh…” Nia’s deep, throaty moans rose and fell,
staccato, in time with Hunter’s rapid, bone-rattling thrusts. Her eyes rolled back further. A dark, twisted
smile tugged at her lips, the heat in her belly erupting over and over like an inferno the more she thought
about the hung, aggressive stud claiming her compared to the little whimpering beta male she’d wasted
all those years on. She let out a slurred, sultry giggle, looking back over her shoulder, up at Hunter, who
was staring down at the view of her rippling, lewdly wobbling fat black ass clapping against his groin
while his tongue writhed against Monique’s on one side of him, her huge motherly chocolate breasts
pressed to his powerful torso, and then turned to do the same with Janelle on the other side, her teen
breasts growing to be as big as her mother’s pressing against his other side, both mother and
daughter’s hands reached down to fondle his swaying, enormous, lipstick-smeared bully ballsack.

“I never told you… Daddy~” Nia moaned, her breath hitching randomly between words and syllables,
with every limb-spasming, pussy-clenching sensation that his roughly, rapidly thrusting white horsecock
sent rippling through her lewdly wobbling and jiggling soft teen body. “I felt so… baaaad for him~
haaaahn~” Hunter, hearing that, gave a sneer and slammed his firm groin into her phat, doughy black
ass particularly hard, sending her whole body jerking forward, the table scraping over the tiled floor
loudly as it shifted a few inches. Nia’s long lashes fluttered, that stupid, twisted smile on her thick lips
spreading, her lower body jerking and twitching in a way that made her bubbly, round, jiggling asscheeks
ripple and wobble even more. “Ohhhhhhfuck~ You were right, Daddy~ aaaahn~ You were always sooo
fucking right about him… Haaah… he was so fucking tiny down there~” It felt so good to finally say it
that Nia moaned, low and throaty, lowering her face to the cool, cheap texture of the birthday tablecloth
and biting her lower lip. “Nnnngh… it was sooo funny~ I knew right then… AH~! Ahhh… he didn’t…
deserve me~”

And then words were forgotten, her entire ability to speak fading from the lust-ravaged, weakening mind
she had once been so fiercely proud of, her words turning into a shrill, wavering cry of pleasure as
Hunter slammed his hips forward and held himself balls-deep inside her convulsing, gushing wet
cheating pussy, every inch of his enormous, pulsating monster white cock grinding around inside of her
in ways that made her eyes roll back to their whites and her curvy, thick black legs shake and tremble
like leaves. Hunter let out a low, rumbling sneer and swooped one of his thick-fingered bullying hands
down, the sharp SMACK! ringing out dull and fleshy, sending Nia’s generously cushioned doughy black
ass rippling and clapping as it rubbed right up against his groin and abs.

“Poor Trey…” Monique cooed, her own filter completely forgotten as she leaned into Hunter’s muscled,
comfortingly powerful torso, one of her hands fondling his swinging, hot, sweaty balls, the other rubbing
his chest. Her eyes were dull, devoid of everything but a vapid adoration for Hunter’s veiny,
homewrecking white bully monsterdick while she watched it stretching Nia’s delicate pink pussy folds so
obscenely wide open, making her squirt and gush helplessly all over its raw bestial might. “Such a
sweet boy… but he’s just as much of a limpdick as his father~” Monique licked her lips, her belly
flipping, staring even more hungrily at Hunter’s massive cock, the thought of her husband’s tiny little
black dicklet making her want to slobber on and worship the bully’s all over again.

Janelle, giggling her dark, twisted little Queen Bitch giggle, leaned in and rested her head lovingly
against Hunter’s hard, broad chest, staring up at him with simpering sweetness. “Mmmmn~ Fuck him~
Fuck both of those limpdicks~ We don’t need a father in this house anymore, momma~ We have a
Daddy~”

For the first time in a long time, Monique didn’t argue with her daughter. Instead, both of them gasped,
and then moaned, as Hunter swooped either hand down onto their fat, wobbly black asses, squeezing
them both territorially, and they watched, cooing, licking their lips, as the bully set to pumping his giant,
veiny white cock in and out of Nia’s squelching, squirting pussy again, those lewd, meaty slapping
sounds ringing out as he pounded her so hard and so fast that it left marks on the younger girl’s
bouncing, clapping mounds of chocolaty ass-padding as if every thrust were a spank.

Trey had, occasionally, overheard his classmates making each other laugh with gross-out stories about
overhearing their parents having sex.

He’d never experienced that, himself. Not even once. His parents’ bedroom, even on the fairly common
nights when both of them were off from work, had always been perfectly quiet.

The thing he would always remember the most clearly, from that birthday, was hearing his mother — the
same voice that had once sung lullabies for him, that had always comforted him, told him she loved him
— screaming and moaning just as whorishly for his bully as his girlfriend and sister had.

“Oh, FUCK~! Oh FUCK~! Yes~! YES~! Gimme that big fat fucking white COCK, you big fucking bully
STUD~! Ooooh~ YES, babyyyy~ YESSSS~!”

The sounds of her ass, the biggest, the phattest, the softest and the wobbliest, of all three girls,
smacking heavily up and down against Hunter’s muscled white crotch, were by far the loudest. Every
dull, meaty PLAP! rang out loud and clear, soft, faintly wet meaty slapping sounds that made up the
oldest and most primal drumbeat of carnal conquest. There was no scratching of table legs against the
floor to dilute the sound anymore, either; Hunter was sitting at the head of the kitchen table, in the same
seat that Trey had been sitting earlier, when he thought the only thing ahead of him on his special day
was cake and presents, not listening to his own mother’s cakes clapping against his bully’s lap while
she rode him like a woman possessed, her soft black arms around his brawny white shoulders, her bare,
wildly flopping and jiggling motherly black tits bouncing around in his smirking, thuggish teen face.

“Mm, shit… what a fuckin’ waste, these nice fat black titties breastfeeding a little loser fag like your kid
once…” Hunter growled, his thick deep voice slightly muffled by Monique’s hot, sweaty soft breasts
flopping around against his mouth. The bully looked up at the panting, moaning school principal and
flashed her a ferocious grin before clamping his mouth down on one of her thick dark nipples, making
her entire body stiffen and her tongue loll out, head falling back, screaming at the ceiling, his cruel
domineering mouth sending shockwaves through her sensitive and long-neglected mature breasts at the
same time as his throbbing, hard monster cock was sending convulsions through her wet married pussy.
“Mine, now, though… ain’t that right, bitch?” Hunter swooped one of his hands down onto her clapping,
wobbling asscheek, the SPANK! ringing out like a gunshot. A gunshot that only spurred her to moan
louder and buck her soft, curvy hips even harder, panting wildly.

“Ohhhhhmygod yessss~! YES~! THEY’RE YOURS, DADDYYY~ ALL YOURS~ MY BIG BLACK
TITTIES ARE YOUR FUCKING TOYS, BABY~”

Monique knew she was being too loud. Even if Trey was locked in his room, hiding on his bed with his
head under the pillow, there was no way he couldn’t hear her frantic, shrill, needy screaming.
Sounds she never in a million years would have wanted to subject her sweet Trey to, let alone while
making them for the hulking white bully who had tormented him for so long.

But she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t control it.

And — strangest of all — for the first time she could remember —

She didn’t want to control it, either.

So she didn’t try. Just like she didn’t try to stop herself from squirting, spraying hot, messy fem-cum, all
over Janelle and Nia’s faces down beneath her, where they were on all fours, lapping and kissing at
Hunter’s swaying, heavy massive ballsack.

“Haaaahn~ Momma, you fucked-up bitch~” Janelle slurred, half-moaning, her long lashes fluttering
under the deluge of glistening, clear fluid from her mother’s cunt splashing down onto her as her slimy
pink tongue lapped at Hunter’s smooth, churning balls. “Cumming all over Daddy’s fat fugging
bully-dick on Trey’s birthdayyy~ haaahn~ you should be ashamed~”

“How are they still… so full…” Nia was murmuring, not even seeming to be aware of Monique’s hot fluids
splattering onto her face. Her glasses were crooked. The once bright, perky face that had always
greeted Trey at school, day in and day out, was listless, dazed, blank, her hooded eyes staring wide and
reverently at Hunter’s faintly wobbling, enormous alpha nuts, her plump lips smooching against their
sweaty, musky surface over and over and over.

Between her randomly twitching, weak, shaky legs, large globs of yellowed, gooey, hot bully-cum were
splattering noisily onto the kitchen floor, oozing from her massively gaped, pulsing teen pussy.
“So muchhh…” Nia moaned under her breath, sounding almost sulkily confused. She pressed her lips,
long and wetly, to Hunter’s balls, her clouded eyes rolling back and watching as Monique’s shelf-like
matronly globes of phat black ass bounced up and down that towering pillar of veiny white cock. “So
muchhh… of Daddy’s nut in my lil pussyyy~ How are they still… so fulllll~? Mmnnnnnnn shlrp~ shlrp~
shlrp~”

Monique felt her traitorous, needy mature cunt spasm explosively just hearing Nia say that —
remembering, minutes ago, how Hunter had slammed those powerful teen hips forward, how Nia had let
out a weak, hoarse, sultry feminine whimper, the sound of a bitch thoroughly and utterly claimed — how
the girl’s entire curvy lower body had started twitching helplessly as the hulking alpha bully who had
claimed her defiled her once pure pussy with buck after buck of that massive white cock, like a fucking
fire hose depositing so much hot virile semen directly into her womb —

She should have called the police on Hunter, the second he showed up today.

Shit, she should have called the police on him a long time ago. The first time he showed up to her
house, at least.

She should have expelled him, all those weeks ago.

Instead, here she was, on her son’s birthday, bouncing frantically up and down on his lap, her huge
black ass clapping and wobbling, her pussy greedily slurping up and down that mind-bending
monstrosity of a cock he so unfairly possessed in this unfair world, the soft, feminine black hands that
had once caressed her son’s hair instead running lovingly through Hunter’s, her lips puckering
approvingly as she leaned forward, pressing her jiggling, pillowy breasts more firmly against the bully’s
smug face —

and begging —

begging —

“I want it,” she heard herself panting breathily, licking her soft, plush lips, staring down at Hunter with
adoring, obsessive eyes. She moaned, low and deep, her belly heating and flipping up, at how
aggressively and roughly he made out with her soft fat nipples, his growling mouth moving from one to
the other — one of his hands smacking and groping at her fleshily clapping, bouncing ass, the other
squeezing down on one of her breasts, making sure to own her curvy, slutty, cheating mature body
every bit as much as his godly fucking cock was owning her pussy —

“I want it~ I want it I WANT IT I WANT IT~” Monique intoned, throaty, moaning. Her fingers curled
desperately in Hunter’s hair, pushing his face into the warm, soft valley of her cleavage. She panted
faster, louder, bucking her wobbling , curvy hips harder and harder, her rapidly bouncing and jiggling fat
black asscheeks slamming up and down against Hunter’s fit, athletic white body.
“Oh my FUCKING GOD BABY I WANT IT SO BAD~ I NEED IT SO FUGGING BAAAD~ I LOVE YOUR
FUCKING COCK, DADDY~ AAAAAHN~ IT’S SO FUCKING GOOD, BABY~ YOU’RE SUCH A
FUCKING MAAAAN~ I LOVE IT~ I LOVE YOUR FAT FUCKING WHITE COCK, DADDY~ I LOVE IT
MORE THAN ANYTHIIIIING~”

Another torrent of hot, sticky femcum splattered messily from the pussy that had given birth to the
children that had once been more important to her than anything, children that seemed to fade further
and further from her mind with every time she convulsed and twitched and spasmed and threw her head
back and screamed with depraved, mindless joy on Hunter’s pulsating monster bully-cock.

Below, one of those children, just as in love with it as Monique, watched with a dark, heated grin on her
slutty teen face, her lips squelching noisily on Hunter’s sloppy wet, tensing huge balls. Nia watched, too,
her eyes heavily lidded, panting hard, her tongue lapping desperately at Hunter’s ballsack, three of her
fingers pumping in and out of her gaped, creampied pussy, adding an extra obscene layer of wet
squelching noises to the air.

Hunter leaned back in his chair, letting his burly white arms fall to his sides, his hips working up and
down with effortless, energetic thrusts, smirking up at Monique’s stupid, dick-drunk, euphoric face.
“Yeah? You love that big fat fuckin white cock, you dumb old fat-assed bitch?” He casually slapped one
of his hands, hard, against Monique’s bucking, twerking, clapping enormous black ass, making her
scream; and then scream again, with another smack. “Love it more than you ever loved that pushover
hubby of yours?”

Monique leaned back, too, her hands finding purchase on top of Hunter’s knees behind her, changing
the motion of her hips to enthusiastic, feverish forward-and-backward thrusting, the chair wobbling as
she rode Hunter’s cock so hard and fast, her dripping, sweaty bared black breasts bouncing wildly,
smacking into each other. Drool trickled from her panting, moaning plump lips, a desperately plaintive
look on her face as she stared into Hunter’s eyes and nodded frantically.

“Uh-huuuuh~! Oh FUCK YES Daddyyyy~ FUCK that bald-ass old limpdick~ He’ll never touch me
again~ Only you, Daddyyyy~ Only youuuu~ Ahhh~ Ahhhh~ Ahhhhn~”

One of Hunter’s hands abruptly lashed out. Monique spluttered, eyes widening, as his thick white
fingers wrapped domineeringly around her slender neck. His other hand came up and squeezed, hard,
on one of her bouncing, pillowy black mommy-tits, making her eyes roll back and her tongue loll out
dumbly, her hips only working harder still to ride and pleasure Hunter’s enormous, rock-hard bully dick.

“And how about that faggy beta-bitch kid of yours, huh?”

Monique let out a choked, helpless, loud moan that sounded almost pained, like she wanted to cry. Her
slender black eyebrows set in a plaintive, pleading way, her glistening, hazy eyes staring into Hunter’s
as, barely perceptibly, she shook her head.

Don’t make me…

Please…

Not now… don’t make me say it…

Hunter let go of her breast — and slapped it, harshly, before squeezing those powerful, thick white fingers
into the supple, yielding black flesh again. Without warning, he slammed his hips upward, burying
himself balls-deep inside her convulsing, gushing pussy.

Monique’s eyes went wide. Her mouth went slack, drooling, working noiselessly, her entire body going
still and stiffening on Hunter’s lap.

She didn’t know what made her cum so hard — whether it was the feeling of those huge, heavy,
endlessly virile bully-balls swinging and slapping up against her fat black ass — or the sensation of
Hunter’s fist-like battering-ram cockhead slamming against the entrance to her womb —

Or the depraved, unbidden, dark twisted thought that flashed across her mind and made her belly ignite
like an inferno —

— so fucking big so fucking big his cock is punching at my womb just like he punches all those poor little
nerd faces —

— taking what he wants —

She didn’t want to believe that was it.

It didn’t matter what it was. A moment later, her mouth was no longer working noiselessly, but letting out
a long, flat, despairing moan of helpless pleasure, her entire body twitching, ample curves wobbling and
jiggling, her hips bucking instinctively, her juices now splattering hot and messy all over Hunter’s chest
 and abs.

The words poured out of her just as hot and uncontrollable as her orgasmic juices.

“YES~! YES~ YESSSSS~ OH LORD FORGIVE ME I’M SO BAAAAD~ I’M A BAD MOMMA~ IT’S
TRUE DADDYYYY~ I LOVE YOUR BIG FAT FUCKING WHITE STUD-COCK MORE THAN HIIIIIM~ I
TRIED I TRIED SO HAAARD BUT I CAN’T FUCKING HELP IT AAAAAAHHHHHHN~
AAaaAaAAAAAAaaAAhhh~ BULLY HIM, DADDY~ I DON’T CARE ANYMOOOORE~ DO WHATEVER
YOU WAAANT~ JUST PLEASE~ PLEEEEEASE~ AAHHHN~ KNOCK ME UP WITH THAT PERFECT
FUCKING CAAAWWWK~”

And with the first rope of that hot, potent, gooey alpha bully-nut that, with a low, rumbling snarl of animal
satisfaction, Hunter obliged her by bucking his hips upward and starting to unload into her adulterous,
mature pussy, Monique knew, without a doubt —

She wasn’t Trey’s mother anymore.

No — now, with rope after rope of his bully’s cum pumping into her womb, defiling the very place Trey
had been conceived, the heat and power of Hunter’s masculinity erasing all trace of him from the core
of her —

It should have made her want to cry.

All it did was make her once sweet, motherly lips curl into a twisted, delighted dark smile, so much like
her daughter’s down between Hunter’s legs, and moan, long and loud, as she came, too, her juices
splashing all over Hunter again as his giant, veiny white cock bucked and pulsed inside her, depositing
what seemed like gallons of his conquering, superior alpha cum into her.

No… she wasn’t Trey’s mother anymore.

Just like his sister—

Just like the girl he’d grown up with, his girlfriend, the only girl who’d ever loved him—

She was Hunter’s whore.

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