Betty’s white blouse gets obscured by hands as they explode it open, buttons flying, and expose the rich curviness of her boobs after also exploding her chaste white bra. Her nipples and pinkish areolas are dancing under the men’s gazes and those boobs are promptly squeezed, pressed and knead by wide-eyed hoodlums.
“Hey Henry! That white chick’s got some nice jugs to feed the rooster in the hay barn!”
“Yeah, Stan! Plenty of dough she's got! Milky rich!”
“Hey, golden-hair angel! I love your milk jugs!”
"Plenty to give for your future brown kid!"
-------------------------------------------------------------
The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Dear readers, this train attack fantasy has run in my mind since I first watched this Christmas classic a long time ago (already). I hope you’ll enjoy it.
Sometimes, someone’s fantasies make very strong coffee with the sweetness of an orgasm and the blackness of a nightmare.
***
December 1954. The 12th is drawing to the end.
John Wallace and Philip Davis have finished a three-day singing engagement in Florida and are now on the train bound for New York. They had hit it big as singers since they first met in Italy, back in 1944. They had got together and had begun in cabarets, first in New York City, then throughout the country as they hit smash after smash, singing boffo as the newspapers said. A duet of dynamite entertainers. It all began when Private First Class Philip Davis saved Captain Wallace from a falling brick wall near Monte Casino.
After singing Blue Skies to wrap up their engagement, Wallace and Davis met the Haynes sisters at the Novello's nightclub in Florida. They are riding the train now, the Haynes sisters bound for Vermont where they're booked up for the holiday.
In the empty club car, the newly met quartet is now singing “Snow” in a romantic girl-boy, boy-girl fashion. The blonde Betty sits at Wallace's left close to the diner car's window, while Phil's facing her with Judy at his left, her slimmer sister, elder and just as brightly blonde. Phil's hair is a shade darker than Judy's while Betty and Wallace offer the golden vs. dark contrast, as well as slightly greying age vs. youth. The men's powder-blue sports jacket give more striking power to Betty's white blouse and Judy's butterscotch turtleneck. Judy's gold bracelets thrown over her tight sleeves say their act is already earning some dough.
As they sing with fresh and bright lipstick, Betty and Judy cast frequent glances at Wallace and Davis, while ignoring the colored steward, a youth just working his shift and trying his best not to yawn since he’s been working for a bit too long. The steward casts glances at the singers, especially the women. Quick and stealthy glances like only train porters know how to cast on unsuspecting white girls. The eighteen-year-old kid really likes Judy's boobs---not all that big, but they seem to stick out of her slim torso, offering hints of splendor underneath a warm golden turtleneck that looks like darker butterscotch against the bright gold of her hair. The boy also notices she has a nice face that would be great to shoot ammo on. Sometimes, Judy glances at him with something secret in her big brown eyes.
Like any other white-establishment lady, Betty and Judy are sure all colored men have a humongous big one and they'd rather not think about it. They sing their female part of the quartet...
Wallace: Snow! It won't be long before we'll all be there with snow...
Betty: Sno-ow, snow! I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow! --- While all four are looking at the steward as he pours hot milk in four fancy dessert glasses with that strikingly dark hand of his.
Phil: Snow! I long to clear a path and lift a spade of snow...
Judy: Sno-ow, to see a great big man entir'ly made of snow! ... ....
***
A few hours earlier...
Big John had served during the Korean War as a Regimental Sergeant-Major, and earlier as a Private, then up to Staff Sergeant in a colored Battalion in Italy. A battalion that was part of the division under the command of Major-General Tom Waverly, who had a granddaughter now just turned eighteen who was helping him at an inn he owed in Vermont. Big John didn't forget the General had court-martialed a few soldiers from the colored battalion and had them hung to placate a local populace who had complained about the rapes of some Italian girls, this in spite all knew the real culprits were Moroccan colonial soldiers. Like innocent soldiers had paid for the crime, the General's innocent granddaughter was going to pay. What goes around comes around. But this wasn't the job the hoodlum millionaire was working on right now.
Now he has mustered twenty-odd of his wartime buddies to give white America a merry hurried Christmas with a dark twist. A black joke.
Big John has that dangerous mix of being cunning, clever, bent on crime and filthy rich with enough energy, courage and immorality to carry out the most evil plans, although he does have some rules. He's the worst nightmare for white Americans, and selfish enough to do a job that would trigger a large-scale hunting season against innocent black Americans. In a nutshell, he's planning to hit a train full of white passengers, rob them and rape some pretty lasses on board.
"Now, boys," Big John says with a tone that would fit a three-star General, "remember my rules. You don't touch a hair of any girl who looks too young. Pick some twenty-two-year-old wives and let their husband watch. Rule number two, we don't take any girls with us, 'cause if we do, we'll have the fuzz after us like bees on honey and the entire United States will get too hot for us. We stay there two hours tops, then we get in our cars and get the hell away! Any questions?"
"C-can we still pick a younger damsel? Twenty-two seems awfully old for my human frailties," asks Old Tom, who looks like Santa Claus, except he's perhaps a little slimmer and his long white beard makes a very clear statement he's a negro.
"Of course you can, but just don't go any younger than eighteen. Choose a smaller girl, you know, a small apple-cheeks dame with the feet of a fairy and small tits that will pull a huge load of ammo out of that brown frame of yours. Pick a young Miss you can't miss, but nothing younger than that. We're a gang of raping hoodlums, not a nursery!"
"Can we do their asses, boss?" asks the youngest one, George "Big Bethlehem" Lumley, a huge negro who turned nineteen the month before and he's almost still a virgin. His eyes are burning with wild anticipation amid his wide pudgy face.
"We sure can, Big Bethlehem! Nothing I like better than a wailing white girl who shrieks in pain as her world gets toppled upside down! Any more questions? All right, to our cars. Let's get going! Let's go white-girl hunting!"
They have seven get-away cars. All paid for by Big John, a rich son of a gun who’s doing this just for kicks.
Those negroes come from many different States… Texas, Alabama, Illinois, Massachusetts, even Tall Tim from Vermont. Most of them have a sister, a cousin or even their mother who has been molested by white men, usually cops. They’re also patriots, some of whom fought for USA against Hitler and Hirohito, then as members of the first integrated US Regiment during the recent Korean War. They fought alongside white men, but they were reminded of the color line at every turn. Especially when it came to court-martials.
Big John was gifted at detective work. Cassius, one of his Korea friends, knew people in the railroad industry, including Slim Jim, a colored steward like you’ll find on any train if you’re hungry and go to the dining club car.
Slim Jim proved a trusted one. His eyes lighted up with wild anticipation when he learned what the plan was. He had always secretly wanted to do this! And what the hell! He wasn’t married yet and had no one to care for. Like so many black boys working on a train for a dime, Slim Jim dreamed of shooting a big steaming load of ammo inside a white girl, preferably with her boyfriend or husband there to see it all.
The steward proved instrumental in the planning of that job by giving vital information about Christmas holiday traffic and his own usual train being typically filled with passengers, thus including many young couples. This was the typical southern train where the colored people were bunched together in the back sections with no right to access any amenities such as the club car.
Thus, the train to hit was picked as well as the point of attack, not far from a State crossing line to facilitate escape by highways and byways.
Big John owned a timber cabin deep in hilly forest in Pennsylvania. Far and safe enough. The most dangerous part by far would be getting out of Georgia and South Carolina from the point of attack, around Brunswick, midway between Jacksonville and Savannah.
If South Carolina folks caught a car with three or four black men in it after hearing about white girls being molested on a train by colored hoodlums, there would be as many lynchings on the same oak tree or a sycamore for a more Dixie-styled execution. But hitting white America in the old South is part of the daring of that job. Suspicions are naturally going to fall on southern negroes seeking revenge. Big John is a selfish hooligan, but a clever one.
Big John had the trunks filled with food and gas jerricans so they wouldn’t have to stop anywhere until they'd reach Tennessee. They have a rendezvous diner point near Chattanooga if all goes well. If things go south, then it's every car for themselves. Big John grew up near Augusta, Georgia. He knows of an old historical bridge of logs, only shown by ordinance maps. He'll enter South Carolina this way while the fuzz will be looking for him nearer the coast, and he'll be up in Tennessee before any cop gets any wiser.
Hunting white girls is an expensive and dangerous pastime, but the reward is the unbelievable rush, the sense of wild elation that no load of dough can buy! Yes, playing golf in Pennsylvania is safer, but the fact that so many links are white-only encourages Big John to keep pursuing his beloved pastime. The whimpers of a ravished white wench is right where the pirate gets his kicks. Not Route 66. Well, a Route 66 of a more hellish kind.
The AM radio is indeed playing "Get Your Kicks on Route 66" by Nat King Cole as the dangerous squad of Fords, Chevy's and Buick's, plus one Studebaker, are making their advance within speed limits toward Georgia's Atlantic shoreline. The chosen point of attack is a remote place not far from seagulls.
"Besides", Big John tells Big Bethlehem while lighting himself a Lucky Strike "besides, many snowflake-white girls daydream of getting kidnapped and used by a gang like us. Whichever chick we catch, we gonna do her a big fat favor!"
"Well said, boss! We be like a gang of slaves gone wild and raping Milady!" the kid says, his eyes wild and wide, yet still looking small and lost in his too-wide mug.
"Don't you ever call us slaves!" Big John replies after hitting the kid with the back of his hand. "We're men. Free men."
The very fact he feels the need to say he's a free man says a lot about the boss still feeling a bit like a slave and needing to prove he's not by pulling off this job. Big Bethlehem almost says this, but he finds it wiser to keep this thought for himself, unaware he's getting quite philosophical for a 19-year-old black mug who grew up in the not-so-nice parts of Brooklyn and got fat eating free spaghetti dinners at Luigi's, where he worked four years as a dish-washer until he got fired (and beaten up) for looking at Luigi's daughter.
For most of the gang, this is going to be a one-time slam-bang job. The one dangerous thing you did once and brag about for the rest of your days. Each hand in the gang hopes and prays all goes well. Some hands are already trembling midway through Georgia. They all use different roads since the fuzz in that State will get suspicious upon seeing colored drivers following each other with only grown men on board. One zealous copper is all it takes for the plan to get busted wide open before the party can even begin.
They gather near Savannah. All's gone well.
From there, they fill up their cars and drive to the attack spot, a place where the train will be coming at the top of a long hill and going into a bend, thus going slow and easily derailed without too much danger. The locomotive engineers will be struck and handcuffed to the structure. The rest of the crew will be similarly dealt with. They brought dozens of handcuffs to restrain a record number of white men at any one time. They all have handguns. Worse, the most trusted gang members have Thompson sub-machine guns. You don't pull off a job like that with butter knives, not in a country where so many people are packing a gun.
The hooligans don’t care that the local red necks are going to hunt down and lynch many negroes in the county and beyond after getting wind of the train attack. Rapists are selfish.
Big John is often under the illusion that the world revolves around his big brown head, and thus tended to be overconfident, but he's smart enough to be aware of this. Hence the sub-machine guns. Hence the fact only his two lieutenants know the way to his hiding cabin in the Alleghenies.
During the long waiting where they thankfully saw no one but seagulls, two of the younger hoodlums vomited out stomach-gripping fear. Most of the gang were now impatient to get their hands on some soft snow-white butts. It would be perhaps safer to immediately take off with the women, but they just won’t resist the thrill of ravishing them right there on that train, with their husbands tied up and watching. And besides, woe betide the negroes caught with a white girl in their car. The penalty for blowing up the job would be lynching, with torture and mutilation as added perks.
***
On the train, Monday the 13th of December, minutes to go before 1 am…
"Snow! It won’t be long before we’ll all be there with snow…"
"Sno-ow! Snow, I wanna wash my hands, my face and hair with snow!"
As they finish singing “Snow…”, Phil Davis and Judy Haynes are both thrown face first upon the diner car's table as the train comes to a screeching halt! It also feels a bit like an earthquake.
Since Phil doesn’t weigh very much, he ends up with his face right against Betty’s white blouse, between her curvy boobs and suddenly realizes he’d get hitched with the bustier blonde rather than the slender one.
Judy nearly slams into Bob Wallace, who grabs her shoulder to help her while realizing two things… 1) The train has come to a sudden stop, and a very rough one at that. 2) Judy has a lovely mouth that would feel amazing around his cock, and those perky boobs he sees through her butterscotch turtleneck look a lot more promising when seen from up close. An unforeseen shock and turn of events.
Shortly after, a party of six men in overcoats under fedora hats enter the dining club car, armed to the teeth. The first thing the four passengers notice after those guns are the men themselves. Colored, all six of them.
Betty and Judy fill the car with screams.
The hooligans hear the women and notice how pretty they are--both blondes, one in her early twenties, the other one slimmer and a gentle touch older--while they scan the empty club car and realize this is a setting absolutely ideal, with all those tables that look absolutely ideal for what they have in mind, thus establishing the fact that this joint is absolutely ideal for having some slam-bang boogie-woogie with white girls. They're going to use the blondes as guinea pigs, or rather guinea sows for their little social experiment.
Betty and Judy keep up their singing voices, shrill and loud as they panic in front of a white girl's worst nightmare. Armed negroes and no cops to protect them. The meanest pack of hoodlums they've ever seen. Details of their greatcoats, all patched and worn out, indicate they come from seedy places. They all wear battered fedoras.
The colored steward is smiling at them. "Hi, Tim!"
"Hello, kid! Nice fishes we got in our net!"
Bob Wallace gets up, trying to look steady and dignified in his powder-blue jacket with his fancy burgundy tie with that jazzy beige slanting stripe that got so popular last fall.
"Get those hands up, white rat!" the leader bellows. The one the steward just called Tim.
“Hey l-listen fellas. I've got plenty of cash. Here, inside my jacket. Three hundred. Take it and get yourselves some nice breakfast!” Bob says.
“Are you crazy? Paying off a bunch of hoodlums like that?” Phil says with a cackling voice while Judy flies in his arms for protection.
Betty blankly stares at the shadowy newcomers, who grin at the steward, then nod at the girls, silently telling the colored kid he too can partake. Both girls develop a case of ghastly faces as the inevitability of their fate rears its ugly mug.
The young steward smiles and gazes at the women’s bosoms. Betty looks at him with her deep blue eyes. Only then does she notice how young he really is. Nineteen at the very most. She never really acknowledged him while he was serving her club sandwich and milkshake just minutes before. Now she notices him and screams again as she thinks of what's going to happen. The unthinkable.
Tall Tim gets a bit sore as he listens to Bob’s offer of 300 bucks. He won’t let a white man boss him around! He rushes at Bob and hits him in the forehead with his revolver butt!
“Here’s your breakfast, Sirree!” Tim bellows as he strikes. “If you don’t mind, I’ll still take the dough!”
Betty and Judy scream even shriller and louder as Bob Wallace falls face first on the table, where he slams his head before falling flat on the rug floor. He’s out!
“We ain’t after your dough, you sucker! We’re here for something else,” Tall Tim snarls, looking directly at the women under the brim of his battered fedora, with a gaze that sends a chilling message to Betty and Judy.
Both women scream their heart out as hoodlums grab them and pull them off their seats.
Phil freezes and pleads, his voice more cackling than ever… “I… I didn’t mean to fight you, fellows. It was his idea!” he blurts out as he points at his unconscious friend. “It was his idea… Please! Don’t hit me! I wouldn’t want to faint in front of the women!”
Tall Tim grabs Phil by the collar, basically lifts him up using one mighty hand while he pushes the barrel of his loaded revolver right into his gaping mouth! Phil’s stylish powder-blue suit won’t save him.
“You sit, white pig! You sit quiet and watch!” Tall Tim barks, then he turns to his hoodlums and gives the orders... “All right boys! Tie up those white bastards and let them sit where they'll enjoy the minstrel show! And you, Cassius, go tell Big John that the club car is absolutely ideal to make it America’s snow playground! Tell him that! He’ll understand. Go! Don’t worry for the party. We’ll give you the first crack on a young wife, or find yourself some girlfriend of your own and bring her over! I’m sure you’ll even get to pick her hair color; this train is filled up to capacity!”
Phil can't help but notice the hooligan has some education from the way he talks.
The rest of the hoodlums and Big John have put the crew in handcuffs. They’re now busy securing all passengers in their compartments. This is no small task. Some men are war veterans who could prove braver than expected, but fear is what control the masses. Purses are searched. Men are quickly frisk-searched. Guns are collected. Money comes right out of pockets, as the passengers pray this will prove to be “just a robbery”. Young housewives start to cry as groping begins. A brave husband tries to be a hero and a gunshot rings out, deafening in such close quarters, lethal too.
"Robert!!!" the newlywed wife shrieks. She's then grabbed by two hoodlums, one of whom puts his hot-barrelled pistol back in his coat's pocket while nodding at his buddy. The screaming wife gets restrained and put in a bent-over position where she can see her husband take his last breaths while the pair of negroes throw her skirt up her waist then tear off her panties and proceed to take their turns inside her, not worrying about her outcries and her sobs as they quickly and urgently take their pleasure. Just like that. Taking high kicks of the fact they're shooting their loads inside a white wife.
Meanwhile, a couple of tall and strong men are beaten down to a bloody pulp, the passengers are shut in their respective compartments. They will be shot on sight if they venture out!
Two brave souls find their way to heaven after going through their compartment's window and trying to run for help. Cut down by Thompson sub-machine guns with the bright gibbous moon siding with the hooligans. Perhaps Mister Moon wants to go down and partake.
“It’s a miracle we didn’t have to shoot more fellows!” Big John says, sweating under his intentionally cheap fedora and taking a smoke out of his intentionally battered greatcoat.
“Hey, that’s Cassius coming!” Big Bethlehem says out of his pudgy face and atop his three hundred pounds of African ancestry. Most white girls would assume what he has in his pants is huge. Maybe they're mistaken. Maybe not.
***
In the dining club car, Betty and Judy Haynes are being silenced by forced kisses from thicker lips than the ones they’re used to. They’re being groped by much darker hands than the ones they’re used to.
They both unwillingly go soaking wet between their legs because what’s happening right now is white America’s most taboo thing. Yet the colored boys aren’t assaulting their clothes, causing the young women to dread that moment, with an evil note of aroused anticipation.
Bob Wallace is still unconscious. The men handcuff his hands in front of him. They also tie up his ankles with ropes before crudely undoing his belt and pulling his pants and boxers down his legs, baring his flaccid genitals.
Betty sees this and she goes even wetter. She had no idea Bob was so well-hung!
“Not you?! You can’t side with those hoodlums! You’re a staff member!” Phil tells the rogue steward as he helps the hoodlums in tying him up.
“Oh, Slim Jim sure can. Slim Jim’s got a big staff and he’ll give the ladies some hot snow to wash their face and hair with! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” replies the laughing steward, speaking about himself in the third person while the hoodlums start jeering at the panicking women.
“All right, boys!” Tall Tim says, removing his hat and his greatcoat and tossing them on a table. “Let the boffo party begin! Take those ladies and see what they got under their clothes!”
Judy and Betty find a new high pitch to their singing voices as the negroes give them a feel of how brutish strong their hands are.
The Haynes sisters become yapping bitches in distress as their clothes are brutally shredded off them by hands from white America’s most taboo nightmare.
“You won’t need this anymore, Miss!” tsshrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrip!
Betty’s white blouse gets obscured by hands as they explode it open, buttons flying, and expose the rich curviness of her boobs after also exploding her chaste white bra. Her nipples and pinkish areolas are dancing under the men’s gazes and those boobs are promptly squeezed, pressed and knead by wide-eyed hoodlums.
“Hey Henry! That white chick’s got some nice jugs to feed the rooster in the hay barn!”
“Yeah, Stan! Plenty of dough she's got! Milky rich!”
“Hey, golden-hair angel! I love your milk jugs!”
"Plenty to give for your future brown kid!"
“Show us your white tits, Milady!” tsshrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRriipp…
“Aaaaaaaaaaaahhh NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
Judy’s perky knolls get summarily bared by Tall Tim, who makes small work of her butterscotch turtleneck and “kindly” relieves her from the burden of wearing a bra. It gets snapped as Judy’s forced arousal goes up to new snowy heights upon feeling the air freely kiss her intimate skin.
Tall Tim is “kind” enough to untie her golden hair and let it cascade down on her now-bare shoulders while laughing negroes restrain her arms and undo her thin leather belt. “No need for your skirt either, Milady!”
The Haynes sisters get lifted off their feet, screaming to a heated pitch and improvised notes that threaten to break the glass window panes behind the solid brown venetian blinds as hooligans carry them while others toss the utensils and other whatnot off two tables where they lie them down.
“This… This wasn’t in the script!” Phil Davis cackles, his erection pushing the front of his suit's trousers from seeing Betty's free-moving jugs in the club cart's gone-surreal light.
“Shut up, blue powder man!” a hooligan barks as he slaps him. "And by the way I'm Stan!"
The sisters scream even shriller and louder when those hoodlums savagely pull their skirts down their legs while pulling off their shoes and massacring their stockings. Half of the hoodlums get painfully hard upon seeing those rosy pale feet. Judy's are striking and would be in serious contention for the sexiest feet in white America. Betty's legs are poetry in motion with snow-pale skin, against those obscuring hands that seem so strongly drawn to her!
"I don't think they're here just to rob us," Phil cackles.
"Nice figuring, genius!" Tall Time says as he starts to kiss Betty's boobs.
"Since you're such a wise man, we'll let you have one of the girls when we're done!" Stan offers in a half-jesting tone.
"Noooo!" Betty protests upon hearing this. Phil is now as hard as he ever was. He's already seeing himself bucking Betty against a table. Bob is still out.
Phil feels too shy to look, but then he still looks and finds he shamefully enjoys seeing Betty topless and now her legs! The negroes are stripping her naked.
“Oh, sweet little cutie pie!” a hoodlum tells Betty as he enjoys the sight of her naked tits, “You gonna love the taste of them negro pricks!”
Big Bethlehem tears off Betty's panties, and as she's restrained with her butt on the table's edge and her head against the venetian blinds at the other end, his big brown mug meets Betty's diving home plate of golden hair while others comment on the carpet matching the drapes. This while Big Bethlehem gets his baptism of white-girl cunt. He finds Betty's slit moist and quite wet.
"The tramp's wet, daddy-o's! Let's give her the big slam-bang beating!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME ... I'm a white girl! Don't touch me, monkeys! Apes! aaaahhhhhh nnaaooooooooooooo!!!"
Judy's wailing and singing high too.
“Look at that muff!” the warm-smiling steward utters for all to hear as he rips off Judy’s white panties and uncovers an impressive carpet of light brown hair---a lush and luxuriant triangle obscuring her crotch.
Slim Jim has always dreamed of having a pretty passenger served on a table in the dining car and uncover her muff. He’s doing it now!
Betty got confirmed as a true blonde as she keeps bawls, her cheeks flushed with crimson shame as the huge kid from Brooklyn is eating her pussy with force. He means to jazz her up and hits a big smash it inside her.
"Nooo aaaah AAAAAAAAAA NHAAAAOOO YOU'VE NO RIGHT TO DO THIS! NO RIGHT AT AAAAAAAALLL!!!"
“Hey boys! The carpet matches the drapes!” one says.
“So much better than those Korean nurses we had back in ’51 near that village. Their cunts were always black!”
“No, not always, Stan. I did a grandma and she was silver down there! Ha! Ha! Ha! And I still filled her up and she still had lovely feet,” Old Tom says.
“All right boys! I go first! After this, you do as you please, but you’ll give me your guns and I’ll keep them safe while you do your business with them ladies!” Tall Tim says as he hesitates as to which way to rape the busty blonde. Big Bethlehem backs off to let his leader take the girl first.
As he watches Betty’s wide hips and takes one last look at the true gold of her cunt bush, Tall Tim makes his decision and has her flipped and bent over the table, where he and his fellow gangsters get snow-blinded by Betty’s curves… She's priceless. Hourglass enough to make the men understand time is of the essence and a big load inside her will be worth her weight in gold. Her butt crack between her vast moons make time stop. Kissed by negro gazes.
“Well, that’s a white lady’s butt!”
“It sure is!”
“She got nice legs too! A classy chassis!”
Phil watches the scene in astonished silence, his prick's a proud mast, all too visible once the hoodlums have lowered his trousers and lime-green boxers. Like Bob, his artillery is up and exposed.
Tall Tim’s strong pair of brown buttocks come into sudden view as he drops his pants after removing his jacket, shirt and necktie. He isn’t wearing anything under.
“Your job was planned!” Phil cackles. Nobody answers him.
Betty gets her first feel of dark meat as Tim presses his cock against the pale vastness of her butt, before spitting in his hand and giving a proper spit gloss to his dark slugger.
He then savagely penetrates Betty, who utters an astonished groan… “HHAAAAOOOWWW?!”
“How could this be allowed to happen?!” Betty thinks as she painfully feels the tight invasion.
As Tall Tim grabs Betty’s waist, he begins to hammer her hard and good with her pretty face sliding on the tabletop. He loves the golden life of her hair as he savagely rapes her on that table, just like he had anticipated! Yeah, raping a white girl like a true bitch has no price money can buy!
He revels in Betty’s astonished whimpers as he takes his powerful pleasure.
“Aaahhhhrrrr! Yessss! Raping a white girl is better than robbing a bank! Ahhhrr! Aahrrr… Feel it deep, white dame! Feel it! Enjoy it! Your first colored timber! Yaarrrhhh!”
While Betty gets properly hammered, she gets a small circle of admirers who promptly undress themselves while one of them restrains her wrists in front of her bobbing head. The young man turns her face toward his side of the table and he gives her a close view of his cock.
“Do ya see this, Missie! Do ya see this! Slim Jim will be very happy to give Missie some white snow! Ha! Ha! Ha! HA!” the steward grins down at Betty, who's busy groaning and receiving the stiff tribute to her looks.
Through the veil of her tears, Betty’s blue eyes meet Slim Jim’s thick staff, unimpeachable in its powerful, veiny brownness! Her eyes move up, all things being rocked around her through Tall Tim’s ramming homages. Betty yelps as she recognizes the steward who was humbly serving her just minutes before.
Tall Tim enters into convulsions, his legs shaking as he pushes deeper inside Betty, deeper and deeper and hard on each quick repeated stroke, looking desperate to find some secret using his cock as deep as it will go, then his donkey-like braying echoes throughout the car and inside Betty’s soul as she feels his tell-tale twitching inside her and screams, “Nooooo oooooohhh!!!” tears rolling out under her eyelids as she gets stuffed by Tim’s rush of semen.
***
“Ooooohhh! Nooooo! Noooooo you can’t do, aaaaaooohh, do this! Nooooo! Ooh! Ooooh, naaaooooo please stop!” Judy utters out of her wide-open mouth; Big Bethlehem has his flat nose pressed against her lush muff! The others find it damn funny to let him do this. They love it! The huge pile of negro flesh against the graceful singer! Her face all twisted with her lipstick still fresh as the insistent tongue strokes get her closer to a forced home-run.
He’s giving Judy a true cunnilingus while other hoodlums restrain her limbs in such a way that she’s more or less spread-eagled on her table while the three-hundred-pound son of the ghetto keeps eating her pussy, and her body actually likes it. Her forced-out moans perfume the air and spice up their unbridled fantasy.
She hates this, but no man had ever given her such an intense bout of pleasure. No, this can’t be! She knows she’s going to explode like a Vermont volleyball!
“Do ya hear the bitch? Do ya hear this, brothers? The white Miss loves negro mouths!”
“Aaaahhhh! Her tits taste wonderful!” another man says as he plays his tongue on Judy’s wine-dark nipples, going from one boob to the other and learning one is a tiny bit fuller and larger.
“And now, Milady, now… Milady’s ready to get knocked up!” Big Bethlehem utters, his chin wet with Judy’s juices.
Big Bethlehem gets rid of his pants. He’s wearing surf-green boxers that make his skin look even darker. As the big man lowers them, Phil sees the gross and powerful display of his naked glutes, which seem as massive as the rump of a draft horse!
This sight makes Phil secretly wish he were a Negro to fuck Betty and Judy with a big prick.
“AAAAHH YEAHHHH! INSIDE THE WHITE GIRL!” Big Bethleem shouts. It slides easy inside Judy's well-juiced entrance. Niggers restrain her ankles and make sure she's spread-out so she can enjoy her first black cock to its full brunt.
Judy yelps as Big Bethlehem begins to table-rape her with unrestrained joy; two hoodlums restrain her as they jeer and eagerly wait for their turn.
Rocked by the pounding she's getting, Judy keeps her eyes and mouth wide open, face up with her head bobbing on that table, while the men restraining her are licking her jiggling breasts. The huge kid slugs her world upside down.
Bethlehem's the main attraction. He punishes her with his epic slugger! He sweats a lot, like a pig as big as a big brown yak. He’s panting, but doesn’t relent. He knows he needs to keep going strong to maintain his stiffness inside her.
Through his inspired efforts, the big man unknowingly brings Judy all the way up to her high clouds…
His big negro cock rubs her just in the right spot, Judy surrenders!
Much to Phil’s horrified amazement, the diner club car resonates with Judy’s wailing explosion of groaning moans while her close circle of “suitors” laugh in her face and deal her body a storm of wet kisses with her perky tits as the twin epicenters.
“AAAAHHH AAHHHH AAHH AAAoooo No no no no stop this! This is! Aaaaoooo pre-pposterous…”
“HA! Ha! Ha! Listen how she sings!”
“Hey, Miss, you sound great!”
“I love your legs!”
“Huh! Hu-hu-hu-hu-hu! Take this! This and this and this!” Big Bethlehem utters between his clenched teeth as he ups his tempo and lifts her slender hips off the tabletop. Oh, God! The feel of her slim legs against his sides… He loves it!
“Milady! You gonna get… Uuhh… a big load of sugar snow!”
He then screams a gorilla's bliss and fills up Judy Haynes with the prospect of a brown baby, just as she hits an after-shock orgasm. His low-pitch scream meets her high-singing groan.
Big Bethlehem's load of Christmas pudding is just as massive as the man himself. He loses quite an amount of frothing slobber as he gives her the very best he has. Judy feels the hot slobber where it lands all over her navel area. It's an added touch. Very personal.
He pulls out of Judy, panting hard and sweating profusely. The happy big boy lets the next Negro enjoy her.
Judy watches the impressive size of his shoulders. His neck looks like it belongs to a bull. She can’t wrap her head around the fact she just got bucked by such a brutish stud! So fat! So manly! She’ll never forget the feel of his big hands on her. She feels deeply ashamed for enjoying it in secret. No one must ever know! White America is in jeopardy.
Richard is an amateur boxer with a true middleweight’s physique, complete with chiseled abs and an ebony display that fills up Judy’s real-time dream as he shows up for ravishment duty. He’s taken off all of his clothes and looks like Judy’s black coffee, the innermost secret from the dregs of her never-spoken thoughts. No one must ever know!
The fine athlete props her legs up and rests her ankles and feet on either side of his handsome face. Judy realizes she's moaning loud and crazy when it's already too late. Their laughter mortifies her like a whiplash.
He rapes her with her legs propped up, holding her ankles and making sure to keep Judy’s lovely feet against his face. Rick loves to fuck a girl while smelling and kissing her feet, but this is the first time he does this to a white one, and he gets quite a big kick out of it. Do what she will, Judy enjoys the thrashing she’s getting with her legs up and her feet kissed by those thicker lips. His face being handsome makes the whole thing even more humiliating. Judy feels insanely attracted by this kid who's violating her.
She hears Betty’s whimpers.
“Try to relax, little sister!" Judy tells Betty from the next table. "Just try to relax and tell those boys to go easy on you, little chick!”
Judy speaks to her like in a dream, amid her panting, from her bobbing head. Rick keeps deep-thrashing her, enjoying every second of it.
Three men are already finishing to take their turns inside Betty. All from behind. She gets slammed with her head pressed and sliding against the tabletop, her ever-moving eyes meeting an empty glass near a top-sided cup with some spilled coffee.
The fourth man presently drives Betty’s bumpy curves in urgent repetitions… He growls a long, gross series of grunts as he explodes and stuffs her with a tropical heat wave.
The steward then moves in. Slim Jim gives her an epic rear-end fuck as she hears him. She knows it’s him fucking her, and the strange thing is she responds with moans as pleasure gets pressed out of her as Slim Jim savagely rapes her.
"At last! At last! I've always wanted to do this! Yes! Yes! Take this, lovely customer of mine! Take my sperm while I watch your snow-white butt against me! Yyuurrh yeaaahh! I wanna fuck white girls! Undress them! Eat their pussy and fuck! Hear the whimpers yeaaahhh!"
The lad is finally venting out all his unspoken thoughts. Slim Jim's no longer obediently serving the club car’s customers.
Betty feels beyond humiliated, and yet her body loves being taken like this, bent-over and roughed up! When she hits her unwilling climax, she’s unwilling to accept the facts. Why does she have to be such a dirty tramp? Maybe it’s the lack of sex in her recent life and the lackluster behavior of her high-school boyfriend…
She keeps getting bucked, face sliding on that table as one hoodlum pokes fun in her face using his cock like a stick as if she needed to be reminded her African predicament.
The intense slug fest ends with the predictable growl and explosion as the steward serves his customer with a different kind of hot milk…
“AAAAAHHH YYYUUUUHHH UUH UUUHH UUUUHH UUUUUUUUHH!!! Yes! Yes! Slim Jim's happy now! Inside the white man's girlfriend!!! Ooohh, oooh ooooh oooh aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...!!!”
***
In the back of the train, the third-class passengers move forward and spill into the second-class sections like the unstoppable wave of an army who just captured a castle. It's a chaotic mess of punches and slamming helpless husbands who are already hand-cuffed and are helpless to stop the unthinkable from happening. Panicking young wives flail their arms in a hopeless attempt to fight off men they had seen from a distance at the station in Florida, with the natural disdain of a southern white girl for "those ape-men".
Brown hands take their revenge! Amid female screams and hand-cuffed men's threats, those hands rip shirts open and Milady's bra give a last stand for one fleeting moment before the world-altering snap and Milady faints as a third-class passenger sucks her breasts while some old nigger strokes her hair while boasting about his big stiff slugger.
Many second-class compartments are now filled with screams and whimpers from white girls at the hands of men who never thought such a thing possible. The worst of the worst comes when that first wave of citizens turned ruffians literally die inside those white pussies. The girls often get utterly disrobed and kissed on every inch of them as the second compressed wave of grinning negroes get their hands on their light-filled butts and it's a go! Some try out sodomy and get rewarded with astonishing sounds from the suffering wives and young ladies.
The grunts become more and more animal as the prettiest second-class passengers keep groaning and whimpering under each new successive waves of jungle cocks. It's a roaring orgy that makes the whole train tremble.
The train's chief in the caboose, a 50-something Bill, manages to somehow get free. Does he try to run and get help? Nope! He puts a strong layer of grease on his face and hands. And off he goes, and using this minstrel cover, he joins the crowd. He eventually finds himself holding the hips of some cute daughter who became a negro tramp right in front of her grandparents. Bill remembers seeing her at the station. A short girl with small boobs hinted at by her tight plaid shirt, her youthful hips hugged by her high-school kind of skirt, and now she's not even wearing her saddle-shoes and bobby-socks, not anymore. Barefoot damsel for all to see. Bill loves brunettes. He enters her with evil glee and rapes her watching the free-for-all jiggling of her confused boobs, no longer hinted at, but naked and free with shreds of what used to be that cute plaid shirt.
The free play of her apple-blossom tits, small and nervous pastries in wild strokes... they're filling his world as he swells almost painfully in his evil relish of the quick-repeat deed; her schoolgirl's face... twisted in freckled pain as her chestnut hair with pigtails sings the visual spell along with her bobbing head. The small tumult of her all-white tits with negro hands cupping them in crowded confusion does it for him! He detonates like a geyser. She's so young! His jism shoot out in angry spurts. He then wipes his sweaty face with the back of his hand and he's unmasked.
"Hey, that's a white pig! Get him! Get him!"
"A minstrel clown! Kill him! Kill him!"
Bill tried to fight his way out, but the pressing mob won't let him go. Clothes are ripped from him until he's naked and covered with bruises and down on the floor. Then someone crushes his right knee under a big stomping boot. The pain is insane. The rain of kicks come upon him. Unabated. There are consequences for his actions. He knew the risks. He smiles as he passes out. Small girl, big load.
TO BE CONTINUED.
