Not a Beautiful Woman Ch. 03

"Very well, then. I have a plan."

"Tell me, please."

"I'll get two adjacent rooms in a motel that have a connecting door. I'll get them for a couple of days so I can have access to prepare them. You'll use one room and I'll be in the next. I'll mount a surveillance camera in yours and monitor whatever happens. I have a friend that sells that kind of equipment and I'm sure he'll lend me some demo model. Maybe even some recording equipment. If anything scares you, you can call out to me and I'll barge in and break up the party."

"Oh, Daddy, that sounds good. I didn't know you could do that."

"That's really the easy part. The hard part is all up to you. You'll have to pick your men by yourself. Have you thought about where you'll try to find them? They'll all have to be in the same place and it'll have to be noisy so you and whomever you talk with won't be overheard. So, some kind of a bar. Have you thought about the kind of men you'll pick?"

"Not really, no, Daddy."

"Well in my experience, adult white men, aside from biker gangs, don't usually go in for this sort of thing. They might enjoy watching movies about it, but as for participating, I believe they'll be quite rare. College boys would be a much surer bet, but they'll be more prone to talk to people who might know you from just a description. And they're a lot more likely to be drunk and get drunker and cause a noise problem."

"I didn't think about all that, Daddy. But I know you have a suggestion."

"I do, but you might not like it. This is 1980 and the Deep South. In our culture at this time, there is nothing perceived to be dirtier than a white woman fucking a black man. I'm sure that plenty do it, but only very rarely in the open. I cast no judgments. We're all the same under our skin. But the fact remains that, based on what I can discover, black men are a lot more likely to engage in this sort of behavior than whites. In our culture, if there's anything dirtier than a white woman who lets herself be gangbanged, it's a white woman who gangbangs a group of blacks. So, if you have to do this, I suggest you choose black men from a black bar. Aside from them being more likely to participate, it's extremely unlikely that you'll share any acquaintances with them. It seems to me that if you want to do this because it's dirty, why not go all the way, particularly if success is more likely?"

"Oh, Daddy," she exclaimed, completely dumbfounded. "I don't know if I can do that. Do you really think it's the only way."

"No, it's certainly not the only way. I just think it's the way most likely to succeed in getting you what you want while allowing me sufficient setup time to minimize the danger."

She thought about it for a few minutes, and said, "You're really ok with this?"

"Hell no, I'm absolutely not ok with any of this. But I can't stand the thought of you feeling compelled to do this alone. As far as I'm concerned, a cock is a cock, no matter what color. For this, all you care is about is the number of hard cocks and I deem this the best way to get them."

"You're right, Daddy. Except for you, a cock is a cock. This sounds like the best plan. I want to do it."

"Ok, then, today is Wednesday. I'm off this Saturday. I'll take you to New Orleans and we'll shop for a dress and shoes. Meanwhile, I'll make arrangements with my friend for the camera equipment and scout out likely places for you to do your hunting. We'll set the date for a week from this coming Saturday. I really hope that we don't regret this."

"Oh, Daddy, we won't. God, I'm horny now. Please, will you fuck me? Come and fuck your Slut."

The drive to New Orleans wasn't that long and her master was at least vaguely familiar with the area in which he planned to shop. They got lucky and found everything they needed in the third shop they tried. He even went to four other shops and bought his Slut other dresses, shoes, and stockings, just as presents. She was so excited and grateful that she could hardly contain herself. About mid-afternoon, they got a meal at a modest but good Cajun restaurant he'd heard about. She was in ecstasy. Her people were poor and she'd never had such a day. His people were poor, too, but he'd cut himself off from them several years ago and tried to learn the proper way to do things for himself. For the most part, he'd been successful, but this whole event had him worried more than he let on. He really believed that he was in danger of losing her, one way or the other, but couldn't see any way around it. Her unbridled wantonness is what attracted him most and this latest thing was just another manifestation of it. Hope wasn't a true tactic, but he found himself relegated to relying on it and that made him uncomfortable.