Susan & the Black Farm Labourers Ch. 13

We'd got some emails from William. They were coming back to Canada the next year but not to our neck of the woods. Jonah was in school and destined for college.

She got back on a Monday and it wasn't until the next week that we went to the mall where Dwayne worked — just to go shopping. She spotted Dwayne and introduced us — and invited him over whenever he had a chance. He texted the next day and spent that evening fucking Susan. I watched and even helped some. Then that Friday I drove her to the Bullrun where she began what has been become an almost-weekly thing. Five, six, seven guys in an evening. All night in that pull-out sofa with Marques, or Jalen. Sometimes somebody else. She's sucked or fucked as many as 15 and as few as five. I looked up the stats and the average hooker does eight guys a day — so it wasn't out of line.

"Just depends on the night, I guess," she once told me. "Marques likes it when I'm downstairs sucking cocks. Said it's good for business."

And Marques knew a few other things, like more than eight tricks in a night is meant as punishment and Susan wasn't immune to that.

She's well known there now, and by now almost everybody there has fucked her in the 20 months since she started working there. And she's done threesomes with Black couples as well. She'd never done women much before. I have a few photos of her rubbing pussy with a stunning Black girl — maybe 20 years old. Sam, they call her.

A few months ago I asked her how many times she thought she'd fucked at Bullrun. She did some math in her head — the number of nights, the average number of guys.

"Blowjobs and fucking separate?" she asked, rubbing her just fucked pussy. It was a Monday evening as I recall.

She thought again.

"About 180 blowjobs, and, let's see. Umm maybe 250 fucking. Wow! That's a lot!" she said. "Imagine if I was getting paid for it."

I never told her about the envelope with $700 in it from that first night. And the $500 from the Saturday night. And the $800 from the next Friday night. And I couldn't bring myself to tell her after she got started in earnest. I didn't know if she'd freak out, be mad, be okay with it, or go burn down the Bullrun.

But I got up my nerve.

"Marques never talked to you about money, I guess," I said.

"No, it never came up. If he wants me to pay for drinks and pot, I have no problem with it," she said, all serious. It seemed she was worried that she owed Q money but he was too gentlemanly to mention it.

I laughed.

"What?," she said, sitting up so my cum spilled out of her.

"Q doesn't want your money," I said. "In fact, Q thinks you're worth quite a bit. Every Friday night. The crowd has almost doubled Friday nights because of you. That's why he keeps you downstairs so long. They come to see you make Black cocks cum in your mouth. Watch your pussy while you suck them. And they come to cum in you. They buy all kinds of booze and spend all kinds of money."

I got my phone off the nightstand, tapped the screen a few times, turned it to her so she could see what was on it.

"Sixty-one-thousand, three hundred dollars," she said. "That's what I would have made?"

"Exactly," I said. "That's what you made. That's how much money Q has paid you in the past 18 months. And he kept the other half. In effect, you were paid $50 per blowjob, and $200 a fuck. Marques' bonus was fucking you for free. Or Jalen was."

Her mouth was open but she wasn't saying anything. I saw various emotions flick through her face. Finally she looked down at her tits, her pussy.

"People paid more than $120,000 for my body?" she asked. "When I'm doing it with them I've been bought?"

I nodded.

"I'm a whore?"

"You've always been a whore, hon," I said. "And you love it. You're a prostitute now. And according to Q, the best he's ever hired. The money is stashed away in a safe deposit box. Nobody knows about it."

"Nobody except a couple hundred guys who paid for my cunt," she said. "And I'm sure that whole town knows. You know if I go out anywhere I meet guys who've fucked me? Some of them even try to get me to go with them"

"And have you?" I asked.

She blushed in confirmation.

"Not very often," she said. "And not lately. Not after the supplements ran out."

She was upset, I could tell. But she was also turned on even in her reduced sex-drive existence.

It took her a few days to think about it, and she kept saying things like "you knew all along," "why didn't you tell me," "Marques is a real prick."

But by Wednesday, she was saying things like "I wish I'd known I was expected to perform," "How did they pay Marques?"

"They paid when they settled their tab at the bar," I said. "Cash in a special little box under the bar.

She invited Dwayne over and didn't invite me to join in.

"Apparently I'm a prostitute," she told him. "You don't have to pay, but if you did, how much would you pay?"

He laughed.

"You mean the bar, two or three towns over?"

She nodded. They were in the living room and would head upstairs in a few minutes.

"Anywhere from $300 to $500 I guess," he said. "Maybe $100 for a blowjob. I hear things you know. People say you're the best one there."

"I didn't know they were paying to fuck me," she said. "I thought it was just some fun."

They fucked for a few hours. It was like they were moving furniture or something, they made so much noise. When Dwayne came down, we had a beer.

"She's okay with it now," he told me. "She doesn't realize that they want to pay her. She told me what this Remy guy said about her cunt, mouth, tits being commodities. She has a certain amount of sexual collateral. She enjoys fucking and her johns enjoy fucking her to the point they are willing to purchase — actually buy — her body for a certain length of time. She says half an hour at a time. It's not demeaning. It's just a straight transaction."

"You took economics," I asked.

He smiled.

"As a matter of fact," he replied.

"And you're a security guard?"

'Pays better," he said, laughing.

The next night Susan seemed okay with it and we fucked long and hard. She seemed exceptionally turned on.

"I'm going to do Saturday nights too," she said. "Marques said that would be great."

I came in her without moving.

"Really?" I said.

"Yup, I figured better now before it's too late," she said. "I'll be 47 soon and someday nobody's even going to look at me."

I said that was hogwash, but if she wanted to do Saturday nights I was fine with it.

That was two months ago. I figure fucking at the bar is partly sex drive and partly just the excitement of being out doing something. Dave had the supplements that William gave her tested — a mixture of potent herbs, roots, and other things.

"Every aphrodisiac known to man, plus testosterone, and a few other things," he said. "And an hallucinogenic to boot."

She'd run out of the pills six months back and that first few weeks without them were sketchy. It's not that she was addicted, but the sudden drop in libido had her worried to the point she almost quit going to the Bullrun.

When things settled out, she was almost back to her old self — just so stretched out, more experienced, and with almost no inhibitions. I'm not saying she'd walk into a crowded mall with nothing on, but she'd walk into one with almost nothing on. And she still lubricates a cock.

The big difference is that she isn't always horny, isn't thinking about sex all the time like she'd done for a year or so. When the supplements ran out, she became a different version of her old self. She still cuckolds me — just with Black men now. And Dave. He still shows up once in a while. But instead of being super excited and so eager to go to the Bullrun, she now had to hype herself up before I drove her over.

But doing Friday and Saturday nights was too much. I think she did Saturdays as a sort of protest - like 'if you want me to be a whore, I'll show you.' She really wanted it to be like before, with all the energy, all the insatiable libido. All the fuck fluids, loving the taste of cum and the slimy feel of it on her tongue, and how it so easily slipped down her throat. Doing enemas before we left home on Friday evenings because invariably somebody would fuck her ass.

But she soon reverted back to just Fridays and she was even thinking of stopping that, or easing up at least. But Marques told her there was no negotiating on Friday nights.

"I really like you as a person," he told Susan when she brought the subject up. They were fucking for the second time in an hour and Q was just getting warmed up. She was almost worn out from a full evening with her johns. "But at the end of the day, you're a whore. You work for me. I was told you would fuck as long as I wanted you to fuck, and you're not finished by a long shot."

The third time he fucked her that night it was hard in the ass and after that treated her differently. Like property. Like a whore. And clients got a bit rougher as if they were told it was okay. He got her high as soon as she arrived and kept her that way all night. If anything Q worked her harder, made her do more guys, and fucked her harder himself. One night she did eight blowjobs before she even went up to the apartment.

"I was almost sick to my stomach from all the cum I swallowed," she said. "They had me on all fours on a little platform naked. There was a big crowd watching. That would have made me cum in a second before. Now it was like it was just normal. I wasn't embarrassed or humiliated or anything. Just not horny because of it."

But the pot is good.

"I am always so pliable," she said, in reference to the weed she smoked. "They can do anything and I won't resist. Can't resist. But I'm not as horny. Or at least not as horny and not all the time."

At home it was Dwayne maybe once a week, and if I was lucking maybe once or twice a week for me too. And it bothered her. She was even thinking of cancelling her next trip to Jamaica because she just didn't have the same desire.

"It's all gone to hell," she said one day. "I want to feel like I did a year ago when all I could think of was fucking. I felt like I had a Black cock in me even when I didn't. And orgasms on top of orgasms. You can't even begin to understand how it feels being horny all the time - every second of every day. A big Black cock comes in me and all I can think of is another one fucking me and cuming in me."

That was then.

I didn't have much to say to that. She was remembering heaven and living in some sort of limbo state. And it's not like her body wasn't able. She's as fuckable today as she ever was - maybe more so. All that experience in the last couple of years - she could make a rock cum. Back when she took William's supplements, her long cunt lips hung out of a swollen vulva, and you could slide the head of a cock up and down in the inevitable fuck juice to open up a wet, loose hole that could accommodate a foot of cock as big around as a beer can.

She walked around naked all day, even out in the back yard. She was hoping it would arouse her. She drove out to the park in a short, see-through dress and showed her body off. She watched all the hours of porn that showed her fucking and sucking. And she could get horny, but fuck her for a couple hours and she'd lose interest.

A funny thing happened a few weeks ago. I was at work and discovered I'd left my external hard drive at home. So about 3 p.m. I jumped in the car and drove to the house. When I got there, a UPS truck was just pulling out of the driveway.

Curious, I pulled in and went inside to the kitchen where Susan had a medium-size box on the table.

I don't know if that's how she looked when she met the UPS guy at the door. The short silk robe, wide open. There was no sash, so I suspect she forgot to cover up. From where I stood, her tits hung out and I know her cunt was completely visible.

She was reading a letter or note that had been taped to the top. She had a confused look on her face at first. She bent over and looked at the return address on the box. Then the look changed to surprise and then transformed into what can only be described as excitement. She did a little jump and raised her hands in one of those little victory gestures people do.

She didn't see me. I was a bit side on to her. Then she ripped at the paper on the box. She was halfway through tearing it off when she noticed me. She stopped, reached down for what she'd been reading, looked at it, and handed it to me.

I was stunned, to say the least. It was from Chalmers.

"I've been able to do a little something for you so when you aren't in Jamaica with me - where you belong - you will at least be taken care of," he wrote. "First, I've managed to find 24 bottles of William's famous supplements. Enough for two years at two a day."

He noted that William always had a supply and gave them to the white women he met, and his success rate in seducing and converting them to Black cock was almost 100 per cent. Of course they couldn't go through regular mail and through customs, so Chalmers had them flown in to the consulate and they were sent out from there.

"I want you to start on these supplements right away," Chalmers wrote. "I've bought a business in your area and while the manager will remain the same, I'm making some changes. You told me all about the Bullrun and your Friday nights. So I bought it. I think with the help of William's little pills, you'll be starting out doing four nights a week and living in the apartment above. There's a quota that you'll be expected to meet. We'll see how it goes. William has agreed to give up ownership so now I have complete rights with Marques managing you. What he says goes. I presume your husband won't be any trouble. He can visit you the other three nights."

There was a start date the next Wednesday and a list of numerous instructions on what she could wear, what she could do, where she could go, what would happen if she didn't adhere to all these rules, and a video contract that gave Chalmers all rights, revenues, and royalties.

Susan had opened a bottle and downed two of the capsules even before I finished reading. She took another that night, and two more the next day. By the day after that, Thursday, she was begging Dwayne to come over and fuck her. The two of us took turns for hours. Friday I drove her to the Bullrun, as horny as I'd ever seen her.

And then she packed two suitcases and moved into the apartment above the bar. I'll see her some Mondays and Tuesdays. She told me to call before I drive all the way over — in case she's busy. And she said she'll come home as much as possible. I gave her the safety deposit box number and key. There was almost $100,000 in it now.

"This is it," she told me that Wednesday as I drove her over to the Bullrun. "Remy owns me and I'm fine with that. That's what I want. Will I ever change my mind? I don't know. I don't think so."

I dropped her off at the back door. She was wearing that flared out dress, nothing else. It was cold and her nipples poked the material. Marques was there and took the suitcases.

"You don't need to bother coming in," he told me. "We'll take her from here."

Susan shrugged, her short dress riding up with it. She told me I'd be fine. I'd have her every once in a while.

"Don't forget to water the plants," she said at the door, twirled around so the dress flew up to reveal the centre of the universe. I shut the trunk, got back in the car, and drove away.

On the seat was an envelope.

"It's been great," she wrote. "I couldn't have asked for better. We'll stay in touch if we can. Remember to be careful what you wish for."

Epilogue

It's been two years since I dropped Susan off at the Bullrun. I saw her a few times in the next couple of months. But Q discouraged me from visiting and when I did try, Susan texted that she would be busy. She'd text the odd photo, and describe some fuck sessions. She was doing stage shows some nights — they renovated and built a platform with a bed where she fucks for an audience.

After six months I didn't even receive texts and when I tried Find iPhone her phone was always offline. I've sent Dwayne over and he's had her a few times and watched some of the shows. Movies have started showing up online — dozens of them. She still looks good and she's as stunning as ever.

Then one day, maybe a month ago, I bumped into Dwayne at the mall and we had a coffee.

"She's gone," he said. "Jalen told me Jamaica."

I went to the Bullrun and managed to confront Marques. But he didn't want to talk. Not at first. He even threatened to throw me out. But in the end he relented.

"I know she was your wife," he said. "I get that. But Remy rules and neither of us can do anything about it."

"But what happened?" I asked. "She's gone."

He let out a big sigh.

"Listen, give me a day or two," he said. "I'll get hold of Remy and get him to email you or call. No guarantees."

He said as far as he knew she was in Jamaica and probably with Chalmers. That's what the word was at least. As a gesture, Q gave me a stack of DVDs they'd made over the past few years. I still have them and watch them regularly. It was all the same except for the tattoos (including the two stars — one on each hip) and the piercings.

Chalmers called that evening and basically told me he'd pulled Susan out of the Bullrun so she could fulfil her role as his own personal whore. He let me talk to her briefly.

"It's just the way it is," she said. "I serve a purpose here and I'm never without sex. I can snap my fingers and there's a Black guy shoving his cock inside me."

She went on like that, and apologizing, and saying I'd be okay.

"I think Remy has something planned as kind of a consolation," she said. "I won't be coming back though. I guess you gave my body away one too many times. We had some fun though."

We talked a bit more. She was casual though guarded. I was choked up. I begged her I guess, but she wasn't changing her mind.

"I'll send you some pictures of me," she said. "You'll see what I am now."

A few days later a limo showed up at my office. A young Black woman got out and my secretary showed her in to my office.

She was one of the most beautiful people I'd ever seen. Blacker than coal. Straight shiny, black hair. Bangs. Eyes so dark they were bottomless. This girl was maybe 20. About five feet tall, curves. Firm breasts, thin waist, generous hips (baby-making hips), high cheek bones, and china-doll features. Almost by wife but as Black as night. bi-racial for sure. She wore only a sundress and sandals.

I motioned to her to sit. She did. Across from me. I quickly realized she wore no bra, no panties. Her vulva was slightly swollen and her cunt lips protruded — long, hanging out.

I asked her if I could help her. She had a small purse and opened it. She handed me an envelope.

It was from Remy. This girl was mine. Sam. He was giving her to me. The one I'd seen rubbing cunts with Susan. All her necessary documentation was being prepared, back-dated, manipulated.

That same day Susan had sent me some photos. Inside Chalmer's mansion. She was indeed tattooed heavily, although I couldn't make out what they were. And she was pierced. There were closeups of her pussy and nipples. Chains, rings, a large, heavy bar lengthwise through her clit. Weights dangling through holes in her cunt lips. Then some general shots of her with her Black servants, with Remy, fucking. With other Black men.

I took the Sam home. We've hardly been out of bed since — and she looks amazing with white cock in her. Dave is really interested, but I don't think so.

I told Sam she was free to go. But she's still here.