BLACK STUDENT LESBIAN RAPE

copyright: Lesley Tara, 2012

I don’t understand what has happened to me. Oh, I know the actual events – I’ve replayed them in my mind, over and over, during these last few weeks. It is how and why they have changed me so profoundly that I don’t understand – but they have, and forever.

There are four things that you need to know about me. The first is that I am black – and I mean really black, with dark ebony skin. My ancestors were taken in the eighteenth century from somewhere in tropical Africa to the West Indies to work as slaves in the sugar plantations, but both sets of my grandparents left Jamaica in the early 1960s for better employment prospects in Britain. Their children, who met and became my mother and father, were born a few years later in Brixton, south London – as was I, in 1991.

The second thing is that I have big breasts – and I mean really big, jutting melon-sized mammaries that need the support of a well-braced 32 inch G-cup bra. I have flared hips and a prominent rounded ass to compensate, and with my narrow waist this gives me a real hour-glass figure – but it is my big bust that really catches the eye. My tits grew quite fast when I was about thirteen years old; by the age of fifteen I was filling a 28D bra, and they finally reached my present heavy bulk about two years ago.

The third thing is that I soon found out what a problem they were, and it made me nervous and anything but interested in sex. Big tits on a young black girl living in a poor rough neighbourhood are not good news – they make you vulnerable and an obvious target. I was alarmed by the older youths and men – often quite old men – who ogled me, called out disgusting suggestions, and even tried to grope me. Many of the men – especially white men – seemed to be convinced that if only they could squeeze my tits, it would flip some switch in my head and I would instantly turn into a nymphomaniac-whore-slut, and want to suck their smelly cocks and spread my legs for a gang-bang. Or these sleazy types would approach me with offers of ‘modelling work’ if I would pose for nude ‘glamour’ photographs, assuming that I would be taken in by their glib assurances of fame and fortune just around the corner. Like so many men (white and black), and sadly quite a lot of women too, they seemed to believe that the bigger the breasts, the smaller the brain, as if in some bizarre way they were made from the same substance, of which for each female there was a limited amount (the opposite of this is the view that plain women with small tits, especially if wearing glasses, are intelligent – which is just as frequently incorrect!). Of course, I rejected such approaches with contempt, for I could very well guess where that road would end up. For all these reasons, I soon learned the wisdom of disguising my curvy body in baggy track-suits and shapeless hoodies, and never wearing anything tight or revealing or sexy.

This wasn’t as bad as it sounds, because of the fourth thing. I am actually quite shy, an only child and a rather bookish and serious girl, interested in my studies far more than in going out to clubs or meeting boys. This led to some jealousy at my secondary school, where I suppose I was a bit of a teachers’ pet, due to the rarity of black kids from my neighbourhood being interested and diligent about their schoolwork. The main clique of ‘cool’ girls in my year had nicknamed me ‘Titsi’ at the age of thirteen and a half, when I got curves and they didn’t; before long they amended this to ‘Snooty-tits’. It was hurtful, and I suppose I withdrew into myself and my academic studies – so I tended to come top of the class in everything, but have no real friends. I managed to avoid boyfriends, as fortunately my being ‘brainy’ and uncool put them off, whilst the ‘cool’ crowd went out dancing and clubbing with next to nothing on, flashing their flesh and willing to suck and fuck to get the guys they wanted, and so they monopolised their attention.

Truthfully, I couldn’t wait to get out of school and go to university, somewhere away from London. So I worked really hard, got high grades in my final year, and secured a place on a degree course in economics and business studies at a well-rated university in the midlands, about a hundred miles north of London – not too far, but far enough. When all of this happened, it was a few weeks after the start of my third and final year, and a few weeks before my twenty-first birthday.

I had made a few friends at college, and even had some boyfriends, though no lasting or serious relationships. You may not believe this – certainly no one looking at my sexy curvy figure would do so – but I was still a virgin when I started at university, and I didn’t lose my cherry until near the end of my first year. I can easily count how many times I have had penetrative intercourse since then – counting losing my cherry, it is only eight times. Three were with my current boyfriend, who I actually met during the last summer vacation, when I got a temporary job cleaning rooms at a huge hotel in central London. His name is Harry, and he is Afro-Caribbean as well, and not so different to me in character. It turned out that he is studying at the university in the next city to the north of where I am, just a forty minute journey on the train. Anyway, I try to go and see him every other weekend, and have begun staying overnight from Saturday to Sunday – sleeping in his bed, and letting him screw me, though I can’t say that the earth has moved for me yet, and it all seems very over-rated.

I didn’t get myself very well-organised for a place to stay in my final year – I was concentrating on a project for my marketing course, and left it too late. By the time I got around to seeking possible housemates, my relatively few friends had already got fixed up. I wasn’t too bothered about this, as I had anyway half-thought that going into the university’s own self-catering flats would be quite good for my studies – they were conveniently located near the main campus, and I would probably end up with foreign students who would be quiet and leave me to my own devices.

Well, the first part of that expectation was true – and, at first, it seemed that the rest was as well. I found myself the only British student in a flat of five girls, the other four all being from the same university in Japan, over here to take a one-year Masters course in the management school – this attracted a lot of students from the Far East, so this was no surprise. Their names were Amaya, Ishiko, Kagami and Midori, and they seemed to be very typical young Japanese women: long lustrous straight black hair, deep dark almond-shaped eyes, and smooth-skinned pale blank faces that rarely showed what they were thinking. They were slender of build, with boyish hips, small neat butts, flat stomachs and almost flat chests – Kagami was maybe just a C-cup and Midori a B-cup, but the other two were A’s at best, and all of their breasts pooled together would only just match my massive boobs.

At our first meeting, they seemed disconcerted to find themselves sharing with a black girl – the Japanese are still very racist under the surface, even the younger generation, and especially so towards black people. At any rate, they were cooly polite and distant, and remained very much detached – there was no overt rudeness or unpleasantness, but also no overtures of friendliness. They did not invite me to join in with them for anything, and we went our separate ways – there was a cleaning rota for the shared kitchen, and agreement about what space I would use in the cupboards and refrigerator, and that was it, apart from brief polite but formal greetings if we should encounter each other when going in or out.

It remained like this for the first five weeks of the academic year, until a weekend in the middle of the autumn term. I was due to visit my boyfriend, Harry; our relationship seemed to be cooling – I had a suspicion that he was more keen on a white girl who was in one of his classes, and he did not seem greatly enthusiastic about seeing me. I felt a bit let down, and for once in my life I decided to compete physically – to use the asset of my body, and make an impact. So I went out and bought some items, and dressed to make him think again. I put on a pair of white leather cowgirl-style boots, with no socks or stockings, so that there was a great length of exposed shiny ebony leg up to my shortest-of-short, tightest-of-tight and very skimpy cut-off blue denim shorts. Above this was several inches of bare midriff, and then a small thin red halterneck that just about covered my scarlet bra and my bulging tits, exhibiting their round fullness and a deep valley of cleavage in between.

I left my student flat around noon on Saturday morning, disguising my appearance and figure under a rather shapeless long padded winter coat, a scarf and a hat. However, when I arrived at Harry’s house an hour and a half later, I found that I might as well have been wearing sackcloth and ashes. Whether he had caught a germ or – as he thought – eaten something dodgy the night before, he was quite unwell, exhausted from repeated bouts of vomiting, and had a temperature and a spliiting headache. He apologised for not having let me know before I made the journey, but said he had been too sick earlier to think of it. I was a bit miffed – he wasn’t so ill that he or friend couldn’t have phoned or sent a text – but anyway there was no point in my staying, as he needed to take some medicine and go to bed.

There was nothing for it but to turn around and go right back to my own university, and make a virtue of necessity by spending some more time in the library researching for my dissertation. Even so, when I returned to my student accommodation, I must admit that I was feeling rather frustrated and horny, which is a fairly unusual sensation for me – I don’t get easily turned on at all, and indeed a couple of my previous boyfriends had called me frigid when they dumped me.

It was a few minutes before four o’clock in the afternoon when I unlocked the front door of my shared flat, and closed it behind me as I entered the central corridor. This has three study-bedrooms on the left side, of which mine was the first; on the right are two study-bedrooms and then the kitchen. The bedrooms each have a small self-contained unit with a toilet, shower and handbasin, and so there is only one other door, at the far end of the corridor, which leads into the large communal room that goes across the width of the flat.

I opened the door of my personal room and walked into it, leaving it ajar behind me as I put my bag and wristwatch down on my desk, and dropped my coat, hat and scarf onto the bed. I had vaguely registered a murmur of noise from the communal room and was aware that at least some of my flatmates were present, but my attention was caught by a sudden burst of shrieks and squeals. They must be watching television, I thought, some comedy show or maybe an action movie. Feeling in the mood for some mindless entertainment, I trotted down the corridor to find out.

What I saw when I opened the door was a complete surprise, and I was rooted to the spot in shocked amazement – my four Japanese flatmates were in the middle of a full-blown lesbian orgy! They had removed the low table and three of the chairs (which I later discovered had been put in two of their bedrooms), and had pushed the sofa and remaining chair against the far wall. This left a large clear area of floor in the middle of the room, where they had laid down two of their bed mattresses, side by side to make a square. On one side of this, Amaya was lying on her back, completely naked, clutching at her own small breasts and pinching their nipples, and with her legs spread wide apart. Kneeling between her thighs was Midori, dressed only in black hold-up stockings and a pair of black-strapped stiletto shoes. Around her pelvis was the black harness of a strap-on dildo, which she was vigorously pumping in and out of Amaya’s black-haired pussy. Midori had always seemed to me to be the shyest and most demure of the four, replying to any question or comment in a soft whisper and rarely meeting my eyes directly. She was certainly far from demure now, and seemed to have metamorphosed into a rabid sex machine. Her pelvis was jerking backwards and forwards in a frenzy, her hips were pistoning the unseen rod of the dildo deep into the cunt underneath her with almost vicious intensity and force, and it was her voice that I had heard, harsh and shrill, and clearly pouring out a torrent of lesbian swearing in Japanese. Midori had the longest hair of the Japanese quartet, a straight fall of shining silky black that came down to below her waist; usually it was gathered into a long pony-tail or plaited into a braid and tied with a pink ribbon, but now the whole swathe swung free, cascading over her lower back and around her hips with every vigorous thrust.

This arresting vision of girl-on-girl fucking was far from the only steamy action that was going on in the room. Amaya’s face was only partly visible, because she was being deeply French-kissed by Ishiko, who was on her hands and knees at a 90 degree angle to the prone girl, with her head bowed down to make contact with Amaya’s lips. Ishiko was also nude, and was pinned in place by Kagami, who was kneeling behind her ass and firmly gripping her at the waist with both hands. Kagami was the most dressed of the four, if you could call it that – she was wearing the black leather boots that she was so fond of, a pair of sheer black hold-ups, and a black half-cup bra, from which her breasts had been pulled out so that they were overhanging the front and in full view. She was also wearing a strap-on dildo, which she was in the process of ramming in and out of Ishiko’s pussy – I could see this clearly from my angle at the doorway, and I gulped in stunned fascination as the improbably large black plastic rod slid slickly in and out of Ishiko’s hole, around which her neatly-trimmed black pubic hair was glisteningly coated with her secretions.

So intent were they upon each other that it was a few seconds before they realised that the door had opened, and that I was standing there. I think some squawk or gasp that I made alerted them, and immediately Kagami’s head swung round to stare at me. At first, she had an expression of pure surprise, which was due not just to my unexpected return but still more to my appearance – normally I dressed very conservatively, and in clothes that disguised the curves of my body rather than displaying them. Almost at once, her eyes narrowed, as she took in my tiny tight shorts and the chasm of cleavage barely contained by the skimpy halterneck.

‘Ha! Kyonyu!’ she said, and then, with a fierce glare of lust in her eyes, she added to her compatriots: ‘Baka buso, abazure onna mitai! – yarite!!’

At the time, I did not understand any Japanese – but I certainly do now, especially the sexual terms. What she had called me was the word for ‘giant breasts’, and what she said to her friends after that was ‘Stupid bitch, she looks like a slut! – I want to fuck her!!’ [As I tell the rest of this story, I will put translations of the Japanese words in square brackets, but you must remember that at the time I did not know their meaning.]

However, although staring fixedly at me, Kagami did not pause in her relentless doggy-fuck of the moaning Ishiko, as if demanding my attention to every swivel of her hips and every resulting impalement of Ishiko’s vagina. Always the leader of this little pack, she decisively rapped out some instructions in crisp Japanese to Midori and Amaya. Somewhere in this I caught the words ‘manko’ [cunt] ‘machakucha gu’ [fucked up good], ‘shibari’ [bondage] and ‘goukan’ [rape]. Of course, I could not translate any of them then – but I soon discovered their meaning.

Midori obeyed instantly, whipping her strap-on cock out of Amaya’s pussy, surging to her feet, spinning on her heels, and advancing upon me. Amaya was immediately behind her, and, before I could draw breath, they had each seized one of my arms, dragged me sideways from the doorway, and pressed me back against the wall of the room. Only then, as her two accomplices held me rigidly in place, did Kagami withdraw her dildo from Ishiko, giving the shuddering girl a sharp smack on the ass with the palm of her right hand. Then Kagami rose elegantly to her feet and came towards me, the sensuous sway of her hips making the outhrust battering-ram of the dildo sway from side to side – I was mesmerised by it, and only with an effort tore my gaze away and looked her in the face, as she stepped up close to me. Kagami had a strange flushed expression, and there was a hard lustful glitter in her eyes. As she stood in front of me, arms akimbo on her hips, her bare breasts thrust out and the spear-shaft of the dildo pointing intimidatingly at my crotch, any words of explanation and apology for my unexpectedly early return or of protest at their activities died unspoken on my dry lips.

‘Manko yaro, kono ama? [Want to screw some pussy, you bitch?]’ asked Kagami in a challenging tone. Then, seeing my incomprehension, she switched to speaking in English, and exclaimed with relish:

‘So, here you are, Big Tits! So, we have fun and games, now, yeah!’

I shook my head weakly, and babbled a denial that no, I wasn’t into girls, wasn’t a lesbian, had never done anything like that – I apologised for interrupting them, and offered to leave at once.

Kagami shook her head at that, and her smile curved wickedly:

‘Urusei, kono manko! [Shut up, you cunt!] Oh, no, Big Tits, – you we have, now!’ Her syntax slipped a little when she got excited, and she added: ‘You we fuck, right now, Big Tits!’

I swallowed, not liking at all what this implied, or the rude nickname that she was giving me, as her fevered gaze fell upon my chest. However, held in the iron grips of her two henchwomen, there was nothing that I could to stop Kagami as she reached behind my neck and, with one swift tug, untied the knot that held my skimpy red halterneck in place. I gasped as the two sides of the unfastened garment flopped down, hanging over my hips and completely exposing my bra. I had wanted to look really hot for Harry, and now this was to be – quite literally – my undoing. My scarlet bra was a lacy, semi-transparent half-cup, with a push-up effect that my melons of breasts hardly needed – the result, I knew, was the amazing extent and depth of cleavage that had been framed in the red halterneck. Kagami cupped her hands under my jutting bra cups, and then squeezed vigorously, completely indifferent to my squeals of protest and futile struggling. Ishiko had risen to her feet and was standing at Kagami’s shoulders, and all four of the Japanese lesbians were staring at my massive breasts with an intense lustful glee that was setting my stomach churning with apprehension.

As always the leader and trend-setter, Kagami reached out to the central clasp which held my bra together and uncoupled it, sending the cups swinging aside and my tits flopping out into full view. I had deliberately chosen a ‘front loader’ for the intended effect upon Harry when I would lean over him and undo it, and the effect of my G-cup black mammaries spilling out was even more arousing than I had expected – but upon the wrong audience. The other three Japanese lesbians gave a soft sigh of amazement, as Kagami grasped my right breast and gave it a mauling grope that led to renewed cries and pleas to desist from me. Ishiko took hold of my other breast, pulled on its nipple – smiling maliciously at the howl this produced – and then mashed this breast against the one that Kagami had seized. The latter looked me straight in the eye from less than a foot away, and hissed with menacing certainty, first in Japanese and then in English:

‘Dekapai, teme kuronbo joro! [Big breasts, you nigger slut!] You fucking ours now, black bitch – big tits, ours, and cunt!’

The last word was accompanied by a thrust of her other hand between my legs, to seize the crotch of my tiny cut-off denim shorts and press upwards against my trembling pussy. I begged her to stop in broken sobs, but she ground the palm of her hand against my sex, rubbing the coarse denim and the flimsy panties underneath abrasively against my labia. Then it got worse, as she shifted her grip to the front waistband of the brief shorts and pulled upwards with sudden force. I shrieked as this jerked the underneath seam of the shorts into my slit, the cameltoe effect cutting into my soft folds of flesh almost like a knife. My desperate attempt to stand on tiptoe to relieve the scything pressure was useless, as the cruel Asian bitch just hauled up further, and I tottered in a near faint, my eyes watering.

There was a momentary release of the incisive pressure, as Kagami shifted her grasp to undo the large brass button in the waistband, and then she tore downwards on the zip below it. My sketchy blue denim cut-off shorts peeled apart and dropped down my legs until they stuck at my knees. I blushed with shame, as my panties were exposed to the searching gaze of the Japanese quartet. Far from my usual sober plain white pair, these were a naughtily brief thong, a tiny triangular scrap of scarlet lace that barely covered my prominent Venus mound. Apprehension filled me – correctly, as it turned out – as the glint in Kagami’s dark eyes turned harder, and her smile more predatory.

‘Kyonyu, kono baita! [Giant breasts, you whore!]’ she breathed; ‘oh, slutty black bitch! fucking slut cunt, you are, Big Tits!’

I might have denied the apparent evidence, but any attempt to profess my innocence was blown aside, as the evil Asian bitch seized the fabric of my thong at the top of the crotch, scrunched it together in her fist, and then yanked the bunched fabric up into my cunt. It sliced like a knife into my slit, and my back arched and I howled in pain at its slashing intrusion. Tears poured down my cheeks, as Kagami then began a rapid jerking up and down, so that the fabric abraded up and down inside my vagina, cutting and rubbing like a rope. As she did this with merciless force, Kagami looked into my eyes, and smiled with satisfaction at what she saw reflected there – my shock, my pain, my fear, and, to my shame and humiliation, also my arousal. She knew, as in my inner heart I did as well, that this was not simply the unconscious response of the body to the erogenous physical contact – I was also becoming aroused by my predicament, my helplessness and my forced submission.

‘Ha!’ snorted Kagami, followed by a trill of liquid Japanese that made her accomplices laugh, and then to regard me with frightening relish, as if I had ‘victim – please rape’ tattooed across my big breasts.