Kidnap II: Black Paradise

Chapter II: Friday night fights

They drove in a bit, made some turns and parked. They got out, opened the side door and unhooked me from the collar and pushed me out of the door. I stood, barefoot and naked on the grass and dirt by the van and looked around. We were in some sort of protected clearing. It looked like an old farm or rural business. There were some nondescript buildings scattered around a central area. One of the girls pushed me forward and I started walking toward the near building. It was a one-story concrete block affair, probably an old garage as it had higher roof than a normal building. Lakisha ran ahead to open a worn wooden door in the side.

When we entered I saw that it had been divided in half. On my left was an open garage area, big enough to hold a couple of RVs or trucks. There was a wall across the shed and Shamika opened a door in its middle and I was turned right and stepped in.

In here was a more cleanly appointed room of equal size to the open garage. In the middle was a boxing ring. My heart sank, that was not going to be any fun going against these girls. Again, I was shoved forward. It was then I noticed that there were two more black women in the room.

“Look here, fresh meat. Caught him no trouble at all, I think he likes it.” That was Tamara from somewhere behind me.

“Well, we should introduce ourselves.” One of the two new ones stepped forward and I sized her up. I really stared. “I’m Shamika.”

And I’m getting hard. Shamika was built in that exaggerated curvy way some black women are. Boobs, butt, bulging thighs and a nipped in waist. She had on short-shorts and a shirt tied off to expose her abs. A sex model for sure. “Well, I guess you’re happy to see me; most men are.” She laughed and I started to get red.

“And I’m Keota.” This was from a more no-nonsense type. Almost as tall as Tamara, clearly strong, but in a smooth, wiry, runner style. She’d be quick and deadly.

I just looked around. The four black women stood in a semi-circle in front of me. Shouldn’t I be asking, “what’s going to happen?” “Let me go,” or something like that. Instead I just looked at the four of them: Bodybuilder Tamara, street Lakisa, Shamika the body and Keota marathon runner sports goddess.

It was Tamara who put a strong hand on my shoulder and said “I can’t wait to get this shit on.” She fished out a key and started unlocking my cuffs. I rubbed and flexed my arms as she released them first and then did my legs. “In the ring,” she commanded and pushed open the ropes for me to climb in. God, this was going to really hurt – boxing, fist fighting? what?

“I’ve been looking forward to a good white-boy thrashing,” Tamara said. She pulled her t-shirt over her head revealing her bare chest. She hadn’t gotten implants, thank god, she had the small breasts of any one who is so low on fat as a bodybuilder. She kicked off her shoes and undid the belt of her cutoffs, dropping them to the floor and kicking them aside. She was totally nude, no panties. God, I looked at her. A body like that should never wear any clothes. Even a g-string was vandalism on a chiseled, sculpted form like hers.

She approached me. What should I do, crouch, kick? Kneel in surrender. She closed the gap between us and put one hand on each of my shoulders. She brought her head close to mine. “Now you listen up. We’re going to wrestle. Of course you’re going to loose and loose big. But.” She released one shoulder and wagged a finger in my face. “You are going to fight and fight hard. Don’t think that it will be easy if you surrender. This is sport, and I have no patience for a bad sport. If I think you’re quitting on me, I will hurt you. And you know,” she brought her nose within an inch of mine and started squeezing my shoulder to where it began to hurt, “that I could really, really hurt you. But,” she released me. “you give me a good, solid fight, try to beat me, go at me full tilt, and the rest of your weekend will be filled with pussy and fun.” She laughed. “Go!” she shouted and sprang at me.

I tried to dodge aside, but she put out an arm and spun me around. I admit I don’t really remember much of what happened after that. Or I don’t remember any sequence of things. I just remember how we’d wind up. Me on my back, she sitting on my chest. Me on my stomach with her in a full-nelson and jacking up the pressure. Me in a camel clutch praying she wouldn’t break my back. And on and on.

I’d make a good move, resist falling for what she’d done last time and end up in something worse. She was behind me, legs wrapped around my waist, arms around my chest squeezing. My arms pinned to my side, my legs trapped in hers, I could do nothing. She pushed and rolled so we went down and rolled over, her weight on top of me smothering me, driving her arms into my chest. I couldn’t breath. She released her arms but quickly caught both of mine in arm-bars, her forearms hooked around my elbows, pinning my arms behind me. She moved her arms together and my arms strained to flex behind my back. With her massive right hand she grabbed my left elbow and pulled her left hand out. She had both my arms under control now, and her left arm free.

She rolled us over into a sitting position and started running her left hand down my chest and stomach. She idly played with my chest hair then went lower. She grabbed my cock and started pumping it. “So this is what it feels like to jerk off. I could get used to it.” I was filled with shame, my face getting hot as I saw myself in the eyes of the watching girls: a naked white boy, puffy, under total control of this black goddess, as she jerked me off.

Abruptly she stopped. “I can make you surrender in three seconds. I can. I will say now, and in three seconds you will tap out by wiggling your hands. Watch.” What could she do from here in three seconds, but I was getting frightened.

“Now!” and she, like lightening, moved her left hand around my neck in a chock hold and started putting on the pressure, cutting off my breathing, brining intense pain. I beat three seconds to tap out by at least a second.

She let me go, pushing me across the mat.

But, that was just one round. God, mostly it was the scissors. She had thighs like tree trunks and had no trouble getting my head between them. Then it was a race to tap out before lights out. She put her legs around my mid-section too and that was almost worse.

I did fight, and I gave it all I had. And hey, everyone makes a mistake now and then, even Tamara the muscle goddess. She came at me one time with arms wide and turned her head to glance at one of the other girls on the ropes who had said something. I dived toward her, rolled her over my shoulder, picked her up, spun around once and threw her down. She turned it into a roll, sat up kneeling on the mat. She slapped her hand down on the mat, “Damn, good for you honkey! But you won’t be able to do that twice.”

I hadn’t even slowed her down. But I was starting to slow down, breath getting puffy, my arms a little weak. She rolled me up one more time into a cradle pin. And then let me go. “I think you’re all worn out. Too bad, I was just warming up.” She rubbed the top of my head like I was a five year old who had done something cute. But I noticed the glisten of sweat on her. Could I rub it off? She was an oiled ebony statue. I was still hard.

“Hey, Keota, want a go at him?” Tamara stepped out and Keota stepped in. She also stripped naked and I watched her as Tamara fished up a towel and started to rub herself off. Keota began to bounce around the ring like a boxer fresh and raring to go. I got slowly to my feet hoping for a little respite.

Keota came at me quick and cat-like. I pushed her off and realized something. I outweighed her by 80 pounds or more. She was a good 7, 8 inches shorter. Of course she was quick and strong, but I was bigger, a lot bigger. She came in again, and I grabbed her and we rolled to the mat. It was speed verses the professor crusher. I could pin her down, but she didn’t wait to be pinned. I could pick her up, but she put her lithe python legs around my waist and just started to squeeze. I tried to shake her, but it was harder than pulling a cat off you. While I was worrying about that, she put her arm around my neck and started in closing off my windpipe. I tried to pry her arm off but she had a grip on it and I wasn’t making much headway.

It was actually getting hard to breath. Damn. Suddenly I had it. I fell backwards on top of her, only she had half slid aside by the time we hit the mat. Still a good chunk of my weight did land on her as we hit. It did break the hold and I pried her off and got away to the other side of the mat.

Tamara was yelling from the side, “That’s my boy! She’s tiny, step on her, crush her, put your scissors on her!” She laughed again, that sort of wild laugh that you couldn’t decide was pure fun or pure evil.

Keota and I went another couple of inconclusive falls. She seemed to loose interest and walked away from me, slapping Shamika on the hand. “Oh ho,” Tamara cried, “It’s Smamika the Death Pussy! Boy, I’m telling you, don’t let her get you in that Pussy grip, she kill you for sure!”

Right now, that seemed like a good way to go. Pussy of Death? What the hell could that be? Shamika didn’t come at me right away, she seemed to strut a bit, walking backwards in a circle around me while I stood there and puffed and looked. God freaking damn, what a body. For god’s sake force me to massage you or something.

She came at me and we pushed back and forth with our hands. I lunged forward and grabbed her midsection and we rolled to the ground. We struggled around and I was making no headway, dang, she must be strong too. But I realized slowly that I was totally worn out. Fresh, I think I would have rung her up, but I had gone against two other women and I was near dead, limbs getting shaky, my legs rubbery. We worked and grunted and our sweat made us slick.

I was on my stomach, she and I wrapped up when she twisted around and started rubbing her pussy against my thigh, I couldn’t believe it, was she getting hot? I just held my position, grateful for the respite. She pulled her upper body erect, continuing to rub her pussy on my leg. Well, you go right ahead. I guess I relaxed a bit more, for suddenly she whipped her body around, shirking like a banshee. I jumped a bit and suddenly it came at me, The Pussy. All I saw was a dark patch of fur on a dark crotch and then it was over my face.

Tamara had put me in many a head scissors close to her crotch but I’d never made contact. This was a full pussy to face smother and, as she clamped down, I could hear Tamara laughing faintly in the distance through all that dark flesh wrapped around my head. I was on my side now, my face full into the unshaven bush of the Pussy of Death. This was entertaining but I couldn’t get a breath and I started to panic. I pushed and twisted and heaved trying both to get loose and to get a breath or a part of one. The darkness, the woman smell, her hair on my face that was all I could sense.

My ears started to ring, I gasped exerting fierce energy just to get a bit of air. I squirmed around, trying to lever my jaw open or sideways to find a little opening to get air in, I was pushing with my hands, trying just to pry or push her legs a little to make a channel for air.

She opened her legs and flipped off me, and I lay there gasping and heaving for air, face red. Giving a little thought for her coming back at me, I rolled over and tried to move to the far side of the ring. Too late. She came over and sat on my back, wrapping her hands around my head and pulling my neck back. I really didn’t want to move in this position and I sat there while she rubbed her crotch for a bit on my lower back. “How’s that feel,” she said, coyly, “like more of that in your face, oh tell me how much you like it.”

“Don’t give up boy,” I hear Tamara shout. Not many choices open to me any more. My breathing had slowed down a bit and Samika got up standing above me, legs on either side of my torso. I levered myself up to an all fours position. She stepped off her position and worked her way forward on my body. I started to back off and she dropped down on me, putting that pussy against the back of my head. Grabbing my right upper arm, she slid a leg underneath me and twisted and soon I was on my side, head between her thighs, left arm under her left leg and immobile, right arm being pulled back.

“Look at this girls,” she said and the others came around the side of the ring to stand in front of us. “Look at them,” and I looked up at two grinning black women. Lakisha was missing though that didn’t register on me at the time. Samika ground her pussy into my head, “I think he’s the pussy, letting a weak little girl like me push him around,” and my face got red again from embarrassment as Tamara and Keota laughed.

“Finish him off,” Keota called, “I just can’t wait to see what Lakisha will do to him.” Something registered on me that the worst might yet be to come and as weak as I was now, couldn’t really resist it, not that I’d resisted much up to now.

“Oh, all right.” Shamika let go, I fell down, tried to roll over, and she was grabbing me, rolling me over on my back and I tried to keep going but she adapted as well and her it was, the pussy closing down over my face, I tried to turn and got a little sideways, and she just let go for a second, grabbed my hair and shoved me in deeper, I pulled away one more time and she twisted my arms and pushed me back and clamped down.

Unable to use my arms now because she was holding them I couldn’t do anything and I decided just to give up and go motionless and hope she didn’t make me pass out. Again the gasping for air and the inhaling of her smell and finally, dizzy, she let me go.

“Shit, honey, now your trouble just starting.” That was not Tamara, but Lakisha. I turned and looked. She was not naked like the other three. She was in black leather high-heel boots that went over her knees, a shiny black leather thong, a black leather bustier and, perhaps the most frightening, black leather gloves on each hand, a sign she intended to do something forceful with them.

“Look at this,” she commanded, and I looked over to the far corner of the ring where she pointed. There was a rather large pile of leather gear. Looked like some cuffs and some harness stuff and a whole lot more but I couldn’t tell what all of it was. “Here is your nightmare. Every bit of that is going on your body, getting laced up tight and will stay there. You will be in bondage like you’ve never felt before. Now how long it stays on is going to be set by you.” She paused a moment while I continued to gasp and try to recover.

“We’re going to fight.” I noticed she didn’t say wrestle, have fun, fuck, or cuddle, she said fight. “The longer the fight goes on, the less time you have to spend in all of that bondage and believe me it is in your interest to try to keep the fight going on because if you give up right now, you have twelve solid hours in that bondage where you will not be able to move. Got that, twelve hours.”

I looked at her, fantasy is one thing, but twelve hours, I’d be paralyzed. “And the fight between us goes on, honkey, until you beg me to stop and beg to get put in that bondage. And I will make you beg for all of it.”

For some reason I looked at Tamara, I guess I thought she’d provided good advise up to now and maybe she had something to say. She did, “Believe her, boy, you better hold out as long as you can. Three hours not so bad, but you don’t look like you can hold her off that long.”

“Start the timer!” Lakisha said and Keota said “got it. Twelve hours.”

I struggled to my feet and back away towards the middle of the ring. Lakisha strutted around towards me. I leaned forward in a wrestlers crouch. Lakisha was every white guys fantasy of a ghetto goddess, curvy everywhere that mattered. Thighs like pillows, butt the size of DD breasts and boobs big and firm. But she wasn’t as pure body as Shamika. Lakisha had a bit of leanness and muscle to her. She brought out fantasies of wild, raw, rough sex that was just a bit removed from fighting. Which she reminded me of now.

She came at me, I raised my hands to grapple her and she swung and slapped me across the face with her gloved hand, and I, both surprised and hit, backed off. “I said fight, asshole, we ain’t wrestling, I’m going to beat the crap out of you.” There was not Tamara’s playfulness about this, and I knew she was a genuine sadist.

“Slap her back, the bitch,” Tamara yelled, “cold cock her.” Well, I’ll take that for permission. I stood up a little straighter and advanced to her, she came at me and grabbed at me, I swung and slapped her but she’d moved and the blow was weak, just in time I saw her swing her leg, and I twisted and the kick hit my thigh and not my unprotected nuts. I dove forward and hit her chest with my shoulder and used my weight and momentum to push her to the mat.

“Eleven hours!” I heard Tamara yell. I backed away again as Lakisha rolled around and got up. She charged me again, arms flailing, and I ducked and pushed her away, but she raked my shoulder.

“You fucking pussy!” she yelled, “Fight! I am going to rip your ass apart!” She came in again and I found I was mad. One hand I used to push her arms off and the other, my right, I pounded into her mid section and she went “oof” and doubled over.

“Ten hours!” Tamara said. I had Shamika on the ground now and I jumped on her back and tried to roll her up. I was tired, I had no pride, if I could hold her down, I’d just wait for the clock to run down. I got her under me and my arms around her, but she was fighting like a wild cat and cursing a blue streak.

For a while it worked and I heard Tamara count down to nine and eight and seven hours. But I was tired, and all that writhing by Shamika eventually broke my grip and she shook loose, kicking at me with her deadly pointed boot which I just avoided and then had to stop the spike heel landing on me. We chased each other around the ring to no effect until Tamara yelled “Six hours, next phase,” and Shamika backed off while I took the time to do my now-famous puffing and wheezing.

What the hell could the next phase be?

[ On to Chapter 3 ]