Phoebe's Gift

Past midnight and a headache tormented her after all the crying, but Phoebe couldn't just sleep it all away and pretend things were all right.

The road ahead was long and and black, and she watched it roll by from the passenger's seat of their weathered BMW, sniffling in the dark interior besides her silent mother.

The funeral of her past life.

She needed to pee and smoke before her remaining sanity cracked. More than that, she wanted to scream.

But her energy had been drained, along with the willpower and desire to fight and go on living.

They had left home and that was that. It was done. Life was over.

"I need to pee," she finally said, and glanced over to her mother.

"Then I'll stop at the next gas station." If there was a hint of regret in the bitch's tone Phoebe couldn't hear it. It was all about her - her marriage, her divorce, her desire to leave...

All Phoebe could think was how this woman had practically sunk the murder knife into her teenage life - taken away her friends and boyfriend before the last year of high school... She could still see them now, the arms of her friends trembling as they hugged to say goodbye, all teary-eyed; her boyfriend promising to call her as often as possible, to text constantly - to keep their relationship alive.

They hadn't even done anything sexual due to her being underage for the longest time. He was nearly twenty and too weak of heart to dare anything that might count as illegal, and, perfectly, she had just become legal two hours ago - some eight hours after saying goodbye to him.

Just another small cruelty on life's part.

What had she done to deserve this?

This was not the eighteenth birthday she wished for, like not at all. "I'm an adult now," she whispered to herself, and grimaced at the thought.

But all sadness aside, physically she felt much the same as always (shitty, as far as she was concerned), and looked the same too (shitty yet again).

But in reality, she was rather pretty, possessing a distinct charm that came with her youth if not the raw and unkillable beauty owned by some.

She was blond and blue eyed, with full lips that pouted at all times and the softest freckles on her nose and cheekbones. Of course, that hair had been tinkered with to give it a more alternative look, highlighted black, and she wore enough dark mascara around her eyes to be immediately identified as an "emo girl," a description as annoying and ignorant as it was relentless.

Now that makeup had smudged from the crying, drying up as it had run down her face with the tears. Rather than repair the damage, she left it the way it was; not only would it serve as a reminder to her mother, but the effect was pretty cool anyway.

When they pulled over at the gas station - finally! - Phoebe got out of the car without saying a word and slammed the door so hard she almost scared herself. She stopped to hitch up her jeans, the fabric spreading tightly over her bubbly ass, the pantylines clearly visible to any looker. And she hoped there would be one, because little attention went a long way in situations like the present one.

She went into the station as upright as possible, feigning confidence, her boobs jiggling underneath her Spiderman t-shirt.

A few truckers stared as she rushed into the bathroom, and that made her feel a little better - though not much safer.

Some ten minutes later, she emerged feeling slightly calmer and absolutely desperate for a smoke, and found her mother leaning against the bar with her iPad in hand, sipping on a coffee.

Seeing as her mother said nothing and barely acknowledged her presence, she spoke up first: "I need a pack of smokes."

Her mother shrugged. "You can't smoke in a gas station."

"Then I'll walk outside of the radius, God. Just buy them."

"I told you, no. You can smoke when we get there."

"And when the fuck is that going to be?"

The cursing didn't even get her to flinch. "Few hours."

"Great. You're such an awesome mom. Thanks again."

She stormed out of the station and made for the car before her mother could reply - assuming that she was ever going to - tears of frustration once again welling up.

Her hand popped audibly as she yanked the handle of the car door, only to find it locked. "Goddamit!

She would not go back in there to ask for keys. Instead she sat on the cold hood and waited.

A voice out of nowhere said: "Bad night?"

This startled her and she turned to find the speaker.

"Sorry, I didn't want to freak you out or whatever. Just saw you angry a while ago and was wondering if you were alright."

Behind the voice was a black guy, solidly built and middle-aged, wearing a blue blazer, his bald head shining under the bright lights.

"I'm just mad," she found herself saying. "It's my birthday. My eighteenth. And I'm here moving away with my bitch mom, just because my asshole father found some young whore and she was unable to deal with that. So instead I have to suffer and lose everything I spent a life building. Can you imagine? I hope they die."

The stream of words had poured out naturally, without an interfering thought; she just needed to say it all out loud. But to her great relief, the guy only smiled at her. "That's brutal."

She smiled back. He seemed okay. Handsome too. "Do you have a smoke?"

He appraised her momentarily. "Sure. If you don't tell your mom you got it from me."

"I'm an adult."

He laughed. "Guess that's true, huh. Come on," he said, beckoning her to join him, and started walking towards the distant treeline behind the station.

Phoebe frowned. "Why?"

"Well, you don't mean to smoke here in plain sight, do you? Fire hazard and all."

The idea that he might be some crazy psychopath made an appeal before her momentary judgment. A part of her screamed to stay with the car, or better yet, excuse herself and go join her mother back inside. But the other part that she considered rational told her there was nothing to fear, that he seemed decent enough and most people were killed by family, not strangers, and she could handle herself either way. And plus... the pictured image of him grabbing her and taking her away made her tingle with excitement more than anything else.

Phoebe was getting horny.

Why not go? Whatever happened, happened. Not like she had much to lose at this point.

They walked together in silence, and once they were beneath the shadow of the trees, the black guy took out his pack and passed her a smoke. His dark face went ruddy as he lit it up for her, and Phoebe wondered how old he really was. Now that she got a better look, she reckoned he was older than she imagined - maybe forty, maybe even fifty.

"Thanks," she said, smiling again.

They smoked side by side, but she could feel the exciting warmth of his eyes appraising in her in secret, and she hoped he liked what was on sale.

At this point she had decided that she wanted something to do with this man, no matter how small or unremarkable, so long as it took her mind off of things and gave her a modicum of pleasure. If she was going to go through with killing herself when they got to the new place, she wouldn't want to do it as an inexperienced virgin.

And she figured he must have liked her ass at least. The boys at school were always fondling and smacking it when she least expected it, much to the despair and rage of her good-natured boyfriend, who never found the courage to do it at all but only stared, utterly mesmerized when she walked in front of him or bent over to pick up things - which was cute, in its own way.

Phoebe had always told him how much she hated what the others guys did and cursed at those responsible, but the embarrassing truth was she relished every moment; being wanted by them made her feel happy, and their hot hands sent shivers through her young body every time, especially when she knew that the rest of the class stood witness. At times she would just lean over a desk, propped on her elbows while talking to a friend, moving her ass up and wiggling it, feigning absentmindedness, only to turn around and see all the boys, and even a few girls and sometimes a male teacher, staring at her with a burning desire.

That look had gotten the better of her at times, and when one of the most handsome boys in school started feeling her ass up one time, she chose not to swat the hand away. Instead she pretended to be annoyed and not to notice, getting wet the entire time, wishing he would make his way down to her pussy...

Presently she glanced at the black guy and saw the same look in his eyes, the same desire to have her, and she felt her pussy tingling as she thought of his strong hands seizing her powerless body. She had never thought of doing anything with a black guy before, though older men were always a part of her fantasies. Somehow, it seemed wrong and dirty, and that made it way hotter.

"You got a boyfriend?" she heard him ask.

"Yep."

"A white boyfriend, no doubt."

She saw him looking her body up and down, nodding with appreciation, and she giggled nervously. "Yeah. What's wrong with that?"

"A white girl so fine as you... You would look better with a black dude by your side. Feel better too."

The guy flicked away his smoke and came to stand before her, looking her right in the eyes with a natural dominance and threatening possessiveness that made her wilt, breathless at the prospect of what might come.

"Got a birthday present for you."

Her words came out slow and labored, almost stammered. "What's that?"

"Close your eyes," he said, and placed an authoritative finger upon her glossy lips.

She closed them as told and waited.

She felt his big and strong hands wrap around her small waist, followed by his lips traveling slowly across her neck, his teeth nipping at her skin.

Soon enough, his hands had fallen to her plump ass, squeezing it much like all the boys at school did, but without the rush, kneading the flesh slowly and confidently between his domineering fingers, like he possessed control over time itself and stopped it only to play with her.

An exchange of power had passed, and she knew herself to be on the weaker end, a white slave for her black master.

Phoebe shuddered and gasped.

"You like that, little white girl?" he tittered, his voice hoarse and hot in her ear.

"I love it."

Th black hands smacked her ass without mercy and she was happy to cry out for him.

Anything for her master.

Her flesh burned with pain, but soon her master's healing hand returned to massage the spot lovingly, passing her ass between his fingers in a way that no one else ever had, her sensitivity raised as if he were acting directly upon her clit.

Her knees weakened and she overbalanced, falling further into his grip, her white asscheeks filling his two black hands like cups of meat meant to be consumed.

Phoebe moaned with shameless pleasure, her eyes aglitter with lust for her dark master.

The night had turned out better, far better, than she ever could have expected. Only she knew how long she had wanted someone to treat her in this way, how often she had even considered going on Craigslist just to find a hard man willing to use her and abuse her like the dirty whore she knew herself to be, only to end up touching herself instead, and dropping the idea as soon as she had come.

But now the gods had actually delivered.

At last she stammered out the words, "You're so good." The tone pure worship, submission, and love.

"Better than your boyfriend?"

Phoebe laughed at the absurdity of the question, picturing her spineless boyfriend, remembering how he sweated when holding her hand, and another electrifying wave of raw lust went through her, causing her to spasm involuntarily and grip her black master for support.

This man made her feel small and powerless, and she loved it.

"I want you so much," she cried.

"Yeah? Are you my good little white girl?"

"I'm your stupid white bitch. Your personal property. Please, master, let me make you feel good."

"Too bad your boyfriend can't be here to watch this, huh? Learn a thing or two."

"My boyfriend's nothing compared to you, master," she said, her hands gripping his strong biceps, and she could feel his renewed interest and strength upon hearing the words.

"Yeah? He doesn't touch you like this?"

"He doesn't touch me at all."

"What a stupid faggot."

The image of her boyfriend came back to her now, weeping with her at the moment of her departure from home, his arms locking around her tightly, unwilling to let her go.

It made her sad to think about it, but it was too late to stop now - and either way he would never know.

This was her birthday. No one else's.

And she would enjoy her gift.

Her master's mouth finally made its way to her face, and he teased her, pulling and biting on her lips, their tongues swirling together, as her hands explored his body frantically, feeling his lean muscles flex at her touch.

One of his hands left her ass and moved to the front, slithering up her flat tummy, giving her breasts a squeeze through the bra, then settled on her neck like a collar.

Before she could cry out and ask for it he began to squeeze, choking her hard and laughing, teasing her by interrupting it just enough to let her catch her breath, then going back at it, demanding she obey him, spanking her abused ass, till all she could feel was the maddening pain of her likely very reddened - if not bloody - ass.

The butterflies in her tummy were at a height they had never been, never in her entire miserable life, and she could feel her panties bunching up between her thighs, soaking wet.

"Do you like your gift?"

She forced herself to speak, but could only wheeze and gape her eyes at him, feeling his grip tighten around her frail neck.

He shook her like a ragdoll for a time, then dropped her to the ground with disinterest, as if she were nothing more than a rag that he jerked off to and had lost interest in.

Phoebe gasped and coughed, her hands reaching out to her hurting parts, but mostly wishing his abusive hands would return to her immediately.

Suddenly, she saw the print of his cock snaking down his thigh, almost down to her knee, so insanely huge that it took her breath away.

She reached out to it, almost on instinct, and began to caress it with her fingertips, feeling it pulse with life.

"Do you like that, baby?" he asked.

"It's so fucking huge," she cried, absolutely in awe over its size. She pressed her cheek against it, snuggling against its throbbing warmth.

"You ever seen a cock this big before?"

"Never," she whispered, and went on stroking it, so very happy.

Her master was amazing and she wanted to give herself to him. To gift her virginity to his monstrous cock.

"You ever see a cock before at all - with your own eyes?"

She laughed stupidly. "No."

"Why don't you take it out then?"

Phoebe unbuttoned his jeans, her little hands trembling with anticipation. She slid them down till the view was replaced with that of his boxers, his cock now sticking out towards her through the thin fabric.

She wanted nothing more than to take it out and suck it like she saw other girls doing it in vids, slurping their spit all over huge cocks, getting their faces smacked as they begged for more.

Both of her hands reached out and gripped it tightly. A shuddering breath escaped her.

She tried to gaze up at her master, but found that his hand held her down and steady, tangled up in her blonde hair, forcing her to gaze at his cock instead.

Then he slapped her face. "Come on bitch, what are you waiting for?"

She took a moment to prepare herself... then pulled the boxers down as well.

His cock seemed to jump out at her and she flinched, then giggled like a stupid girl. For a time she had forgotten that she was, in fact, doing this with a black guy, and seeing his dark cock out in the open made her hornier still. She, a little white girl, was sacrificing the virginity she promised her boyfriend only to get it on with a huge black cock and please her master.

And this was a one of a kind cock that she got. It looked old and gnarled, like the heavy trunk a tree riddled with bulging veins.

It turned out impossible for her to even grip it with a single hand. She weighed the thick monster in her palm, starting to get nervous at the prospect of doing things with it.

"Suck on it," she heard.

"But I don't know how. And it's so big..."

"Just kiss it, baby. It will come to you."

Phoebe brought the head to her level and kissed it.

She had not only touched, but kissed a cock for the first time in her life.

A big black cock.

Her master's cock.

It felt warm and good, if slightly salty, and she heard her master laughing with satisfaction, petting her head proudly.

She then placed both her hands around his gnarled cock, placing it safely in the warmth of her young and smooth smooth palms, while her full pink lips begun kissing the dark head very gently, as if it were a lower she dared not hurt.

At the point when he began to moan something leaked which she guessed to be cum. She hesitated for a moment, then heard him say something in a displeased tone, and so she forced herself to lick the head and part of the shaft where the cum had oozed to, knowing guys liked that and liked girls that did that, trying to make him as happy as she could - though it almost made her sick.

"Do you love it baby?"

She tried smiled and kissed it again, wrapping her lips around the gigantic head. "I love it so much," she cooed, her mouth full of his black cock.

"Is it true what they say about black guys?"

"Oh, fuck yes."

"And what about your white boyfriend?"

She gasped. "Fuck him. Black dick is better."

"That's right," her master said, then brushed her hair like a trainer happy with the performance of his dog. "Do you know what you are?"

"Your white whore."

"That's right, baby. And who do you belong to?"

"To you, master. Only you. I love you," she said, and looked up again to find his eyes, only to recoil from the sight: his phone was out.

She jumped up immediately, heart racing, everything forgotten.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice breaking in the panic.

The night suddenly felt very cold and she wrapped her arms around her chest, shivering.

He looked at her and snorted. "Calm the fuck down. I was only texting a friend." He slid the phone into his blazer, then grabbed his dick and beckoned her.

But all the arousal she had previously felt died out in the second she had seen the phone. Was he filming her? Had he shot everything she did and said?... That was too much...

Her head started spinning with worry.

Now she couldn't even imagine why she submitted to him the way she did, without a second thought, as if someone was controlling her - her damn pussy.

But this... Was he really texting?

"Give me your phone," she said, trying to sound as calm and collected as she could.

The guy snorted again and his face went incredulous. "Like hell I will."

"Give it to me."

"Or what? You'll beat my ass up?"

She rushed him, trying to get the phone out of his pockets, his hands swatting hers away. "Stop it!' he screamed. "You fucking crazy bitch. You know what, I'm done with you."

"GIVE IT TO ME!" she shrieking.

Then she saw him turn and something in her snapped, and she drove her fist with all the power she could muster straight to the nape of his neck. Her fist struck out and hit him on the back of the head.

A terrifying thump chilled her bones, then she saw him tottering soundlessly, spinning without any aim until he came down to his knees.

Phoebe cupped her hands around her mouth and started crying. "Oh my god." She approached and grabbed his shoulders, lifting him up. "Oh my god, I'm so so--"