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Snow Bunny

Snow Bunny

I hated that boy next door. Everything was always about race. He called me snow bunny. I wanted to call him something back but I never could quite bring myself to do so. I didn’t know his name either, so couldn’t really get any anchorage on an insult. I would just try and ignore him and seeth quietly as I walked past, biting my lip.

He was the polar opposite from me…he was black, I was very fair. He had dark, dark eyes, whilst I had crystal blue. He had short black hair shaved nearly down to the scalp, in contrast to my long, straight, platinum blonde hair. He was younger than me, probably late teens – instead of my y early twenties. Wiry and awkward looking, he tried to speak like a gangster rapper from MTV and would often use unpleasant language loudly in the street. HE just looked ignorant and uneducated to me. I am sure everyone else in the street must have thougt so and it mustn’t have reflected well on his parents. His parents were seldom there but people in the street had started to notice his behaviour for sure. It was embarrassing how this boy acted. Didn’t he know that this was a decent, middle class street and this is not how people behaved here? People cared about their reputations. People cared about being decent.

This day was different though. I had had an awful day at college and in my foolish annoyance, decided to take him on. The usual snow bunny crap met me down the street and I went for him. Then he began all the ‘you think you’re so much better than me’ crap. This at first surprised me, but in my annoyance I took the bait ‘Yes’ I said ‘I know I am’. ‘Prove it’ he said before suggesting a range of strangely named competitive games that I had barely heard of.

That is how I ended up agreeing to play him at poker. I was a little uncomfortable following him into his house, especially as he slammed it shut afterwards. I didn’t want my reputation to be tarnished by being seen to associate with such a guy. I was more intelligent than him, I could beat him. It didn’t matter what, I would surely have the upper hand.

I lost all the money in my purse to him in the space of about an hour. Worst of all, Ihad to put up my new shoes as security for one last go having been, confident, or was it desperate to outsmart this guy. I went home bare foot humiliated and angry. I lay awake all night, angry and frustrated. He had cheated. He must have done.

I went to his door the following evening and complained. I think I must have accused him of cheating and demanded my money back. He abused me verbally and racially and I suddenly became aware that we were making a scene, so to cut a long story we got what we both wanted which was a rematch. I thought I could catch him out, instead I just lost all my money and, another pair of shoes. I could see the pair form yesterday hanging up on the wall like a trophy. I had only worn them once and wanted them back. I tried hard to fight off the tears. I wouldn’t let him see me cry. I couldn’t believe that this little shit had brought me to this. I stormed home accompanied by a whole bunch of colourful snow bunny comments and sulked in my room.

The following evening I walked straight in without asking his permission and he followed me to the table. I asked him his name and he replied ‘Just call me Boss!’ I scorned him and he beat me again soundly at cards. It suddenly hit me that I had lost a significant sum of money to this boy. It was so frustrating. I suddenly blurted out in tears and begged him to give me the money back. I think he realised then that he had broken me mentally and from then on he started to get bolder and bolder. He told me that he would let me off some of my debt if I called him ‘master’. Failing that, if I admitted that he was better than me he would also give me back some of my dignity. I stormed out.

‘I had to beat him this time’ I thought, having reasoned through and researched the game more thoroughly on the internet. This time I lost a lot more. It was mostly debt now. It was then that he suggested ‘double or quits’ and I jumped at the possibility of being able to cancel out my debt and cut my losses and so agreed.
I lost

I now owed him some $12oo. Then he made a suggestion. ‘Quits or a wager’. This time I had to pay with some of my dignity if I lost. Losing a little dignity I could handle. I already felt like I had lost so much of it by now – surrendering a little bit more to him surely wouldn’t hurt. I played. I lost. I had to get myself waxed ‘down there’ he said. A friend of his who worked in a parlour would do it so that we could confirm it. The next day on the way back from college I met him in town and we went to the parlour. It hurt like hell and the big black girl that ‘administered’ the treatment was very thorough to the point of intrusion.

Ok, I thought as I walked home, trying not to let the soreness rub against my pants. I was still in the situation where I needed to get the deficit down. When he suggested that we try another wager I was prepared. This time, the wager was to let him choose my clothes for the week. This was humiliating. My hopes were again dashed. I was obliged to let him come to my place and choose my clothes. Fortunately my folks were out otherwise my dad would have flipped. It took a good half an hour. Each day was a similar outfit on a common theme. He chose me some short, revealing skirts and dresses, (no pants at all) crop tops that my sister had left behind when she had got married, panties that I had been given on my 18th birthday by my girl friends as a joke which were still in the original packaging, and worst of all high heels that I had worn to things like weddings and graduations. The rest of my clothes he took away with him for safe keeping in case I didn’t take up my part of the bargain.

By Friday I had spent most of my time at home in my dressing gown and pygamas and had sneaked in and out so my parents hadn’t seen what I was wearing. I got a lot of looks at college but most of all on our street. I felt I didn’t really have much more dignity to lose. In fact the various wagers had been far less serious in my eyes than this last one. I now did his cooking, cleaning and general housework for him, my dress code had been extended to a month and I was obliged to bring him things like beer and food when he wanted. I would go home late after my chores were done and people in the street had clearly drawn conclusions and would whisper about me when they saw me. I cared less and less. Each time.
The tattoo was the next wager. I had put it off and resisted for some time there was a time the month before when I would have thought that I would never have agreed to it. But now I was at least prepared to listen to his suggestions in principle. Nothing too much, nor too visible. He showed me a picture of a little picture of a spades symbol. His favourite suit of cards he said. There was a little white ‘Q’ inside the spade shape meaning ‘queen of spades’ I didn’t properly understand the importance of it. We negotiated where and finally agreed on my left buttock as a good place. That is how I came to be lying on my front with my panties around my knees and my dress around my waist biting a pillow in pain as the artist branded me with this potent symbol of interracial ownership.

When I got home that night, I looked the meaning up on the internet. It surprised me, but I couldn’t really say that I was shocked. Not like I might have been once. I kept looking at it in the mirror and really, really liked it. ‘Queen of Spades.’ I kept repeating it to myself. It is a queen after all. It was a psychological decision, partly drawn from an awakening arousal that I began to feel flattered, even honoured by this branding and began to slip into something of the identity that it implied there and then.
Time passed. Everything that I owned was now his. My parents had long since found out what was happening and I wasn’t really speaking to them anymore, despite living under the same roof. I dropped out of college soon after this. No need to keep up the pretence. He had sold pretty much all my stuff, although he did buy me new clothes to wear on the internet. In fact he chose my wardrobe and sent me home with what he wanted to see me in the following day. I had in all intents and purposes become his. We didn’t even play cards now. We had stopped that weeks ago,. Why bother? It was just going to confirm the inevitable. I pretty much obeyed his every whim and had long since switched to find my pride, dignity and identity in him. We didn’t really speak to each other, he would just call for ‘snow-bunny’ and other mildly abusing terms which I had come to accept without thinking whenever he wanted something. He had begun to take more notice of me too. I noticed him looking at me more and more. Sometimes he would do it just out of principle, almost just to let me see him do it. This is when I realised that there was still something yet unsaid. Something yet which I hadn’t yet handed over to him. Something that wasn’t yet his or that he didn’t yet own. I slowly began to understand. He didn’t want to win this from me. It wasn’t something that he could cheat me or abuse me into giving him. This was something that he wanted me to give him. Something of my own volition, my own broken, yet free will.
He leant me forward onto his sofa bed, lifting my skirt up and panties down in the same motion. I lowered myself to my elbows and gasped as I felt his hard cock press firmly against my womanhood and slip slowly inside. I gasped again as I felt a short sharp pain and then it all went slack inside and there was nothing but my soft wetness and his thick hardness in friction becoming a steady, thrilling motion. I gasped and moaned along to his gradually building speed. I could hear his soft verbal abuse building now, even as I gave myself to him, calling me his little bitch and little whore. This washed over me and became mixed with the pleasures of his big back cock as it began to pound me deeper and deeper until our bodies became a piston. Our orgasms built together as I felt his hot seed inside my belly. I moaned loudly as I came clutching wildly at the material beneath my finger nails, feeling the pleasure inside me rippling outwards as I became totally his.
We stayed there still breathing hard, my pussy still clenching at his twitching cock which was still buried deep inside me, dribbling semen. I looked over my shoulder and met his cynical eyes for the first time as he looked down at me. ‘You’re my little bitch now snow bunny,’ he whispered down towards my ear. I continued to look up at him, still breathing hard as he continued. ‘Say it snow bunny’. He insisted. ‘I, I’m your little bitch’, I gasped, still trying to catch my breath. ‘And what do you call me little bitch?’ he continued. ‘Boss’ I said without hesitation. ‘And why is that little snow bunny?’ He asked us both knowing what he wanted to hear. Taking a breath I stated what we both knew to be true.

‘Because…because you’re better than me’.