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My name is Lacy Harris and I'm a country girl. You may wonder why my name isn't Sally-Ann or Becky-Sue or something more hayseed-sounding. The truth is, we're not all the rednecks city-folk think we are. Most of the stories you hear about country-people are totally bogus. Most, that is. Some of them are bang-on. Sex, for example. We do a lot of that out in the country. When the power goes out because some drunk idiot ran into a pole out on Highway 313 and you're sitting around bored to tears with no TV or videogames – well, sex is definitely something you can do in the dark. Out here distance is a problem too. Your options get narrowed-down when you're thirty miles from town. When you're desperately horny, you start looking close to home. Sometimes very close. There are a lot of families out in the backwoods raising kids that came out of the shallow end of the gene pool and no one says squat about it because they know their own family trees may have a few branches that don't fork.

My own family was one of those where my brothers and I had a 'very close relationship'. The only reason I didn't give my folks any surprizes was because Daddy kept a good supply of condoms in the house and never bothered to take inventory. By the time I started dating 'officially', I was experienced enough to know what I wanted and how to get it. Going out with a boy meant finding an isolated spot and screwing our brains out until the last possible moment before we absolutely had to go home. I dated every boy for fifteen miles around and there were only two who didn't stick their cocks into me. One was saving himself for marriage – meaning he was gay. And the other just went out with girls to convince his parents that he wasn't gay – which he was. Even though they wasted my time, I kept their secrets and they told everyone they knew that I was either great company or a fantastic fuck, respectively.

By the time I started High School I'd already learned what a PC muscle was and how to keep it toned. This made me very popular with the guys and by the time graduation rolled around I'd fucked a few more than my share. I used to say I had fucked all the good-looking ones who weren't fucking each other. It was the truth, too.

The only thing I hadn't had the chance to do that I really wanted to was to fuck a Black guy. There were a few in my school, but there was also a strong reactionary element among the White majority that believed that a Black cock was the equivalent of Satan's Scepter and any White girl who let one get inside her would be instantly transformed into the lowest kind of slut imaginable. Details of this magical-sounding conversion were only hinted-at, never discussed openly. No one ever came out and explained why this was 'something you just didn't do', but the message was crystal-clear anyway.

I was under no illusions about my own status as a slut. While I didn't dress slutty, or flirt with absolutely every boy in sight, I certainly qualified for the label because of my willingness to interact with male sexual equipment on short notice after a brief introduction – the polite term for which was being 'easy'. I was unclear about these other levels of slutness through which one could supposedly descend. I was also a bit jaded, and more than a little curious about what new erotic experiences might be had by someone willing to accept a lower rank on the slut-scale.

I strongly suspected that the whole thing was a myth spread around by racists to discourage interracial relationships, but like many of the myths we studied in class, I was sure it had a grain of truth in it somewhere and I promised myself that I would explore the matter personally the first chance I got. Unfortunately, I graduated and was sent off to college before that chance came along.

It was my Freshman roommate, Shauna, who reminded me of this gap in my education on a night halfway through our first semester. We were trapped in the dorm by a thunderstorm and the need to prepare for impending mid-term exams. Instead of going over our English notes, we talked about boys. When I told her about all the guys I'd slept with, she seemed impressed. She asked me where I stood on the question of size.

"The bigger, the better," I told her.

She asked if I thought it was possible to have to much of a good thing and I said 'no way'. Then she got this funny look and asked me if I'd heard about the wild party that one of the rowdier fraternities held at then end of every exam-week. She said she'd heard that they did this thing where they sacrificed a virgin on an altar to improve their chances of getting good grades on the exams. Only it wasn't really an altar, it was an old doctor's exam table, complete with stirrups. And it wasn't the girl they sacrificed, it was her virginity. I told her that it sounded like a kinky game, but I obviously didn't qualify. She said that didn't matter, that they'd given up on finding real virgins and that instead they had a local man who would do the honors ˗ a Black guy with a cock so big that he could make any girl feel like a virgin again.

Shauna also warned me that, for whatever reason, few of the girls who played the part of the virgin stayed in school for very long afterward. I ignored that as just some legend intended to frighten me. After all, lots of people drop-out or transfer after their first taste of higher-education.

The game sounded like all my most erotic fantasies rolled into one. Being fucked by a guy with a big cock was something I was up for just about any time. Doing it in front of a bunch of horny frat-guys would add a wonderfully erotic touch. But it being a Black guy? The nearly orgasmic rush that went through me made the whole idea something I couldn't possibly turn down.

My mid-terms were a blur. As the week wore on, my focus was more and more on the party and less on the test papers in front of me. Friday was hell. That afternoon I was so worked-up I'd had to wring-out my panties twice; and a brand-new DD-cup bra that had fit perfectly well before, now felt like I was going to burst out of it any second. I was getting desperate by the time the guys came to pick me up to drive me to the party. They explained that because they were on probation already for other stuff as well as being closely-watched by the local cops, that the party had to be held off-campus and out-of-town at a super-secret location. That turned out to be an old barn behind a burned-out house. I could tell from the trash and the accumulation of several half-assed attempts to decorate it that the place was a regular party location for people who wanted privacy while they went a bit wild.

When we arrived, things were already underway. The keg had been tapped and there was a crowd around it. The music was courtesy of someone's bad-ass car stereo and had enough bass behind that if it had been closer to school it would have set off the Geology Department's earthquake detector.

The frat-guys took me into a back-room and tried to lay a head-trip on me. They told me this was my last chance to back-out, then they made me sign this stupid release-form saying I was doing this of my own free will and I wouldn't hold anyone responsible for any injuries I sustained. They gave me an old sheet and told me to undress and wrap it around me and they'd be back when everything was ready.

I stripped-down and unfolded the sheet, which had a big spot on it that looked like blood. I figured that was something else intended to spook me, and that it had probably been donated by someone whose period had snuck up on her in the middle of the night. Grateful that they had at least washed the thing, I draped it over my shoulders and sat down to wait.

I didn't have to wait long. The frat-guys came back wearing robes that looked like cheap Halloween costumes. When they walked me out, I saw that the crowd was much bigger than before. The 'altar' was as expected. The only thing that made it unique was a set of straps they had added. After a short mumbo-jumbo speech about beseeching the gods and stuff, they took off my sheet and draped it over their makeshift altar, then helped me up the step onto it. I lay back on the slanted table and put my feet into the stirrups and waited while they tied me down. Straps went around my ankles and under the stirrups. One wide strap went over my chest just under my boobs. Two more pinned my wrists at my sides. It was just enough to hold me in place and keep me from being able to resist whatever they might choose to do to me.

I thought the restraints were all a bit much, but I wasn't about to complain. I wanted them to get on with the show. The last thing they did was pull the stirrups out as wide as they would go and lock them in place. This presented everyone there with a clear view of my pussy. It also gave whoever was going to fuck me plenty of room to work. If I'd been less limber the position might have been a problem, but I'd had plenty of practice at spreading my legs so I wasn't too uncomfortable.

Then they brought in their High Priest. He had on a hooded wizard's robe with painted wands and glitter stars all over it. They led him over to stand in front of me before they took the robe off.

I was a little disappointed. The man was Black, all right. But he wasn't the studly, well-muscled man of my dreams. He was tall, but skinny. Almost bony. Then I saw his cock and my assessment changed. His thing hung more than halfway to his knees. Given his height, that made it close onto a foot long, an impressive datum right there, since it was easily longer than anything I'd encountered before, despite my considerable experience.

I was still staring when two girls stepped up on either side of him and knelt down. They started stroking his cock, then tugging on it, then licking and sucking it. They raised it up to attend to the underside and I got a look at his balls. His sack hung lower than any I'd seen, at least six inches below his groin, something no doubt caused by a stack of three thick metal rings that encircled it, stretching his sack and pulling his balls down so that the dark skin over them was pulled tight, which showed them off nicely. They looked like two ripe plums - and were about that size. I licked my lips as I stared, wondering what it would be like to lick them.

Under the eager attention of the two girls, the Black guy's cock started to swell. Already big, even by my standards, it began to fill-out, getting longer and thicker while I watched.

It was a fascinating process. My body reacted to the show in a predictable way. I heard the straps complain as I strained against them. They held firm. I began to regret not giving more consideration to the frat-guys' offer to let me chicken-out.

One of the girls squirted some lube into her palm and ribbed it between my legs. She spread it around until I was all shiny and slick and my narrow pubic strip of wispy blonde hair was matted. She rubbed another handful up and down my slit until my pussy lips curled apart. Then she poked the tip of the bottle through my now-exposed opening and squirted some inside. I though this was completely unnecessary, since I was already soaking wet down there, but it sure felt good and it looked like I might need all the lubrication I could get.

While she attended to me the other fluffer finished-up, giving the man's cock a final thorough spit-bath. He then stepped up between my legs and put the end of it between my legs, letting me feel how hot and hard it was, and how much larger than my opening it was. He slid it up and down my slit, picking up lubrication, then he began to push.

He took it slow, which was a true mercy because otherwise he would have split me wide open. Even so, 'uncomfortable' does not begin to describe what it felt like to feel that massive piece of meat push into me, stretching me further than anything had before. It hurt so much that every muscle in my body was straining against those straps and my heart was beating so fast I thought it might burst. It got so bad I wanted to scream, but I managed to stifle it. Instead, I clenched my teeth and did my best to simply hold onto my sanity. After what seemed like an eternity, there was a point where the pressure peaked and then suddenly dropped-off and I knew he'd managed to get the head of his cock inside me. It was only when I found myself gasping for air that I realized I'd been holding my breath. With the pain eased, I could feel how my opening was now stretched tightly around his shaft. He pulled back as if testing me, and I felt how the head of his cock was now trapped inside me. I didn't have a clue how much it would hurt when he pushed it further inside, but I was sure taking it out then would hurt just as much as putting it in, so I didn't see any option but to go ahead. Not that I had that choice. I'd committed myself when I signed their stupid paper. Doubly so when I let them strap me onto the table. Now that the worst part was over - I hoped - the only way out seemed to be to see it through.

After letting me catch my breath, he put his hands on my thighs and started pushing again. Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his cock into me. At first it wasn't too bad. But as he went deeper, I could feel things being pushed around inside me. I watched, fascinated by the sight of all that coal-black cock disappearing into my pussy, and I understood that I when he finally took that monster out of me, I wasn't just going to be stretched wider, I was also going to be much deeper.

It was just past the halfway mark when I could tell he was getting into a place where no cock had ever gone. I was feeling things in places I'd never felt before and it scared me. I began to perspire freely and it got harder to breathe with my internal organs being shoved up against my diaphragm. I began to take short, sharp breaths.

The similarity of what I was going through to the experience of a woman in labor was not lost on me. I was just going through it in reverse.

When most of his cock was inside me and it looked like the worst was over, one of his attendants handed him a studded leather strap with a buckle. It looked like a collar for a medium-sized dog. He wrapped it around the base of his cock as close to his groin as he could, slid the end through the buckle and pulled it tight.

There was no immediate physical effect. It would take a few minutes for that. The psychological effect was immediate. I was being fucked my a man who could use a dog-collar for a cock-ring. That alone raised the heat inside me by several degrees. The fact that with the strap around his cock he would stay hard as long as he wanted meant he intended to prolong things as much as possible and I couldn't count on any weakness or distraction on his part to make this ordeal any shorter than he chose to make it. I was completely at his mercy.

Slowly, his already huge cock began to swell inside me. I thought I could actually feel the head grow bigger and the veins on his shaft pop-out. I could certainly feel my pussy being stretched even wider than it had been already and the fear that I thought had passed came back in full force.

I was terrified that he would rupture something in there and I would bleed-out before they could get me to a hospital. That large stain I'd seen on the sheet kept coming back to haunt me. Had something like that happened to one of their other 'sacrifices'?

His cock resumed its slow invasion of my body. Now even more rigid than before, it felt more like a carved wooden pole than a human cock.

When I felt the metal collars around his scrotum bump into me, I was so relieved I wanted to cheer. Many in the crowd did just that, along with a round of applause from everyone. Until then, I'd almost forgot they were there.

With his cock gone from sight, I was able to stop staring at the place where it had gone inside me and notice the distinct bulge it was making in my belly. There was a clear hump running all the way up to just below my sternum and it threatened to turn my navel into an outie. I lay my head back and tried to appreciate the event. Other than fucking a damn elephant, this had to be the ultimate sexual experience I could have and survive. Anything else, anyone else would be less than this moment. It made me want to savor it for as long as possible.

When I felt him start to pull back, I wanted to tell him to wait a bit longer. I needn't have worried. He had no intention of pulling out. His short out-stroke was followed by a return, and then another, and another, each making me a tiny bit looser until he was able to work up to a solid fucking rhythm.

I think until that point, I'd been numbed by the magnitude of the event. When I realized that I was actually being fucked by the biggest cock I'd ever seen on man or beast, all the erotic feelings that pain and terror had suppressed came rushing back to me. They came back magnified many times and swept over me in a torrent that I couldn't have stemmed if I'd wanted to. I think I came after the tenth stroke. I'm pretty sure I came on every tenth stroke after, but who the hell counts at a time like that. All I know is it was the most gloriously intense fucking I'd ever experienced and I never, ever wanted it to stop.

At some indefinite time later, I became aware that that his amazing cock had pushed in, but then had stopped moving inside me. I roused from the well of erotic pleasure I'd been immersed in. I pried my eyes open to see him standing perfectly still, his head tilted back and to one side and his eyes tightly shut. All the muscles on his bare torso were tensed. His nostrils flared and his grip on my legs tightened. A second later I felt a flood of warmth deep inside and I knew he had just inseminated me. From the feeling of fullness that came with the spreading warmth, I knew it wasn't a small amount of cum he'd pumped into me, it was a lot. A whole lot. And sent with enough force behind it to get it all past the leather collar around the base of his cock.

I'd had guys cum in me before. Condoms sometimes break or slip off. Sometimes it was a mutual decision, barebacking scheduled for the time of the month when I was least likely to catch pregnant. Sometimes I just got carried away and had to trust to luck - which, fortunately, had never failed me. When I went off to college, it was with a supply of birth control pills that I'd been having a hard time remembering to take – even assuming that my brothers hadn't replaced half of them with aspirin as a joke. I hoped that my memory had been good, and my brothers had miraculously had an attack of maturity, because I was sure that I'd just received a big enough dose of cum to impregnate every girl at the party - and their mothers.

Only when he was sure he'd run dry did he begin to withdraw his cock. He still took his time, backing slowly and occasionally giving me a short inward stroke, as though teasing me with the possibility that he might just start all over again. The head wasn't the problem it had been before. It still needed some extra pulling to get it out, but the discomfort was nothing like when it was going in. Once free of me, he put his robe back on, turned and left.

As soon as his cock was out, I felt a rush of cool air go up inside me. At the same time, I heard something go splat on the step and I knew that a big glob of his cum had rolled out of my pussy.

Immediately, faces began to appear between my legs. People who wanted to get a peek at the damage a really big Black cock could do to a White pussy. I thought this was a lot like the line of gawkers who slowed down to look at wrecks on the side of the road, and my first reaction was to try to put a stop to it by using my well-toned PC muscles to close-up the scene. I tried, but nothing happened. I couldn't shut off the view. I couldn't squeeze the cum out of me. I couldn't even tell there were muscles down there anymore. All I could do was lie there while people looked up inside me, their stunned and amazed expressions telling me more than I really wanted to know about how bad the damage was.

Then, the inevitable happened. One guy pulled out his phone and snapped a close-up pic of my pussy. Then he stepped back far enough to take one of all of me in my naked, sweaty, exhausted glory, featuring my gaping, slack, cum-drooling pussy front and center. Once one guy did it, everyone else had do it too. Soon, everyone there had at least one photo of me at my absolute worst. One girl decided to be helpful and let me know just how things stood. After taking a pic, she turned the camera around to show me.

It took me a few seconds to understand what I was looking at. My first impression was of a large cavern with a frothy stream running down the middle. Except caves are rarely a slimy pink inside and you don't usually see a beet-red cervix lying way in the back of them, and certainly not one dilated wide enough to get three fingers through it.

'Ruined' was my first considered appraisal of my condition. Followed by 'wrecked', and 'destroyed'. I hoped every one of those frat guys got all 'A's on their exams, because I had certainly sacrificed enough for them.

When I was released, I got down off the table and discovered that my legs weren't working right. That wasn't surprizing after spending such a long time with them so far apart. The frat-guys were very nice about helping me. They even offered to help me get my clothes back on. Accepting their help taught me that guys who were probably experts at getting a girl's clothes off, could be completely inept when it came to putting them on her. My bra in particular mystified them.

When I got back to the dorm, the first thing I did was to take what belated steps I could to avoid getting knocked-up – just as a precaution of course – and assuming that somehow hadn't happened already. I took off my clothes and peeled down my cum-soaked panties. I got down on the floor and spread my knees with my pussy over a plastic container I'd been keeping hair-curlers in. I still couldn't manage to twitch a muscle down there, so I pushed down on my belly with both hands. I thought most of the cum had to have run out of me by then. I was wrong. The stuff dropped out of my ravaged pussy in gobs. I kept at it until there was only the occasional drip, then I went to the bathroom and crawled into the tub. I scooted way down and walked my feet up the wall until my pussy was directly under the faucet. Then I turned on the water and let the stream flow straight into me.

It took a surprizingly long time before the water filled my pussy and overflowed into the tub, bringing with it still more cum. I wasn't real sure if this was helping or hurting my chances of catching pregnant. I could just have easily been driving those Black-babymakers further inside me, but it was the only thing I could think of to do, so I did it.

After I'd slept for twelve hours straight I felt well enough to drag myself to the dining hall for my first meal in twenty-four hours. I was sitting there, slowly starting to feel more human and just beginning to regain some feeling in the hollow place between my legs. Only then did I hear the whispers and notice the quickly-averted gazes. Only then did I start to grasp just how ruined I really was.

The great thing about having a camera in your phone is that you can upload a pic with two taps and share it with all your friends in a matter of seconds. Then those friends can go on sharing it, posting it, emailing it, until absolutely everyone you know has seen exactly what the lowest kind of slut looks like and precisely what the consequences are of fucking Black guys with great big cocks.

In the days that followed, my social life came to a total halt. Guys who had expressed an interest in me found other girls to be interested in. Guys I was interested in failed to give me a second look. The only guys who approached me did so with offers of further opportunities to entertain at parties. One of them even asked me if I had my own pony or if he needed to rent one for the occasion. I'm pretty sure he was serious.

I hoped that the novelty and the shock would wear off in a few days. It didn't. I decided that my life was pretty-much over and that everyone in my home town had been right about that whole 'lowest kind of slut' thing being something to avoid at all costs.

Weeks went by before I caught a glimmer of light at the end of my lonely tunnel. A guy I didn't know came over and sat next to me in the library. The remarkable thing was that he did it without looking around furtively to see if anyone he knew could see him talking to the infamous slut. Everything seemed normal enough, but in the previous weeks, I'd learned to be suspicious. I asked him right out if he'd seen the photo of me.

"Sure," he said. "I saw it. Photoshop, right?"

"No," I corrected. "It was all too real."

"No shit? Damn, he really did a job on you. That must have been some fuck!"

"It was," I admitted, hearing an unexpected note of wistfulness in my voice. I decided to be brutally honest. "It was awesome! But now none of the guys I know want to have anything to do with me now."

"You make them feel inadequate."

"Say what?"

"They've seen what it takes to get you off and they know they can't give you what you need. They're afraid of embarrassing themselves."

"What is it you think I need?" I asked, getting ready for an insulting pitch to perform in some freak-show for him and his buds.

"New friends, for a start."

"Like you?"

"Actually, more like the guy who did that to you."

I laughed. "There can't be many like him around. Maybe that's for the best."

"Maybe not quite like that, but in the same league. And more of them than you might think. Unless you want that to be a one-time deal?"

The idea of looking the guy up for a repeat performance had never occurred to me. I'd been so traumatized by the negative reaction of my peers – many of then the very people who had enjoyed watching me get ultimately-fucked at the party – that the idea that I might do it again had simply never crossed my mind. Now that someone had pointed it out as an option I might consider, I found myself taking the idea seriously. But I still had questions.

"So," I asked him with a sidelong look, "What's the catch?"

"Do you have anything against Black guys?"

I laughed. After what I'd done, the idea was preposterous. Doubly so since the guy I was talking to was Black. If race had mattered little to me before, it was pretty damn irrelevant now. One of the things being whispered about me was that I was a 'Black Cock Slut', which proved that I might be a hundred miles from home, but I hadn't escaped their attitudes.

"Sorry. I had to ask. Do you have anything against jocks?"

Did I object to fucking well-muscled, well-conditioned guys with lots of stamina? Was he kidding?

"Duh? No! Who, exactly, are you talking about?"

He jerked his chin in the direction of the table behind me. I turned around to look.

Sitting around that table, pretending to study, but very obviously trying to eavesdrop on us were four guys. Four very, very large, Black guys.

I turned back to the guy sitting with me and said, "You're shitting me! I know who those guys are! That's the whole offensive line! Except for Polanski."

"So, you like football?"

"I grew up with two brothers who were interested in very little else." Other than me, but I left that part out. "I can name every team in the SEC. I can't cite stats like my brothers but I know right now we're ranked number six nationally and it's mostly because of those guys over there. Why in hell would they need you to help get them laid? Girls should be jumping in front of them and landing with their legs in the air."

"You know why."

I was stunned. "Because they've got great big cocks? This is somehow a problem?"

"Not for you. Not many girls are willing to play in that league. Damn few want a rematch. Once they've had a taste, they change their minds. Sometimes it's a very small taste and they change their minds at the worst possible time."

"I can see why. There's a long-term commitment involved. It narrows your options." There was suddenly a bad taste in my mouth as I remembered how my current options seemed to be between celibacy and public bestiality.

"So, you want me to introduce you?"

"Don't bother."

I was out of my chair in less than a second after making the only decision I could. I walked over and sat down between two tackles. I felt like a midget, but I was a midget someone wanted to be with.

"Hi guys!" I said with a big smile. "I'd introduce myself, but I know you already know who I am. And I sure know who you are!"

They smiled back, but no one said anything. Not that I expected sparkling conversation. Eloquence isn't a requirement when your chosen career is stopping bull-rushing defensive linemen from flattening your quarterback.

The guy on my left leaned over and suddenly there was an eclipse in my vicinity. When he was close enough for me to feel his body heat, he whispered in a low rumble, "Saw your pic. You're hot!"

I was flattered beyond words. Anyone who could look at the photo of me lying there with my pussy totally trashed-out and think I was hot clearly wasn't intimidated by the idea of following whoever had done that to me. I suddenly felt like my currently-miserable life was about to take a turn for the better.