by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 26
I had been sitting comfortably on the beach for about fifteen minutes with my arms stretched out, hands deep into the sand, and my head luxuriously thrown back. The intensity of the sun on my naked body always makes me feel like a goddess: partly human, partly divine,
I knew I would get full of sand, but I rolled over on my stomach, crossed my arms and rested my head. Soon the pungent salty air and warm breeze off the dunes had me completely unwound. Uncoiled, I felt I could drift away with the next touch of wind, which is what happened.
Drifting in and out of sleep, I dozed and dreamed, and slipped away into a semi-conscious state that was only to be interrupted by an unfamiliar voice some time later. I opened my eyes and heard: Is this yours? He was holding my panty. He said: Sorry, but it drifted away.
I reached out and took the flimsy thing from him, then sat up. I was still groggy, but felt totally invigorated from my little cat-nap. I told the guy: Thanks. But he didn’t go away. Next to him was a cute girl, about twenty five, same age as he. He said, We like your tattoo.
I didn’t really know how long I had been dozing, but obviously long enough for people to take notice of what was branded on my bottom. I didn’t care. It was a distinction. It showed I had guts. I liked they way people suddenly shriveled up when they saw my branding.
Since the couple was naked, I knew they weren’t the usual drifters and voyeurs. I told the guy: Thanks. He asked: Would you like to join us for a drink? I was feeling thirsty and it was a walk back to my beach so I said: Sure. I’d love one.
I got up. They unabashedly leered at me. It was cool seeing two other people, just as good looking as I, stare and goggle at my ripeness – – what I tell you is true. Do not mistake this for some fantasy. No fantasy can know this.
The couple had their cooler and stuff right up along the border of the dune. It was nice having the drink. They seemed to know a lot of people so I felt I was in good company. We chatted and I told them where I lived . The girl slighted me: Oh, you’re rich. I said: You have to be to live on the beach. I knew they were jealously cramped in their summer share somewhere in ‘sharesville.’ Too bad. We’re all on our own life-journey.
In-between sips the boyfriend complimented me again and said: I like what you have on your bottom: white slut. It’s sort of really sexy. The girl smiled and they laughed together. Something they shared had gone between them, which I was left to guess what.
The guy said: I think it’s really hot tattooing yourself like that, showing everyone you’re a slut. I told the guy: Yeah. You can look at it that way. He asked: What other way is there to look at it? I take what it says literally. I told the guy: You can take it that way, and you can take other ways, too. How you take it and where you take is what it’s all about.
The guy said: It must take a lot of nerve to tattoo yourself like that. I said: Yeah, it was kind of nervey being in a dingy tattoo parlor hiking up my skirt and slipping down my panty so the artist could brand me.
The boyfriend said: You look familiar. The girl was smarter and said: She’s been in the magazines, I think. The girl was right, but I lied to her: Oh, I know whom you’re talking about. Yeah, I look a lot like her. The girl said: You look exactly like her. I told her: I don’t think she’d have white slut branded on her bottom if she were well known.
But the guy said in defense: Why not? It’s kind of hot to do that. I mean your tattoo is not all that big. You have to pay attention to see it, and I think that’s the point. I told him: Yes, that’s exactly the point.
Then the boyfriend asked me: What’s it’s like to be a slut? How does it feel? Since I can’t be one, I’d love to know. I sipped on my beer, which was already getting warm and tasting like sand. But I decided to play along.
I simply said: I let boys fuck me. He said: With your incredible body you could have any guy you want. I told him: I do. He asked: But why did you decide to brand your bottom? I said: I did it for a guy. The girl asked: Some guy you go out with? I said: I don’t go out with him. But he fucks me a lot. The guy asked: Whenever he wants? I said: Certainly. I’m his fuck. He owns me. I let him. I like it. He does what he wants with me.
The boyfriend asked: Who is this guy? I didn’t tell him, but it was my pimp. I did it for my pimp. When I got branded and showed Little John he was very proud of me. It was all my idea even though he likes to think it was his, but pimps are like that. They take credit for everything. And since I don’t get paid I’m not like the rest of his girls. I’m his special white girl. A good girl.
Again the guy said: But you’re so beautiful. I mean, it’s not like you have to do anything to get laid. I said to him: You miss the whole point. He said: So then you’re not a real slut. I said, No, I’m real slut. The girl said, You’re a slut for black men.
I told her: Yes. A weakness. She said: Oh, you’re the beautiful white fantasy. I said: Yeah, there’s something to that. He said: So any black guy can fuck you. He said it more like a challenge. I took it and smiled: Yes. Several minutes later we noticed a black guy walking down the beach. The girl said: Fuck him. I felt like I had been tricked.
Before I could say no, the girlfriend asked the black guy to join us for a beer. At first he didn’t hear her her, but when he did he immediately accepted. He was wearing a bathing suit. The boyfriend handed him a beer and introduced us. The black guy immediately showed interest in me, which didn’t take rocket science to figure.
If the couple expected me to jump in the sand dunes and immediately get fucked, they were naïve to say the least. But the girl was one step ahead of me. She said: Look at Carrie’s bottom.
The black guy was more interested in my sloping firm breasts and taut plushies. Their ripeness angled off my slim body and into the air within his anxious reach. I was a bit embarrassed at how quickly my nipples had swollen, and at how fast my breasts rose to their pink color. Certainly I enjoyed all the looking and staring and was getting turned on by it. The black guy looked at my bottom then looked into my eyes: Is that true?
The boyfriend decided he was me and answered: Yeah, it’s true. I was hoping the girl would get on his case, but she giggled, instead. The black guy said: Whatever it means, I like it. It takes nerve. I smiled back at him to test his sincerity. There was enough of it in his eyes that he didn’t do anything dumb. He seemed patient, willing to wait. I needed that.
Then he removed his bathing suit and tossed it to the side – – an outsider now was an insider. I liked the move. He just went with his instincts. He had a nice cock too. It would grow thick.
The black guy reached for my hand. His move riveted the couple who waited to see if I would accept it. They also wanted to know if I would live up to my branding or live up to being another person full of shit.
I was nervous. It showed. And I didn’t have the time to think it over, like for some ten thousand dollar outfit that I might need for Fall parties. I made my little move and accepted the guy’s hand. I passed the first test then asked for another beer. I needed a moment to think of what might be coming next.
