No, you talk for a moment!

You stand there, still breathing hard, the cool air of the bathroom doing little to soothe the fire that is still burning under your skin. Your legs feel like jelly, and there’s this dull, empty ache in the pit of your stomach that you can't place. Your gaze is fixed on the floor drain, a symbol of your own pathetic release. You can’t bring yourself to look at Abigail. Shame, hot and sharp, washes over you, mingling with the lingering, but dwindeling **** haze.

You hear the soft rustle of fabric and **** yourself to look up. Abigail is moving with an easy grace, completely unbothered, as if what just happened was as mundane as fixing her lipstick.

She’s now stepping into a swimsuit, but it’s not like any swimsuit you’ve ever seen. It’s a microscopic white string bikini, the fabric so thin it’s practically transparent. The tiny triangles of the top barely cover her nipples and the area around them, and the bottom is just a small patch of fabric, doing nothing to hide the small angular bulge of the tiny cage she's wearing. The white fabric is connected by strings that dig into the soft flesh of her thick, hips, doing nothing to hide the “Black Owned” lettering, the spade symbol above it or any other tattoo on her body. You don't understand how she can be this open and free with her body, if she goes out like this, its almost like she's literally naked. She looks incredible though, a living, breathing fantasy, and the sight of her only makes you feel smaller.

She adjusted the thin string that ran between her meaty cheeks, the fabric disappearing into the shadowed cleft of her thick, round ass. “This little suit doesn’t leave much room to hide my plug, but it’s important to keep the habit,” she said with a wink, patting her backside, where the black butt plug is clearly visible under the string of her suit. “Gotta stay stretched and ready. You never know when Darnell or any other black man will want to claim what’s theirs.”

She catches you staring and gives you a soft, knowing smile. It’s not the sharp, taunting smirk from before. This one is gentler, almost... kind in a way.

“You okay there, sweetie?” she asks, her voice now soft as she adjusts the thin strings over her pale hips. “You look a little, I don't know... dazed?”

You just nod, not trusting your voice. You fumble with your swim trunks, pulling them up with your still shaky hands. The fabric feels rough against your now very sensitive skin.

“Hey,” she says, stepping closer. She reaches out and gently brushes a stray strand of damp hair from your forehead. Her touch is light and comforting. “Honey, don’t overthink it, it was just a moment, that's how you learn.”

She turns back to the mirror, touching up her lip gloss, making her thick, pouty lips shine. “This thing,” she says, tapping the metal cage between her legs trough the thin fabric of her bikini. “It’s not a punishment, you know. It’s a tool which helped me become who I really am. It took my focus off this useless little, white thing,” she gestured to her crotch, “and let me put all my energy into being the exact woman that Darnell wanted. The woman I wanted and was meant to be.”

She meets your eyes in the mirror, her expression thoughtful. “I honestly wish I was a full woman, you know... born this way. I’d genuinly give anything for that. Even the idea of me being able to get pregnant by a man like Darnell most of the time sends me over the edge. But this,” she gestures to her body, “is my path and I have to admit, it’s a pretty good one.” She turns to face you fully, leaning back against the marble counter. “But that doesn’t have to be your goal. That’s the thing I want you to understand. Not everyone needs to or should transition to find their place.”

Your drunken brain latches onto her words, trying to piece them together. She’s making it sound so... reasonable, so logical, like it's just how things are in this world.

“A snow bunny can stay a man,” she continues, her voice low and guiding. “A lot of them do. They keep their little white dicks, they keep their useless almost empty balls... but they definitely know. They know their place is to kneel at the feet of black men and they know that their pleasure only comes from serving. From pleasing and worshipping a superior black man. They learn that their butt is their primary sex organ, that their mouth is for worship superior men, and that their little white dick is just for decoration, or maybe for a black man to laugh at.”

She says it so matter-of-factly, like she’s explaining a simple math problem to you. The words that sounded so harsh and humiliating minutes ago now sound like... some kind of wise guidance. Like she’s letting you in on a important secret.

“You just have to look at somone like Justin,” she says smiling kindly. “He’s still a man and he wants to be one. But he has his little white dick locked away and I think he’s happier then ever before. He’s fulfilled, because he's getting to know that his purpose is to serve Trent and Sarah. He gets to be part of their world, to be touched and used, because he accepts his role in the hierarchy. He’s not trying to be something he’s not. He’s a perfect little white companion, to a black man and his snow bunny.”

She pushes off the counter and walks over to you, her movements fluid and sexy. She stops right in front of you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from her scantly clad skin. She gently takes your chin in her soft hand, tilting your head up to look at her.

“You have a body that was made for this, Emile,” she whispers, her voice like honey. “This soft, pale, hairless skin and these thick curves... especially this perfect, round and juicy ass of yours. It’s an invitation, you know. Jamal and Trent see it and someone like Darnell obviously sees it from across the room. It’s a body made to be touched, to be held, to be fucked by big, strong, Black men. It’s honestly a gift. You just have to learn how to accept it... how to... enjoy it.”

She lets go of your chin and her hand trails down your chest, her fingers lightly grazing your stomach. “Don’t fight it, Emile. Don’t fight what feels good. Just let them show you and teach you. It’s sooo much easier when you just simply... let go. When you accept that being a snow bunny is the best thing a pretty little white boy like you can be.”

Her words sink deep into your ****-soaked mind, pushing past the overwhelming shame and confusion. They settle there, planting little seeds of an idea that feels both terrifying and strangely... intoxicatingly right. Maybe she’s right. Maybe what she's saying is your purpose... Could that really be true...?

Abigail gives you one last, brilliant smile. “Come on,” she says, taking your hand in her soft one. “Let’s get you that water and go back to the others, Im sure that the party isn't waiting for us Emile.” and you follow her...