Community Service

BANG. BANG. BANG.

"Sharon, get your lazy ass out of bed," Margo yelled between forceful knocks on the dorm room door. The fact she even had to go through this little charade agitated the young red head beyond words. There was no way in hell Sharon was still asleep, Margo was pounding loud enough to wake a corpse. The Blackberry in her back pocket started to vibrate, indicating a text message was received. Margo cursed very softly as she fished the phone out of her designer jeans.

sorry. sick. will do next month's event. promise!!!

“You're a selfish coward,” Mar screamed at the door. She quickly spun around on the heels of her new Prada boots and stormed down the hall in a huff. The young coed was angry enough to punch out a decrepit old lady. No wonder she had run unopposed for the job of Sorority Philanthropy director. Wrangling a pack of rich, spoiled, self-absorbed prima-donnas was a task straight from hell.

Despite her sarcastic, tough jock attitude, Margo was always very caring. Giving up one Saturday of her month to help the less fortunate didn't seem like the end of the world. She'd like to believe her adopted sisters felt the same way. Yet, the hallway of the college dormitory resembled a western town at high noon. One of the doors slowly started to creekopen before suddenly slamming shut again.

“Good grief,” Margo thought to herself. “They've learned the sound of my freaking footsteps.”

As she rounded the corner, Mar noticed a small group of girls waiting for the elevator. One of the ladies spotted Margo in the corner of her eye and hit the button again.

“Hang on! Wait you guys,” Margo yelled, sprinting as fast as her muscular thighs could.

Remarkably, every other sorority girl had seemingly to gone deaf overnight. The flock of girls avoided eye contact and faked small talk, allowing the steel doors to nearly close in Margo's face.

“When did I get the plague?” she grumbled to herself before kicking the elevator door.

Mar hurried down the stairs and shoved the side exit open, the chill morning air gushing in. The strong wind blew around her auburn hair as she raced across the campus green. Margo lowered her head and wished she had worn more than just the thin sorority hoodie.

She passed by a male student who twisted his neck around and looked her over. Margo paid it little notice. Four years of high school sports had given her broad shoulders and a round, thick ass. Men “subtly” eyeballed her everywhere she went.

The attention was nice but it was one more reason she never liked doing community service alone. The school wouldn't use a shuttle bus for less than five people and she'd need to walk through some rougher parts of the city.

The gated entrance of her college was almost like the checkpoint to a United States embassy. Once Margo crossed past the fence she was in a completely different world. In a matter of a few blocks the entire environment transformed, the brownstone buildings giving way to barred windows on graffiti covered housing projects.

Margo quickened her pace as she crossed below the underpass, not to attract the attention of a group of homeless people warming by an oil drum fire.

She turned left on to MLK Drive just as the wind picked up again. Margo her big doe eyes and pulled the directions out of her hoodie.

“606? 909? You're so useless Sharon.”

Mar would have liked proper printed out direction with a map. Sharon had just lazily wrote a number on to a torn scrap of paper, she didn't even bother to put the street name. Margo kept flipping the paper over, completely unsure of if the numbers were intended to be 6's or 9's.

Margo mumbled to herself and crumbled up the paper, tossing it towards the nearest full dumpster. Looks like she'd have to check both buildings, not a big deal, but she was certainly going to chew Sharon out once she got back.

Margo inspected her surroundings as she climbed the stairs of 606 MLK Drive. Her gut told her this was the right building. It looked just like the kind of places she helped renovate for previous community service events- an evicted, rotting building complete with broken windows and spilled garbage.

The sound of voices inside filled her mind with a small relief, the project organizer must already be working. She knocked on the front door, a much more polite knock than in the dorms. She waited a moment before knocking again.

The voices inside started talking faster but she couldn't make out actual sentences. While waiting, Margo pulled out a small pocket mirror and inspected her appearance. The winter weather had made her cheeks even rosier than usual. Even her small, upturned nose was now a pink shade, creating a cute, cartoon rabbit appearance.

The door slowly creaked open and Mar shoved the mirror in her purse. Out walked a muscular black man in a white tank top and a flat brim, red ball cap.

“Hello, I'm Margo,” she said cheerfully. “I'm here to help with the community service.”

The young man just stared at her for a second before catching up to speed. “Oh yeah, cool. Names D'Marcus,” he said with a quick handshake. “We're in the last room on the left. Glad you made it,” he stated while holding the door open for her.

Margo smiled and headed down the hall. D'Marcus seemed rather surprised at first. It must have been because she showed up alone and they were expecting a lot of help. Make no mistake, Margo was going to be writing her sisters up. They had just made her and the entire sorority look bad.

When everyone is short on their required hours they better not...

The thought ended abruptly as she entered the room. There was a heavy, hazy smoke and it reeked from marijuana. Rap music blared from a crappy, old stereo. Four other young black men relaxed on beat up old sofas, all wearing various red items. On the table sat an open switch blade, bricks of cocaine, and a heavy, black handgun.

Without a word Margo spun around to bolt out of the room, colliding with D'Marcus. He wrapped his arms around her and heel kicked the apartment door closed.

“This little bitch is named Margo,” he said through a wicked grin. “She's here to help y'all niggas with some community service.”

Margo's heart raced as laughs and evil grins filled the room.

“Damn son, a fucking red haired bitch,” exclaimed a rather short thug. “I never got to jump a red head before.”

The word “jump” nearly destroyed her inside. Margo's worst fears were coming true.

An obese gangster, rubbed at his crotch. “Look at that sweater. You know them sorority girls are all huge sluts.”

Margo was horrified. Could he actually think she'd like this? The lankiest of the men sat up to get a better look at her.

“Shit man, never mind the sweater,” he explained. “Look at her skin color. All white girls are secret sluts.”

Margo open her mouth and words just started to pour out uncontrollably. “Please don't hurt me! I went to a wrong house. This was a mistake,” she cried. “I will go and won't tell anyone what I saw. I promise! You can take my purse. Don't hurt me."

A very angry gangster, dressed in an old fashion suit and sunglasses, stood up and slapped her across the face.

“We can? You ever think you can ever tell a black man what to do, you're a worthless little honkey trick,” the suited man scolded with a still raised fist. “You don't even have the right to talk to us. Niggas, don't give this white she-devil the satisfaction of a fuck. I say we give her a proper beat down and dump the body some where.”

Margo wasn't sure if she was going to vomit, faint, or both. How could someone she had never met hate her so much? D'Marcus managed to keep her from rag-dolling to the floor, though he just wanted her standing so he could continue rubbing his crotch on her ass.

“Get off you're fucking high horse man,” D'Marcus scolded. “Enjoy some white tail with us. You wanna leave this apartment alive, baby?”

“Oh god yes. I will do whatever you want,” Mar explained as tear began to roll down her rosy cheeks. D'Marcus kissed her neck and groped her breasts. Margo closed her eyes and whimpered.

“What a smart little white slut,” D'Marcus cooed as he continued to leave hickeys on her neck. Without warning he let go and she fell to the floor with a thud. The lanky gangster pointed and let out an obnoxious laugh.

“Strip to your fucking panties, NOW!” D'Marcus ordered.

Grunting, Margo made it to her feet. She reached for her sweatshirt and then stopped. Her mind was having a war with itself. Mar knew she had to do what they said. Her life depended on it. Still, another part of her was screaming no. Doing this would change her forever. She'd be broken inside. Looking up, she saw all the gazing eyes and lecherous smiles. Never before had she felt so violated. Why didn't...

Hurry the fuck up you lazy cracker,” the suited man snarled through clenched teeth. “ You don't want to see me pissed off.”

Margo didn't see how the dark skinned man could get any angrier than he already was, but she wasn't about to test the theory. In a blink of an eye her sorority sweater was on the ground. She fumbled with the buttons on the Abercrombie dress shirt, biting her lip to keep from crying. The open shirt slid down her back, sending a shiver along with it. The thugs jeered and laughed at the new sight: two full, curvaceous, pale breasts hidden behind a lacy deep blue bra.

“What a fucking sight,” proclaimed the littlest thug. “A red haired bitch in a blue bra. It even gotta cute little bow in the middle.”

The bow. Her heart skipped the beat, a terrifying revelation dawning. Mar dressed this morning half a sleep, rushing to not be late. She didn't even remember what she choose, but she always matched. The blue bow bra could only mean...

“Wake up white gurl,” the fat man said while snapping his fingers. “Get them jeans off.”

Margo felt light headed again as the room swirled. “Please, I have credit cards. Three of them! I'll give you the pin!” she blabbered.

“We can have the cards if you're alive or not.” The angriest member stated as he cracked his knuckles.

Margo practically jumped out of her Prada boots. Her trembling hands struggled to undo the belt. Her eyes closed in fear as the skin tight jeans peeled to the ground, dreading what was coming next. Please, please, please have worn something else. Why did she even buy those panties? Her parents were right to have scolded her. Why didn't she listen?

There was no hooting or hollering like when she took off her shirt. There was just a hushed silence that slowly filled a room, a group revelation that confirmed her worst fear. Peering through half shut eyes, Margo saw slacked jaws on all of the thugs. Even the man wearing shades looked pleasantly surprised.

“Shit son,” the lankiest criminal exclaimed through a cheshire cat grin. He shook his heads in disbelief, taking a moment to find the right words. “This slut came gift wrapped,” he yelled before breaking into a full chest laugh.

The others quickly joined in, their voices more rowdy and spiteful than before. Margo could only lower her head and sob. The man was telling the truth. The only thing hiding her sex was a dainty, lace covered, blue g-string. The back of the lingerie was just two slithers of fabric forming a t shape, with an actual blue birthday present bow sewed to the center.

The young redhead couldn't even bare to look at the thugs expressions. She kept her eyes glued to the dirty apartment floor and slowly moved her hands behind her back, a futile attempt cover her very exposed ass.

“Turn around and stick that ass out,” D'Marcus ordered with a finger twirling motion. Margo quickly complied, meekly spinning around, her legs as soft as noodles. Her ass shook a little, but only from fear.

The angriest thugs open palm connected right on the center of Margo's behind. She leaped and let out a startled, high pitch squeal that pleased the gangsters. “I know you white bitches have gold fish brains, but this is unacceptable,” belittled the suited man.

“My nigga just told you stick that pale ass out.”

Margo quickly arched her back, her ass poking out towards the approaching gangsters. The flow of tears down her face steadied as everyone closed in. The shaded man continued to squeeze and grope it.

“God damn, I've never seen a white bitch with so much booty,” he exclaimed mid inspection. “Who said you were allowed this cracker?”

“Well...uh...I...uh...mostly.. m...my genetics. I do...um..s-s-sports... played soccer....am on the....volleyball t-t-teaam,” her sentence ended in another high pitch squeal as a different hand struck her left cheek. It was the short man, smiling from ear to ear.

“Typical white bitch. Thinks she can have anything she wants,” the lankey thug commented as he massaged her breasts. “These titties are nice and firm gurl. Daddy buy you them?”

Margo tried to in another sob as invading hands explored every inch at her. “No sir. My breasts are real,” she explained in a near whisper. Fattie shook his head, clearly not convinced.

“Going have to see for myself,” the chubby thug stated as he ripped the bra off her body.

His surprise invasion startled Mar, she rose to her tip toes and shrieked again. Her breasts jiggled and bounced, the pink nipples freed from the restrictive bra, again pleasing the men.

“Shit son, we haven't even fucked this slut yet and she already shrieking,” the fat man said between licks of her left breast. Margo slightly shifted her body away from the thug's invading tongue, but it just raised the right breast invitingly to the angrier thug.

“ All white cunts are like that,” the shaded thug explained as if he was an expert. “ These assholes think they're untouchable and their shit don't stank. Isn't that true, baby?” he asked before bitting on her right nipple.

Margo gasped, in pain and slight pleasure, from his bite. Her stomach turned again as her mind raced for an answer to the question. She could answer honestly and risk angering the thug by disagreeing. On the other hand, agreeing would supply him with more hateful lies. There was no right answer and the thug knew it.

“Whatever you say,” she pleaded as ten sets of hands tugged her around, treating the coed as if she was a rag doll. “Please, I beg you, don't kill me. I'm only twenty years old.”

D'Marcus scoffed as he walked over to the stereo. “You wanna live to see twenty one?” he threatened while turning the volume up. “Shake that pudgey, pale ass.”

The gang members collapsed onto nearby the sofas and chairs as a bass line poured out of the speakers. They all sat their laughing and passing a blunt. It was in that moment Margo truly understood the situation. These men were monsters. They didn't see her as another human being, but just a fun, little distraction. She was meat to starving animals and they wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet in her head. If she wanted to make it out of this room alive, she'd have to be everything they wanted.

Margo was a survivor. She'd give them everything they could imagine and more. They'd never know what hit them.

Mar wiped a tear from her eye and started to wiggle her full ass to the pulsating beat.

Time for some real community service.