Bailey

The mansion’s foyer gleamed under crystal chandeliers as Bailey’s bare feet plapped against fine italian marble. She perched on the staircase, phone in hand, when the doorbell echoed. Her lips curled. The camera lingered on her pink toenails before cutting to the maintenance man’s shadow through frosted glass.

"Hiya, mister fix-it man!" Bailey chirped, swinging the door wide. Her pigtails bounced as she tilted her head, eyes darting to his crotch. "Daddy says our potty’s being a big meanie. You gonna spank it real hard?" She giggled, twirling to reveal her sparkly leotard riding up. A faint cameltoe pressed against the fabric.

The bathroom reeked of lavender and fresh urine. Bailey leaned against the sink, one foot propped on the toilet tank. "My nanny says black people clog toilets," she mused, watching him unpack tools. "I think niggers are poop and should all be flushed down the toilet!" Her laughter tinkled as she peeled a Band-Aid off her knee. "Wanna see where I fell doing splits? It’s super close to my cookie."

Her phone buzzed. The camera zoomed on her thumb tapping the screen, a close-up of an app labeled BunnyBuzz. "Oopsie!" She bit her lip, thighs squeezing. "Gymastics makes me sweaty. You ever licked salt off a girl? I taste like pixie sticks!"

The afternoon sun baked Central Park's Sheep Meadow as Bailey's neon yoga mat clashed with the manicured grass. Her daisy-print booty shorts rode up with each downward dog, the cotton straining against a faint cameltoe shadow. "Stretchy-stretchy for bendy-bendy," she sing-songed, arching into cobra pose while filming her phone propped against a water bottle. The camera caught sweat glistening on her midriff as she fake-whispered, "Pssst... daddies who donate to my 'stop the nigger invasion' GoFundMe get private splits videos!"

A yapping Pomeranian dragging a magenta-haired Karen interrupted her handstand practice. "Sweetie, you shouldn't be dressed like that!" the woman clucked like an annoying overgrown chicken, acrylic nails gesturing at Bailey's chest. Bailey popped a lollipop from her sports bra with a wet schlick. "Aww, does my tummy make your crusty vag tingle?" Her tongue swirled the candy. "Don't worry, I'll tell the cops you're just another dyke staring at kids!"

Across the path, a hispanic landscaper paused his leaf blower to watch. Bailey sprang into a straddle split facing him, toes curling. "Hola, senor shitskin! Bet you've got, like, eight kids to feed, right?" She giggled, peeling off a sweaty sock. "Catch!" The damp fabric smacked his cheek. "Mail that to your wife in Guatemala! Tell her it's a white loli's used condom!"

Her phone buzzed against the bottle. "Ugh, X notifications again?" She flopped onto the mat, legs splayed toward a passing black jogger. "Nice chain, Tyrone!" she yelled, zooming her camera on his retreating form. "Show that to your parole officer!" Scrolling through comments on her latest "NigsGonnaNig" post, she sighed. "Soooo many triggered snowflakes. Don't they know racism's, like, super funny when a cute girl does it?" A sudden vibration between her legs made her squeal. "Oops! Forgot I set my vibrating panties to 'nuke Israel' mode!"

The afternoon sunlight streaming through Bailey's pink blackout curtains cast a halo around her iPhone tripod. She adjusted the ring light to better illuminate her hairless slit, smearing another glob of vanilla-scented lube across her puckered butthole. "Chat's gonna love this new dragon tail plug from Monster Dildos dot com!" she squealed, wiggling her freshly moisturized feet at the camera. The chat scrolled faster as she spread her cheeks, pushing her butthole out a little as it widened pink and juicy.

A donation notification chimed. "Oooh, big spender alert!" Bailey giggled, reading the username NotAFBIagent2004. "Shoutout to my favorite foot freak in cell block D! Remember kids..." She leaned forward until her drooling slit filled the frame, "Only REAL patriots tip $100 for personalized pegging threats!" Her phone vibrated with a superchat request as she slowly worked the jeweled plug into her tight little hole.

"Eww, gross!" She suddenly recoiled from the screen, fake gagging. "Some cuck sent a clip of his wife's roast beef flaps! Mods, ban anyone with a BMI over 25!" The plug's flared base finally popped past her o-ring with a plop. Bailey's breath hitched as she rotated the glittering purple silicone. "Feel that stretch, chat? That's what happens when your daddy's credit card has no limits!"

Her free hand wandered to her clit, fingers glistening with leftover lube. "Donations hit $10k and I'll..." She paused dramatically, tongue poking through her gap-toothed smile, "...email Epstein's client list to the ADL!" The chat exploded with rocket emojis as she arched her back, her hand working the plug in and out of her ass.

Bailey bounced up onto the presentation platform, her glittery Gucci shoes clicking against linoleum. Twenty-three pairs of eyes tracked the way her pleated skirt swayed, the white knee socks pulled taut over toned calves. She tapped the smartboard remote, making a poorly edited meme appear - a cartoon toilet labeled 'BLM storage' overflowing with brown poop emojis. Above that, in bold comic sans, was the title "The Science of Niggerology" surrounded by little monkey emojis on either side.

"Niggers and poop are the same thing!" Her high pitched voice dripped with mock innocence as she pointed at the image with a bubblegum-pink manicured finger. Giggles erupted from three boys in back while Jessica Nguyen's pencil snapped. "Killing niggers is no different from flushing your poop down the toilet! And that’s why God made prisons: big ol septic tanks for the extra stinky ones! Didja know melanin's just poop pigment?" Clicking a button, she flipped to a poorly photoshopped image of Kendrick Lamar morphing into a poop emoji, then it flipped again into an anime Hitler riding a unicorn.

Mrs. Rosenblatt's coffee cup hit the floor with a ceramic crash. "Bailey St. Claire! Principal's office NOW!" The teacher's trembling hand reached for the intercom, her sensible flats crunching through spilled latte shards.

Bailey pouted, hiking up her skirt to adjust the hidden waistband of her BunnyBuzz vibrating panties, tied directly to her OnlyLolis account. The faintest damp spot bloomed on her cotton underwear as she leaned over the podium, pigtails framing her smug, bratty smile. "But Mrs. Roach-en-splatt, I'm just doing my american culture report! Hey, don't jews love talking about ovens? Maybe we can bake some nigger-brownies!"

Chaos erupted as Malik Johnson launched from his seat, fists clenched, while Emily Zhang recorded vertical video. Bailey's phone buzzed in her sequined backpack - Daddy's Venmo notification for her school project bonus. She curtsied to the room, back pedaling until her skirt brushed the whiteboard ledge, cameltoe prominently displayed through heart-patterned panties as her skirt bunched up. "Tune in next week when I explain why trannies should be used as pinatas from overpasses!"

The yorkie’s yapping cut through the hum of downtown traffic as Bailey paused beneath the awning of a shuttered Armani Exchange. She adjusted the Gucci belt cinched around her waist, the leather squeaking against her Neiman Marcus designer jeans. Her nostrils flared at the stench wafting from the alley - piss, stale beer, and something fungal. The homeless man sat propped against a dumpster, his tattered shoes crusted with substances best left unidentified.

"Hiya, mister!" Bailey’s voice trilled like a wind chime made of bone fragments. She crouched to pet the yipping yorkie, her pigtails dangling. "Why’s your puppy so scared? You forget to feed him again?" Her thumb traced the dog’s quivering spine. "Or maybe he’s scared you’ll eat him like all those other nigger hobos do?" The man’s bloodshot eyes widened as she giggled, peeling a hundred-dollar bill from her sparkly phone case. "Daddy says homeless people are just lazy. Are you lazy? You smell like you’re lazy."

The Yorkie whimpered when Bailey lifted it by the scruff, her other hand fishing a travel-sized bottle of Purell from her fanny pack. She doused the dog’s matted fur, the alcohol fumes mingling with rot. "My friend Tiffany’s daddy got fired cause a nigger took his job," she mused, scrubbing between the dog’s paws. "Now they live in a trailer. Disgusting! How'd you lose your job? Insider trading? Just kidding!" Her nose wrinkled as she tossed the sanitizer at the man’s chest. "You should sanitize your DNA next."

A faint buzz hummed from her leggings. Bailey shifted her weight, pressing a thigh against the dumpster as her phone screen illuminated the alley. The app’s interface glowed pink, BunnyBuzz set to medium vibration. "Oopsie," she said, squirming slightly. "Gymnastics makes me sweaty down there. You ever lick sweat off a baby-smooth pussy, mister?" The man mumbled something about Jesus. Bailey’s laugh echoed off brick walls. "Jesus hates niggers too! That’s why he made AIDS!"

The massage room walls glowed with the faint of discretely hidden LEDs and reeked of indulgence. Bailey lay facedown on the heated massage table, pads pressing into her hipbones and forehead. Her skin glistened under lighting that made her glisten like forbidden fruit. A soft rendering of "Clair de Lune" oozed from hidden speakers, the kind of music meant to imply wellness without disrupting credit card signatures. She wriggled her toes against the leather footrest, watching light catch on each polished nail. "Tickles," she whispered to no one.

She adjusted, her cheek rested on folded hands, breath fogging the headrest’s vegan leather. A strand of saliva connected her lip to the surface, thin and glinting. "Mister Massage Man’s late," she said to herself, voice muffled against the table. Her legs parted an inch, knees sliding outward in a mimicry of yoga poses learned from Instagram reels. The movement exposed twin dimples above her buttocks, still bearing faint tan lines from last week’s Saint-Tropez trip. She hummed a Taylor Swift chorus, substituting lyrics. "I can make the bad guys come… cum for… twenty minutes…"

A draft kissed her lower back as the door hissed open. Bailey didn’t turn. Her fingers crept downward, spreading her butt in an attempt to tease. "Hope you don't mind if I get comfy." She wiggled her butt in the air, trying to get a reaction. "Oops! Your table’s bumpy."