Get on with it

Confident that your presence was legal and accepted, you bend down to the Reverend's wife. "Hello, gorgeous. I'm Omar."

"I-I know who you..."

You interrupt her. "And I just fucked your daughter this afternoon. Now, I'm going to fuck you." You give her a peck on the lips, and get behind her, wheeling her into the dining room.

"Now, Pops," you say to the Reverend who is following in fear rather than derision, "I know she's been crippled from birth, but the plumbing still works, cause she had three kids. Anything I need to know before fucking your wife?"

He meekly shakes his head. "Mary, clear off the table, will you, love?" Mary dutifully follows and begins removing the placings from the understandably lowered dining room table. After a few minutes it's cleared and you grab Mrs. Bell by her shoulders. "Help me with this Reverend." He instinctively grabs her lame legs and brings them up to the edge of the table. They dangle lifelessly as you set her down on the other end of the shortened table for four.

You fondle her breast as a tear forms, before grasping her glasses and tossing them across the room. Mary and Andrew look on gloomily as you continue to fondle the matriarch. "For my reparations to be achieved, I need this bitch naked." You stand back. "Get those fucking clothes off."

Andrew begins pulling down her jeans as his wife pulls off her blouse. You wrap your arm around the queasy Mary as you watch her mother get exposed to the world. Her legs are miscolored, low blood flow, and twisted unnaturally, but she looks quite dandy from the kneecaps up. She definitely feels it as you grasp her upper thigh, gasping at the invasion.

You toss your phone at Mary. "Get this on video, darling," you say, as you bend down and begin kissing Mrs. Bell (Gina) on her thigh. Her husband stares, unblinking, as you begin eating out his wife on the dinner table, making quite the mess of things.

She's definitely feeling everything, warming up, and accepting of this entire interpersonal interchange. She nearly cums in your face before you stop teasing and twisting and stand up. Your shirt goes off and your pants fall down, exposing your big cock to the family and the camera.

Her breasts are a little smaller than her eldest daughter's, and you can see a brief hint of a smile on her face when she looks down her chest towards your cock. You tease it on her slick folds, slipping it in ever-so-slightly and then out. And then in and out, a little more each time. It takes quite a few repetitions before you're at full hilt. The evidence of three pregnancies (Mary 20 years ago, Elizabeth 18 years ago, and Joseph 12 years ago) is readily apparent, especially in comparison to your other girlfriends and Mary, but it is still an enjoyable squeeze. Her kegel exercises must be top notch to prevent from muscular atrophy in the chair all day.

The fuck is slow and steady, but in good lighting and good company this time. You didn't think she'd enjoy being fucked on a hard wooden table, but you were wrong. She's moaning, shouting even. "Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You fucking nigger!" Her family seems appalled at her choice of words and how you'll react.

You laugh. Some brutal honesty for a change. And from a prim and proper Reverend's wife. "You fucking crippled-ass whore. Take it like you mean it."

"Is this all, nigger? You got tired from fucking my daughter all day?" You begin pounding into her as she continues the insults. You work up to a crescendo as she glares at the ceiling fan. "I thought black guys could fuck!"

You push harder. Her legs kick your back freely of their own accord, as you raise her thighs for better entry. They still take a little getting used to. You've had enough and she's had enough, and you finally explode into her. A few palpitations before flopping out and backing up to enjoy the view.

You grab the phone from Mary's unskilled hand and zoom in on Gina's cunt, leaking out the all-too-familiar viscous white fluid. You turn it around and smile again for the camera before shutting it off.

Twenty minutes later, the table has been reset, and you're all enjoying the latest roast beef that Gina had been cooking in the oven. The first home-cooked meal you'd had in ages. "Thanks, Mrs. B," you say, taking a second helping of creamed corn.

"Yes, yes, of course," she says, looking at you wearily. Although redressed, she and Mary sit tensely in your presence, fearful, perhaps, that you might **** them again. Neither feel like eating.

"Boy, err... uh, Mr. Johnson," began Andrew, "the reason why I'm allowing you to eat supper with us is not because I'm such a good host. I, or rather, we," he placed his hand on Gina's, "have a proposition for you."