Ghetto Girl

Emily left immediately after her husband Ian. Past the well-manicured lawns of the rich. Passed the white picket suburbs. Past the campus. To the wrong side of town.

The burn marks from the protest turned riot were still evident. Brick walls blackened. Wooden homes torched. Still, Emily continued on.

Here, there was a strip club with a tawdry neon sign. An off-brand chicken shop run by a surly Black dropout. And an apartment complex with peeling paint on the exterior walls, and the heavy scent of weed lingering about.

Emily knocked on the door reticently, to see her savior and her damnation. The older Black man pulled her in, and she kissed him hungrily. His fingers clutched at her small, waifish ass, and she could tell he wanted more.

He kissed her hungrily on the couch, pawing at her cunt as much as she went for his cock. Soon, they were both ready and anxious to fuck.

Moses pushed his bitch onto all fours, peeling off her tight capri pants. And then he just stared at her, particularly the tattoo on her ass.

"Really, bitch? Stars and bars?" he said, swatting her ass.

"I was drunk," she squeaked.

"No fuckin' excuse," he said, but his cock was even harder, if that was possible. "You fuckin' cracker." He swatted her ass again, making it sting as he lurched forward, giving the formerly frigid woman her first real cock.

"Yes ..." Emily whimpered. "I'm a fuckin' cracker."

"Fuckin' racist bitch," Moses continued.

"Yes ... fuck me ... fuck me Daddy," Emily cried out. And he did.