Kimberly

“Really? She said ‘I do’?” I ask though I already know the answer. The ex-fiancée seems taken back by my line of questioning. I can feel Kelly and Sarah tense as they stand with me. They are obviously very interested in what I am going to do.

I may be a bastard and treat people like shit as I fuck their white women’s brains out. Though, I refuse to treat ‘anyone’ like property. I believe what I do and treating people like slaves are two completely separate things, and I find Darryl’s suggestion that I am a slaver, very insulting. Of course I already assumed he is a racist prick and it’s why I had little problem with taking his place as Kimberly’s man.

The racist prick probably thinks I don’t care whom legs I spread as long as they’re female. Maybe he even worries that I am not that picky about male or female, a reddish haze colors the edges of my vision. I can almost see their children all pure white and Ivy League, like Kimberly herself come to think of it. This thought already convinces me what my answer is but I decide to humor the punk. There are more than two answers to this dumbass’s question.

“No, the ceremony is next week but we already have the paperwork signed by a justice of the peace and our names have already been legally changed.” I suddenly also wonder what it is that this punk wants so badly, does he seriously blame only me for his humiliation today? I mean, she just made her own choice clearly, earlier. Or is there something else he is after. Probably a little of both, I think.

Yes, there has to be something else that the ex-fiancée is after that has to do with what Kimberly is instead of who she is. Maybe asking her again is what the punk deserves. I glance over at her and find it deeply gratifying to see my cum leaking out of her gaping hole and running down her gorgeous legs. Her parents have her coming too and she is half paying attention to the conversations in the room.

I walk over and pick Kimberly up gracefully. I hold her by her arse against me, however I do restrain myself from pushing her sexual buttons too keep her coherent as she comes out of her fucked out stupor. I don’t want this punk disregarding whatever she decides to say because he thinks she is ‘turned on’, and somehow that is the same as being drunk off your arse. Her eyes roll at first and then focus on me with some effort.

Kimberly smiles warmly at me, “Hello, my love” She moves forward to try to passionately kiss me but I withdraw. Arms wrap around my broad muscular shoulders, she rests her head against my hairy chest. With a pout she waits patiently with a satisfied smile plastered on her face.

“Your ex says that he wants to buy you back, Kimberly. Who do you want?”

The ex-fiancée interjects, “This is not what I asked: I offered to trade my mother for her. AND! not for her to choose.” The idiot just started to dig himself deeper into his hole.

I have had about enough of being called a slaver, “Ah but it is her we are talking about and so it is her ‘choice’… Aren’t you krackers are supposed to be against slavery? That is what you like to preach, but I guess that doesn’t apply to women? Or are you just assuming that I am a bastard that grew up in the inner city and so blacks can only treat women as property.”

“You walk in here and display your ownership of my wife, what am I supposed to think?”

I laugh in Darryl’s face, “Ownership? You explain what you just saw as Kimberly failing to have a choice? That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. You think I have some sort of mind control power over her and so she is thus not responsible for herself or her choices? Or is it just because you don’t like her choices?”