Lacking Foundations, Part I

Moses was wise enough to realize he'd need solid evidence to corrupt Reena. So he did what he always did -- he worked his connections in the Black community.

He first got the wannabe-playboy Max tipsy off several glasses of wine.

"You do have the good stuff, Moses," Max said, hiccuping amiably. "Anymore of this, or did I finish the last bottle?"

"You want the really good shit ... we gotta go to the hood for that," Moses responded, smiling toothily.

***

The two men pulled up at a decrepit-looking strip club on the wrong side of town. Max looked at it askance.

"Kind of the wrong place to find the right drink," he protested lightly.

"The right place," Moses insisted.

Inside were mostly Black women on the stage, giving lap dances to mostly Black men. He motioned to the bartender.

"This boy wants a Cross-Eyed Willie," he said, smirking. The Black girl chuckled, pouring a wicked looking concoction. Max stared at it, curious, then drank it down in one gulp.

"Jesus!" he said. "That packs a wallop. I'll try another though!"

***

It was the killing drink, at Sugar's. The type of drink the left men in an overly intoxicated state where the wallets ran dry quickly and the bank accounts emptied. Moses planned for a more pleasurable consequence for his guest. Instead, Max was in the back room with the club's most coveted stripper, Shanequa, while Moses filmed and took photos. Her well-fucked Black pussy glided up and down his stiff white pecker, which wasn't unimpressive, Moses thought.

"Make him nut into you," Moses directed. Shanequa rolled her eyes, then started contracting her pussy around his shaft. After a few more minutes, he'd cum in her.

"Give my regards to Antoine," he said as she cleaned the intoxicated white boy up.

"How the fuck you know that?" Shanequa said sharply.

"Baby," Moses replied, smiling broadly, "I know everything."