Hell, yes. Donald is an ass.

The moment Ruth's finger clicked on the mouse button, everything in her life changed. The back button opened up a new site, and her eyes widened, an involuntary exhalation of surprise escaping her lips. The image was full-screen, a tiny blonde bent over a bench in a park, her skirt up over her pale tight ass, her pink panties down around her ankles. Behind her, a tall muscular black man was guiding his frankly huge uncut cock into the girl's tight cunt, his long fingers gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks, his full round balls swaying under him as he plunged into her twat. The girl's face was a picture of perfect ecstasy, her pussy so wet Ruth could see it glistening in the photo. The website proudly declared itself as BLACKS AND BIMBOS, and there were a dozen smaller photos here and there, scattered around the page, of hung black men fucking pretty sex-kittens in all sorts of positions and situations. A stalled car on a dark road, a prison cell, a doctor's office, a school teacher's desk, under the table at a fancy restaurant. Each cock was bigger than the last, cut, uncut, straight, curved, fat, lean, and all mouth-wateringly beautiful. And the girls, the girls were all slutty little whores, pussies and asses and mouths being used by their lovers, the girls leaving not a shred of themselves or their dignity intact, long white streams of cum dripping from freshly-fucked slits, beaded up on cheeks and tits and thighs.

With a moan, Ruth dropped into Donald's office chair, her finger compulsively clicking each image. She felt heat in her face, her thighs, her belly, and most especially her cunt. Her hand slid down, slid under the waistband of her panties which were already darkening with her own wetness. Her fingertip brushed her clit, already stiff and peeking out from under the hood, and bolts of lightning went up her spine as she began to circle her finger around. It was urgent, fast, attacking her cunny and driving herself quickly. One finger, then two, then three slid into her body, sawing back and forth quickly. Another picture, a redhead in high heels, her long legs splayed wide as a muscle-bound black jock drove his rod into her where she lay on a bed in some cheap hotel.

Ruth picked up speed, almost furiously pounding her fingers into her twat, hitting her g-spot, sending spasms through her. Her eyes were locked on the screen, on the girls, on the way they gave it all up for their men, the bulls who fucked them hard and left them a quivering cum-spattered mess. Even as she worked herself up, a part of her was still aware enough to notice Donald's screen name: BIMBOGURL42. Then it was too much, an image of a short-haired Goth girl, kneeling in front of a big black stud, his load dumping onto her lips, her outstretched tongue, onto her pert little titties. Ruth screamed as her orgasm hit, harder and more energetic than she'd ever felt before, explosive, the most satisfying she'd had in years. And again, then again, three in a row as her eyes closed, her back and ass arched up off the seat, her hand moving inside her panties as she pinched one stiff nipple, bucking up and down like a randy woman just discovering sex for the first time. For a moment, the whole world dissolved away, the waves of pleasure rocking her off. With another, lower moan, she finally spasmed and shuddered, then lay still in the chair, floating on waves of sexual release.

Fuck you, Donald, she thought as her breath returned and she recovered enough to think. Sitting up, she slid the mouse over to his profile, and clicked it. "22-year-old female, blonde, very kinky, seeking big black cocks to fuck me silly." A million thoughts raced through her, and she took her hand away from the mouse. Part of her wanted to destroy him, to reveal this well-kept secret. But there was another hungry part that wanted to feel this again, to feel anything, even if it meant keeping Donald's deepest desires hidden. Maybe, if she could figure out a way to let him know, maybe there was some way this could bring them closer together? Could there be some way to salvage this?

She jumped in terror as a loud bang came from the kitchen. In a paroxysm of fear, Ruth jumped up and ran out into the hall, just in time to see their old tom cat Lucifer running from the scene. Ruth sighed in relief as she saw the sound was only the cat knocking her tote-bag off the table, the contents dumped all over. She resisted the urge to walk back and log off Donald's computer, to lock the door and hide the evidence of her being inside the office. Instead, she knelt down on the kitchen tile, and began picking up her things. She stopped a few moments later, staring at a small phone-sized device, it's white pearl case making it clear it wasn't anything she or Donald had purchased. He was too cheap to buy anything new, and this was definitely new. Spinning it over, she saw it looked very similar to a music player, but there were no labels or logos on it. Curious, she stood, staring at it in confusion. Almost without knowing she had, she clicked the power button, and the screen lit up. There was no menu, no apps, no scattering of programs like on most phones or devices. Instead, there was just a picture of a scantily clad blonde girl in a cheerleader outfit, a pair of arrows for swiping left or right, and small buttons in the lower left and right corners. The left one said "CAPTURE", the right "TRANSFORM." At the very bottom was a red button marked "CONNECT."

What the Fuck is this thing? Ruth thought to herself, fingers hovering over the screen much the same way she had been with Donald's computer.