The Error of their Ways

Elizabeth marched forward, resolutely, while Astrid, Elin and Freja followed, their footfalls becoming every smaller and more timid.

"Perhaps an alternate route," Freja suggested, nervously. "There are many migrants in this part of town."

"You'll be safe," Elizabeth said. "C'mon, you wanted good food."

"We could just call it a night," Elin said.

"Fuck that, I still want to fuck," Astrid said.

The migrant area here felt entirely different from the rest of Stockholm. The spices were heavy in the air. But there was more than just spice ... there was sex.

There were only flashes, here and there. Brown and black asses thrusting. Occasionally white asses bouncing.

"You see," Elizabeth said. "This is where white women go for satisfaction. To get their needs truly looked after. And their white men see this and of course the demonize the foreigners. What they aren't. What they can never be. So you can live your lives of sin on the outside, drinking and fornicating without purpose ... or you can get satisfied, body first ... then your soul and mind. And find your place in this world."

There was a long pause, as they just listened the carnal rutting between the migrants and the women. And then a man from a quiet room, an Afro-Arab mixture, came into the street, naked, sweating, with a thick musk and a long, thick prick between his thighs. His gaze alighted to Astrid first, who went the small stairwell, no words spoken. Soon enough, men saw Elin and Freya as well, and their evening plans were far from anyone's mind.