Wrong Side of the Tracks

Both Elizabeth and Linda were buzzing off the cheap hooch by the time they wandered into a club, just blocks away from the ghetto's most prominent and infamous strip club. There, the petite redhead had gone onto the dance floor, succumbing to her baser desires, her slinky black dress riding up higher and higher as she twerked against a muscular Black man.

He was too young for her, Elizabeth thought. She preferred her husband, in his 40s, a proven bull. But the young buck was enthusiastic, she thought. Linda brought him back to the table, introducing him airily to Elizabeth as Jarquez. He was a personal trainer, probably, Elizabeth thought, his six pack of abs gleaming even in the poorly lit club.

After they finished, the three walked back to Elizabeth's sedan. Elizabeth was half-tempted to rent a motel room for the night for the couple, but it was too soon for that step. That would just lead Linda to a life in the ghetto, and she aspired to some sort of balance. So Elizabeth squelched the instinct. She put the car in drive, listening to the kissing turn to the interracial couple molesting each other.

"Oh fuck," Linda whined. "It's so fuckin' big." Elizabeth adjusted the rear view mirror as she drove on the highway. Jarquez was indeed blessed -- almost ten inches long and uncut, it was truly a weapon. It wasn't quite what Antoine was endowed with, but how many men could match up to her husband.

The praise gradually turned into more kisses, the sounds of sucking, the sounds of gagging, the sounds of Linda's mouth getting fucked vigorously. By the time they dropped off Jarquez at the club an hour later, Linda was still licking up stray droplets of cum, her future as a Black cock loving woman fully secured by her mentor.