A T-shirt

Katja was about to leave the dressing room when she noticed something pink in the corner. As she reached over to pick it up, her nipples again poked out of the top of the tiny bikini top, but Katja didn't notice as she examined what turned out to be a balled-up bink T-shirt with a familiar logo and "Nealon Cheerleading" written across the front. She gasped in recognition, as it was the suburban high school pom-pom squad she herself had joined a couple of years ago, and of which her younger sister Kara was currently a member. Katja suspected that she had discovered a clue.

Clutching the shirt in her hands, Katja emerged from the dressing room and went to the front of the store. The shopkeeper was talking to a muscular black man, but the conversation seemed casual for a commercial transaction. The men stopped chatting and looked at the blonde as she approached them at the counter.

"Do you recognize this shirt?" Katja asked. The two men exchanged a startled expression, but quickly controlled their reaction.

"I seen that shirt before," the vendor said. "I think Missy was actually wearing it when she came in here."

"Really?" That confused Katja; Missy had recently moved here from Alabama or Mississippi or somewhere, so why would she be wearing a shirt for a high school cheerleader? "Did she say anything?"

"She asked about the T-shirt, too," he said gravely, before offering a slight smile. "She asked how her tits looked in it, since it was clear that she wasn't wearing a bra. Then, after she changed into that swimsuit, she asked me where she could find some big black guys who liked little white girls."

"Wow!" Katja gasped, trying to keep mental notes as she nervously twisted the flimsy shirt in the hands. "Where did so go then?"

"I told her sometimes white girls come in from the suburbs to sample the african cuisine," he replied as the black man stepped around and behind Katja. "I hear they go under the boardwalk, down by the pier."

"And do you know any big black men who like little white girls?" she asked, a touch naively, just as the black man pressed up against her from behind.

"You can ask me, little white girl," he growled in a thick accent as his hands grabbed ahold of her...