There is this presumption that exists between most married couples in America. "Oh, my husband/wife would never understand my interest in ___________," and the blank is filled in with some sort of sexual behavior that is supposedly too extreme, arguably too outside the very conservative, frigid boundaries of their spouse for him or her even to wrap their minds around it, let alone accept it. People hide their most authentic selves from the person they are supposed to be most connected to, most intimate with, the one person on the planet who they are supposed to feel close enough to share any secret and still feel loved. That sort of honesty only happens in self-help relationship books and AfroerotiK erotic stories. In the real world, people compartmentalize their sexuality, sharing their secrets and fantasies with virtual strangers on computer screens late at night and not only believing that their spouse would never understand their desires but that they are also incapable of being aroused by anything beyond missionary sex on a Friday night with the lights out.
Katie Largo was just such a woman. She was a world-class slut of epic proportions and the type of white woman you would look at and say to yourself, "There's no way in hell she even thinks about sex let alone enjoys it," but you would lose all your money if you placed a wager on such a premise. The homely, average, PTA president, and married mother of two was not only sexual, she was a connoisseur of the most filthy, nasty, perverse, depraved forms of sex possible. There weren't three people on the planet Earth who would look at her and call her attractive but that's ultimately what drove her to be such nasty whore. Standing 5'5" with mousy brown hair that was sort of limp and lifeless, Mrs. Largo hadn't aged well. Her misspent youth tanning left her skin leathery and spotted. Childbirth left her with stretch marks and God's unfair distribution of genetics left her quintessentially PLAIN. Katie was a "real" desperate" housewife and she didn't look anything like the women on the televisions shows.
Katie wanted and needed to feel desirable. She had an intense, deep-seeded need to feel sexy and that led her to late-night cam sessions and clandestined meetings with strangers in dark alleys and random lover's cars to fulfill her need to feel wanted. It was her compulsion. She wallowed in immoral reverie night and day, always looking for another opportunity to feel her pussy get wet and her clit get hard at the illicit suggestion of one of her random fuck buddies. She was, and is, so very typical of white women all across the country, in every town, in every city who feign indignation, shock, horror, and conservative outrage at anyone who gets caught cheating while she is committing the very same sin herself. And because race is still such a taboo subject, and because Black sexuality is so deeply entrenched in white America's secret lusts, it was not hard for her to rationalize that her husband would NEVER in ten million years understand her desire to be an insatiable, cocksucking slut for a very well-hung Black man. That filled in her blank.
Max Moore understood Katie's obsession with big black cock all too well because he had been her supplier. They met on craigslist simply enough. He responded to her ad seeking an illicit and intellectual liaison. For the better part of a year, more off than on, he would amuse himself by giving her with all the ebony cock she could handle, sometimes more than she could handle, and by degrading and using her in any way his imagination could conjure. Max was the exact opposite of Katie. Charming, engaging, articulate, any and every person who gazed upon his countenance, both men and women, would be astonished at his beauty. He was an attorney and at 6' even he still had time to work out and obtain a body sculpted from hours of hard work in the gym, he was the personification of Ebony perfection. His skin was the color of Hershey's milk chocolate and looked like the smoothest of satin covering rippling, bulging muscles. His facial features were smooth, distinct, refined. His thick, wavy hair was well-maintained and short with a precise hairline sculpted by only the most skilled barber. He had an infectious smile that radiated charm. His pecs filled out all his shirts and his hardened nipples seemed to protrude like little pencil erasers. His stomach was a washboard of abs and his ass sat high and tight on his back, full, round, and two globes of brown perfection. His balls were hairy and full and hung heavy and low.
It was his dick, however, that would have Katie ready to meet him at a moment's notice to do anything and everything he told her. Even flaccid, Max's cock was still bigger than her husband John's pathetic four-incher could ever manage to get. When it was in its most glorious engorged and swollen state, Max's cock was too big for Katie to handle. It hurt her when he was pounding her relentlessly causing her to hold back tears while she was somehow simultaneously on the verge of orgasm. She would be sore for days but that only served as a constant reminder of her illicit exploits and that would keep her aroused. There were even a couple of times she had to pretend to have gotten a sore throat from a cold because Max had throat fucked her so hard, shoving his black cock so deep in her esophagus, that she lost her voice.
Katie was nothing more than a fuck toy to Max, a thing to be used. She wasn't by any means a dumb woman she was just socially inept. He listened half-heartedly to her incessant bitching about her mediocre life and her melodramatic complaints about her job, her sister, her husband, and her parents. She complained about her in-laws, her kids, she even whined about her dog. It never ended. Every time she opened her mouth it was an endless string of blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. It seemed she always had something stupid to complain about and she convinced herself that Max cared enough about her to really give a shit. She was deluded. Max saw her as a nasty, married white slut and she was entertainment, something to do to see how far he could push her. Katie knew that under any other circumstances, she could never get a man like Max to pay attention to her; she knew that it was her sexuality that kept him coming back for more so she did her best to be the nastiest, sluttiest, dirtiest of all the women he played with. If he gagged her, she begged to be spit on. If he slapped her, she demanded that he choke her. She would gaze up at him with pride when he pulled his stiffened rod from her asshole and she would suck it clean.
Once, Max had Katie meet him at a bar downtown. He told her to wear something slutty. She ransacked her teenage daughter's closet and got a tank top and a short skirt and wore a pair of conservative high heels she bought to go to an awards ceremony for her husband. Sexy, she was not ... not so much. She looked a hot, damn mess: old, desperate, and trashy. She showed up to meet Max and met him and three friends as well. She didn't get all their names nor did she really didn't care about them either; she was overjoyed at the prospect of Max showing her off like a trophy. She sat down and they ordered her drinks and she felt like the bell of the ball. Her pussy was soaking her sensible, cotton, white underwear through and through and the nipples of her tits poked through the cheap knit material of her top.
Max and his friends plied Katie with alcohol and groped her openly. They pulled off her panties and put them on the table for all to see; they made her spread her legs and they roughly fingered her cunt, daring her to cum in public. Pulling out his dick, one of Max's buddies forced her down on it under the table; the rest of the pack started making loud hoopin' and hollerin' noises loud enough to attract the attention of the other patrons in the seedy establishment. Katie's brain registered it all as an affirmation of her attractiveness. All the attention she was getting from the men, essentially all strangers, was a stroke to her ego.
"Come on, bitch, I have to go take a piss," and he grabbed her by the arm and jerked her off in the direction of the men's room like a child about to be spanked. The bathroom in this establishment looked about the same as the rest of the place, a little outdated, a bit dirty, a lot dark, and totally inappropriate for a married mother of two to be hanging out in. The bathroom itself had one stall, two urinals, and a double vanity sink with dark maroon-colored textured wallpaper and art deco light fixtures. There was a barely detectable sheen of stale, semi-dry piss on the floor but that didn't concern Max as he pushed Katie to her knees and told her to pull out his cock and start sucking. For a split second, she glanced at the door, fully aware that it was unlocked and anyone could walk in, and had a chill of terror and arousal go up her spine. Katie lived for and loved attention and the fact that someone was willing to put her in such a scandalous position made her temperature rise.
When it came down to sucking cock, no one could ever argue about Katie's skills. That's because she had none. Her technique wasn't particularly unique or sensual, her tongue not very talented, she did a mediocre suck job. When Max got tired of her lame attempts, he would usually grab her head and skull-fuck her to completion, leaving her face dripping with his semen. That night, just as he was about to brutally throat fuck her, the door flew open and Max's friends crowded, into the small bathroom.
"Oh shit, what do we have here? What sort of nasty bitch sucks dicks in a men's room on the floor? Max, where do you find these bitches?" They all laughed and took turns watching the door as everyone lined up and pumped her mouth full of hard pricks and cum. They all walked out, leaving her kneeling and covered and cum, temporarily ashamed at her own disgraceful behavior but alternately proud of her ability to be such an extreme slut.
The time in between her meetings with Max was torture for Katie. She would be obligated to have a lame romp with her husband once every couple of weeks. He had no technique, no stamina, he never made her feel sexy; he never gave her that dangerous thrill she got from cheating. Katie considered Max her real lover and she convinced herself that they had a deeper connection than they really did. Max would tell her how she made his cock hard, how turned on he got thinking about her meeting him in the parking lot of her church to fuck or having a seedy rendezvous at a cheap motel and screwing the sheets off the bed and Katie would interpret that to mean that he wanted her. She would calculate how and when they could meet again as soon as possible. She might have fooled herself into thinking that they had some deeper connection but she wasn't stupid enough to think that there weren't other women vying for Max's attention. She made sure to send sexy pictures of herself, to write erotic stories, and send explicit text messages when she could to make sure that he knew that she was available and waiting for his instructions. She loved his kinky mind and his ability to make her feel beautiful and dirty simultaneously.
Katie had a Pavlovian response to getting an email from Max. Before she could even get the email open, she was hot and bothered, her body showing signs of arousal. She waited until she was alone, away from the kids and her hubby so she could rub her twat and type out a response. She awoke early one Monday morning to an email waiting for her from Max with the subject line: Keeping you updated. She had to read it several times before it all sunk in. It essentially said that he had been dating someone for almost a month, that things were getting serious, and he didn't have a need for her anymore, that he was focusing completely on his new lady love. She responded by saying, "Oh, that's really nice. I'm happy for you. Good luck." The fact that she didn't mean it was irrelevant. What she really meant was, "What about me? What about my needs? What about what we shared?"
By the end of the week, Katie was obsessed with worming her way back into Max's life. She wanted him to cheat on his lover with her, to want her so much that he turned his back on his girlfriend for the adrenaline rush of fucking her in a nasty bathroom. She was sure that his new girlfriend couldn't do that for him. She knew that whoever this woman was, she wasn't the sort of woman that could arouse him the way she did. In her twisted and sexually immature mind, she reasoned that her vulgarity was some sort of gift to Max and that he treasured it. She sent him an email saying, "Hey, you've been on my mind. I would love to remain friends. It seems a shame to throw away our chemistry and our connection. Maybe we can just email each other every once in a while, you know, keep in touch."
His response was short and very blunt. "Katie, what you and I had was not a connection, it was my experimentation in domination. I get frustrated occasionally with all the racism and bigotry that surround me as a Black man in corporate America, all the oppression that white people bend over backwards to deny exists, and I just wanted to take out my frustration on you. It was wrong, it was unhealthy, and it's over. I'm with a really amazing sistah right now and she's and attorney as well. We have a lot in common. She's all I need to get by. I don't want to jeopardize what I have with her for a meaningless fuck with you. I hope you understand. Take care and best of luck to you."
For any sane, reasonable person, that would have been sufficient. But Katie wasn't the most mentally stable person in the world. Sure, she could hold down a good job and raise her children and clip coupons and keep her family organized but her concepts of sex and sexuality were warped. Any attention she got from men was like a drug to her. She needed the rush of feeling sexy, even if she was while being slapped around and being called a filthy whore in the process.
Three full days hadn't passed completely before she decided to send Max a video they had made together of her licking his ass. She thought it was particularly erotic because she looked particularly hungry for it and it was so symbolic, to her at least, of her willingness to debase herself for his gratification. She thought if she could just remind him of all the good times they shared, she could win his attention again. She needed it.
The response came quickly. Katie could barely contain herself in the seconds it took for the email to open. "Katie, this is Trenae, Maxwell's girlfriend. Do me a favor, don't write him, call him, don't text him; don't send him videos of you doing nasty stuff. Don't send him any gifts and don't post on his Facebook page. Don't communicate with him anymore. PERIOD. Please don't disrespect me again by communicating with my man. I hope I don't have to tell you again because there will be repercussions if you do."
Katie froze. Her adultery had always been compartmentalized, just between her and her lovers. No one else ever knew about it. She never confided in a friend or a counselor, even her sister. She never left telltale clues for anyone to find she was that good. She was cautious and secretive and regimented in her ability to make sure that her cheating ways were part of her secret identity. Here, staring her in the face on her computer screen, was another person invading her private realm. Someone else knew about her. She wondered what Max had told this person, what details had he shared with her; what did this woman know about her life and could she pose a threat to her marriage?
Katie felt like her world was spinning out of control; she felt like she couldn't breathe. Even when she would come home late at night, her breath stinking of another man's cum, her holes used and abused, stretched out and raw, even if John awoke from sleeping to ask her where she'd been, she could make up a story about her book club or work or some lame excuse about being at her sister's and he would NEVER suspect that she was cheating. She'd never revealed her sexual desires to her husband so there was no way he would even comprehend that she needed anything more than a two minute hump every two weeks. She relished those moments when she could push her luck, test fate as it were and almost get caught. That was her way of feeling the excitement she was missing in her humdrum life. She would intentionally put her cum-stained panties on the top of the pile of laundry just to test fate and see if her husband would notice the funk of another man's sperm that had been in her pussy. She did whatever she could do in order not to face the fact that she was an average looking woman with a mediocre life and absolutely no chance of making an impact on the world.
It was in that moment however, reading the words of that email over and over again, that she felt an adrenaline rush like never before. THAT was what cheating was all about! All the lying and the sneaking wasn't exciting if you were so good at it that there was never any chance of getting caught. The hairs on her arms were standing up and heart was racing. Her heart told her to be afraid, to delete Max's email address and number and move on with her life but THIS was the excitement that had been missing from her life. Her twisted little mind told her that she was going to figure out a way to get Max to continue their affair. Her mind couldn't even process all she was feeling. All she knew was that she felt thrilling sensations and that was something that was tragically missing from her life.
Katie calculated her moves strategically. After several weeks, she decided on a course of action and she sent Max a text about 15 minutes after she thought he would be getting off work, assuming that would be a time when his girlfriend wasn't with him. She texted him saying that they needed to talk and asked when and where they could meet up. It was several hours before she got a response. It simply said, "OK, meet me on Friday night, 10pm, at the church parking lot where I fucked you before."
Thrilled wasn't even the word to describe how elated Katie was in that moment. She went to the mall to buy a real dress, something sexy just for the occasion. She attempted to go to Nordstrom's but didn't even make it in the front doors. She walked around Macy's for the better part of an hour bewildered and confused, not sure what to try on. Money wasn't even the issue; she had more than enough to buy something outrageously expensive. What she didn't have was taste. She could pick out clothing for work and church with no problems. Trying to find something to wear to entice Max was an exercise in futility because, when all was said and done, she simply wasn't sexy. If clothes make the man, or woman in this case, then Katie might as well have worn the emperor's clothing because anything and everything she touched looked like she was a bridesmaid at someone's third wedding. She ended up at Express, picking out a pair of shiny, indigo-blue, low-rise pants that showed off her muffin top and stretch marks and a rhinestone covered tunic top that covered all her imperfections and had a built in cup to hold up her tits. She bought a pair of clunky stripper heels to complete the look. She tried the entire ensemble on when she got home and felt really sexy. She pranced in front of the mirror, trying to mimic moves other sexy women had in an effort to seduce Max one final time. Except, if she had it her way, it wasn't going to be the last time. He was going to be so mesmerized by her vulgarity, her blatant sexuality that he was going to need her to fulfill the base and primal desires surely his girlfriend wouldn't.
She didn't have to make up an excuse to tell her husband where she was going, he was out of town on business. Her daughter was having a sleepover with her friends and her son was home trying to sneak peeks at his sister's friends and playing video games. She told them that she was going to a movie and told them to behave and text her if they needed her. She changed her clothes in the bathroom of a nearby McDonald's and put on some pink lip gloss, a little too much mascara, the wrong color powder that made her look slightly older, and she brushed her hair and tossed it a few times to give it some body.
She pulled into the parking lot of Zion Lutheran about 15 minutes early. Sitting in her car and waiting for Max to show up, Katie reflected on the last time they met in this parking lot. It was a cold winter evening, unlike this warm summer night. His cock was hard and out when she got in his heated truck. They didn't even share small talk, he just pushed her head down on his dick and started fucking her mouth. When all was said and done, after he had deposited his creamy load in her stomach, Max thought he noticed some sort of movement in the shadows. He insisted on walking Katie to her car to make sure she was safe. He held the door for her and gave her a hug and even waited until her car was warm and she drove off. To Katie, that meant that he valued her, that he saw her as more than just a hole or three to fuck. It made her feel beautiful and valued.
Right on time, Max pulled into the parking lot in his shiny Black Tahoe, kept the engine running, and blinked the high beams to signal for Katie to join him. She wobbled in her cheap shoes to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid in. Before the door was closed good, she heard a voice from the back seat, "Hello Katie." Horrified, Katie turned. She knew instinctively that it was Trenae. Katie panicked and reached for the door.
"Freeze," Max said calmly, knowing full well that he had power over Katie that his girlfriend never could. He was right. She loved the assertiveness and alpha male attitude Max had, there was something biologically magnetic about his masculinity that made her melt to his will.
"Now," Trenae spoke softly, "I thought I told you, don't contact my man ever again or there would be consequences. I did tell her that, didn't I, Maxwell? Do you remember me telling her that?"
They laughed, "Yes, baby, I remember that very clearly."
Turning to get a better look, the glow from the street lights illuminated Trenae just enough for Katie to realize she was out of her league. Trenae's outfit was flawless, even her makeup looked professionally done. She was the type of women who would turn heads wherever she went. She appeared to be the same height as Katie but it was clear that her deep, rich, ebony skin tone was without even the tiniest imperfection. Her almond shaped eyes were enchanting; her full, African lips were pouty and inviting. Her hair was a thick mass of kinks and curls. It was more evident that she was Max's equal aesthetically. Katie, in that moment, felt all the fear and insecurity of a teenage girl in high school competing for attention for a boy with the captain of the cheerleading squad.
Trying to figure out the fastest way out of this situation, realizing she was over her head and that they had set her up, Katie started negotiating. "Listen, I'm sorry I contacted you Max," speaking directly to him and completely ignoring Trenae, "I just wanted to talk ... I ... I ... I just needed to make sure that my life was safe. That's all. You have to understand, I just couldn't take the chance that she was going to tell my husband. I ... I won't ... look, I just want to go home and I promise I won't contact you again."
Trenae spoke up. "Maxwell, does she look like she came here to just talk? Looks like to me ... I mean ... to meeeeeee it looks like she came here to get fucked. What does it look like to you?"
"If I were a gambling man ... and I am ... I would put my money on the fact that she came here to get some of this dick." He grabbed his thick package and they laughed. Katie's face was flush with color. She was seething inside, angry and trying to figure out how to take control of the situation but trapped by her own ego.
Max put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street. "Wait, where are we going? I wanna go home," Katie protested, "Let me out!" She reached for the door handle like she was going to open it knowing full well that there was no way she was going to do that in a moving vehicle. She was really starting to panic. She didn't know if they were going to hurt her or not. All of her fears about how violent Black people are started flooding her brain. She was hyperventilating and trying to hold back the tears. She thought they were going to kill her, that she was going to be just like all those white women on the news who were kidnapped by Black men. She could be forgiven for thinking that in the heat of the moment because she was too scared to realize that almost each and every allegation of a white women being kidnapped by a Black man was made up in an attempt by another adulterous married white whore to gain attention or get away from her husband. Hot tears streamed down her face and smeared her makeup.
Less than ten minutes later, they pulled into an underground parking garage and she pulled herself together enough to get her wits about her. She hadn't been paying attention to where they were going so she couldn't have gotten back to her car if she wanted. At least, she thought, she still had her cell phone. She could call a taxi to take her back to her car or call the police if she had to. She didn't want to do that just yet, she didn't want to have to answer questions to her husband about a police report so she just waited to see what was going to happen. "Where are we? What are you going to do to me? This is kidnapping. If you let me go now, I promise not to call the police."
"I think you've forgotten something, Missy. Max and I know the law a little bit better than you do. We have proof that you wanted to meet with him. It would be really hard for you to allege that we kidnapped you when you initiated the meeting," Trenae responded casually as if she didn't give a good god damn what Katie was threatening. "You see, you broke the law, my law that I very specifically spelled out for you." Trenae got out of the truck and opened up the front door and held her hand out to help Katie down. Katie defiantly ignored the gesture and held on to the door frame to get down. Trenae continued as they all walked towards the door of a rather nice townhouse, Max leading the way. "You know what happens when you break the law, Katie? You have to suffer the consequences. This here is the Trenae Roberts Justice system, and the people are represented by two separate but equally important factions: the bitch, that's me, who investigates the crimes, and the black mother fucker, that's Maxwell, who prosecutes the offenders." Trenae and Max burst out into outrageous laughter. "You like that babe, I just made that up on the spot. That was funny, right?" They gave each other a fist bump and looked at Katie for some sign of acknowledgement that it was, in fact, hilarious. Katie was not amused.
Max unlocked the door and they all ascended a flight of stairs that lead to a living room; Katie could see a kitchen and dining room off to the left. By this time, her nerves had calmed down a bit and she was just waiting for what was going to happen. She didn't think they were going to hurt her so she was trying to figure out how she was going to explain all this to her husband because surely, she thought, that was their goal, to destroy her marriage. Katie was calculating how much of this she could lie, deny, and exactly how trapped her husband felt in his life of mediocrity for him to overlook her transgression and opt to stay in a marriage. If Katie could just convince him that it was a one-time mistake that she would never do again she was sure all would be forgiven. "What do you want from me? Money? Well, I'm not going to give you any. I know how you people are. If I give in to your blackmail, it will never stop. Go ahead, tell my husband. He loves me and he'll forgive me." Reverse psychology was not a skill set she had mastered.
Trenae rolled her eyes. "Bitch, didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up? God damn! Blackmail? Dumb bitch. Shut the hell up. You people? Who the fuck does this bitch think we are, some sort of common criminals? Give me a mother fucking break." Trenae's tirade waned off into something incoherent as she and Max both went up another flight of stairs, leaving Katie sitting there, unattended.
In that moment, sitting there alone, unsure of what to do, Katie Largo felt completely out of her element. She was trying to decide whether or not to make a run for it but her curiosity got the best of her and she was quite convinced she couldn't make it very far in her heels without her feet blistering and bleeding. She wanted to stay, she wanted to see just what Max and Trenae had in store for her. She wanted to stay to see it out to the end, whatever that meant. She had done all this to herself. The cheating, insisting on contacting Max again, if she had only been sane enough to just walk away, none of this would have been happening.
At her core, in the deep recesses of her subconscious mind, she knew unequivocally that there was something wrong with her, that a normal, healthy, mature person wouldn't have put themselves in this situation. Her conscious mind told her, however, that it wasn't people who looked like her who were motivated by lust, who made poor choices based on their libidos. Katie was perfectly content to rationalize that she was justified for every single step she had taken thus far, she was OK with the lying, the cheating, the desperate and despicable behavior because her sexuality was so compartmentalized and dysfunctional, her self-perceptions of what it meant to be a married, white woman were so removed from her actual behaviors she could rationalize that everything she had done to date was acceptable.
"Come here, bitch," Max bellowed from upstairs. Katie wobbled on her heels to the stairs and saw Trenae standing at the top of the staircase. She was dressed in a pair of black panties, a matching bra, and heels that didn't appear to belong to either a stripper or a hooker. She did appear to be rather annoyed, however. Katie didn't even let it faze her and she ascended the stairs slowly. When she got to the top of the stairs, Trenae stood firmly in the way between Katie and Max and she wouldn't move. She stood there stoically, silently waiting for Katie to ask permission to pass. It was a test of wills, a showdown of woman vs. woman, a battle of the bitches. Max appeared at a bedroom door off to the side, "What are you waiting for, bitch, I told you to come here?"
Feeling empowered, Katie physically pushed Trenae to the side and breezed past her to stand obediently by Max's side. She felt quite proud of herself, like she was serving her Master well, so much so that she was oblivious to the audible gasp of outrage and shock by both Max and Trenae. To her credit, it wasn't as if she was being intentionally disrespectful to Trenae it was just that Katie couldn't wrap her mind around the concept that she was inferior to her. She suffered from a form of cognitive dissonance, it was impossible for her to grasp that she didn't possess some sort of inherent privileged status over Trenae. In Katie's mind, she had white skin and that meant that she had to mean more to Max on some hierarchal/genetic/intrinsic level. To contemplate anything other than that would cause her brain to shut down.
Even though she couldn't articulate her beliefs, even though Katie had never once given an ounce of thought to her relationship with Black women (or more appropriately, the lack of a relationship with them) Katie had lived her entire, pathetic 48 years with the subconscious belief that she was better than Black women and never exposed herself to a person or experience that would challenge that belief. She didn't know anything about Black women, nor did she care. She had never leafed through the pages of an Essence Magazine, she had never read a book by Toni Morrison or Alice Walker, she had never once seen Waiting to Exhale or The Color Purple; Katie had never had a real Black girlfriend in her life. She would occasionally glance at a picture of Michelle Obama when some website was reporting about her outfit or she would stare in mild disgust as she surfed the TV at one of those shows where Black women were weaved out, backstabbing, social-climbers but that was really the extent of her interaction with or contemplation about Black women. Pushing Trenae aside was like flicking a bug off her plate at a cookout. She felt no connection, care, or concern.
Max was not so disaffected. "Bitch, are you crazy? What the fuck is wrong with you? How dare you disrespect my queen like that." If the real life situation had been a 70's Blaxploitation flick, this would have been the scene where Katie would have gotten soundly pimp-slapped and ended up flying half way across the room. Katie stared up at Max in sincere shock and disbelief. She didn't understand, couldn't understand. Standing there, wide-eyed and bewildered, Katie wondered why Max appeared to be upset. She knew Trenae was his girlfriend but that didn't mean much to her. She figured that she had a husband whom she casually disrespected all the time so couldn't grasp why Max appeared to be upset with her for pushing aside just a girlfriend.
Max grabbed Katie by the arm and dragged her into the bedroom. She scrambled behind trying not to fall. It was clearly a spare bedroom because it was sparsely furnished. There was a small lamp on the corner of the desk that illuminated the entire room and kept everyone in shadow. Trenae appeared at the door and she walked over to Max and he put his arm around her and kissed her softly on the forehead. "You okay, babe? I mean ... she didn't hurt you or anything did she?"
Trenae chuckled and offered, "No, she didn't hurt me but thank you, precious, for being concerned about me," and kissed him back on the lips. It was a tender, sweet exchange and for a brief moment Katie felt a pang of jealousy that she had never, not once in her life, had anyone kiss her so tenderly, with such meaning. Trenae immediately picked up on Katie's look of insecurity and took advantage of the situation. Sliding her hand up Max's now bare, muscled chest, she teased his nipple briefly before bringing her hand around to the back of his neck and pulling him down to her, she kissed him passionately. Their kiss wasn't just a kiss; it was the communication of African spirits freed from bondage. Alvin Ailey himself couldn't have choreographed a better dance of tongues and thick, full lips moving together in harmony. Max's hands roamed down the sides of Trenae's body, finding their resting place on the curves of her full, round ass. Filling his hands with her meat, he pulled her body closer as they continued to kiss. Gentle, soft moans escaped her lips and her body began to writhe and move like she was fucking Max standing up.
Katie cleared her throat. She thought to herself, "I have too much self-respect to let them ignore me like some sort of inconsequential furnishing. I'm not going to take this." The fact that she had been on her knees in a public restroom performing oral sex on FOUR men a few months ago, the fact that she had been slapped, choked, gagged, and degraded and asked for more, the fact that self-respect was the last term that should ever be associated with her was an irony totally and completely lost on her. "Look," she said rather arrogantly, "If you two want to be alone I can..."
Before the words completely left her lips, both Max and Trenae said in syncopated harmony, "Bitch, SHUT UP," and she was effectively silenced. Their patience was running thin for Katie's company so they decided to move the action along. Katie was instructed to take off her shoes and Trenae pulled off her pants and thong and left her there with just her sparkly shirt on. Max reached in her top and pulled out her tits, leaving her exposed in a vulgar, obscene way.
During all of the adjustments and maneuvering, Katie stood there and complied like a malleable, pliable doll, not once voicing any concern or desire to be let go. Max squeezed her saggy breasts with their age spots and stretch marks and brown nipples that never really got hard and for a split second, it registered as pain in her mind and she cried out and tried to pull away. The discomfort didn't last long and was commuted to pleasure in her brain in short order and she was begging for more.
"You like that, don't you?" Trenae whispered softly in her ear from behind, her body intimately close. Katie responded by whimpering. She didn't like it, she loved it. Trenae continued. "You really are a nasty slut, aren't you, a filthy white whore? Look at you, turned on by being treated like an object. You came here to get your pussy, mouth, and asshole pounded by some hard, black cock. You want Maxwell to fill your horny cunt with his hot sperm, have it dripping out when you go home to your little-dicked hubby. I bet your pussy is wet right now just thinking about it, isn't it?" Katie nodded, never making a sound, never taking her eyes off Max but she was fixated on the voice that was in her ear, in her head really, saying all the things that she wanted to hear.
Standing in the middle of the room and all of her senses heightened, Katie craved release. She wanted to get fucked and used and to have it all culminate in an explosive orgasm. Trenae brought her hand around and placed it against Katie's collar bone and slowly and purposefully slid her hand upward until it was firmly wrapped around Katie's throat. She applied pressure firmly and gently, restricting her air, sensually choking her. It wasn't vicious or mean-spirited, it was a symbolic gesture declaring, "You might not have any care or concern for me, I but control you, I know you. I see through your flimsy façade of conservatism to who you really are and what you are is an empty, soulless woman who will use anyone or anything to get what you want." Trenae squeezed harder. Katie remained stoic but her eyes told a different story. She was terrified, not of getting choked but of who and what she really was.
Max backed away slowly, watching the two women, Katie never took her eyes off him. Attired only in black boxer briefs, the evidence of his arousal was clear to see, even in the dimly lit room. Trenae squeezed harder still. Katie's eyes started to dart around the room. She wasn't sure what the rules of this game were supposed to be but she didn't want to show any fear to Max. It was like a game of chicken except Katie was the only player. Max wanted to see when she would break, when she would start to panic. Lack of control was killing her much more so than lack of oxygen and she caved to the pressure. Desperately grabbing, she tried to pry Trenae's fingers from their grip on her esophagus but they wouldn't budge.