Brian turned from the television screen, not wanting to relive the moment again. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that he had performed an act so contrary to his person that he couldn’t even watch it, or the fact that he had watched his own sister and mother in their most intimate moments and never turned away for a second.
The DVD ended and then kicked back to the menu screen which simply read “Meet the Kinsley’s” and had a rare photo of his family in the background. The unsmiling face of his father next to his reminded Brian of where Crystal had gone. He started to sob uncontrollably into the panty-gag, wondering what his father was going to think when he saw the DVD she and Brian created, terrified at what she was going to do to him afterwards.
I haven’t made a deal with the devil, Brian thought to himself, I married the devil. And so he waited, in part hoping that Maurice came to rescue him soon and in part not wanting to be discovered in his compromised position. Brian Pemberton sat in misery until the DVD started playing to distract him once again.
And again.
And again.
*******
Crystal was almost done. The Kinsley family was forever changed by her hand and would soon be a shadow of what it once was. John Kinsley was, in many respects, more responsible for Tina’s death than Ben was. John was the bastard who raped a girl he barely knew for kicks, who covered for his friend, who got her fired, who caused her sister to lose her insurance.
Now Alice Kinsley was openly bringing black men back to her house, fucking them all night long, and even wanted to host a Mandingo party of her own. And that was just the beginning…
Brian was thoroughly destroyed. John did everything he could to raise the youngster to be a real man; now Brian was a cuckold who allowed submitted before his wife and declared himself inferior to every black man there ever was. John wanted to carry on his family name; now Brian was legally a Pemberton and the name Kinsley was relegated to a footnote on a marriage certificate. John wanted his legacy carried forward in his son; now Brian was sterilized and would never have a child of his own. Of course, maybe she would let him raise Maurice’s child when Crystal decided to have kids? Maybe he would wise up one day and walk out on her? It didn’t matter. He was so fucked up in the head that he would never have a normal relationship again.
Even Sarah, John’s ‘back-up’ to pushing the family name ahead would be thoroughly tainted from her father’s perspective. Every video featured his daughter begging to be a lesbian. There was little doubt in Crystal’s mind that Sarah would find herself back in the arms of a man one day, but John would only see that Crystal had taken her away as well. And in the mean time, Crystal was enjoying the idea of using Sarah to screw with her brother’s head some more. The little-dicked pervert obviously enjoyed watching their one-on-one video, so perhaps it was time for a live show for her new husband? And who knows? Maybe she’d have some fun converting her into a pussy licking slut?
She double-checked the medications, going over the note Maurice had written out, describing each dosage. Unlike Ben, John had nobody waiting at home for him. Crystal needed just the right amounts to make the weekend last an eternity.
*******
John Kinsley was enamored by the curly haired brunette that had taken an interest in him. She was new to the bar for sure; he had been coming to this pub every Friday night for the better part of a year and he knew every woman’s face that walked in. Most hadn’t given him the time of day let alone their names, but he was trying to do the single scene the best he could. This young woman Amanda was different though. She seemed genuinely interested in him and smiled and laughed and flirted. The black cocktail dress clung to her perfect body in ways that would stir any man’s loins and her lips were red and luscious.
It was still fresh on his mind that his best friend had died and under questionable circumstances at that. The police detective had asked John plenty of questions about Ben’s love life, old flames, angry ex-girlfriends, and even gambling debts. The only name he could think of was Tina’s, but he dared not tell it to the police. The female detective was green for sure, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get information out of the blonde cutie that he and Ben had their way with. If for some reason she spilled the beans on what they had done, John would be the lone recipient of a rape charge. Ben was dead leaving nobody who could lie for him. Yes, dead as a dodo and there was no sense wallowing in it.
Still, John felt bad about poor Tina. That dubious night he and Ben were lit, and when the blonde started getting loopy Ben convinced him that she was up for a good time. In retrospect he knew something was wrong with the girl but he didn’t want to admit it. While Ben had cheated on Carol many times this was John’s first indiscretion; the blondie had a body that wouldn’t quit and a face that made him jealous of his buddy every time he saw them together at the country club. But this time Ben was willing to share her and Tina didn’t complain. She didn’t do much, in fact, but with Alice being so uptight in bed this was John Stanwick’s opportunity to let loose and do all the things his wife never let him do. The two grown men bent the young woman for an hour, taking turns using her mouth, her pussy, and even her ass.
After the deed had been done the guilt welled up in him. His marriage –already on the rocks- quickly fell apart and he moved away from his family. Alice never had a clue as to why he really left. If he could have reconciled he would have but Ben mentioned (before he died) that Alice had been seeing some new mystery lover and seemed happy. It was back to the single life for him, and so he ventured out as a man in his forties to this little bar where he hoped to make a new beginning.
Then he met Amanda. John had her pegged for mid-twenties and a local, but she told him that she was from out of town and her fellow convention goers had left her behind at the hotel. There was no news of a convention in town, but then again he hadn’t been much of a newspaper reader since the funeral.
“What kind of convention is it?” he asked, adjusting his sports jacket nervously.
“I don’t want to say. It’s embarrassing,” ‘Amanda’ looked away.
“Come on,” John pushed, “You have me intrigued.”
She lowered her voice and put up her hand to mask her lips, as if somebody might read them from across the room. “It’s a sex toy convention.”
He nudged closer to her on the bar stool, “Really?”
She took a drink and smirked, “Really.” She looked down and adjusted her travel suitcase with her heel.
His curiosity piqued, John had to ask. “So tell me, Amanda, what do you have in the suitcase down there? Are those samples from your convention?”
Her eyes lit up and she licked her lips, “John, I was afraid you would never ask…”
###
About the Author
My pen name is Melissa Dubban and I live in Dayton, OH with my husband and close female partner. I am the author of this book and Black Obsession.
I have enjoyed a limited amount of time in the Mandingo scene and recommend that you look into it. It isn’t for everyone, but for the adventurous I believe you will find new levels of physical pleasure. Of course no amount of sex can make you happy if you contract HIV or the dozens of other diseases that are passed around . After a close call I have insisted all of my male partners wear condoms. It is a small price to pay for such a big payoff: life.
I was involved in a car accident a few years ago which left me with some time on my hands to write. Now that I am healed I find I still have the writer’s bug and anticipate writing more.
My husband, David, does most of the artwork, a job he has taken to rather well. He is what many people in this lifestyle refer to as a willing cuckold; he understands I have needs that he can’t meet. To find out more about how we got to this place in our lives, read Black Obsession and be ready for a wild ride.
Feel free to contact me at http://melissadubban.blogspot.com and let me know what you think. What did you enjoy the most? What did you like the least? What would you
like to see in a new book? Authors are exhibitionists at heart, craving a response from the readers. You can guess what kind of response I wanted from the naughty white husbands of the world (and their not-so-innocent wives).
Have fun and be safe!
Black Curiosity - Censored! Page 30