We have, in fact, two kinds of morality side by side: one which we preach but do not practise, and another which we practise but seldom preach.
(Bertrand Russell)
Thelma Catherine Brown, who had assumed the showbiz name Vivian Adams two years ago after her twenty-first birthday, was one of the three wannabe starlets embroiled in the Middle Africans’ escape from San Nicolas Island. Having been hijacked by the black submariners had fundamentally changed her life.
While all three young women, neatly drugged and quite tipsy, had offered no resistance to the Negroes’ sexual assault, it had been solely Vivian who had actively co-operated. Ripped as she had been, the powerful organs of the sailors had pushed her from orgasm to orgasm – until she eventually had fainted…
After arrival at Ensenada, the girls had been handed over to the Mexican police. – As it had turned out, Mexican policemen had quite the same idea what to do with sexy luscious Gringas as Middle African submariners. Kept foggy-brained by more drugs and alcohol, the young women had been compelled to satisfy the desires of their ‘guardians’ – until these had become tired of them and had sold them to local whoremasters.
Finally, Vivian had been liberated by US soldiers advancing into Baja California and been repatriated to Los Angeles. Some journalists had interviewed her and bought her story. The tabloids subsequently had presented her as pitiable victim of Middle African bestiality and Mexican vice.
Unfortunately, Molly and Jane, the two other victims, had been liberated as well some days later. And in their media narratives, Vivian had vociferously clamoured the submariners to hump her again and again…
Now, screwing around was quite normal for a girl that wanted to become a film star in Hollywood; ingesting drugs also was bon ton in the Beverly Hills party scene; but fornicating with Negroes was quite a horse of another colour…
Having been outed as a nigger broad, Vivian’s movie career had ended before it really could start. A clever girl would have moved away – to the East Coast or the Great Lakes; Vivian had chosen the black ghetto – and had ended up as white bed bunny of Claude Baker Jr.
Lying on the bed naked, smoking a joint and sipping sweet liquor, Vivian watched Claude pace up and down in front of the window. His performance today had been disappointing, he seemed to be nervous and distracted.
“What’s up? What’s bothering you, honey?” she already had asked several times, but his only reply had been muttered curses so far.
Emptying her glass, Vivian rose from the bed and went over to Claude. His customary masculine smell today was daubed by cold sweat.
“Now, darling, stop running around like a tiger in his cage – and tell me what’s up!”
Instinctively, Claude snarled at her, but then he nodded and sat down.
“These US Army shitheads are blocking our drug supply. They have ousted the traders we used to deal with in Tijuana; our customers are pissed – and the big boss has tasked me to find another way of trafficking the stuff… – But I’ve no clue how that can be done. – These uniformed idiots expel the Mexes everywhere…”
“That’s goosy!” exclaimed Vivian, looking deploringly at the joint she held with two fingers. Then, by chance, her intoxicated brain remembered what one of the Mexican policemen had told her in poor English.
“You know, honey, the US Navy is blockading the Mexican coast. But they do not control the small fishing vessels. There are too many of them – and they’re generally too small to carry arms or ammo. That’s how the Colombians smuggle cocaine to Mexico. – They come north with a fast high seas yacht on the open ocean, hand the stuff over to the ‘fishermen’ in exchange for bucks; and the ‘fishermen’ then bring it home under the eyes of the US Navy.”
Vivian saw Claude’s eyes light up.
“That might work” he murmured “customs does not control fishing vessels. And I’m sure the boss can get a yacht for the job. – Yeah, that’s really great, sweetie! Excellent idea!”
He jumped up, grabbed the phone, dialled, and asked for a connection.
Smiling, Vivian went over to the bedside table, dropped the smoked reefer into the ashtray and refilled her glass. After imbibing an ample slug, she returned to Claude, who was talking excitedly into the mouthpiece. Gently stroking and kneading, she handled his dick until it became rigid and bulky. Then she knelt down and delivered a teasing blowjob until Claude became edgy and started poking vigorously into her mouth.
“Yeah, I’ll fuck you crazy, you horny bitch, but first let me finish this phone call.” he exclaimed, pressing his palm to the mouthpiece. “Damn, you can make a man lose his marbles. I promise, I’ll screw you until you go completely froot loops!”
(Bertrand Russell)
Thelma Catherine Brown, who had assumed the showbiz name Vivian Adams two years ago after her twenty-first birthday, was one of the three wannabe starlets embroiled in the Middle Africans’ escape from San Nicolas Island. Having been hijacked by the black submariners had fundamentally changed her life.
While all three young women, neatly drugged and quite tipsy, had offered no resistance to the Negroes’ sexual assault, it had been solely Vivian who had actively co-operated. Ripped as she had been, the powerful organs of the sailors had pushed her from orgasm to orgasm – until she eventually had fainted…
After arrival at Ensenada, the girls had been handed over to the Mexican police. – As it had turned out, Mexican policemen had quite the same idea what to do with sexy luscious Gringas as Middle African submariners. Kept foggy-brained by more drugs and alcohol, the young women had been compelled to satisfy the desires of their ‘guardians’ – until these had become tired of them and had sold them to local whoremasters.
Finally, Vivian had been liberated by US soldiers advancing into Baja California and been repatriated to Los Angeles. Some journalists had interviewed her and bought her story. The tabloids subsequently had presented her as pitiable victim of Middle African bestiality and Mexican vice.
Unfortunately, Molly and Jane, the two other victims, had been liberated as well some days later. And in their media narratives, Vivian had vociferously clamoured the submariners to hump her again and again…
Now, screwing around was quite normal for a girl that wanted to become a film star in Hollywood; ingesting drugs also was bon ton in the Beverly Hills party scene; but fornicating with Negroes was quite a horse of another colour…
Having been outed as a nigger broad, Vivian’s movie career had ended before it really could start. A clever girl would have moved away – to the East Coast or the Great Lakes; Vivian had chosen the black ghetto – and had ended up as white bed bunny of Claude Baker Jr.
Lying on the bed naked, smoking a joint and sipping sweet liquor, Vivian watched Claude pace up and down in front of the window. His performance today had been disappointing, he seemed to be nervous and distracted.
“What’s up? What’s bothering you, honey?” she already had asked several times, but his only reply had been muttered curses so far.
Emptying her glass, Vivian rose from the bed and went over to Claude. His customary masculine smell today was daubed by cold sweat.
“Now, darling, stop running around like a tiger in his cage – and tell me what’s up!”
Instinctively, Claude snarled at her, but then he nodded and sat down.
“These US Army shitheads are blocking our drug supply. They have ousted the traders we used to deal with in Tijuana; our customers are pissed – and the big boss has tasked me to find another way of trafficking the stuff… – But I’ve no clue how that can be done. – These uniformed idiots expel the Mexes everywhere…”
“That’s goosy!” exclaimed Vivian, looking deploringly at the joint she held with two fingers. Then, by chance, her intoxicated brain remembered what one of the Mexican policemen had told her in poor English.
“You know, honey, the US Navy is blockading the Mexican coast. But they do not control the small fishing vessels. There are too many of them – and they’re generally too small to carry arms or ammo. That’s how the Colombians smuggle cocaine to Mexico. – They come north with a fast high seas yacht on the open ocean, hand the stuff over to the ‘fishermen’ in exchange for bucks; and the ‘fishermen’ then bring it home under the eyes of the US Navy.”
Vivian saw Claude’s eyes light up.
“That might work” he murmured “customs does not control fishing vessels. And I’m sure the boss can get a yacht for the job. – Yeah, that’s really great, sweetie! Excellent idea!”
He jumped up, grabbed the phone, dialled, and asked for a connection.
Smiling, Vivian went over to the bedside table, dropped the smoked reefer into the ashtray and refilled her glass. After imbibing an ample slug, she returned to Claude, who was talking excitedly into the mouthpiece. Gently stroking and kneading, she handled his dick until it became rigid and bulky. Then she knelt down and delivered a teasing blowjob until Claude became edgy and started poking vigorously into her mouth.
“Yeah, I’ll fuck you crazy, you horny bitch, but first let me finish this phone call.” he exclaimed, pressing his palm to the mouthpiece. “Damn, you can make a man lose his marbles. I promise, I’ll screw you until you go completely froot loops!”
