Kirsty Gerrard strode confidently across the set, laying down the folder of notes she had prepared for tonight’s debate. She’d already checked that all the infographics and digital materials she wanted to highlight had been received by the production team, discussed how she would indicate that she wanted them brought up on camera and so on. She’d participated in a few televised debates before, but this was the first time she’d sat down directly across from Professor Mbengwi, her “nemesis”, and had a frank, 1-on-1 discussion with him about the topic of sexual superiority of black males. She was entirely focused on the debate coming up, so much so that she didn’t notice that the entire production team was black. It just never occurred to her that there might be something other than purely scholarly motives behind this whole event.
She was nervous too, as much as anyone not used to television would be before going out live to a large number of viewers - and this topic, she’d been assured, would draw significantly larger viewing figures than normal. Sex sells, after all, and even dry, academic discussions about sex piqued the interest of the public. She shook her head upon remembering the conversation with one of the producers, a tall, black man with a shaved head called, improbably, Zulu. She had raised an eyebrow when he’d said that, but he had merely chuckled and said his ****** took their African heritage very seriously.
Of course, she wasn’t aware of the angle the TV station was advertising this show with - it was being streamed live on the station’s website, thereby circumventing certain rules from the TV authorities and because it was all about sex, they had to have it behind an age wall or whatever those things were called. Kirsty had no idea that the advertising and marketing for the show was entirely different from what she thought it would be about … and the TV station was very careful not to let her in on the secret. If she’d known that she herself was the major selling point, she would have run a mile.
So there was Kirsty, fully prepared for a serious academic debate, ******* of the surprises in store for her. She was ready to go, hair meticulously arranged, clothes of the highest quality she could afford, the vision of professionalism. She was ready to destroy Mbengwi’s ridiculous theories and expose him as a racist fraud.
“Ah, Professor Gerrard, so good to see you here tonight,” a handsome, dark-skinned man said, approaching her with his hand held out. “Tom Watkins, your host tonight.”
“Hello, Mr Watkins,” she smiled, shaking his hand. His grip was very strong, holding onto her for a little longer than was probably necessary, his penetrating gaze causing her to shudder a little.
“Yes, it is our honour to have you and Professor Mbengwi on tonight’s show,” he said, finally letting go. There was something about this man she couldn’t put her finger on. He radiated confidence, almost to the point of arrogance perhaps. Kirsty took a breath and refocused herself.
“It’s a first for television,” Watkins said. “Well, television in this country anyway. I presented a … similar show on US TV a few months ago. You may have seen it?”
“Er, no, I don’t think I did,” Kirsty said.
“Nevermind, it was a fascinating experience, let me tell you, so I’m really interested in seeing how things go tonight. If it all goes well, I’ll have to introduce you to the star of that show, Miss Jessica McFarland. It really changed her life, that show … maybe tonight’s will be as revelatory for you?”
“Well, I don’t know about revelatory, I don’t see either of us changing our positions really,” Kirsty said. “I’m just here to challenge some of the urban legends and myths that go around these days. It’s important that young people don’t fall into the traps of believing things and …”
“Yes, fascinating,” Watkins said, looking over her shoulder. Kirsty frowned, but of course, this man was black. Of course he’d not be interested in her particular take on the situation. Well, just another man to take on tonight, the patriarchy trying to oppress and control women as usual. She’d fought against such men her whole career and had come out on top every time. One more wouldn’t dent her confidence. It just made her more determined to put her case out there, to make people see reason.
“Professor Mbengwi, so glad you could make it as well,” Watkins was saying. Kirsty turned to see her adversary walking, that same old annoying grin on his face, towards the pair of them. She suppressed a shudder, though to her eternal shame it wasn’t one of hatred. The problem with Mbengwi was he was an attractive, handsome man. She could see why women liked his company, so to speak. She found herself drawn to him, but it was something she would never admit. Irrelevant, too, to the general point - that no woman could resist the allure of a black man. Of course they could … Kirsty would show this tonight.
“Ah, Kirsty, my dear friend,” he said in his deep, deep voice. “I am so looking forward to tonight’s show. Are you? Yes, I think you are. You do so like to challenge the truth, after all. But we’ll see if perhaps maybe we can’t make you rethink your position on all this, yes?”
“Perhaps it will be you who changes your mind, sir,” she said, huffily. “Anyway, when do we start?”
“I am pleased that you are eager to begin,” Mbengwi chuckled and Kirsty felt like a droplet of iced water had trickled down her spine. She had the sudden sensation that perhaps the show wouldn’t be as straightforward as she’d anticipated … but, of course, what could possibly happen? She was on television, nothing out of the ordinary could happen, right?
---
“Hello and welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to tonight’s episode of ‘Sociology Today’! I’m your special host, Tom Watkins. If you were expecting to see your usual host, Lydia Snow, then don’t worry, she’ll be back next time. She’s gone on holiday to Africa and is having a … very interesting time over there, so I hear. Which leads us nicely into tonight’s topic, a particularly interesting one that I’m sure you all know about already, but just in case … black male sexuality and the dominance of the black man in today’s sexual landscape.”
“With us in the studio tonight we have Professor Kirsty Gerrard taking the Nay seat and Professor Mbengwi, on the Yay side. So, let’s not waste any time beating about the bush here … Professor Gerrard, it is your position that the black male is not the dominant, shall we say “alpha male” in today’s society when it comes to sex?”
“That is correct,” Kirsty said, nodding. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that the concept of the alpha male is false in and of itself. Many studies indicate that there’s no such thing.”
“That’s very interesting. And I believe your position is the exact opposite, Professor Mbengwi?” Watkins said, turning to Kirsty’s opponent, who was still sitting there, as smug as ever.
“Oh, very much so, yes,” Mbengwi smiled. “In fact, I will make a very bold claim indeed. I will put my career on the line here. I hope this counts as ‘good television’, Mr Watkins, because I will stake my entire career, my livelihood, everything … on Ms Gerrard renouncing her position on the black male tonight on the show. I intend to put forward so convincing a case that she will come round to our… I mean, of course, my way of thinking.”
“You mean…?”
“Yes, I will retire and publically renounce my beliefs if Ms Gerrard has, by the end of the evening… shall we say, not seen the light?”
“Ha!” Kirsty burst out, unable to contain herself. “I never thought you to be a foolish man, Chancel, but I take your bet. It’ll be my pleasure to see you eat your words after all these years!”
“Perhaps,” he said, that same maddeningly smug smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes were fixed on hers, his powerful eyes boring into her. “My only condition is this - that I be the one to … consummate your new-found desires when you do finally come round.”
“I don’t know what that means but yes, whatever, I agree to any conditions because I won’t be the one losing this bet.”
Mbengwi gave no verbal response, merely nodding slightly to her. Deep, deep down, Kirsty had a flash of a warning of a premonition … had she just made a terrible mistake? He wasn’t stupid - there was more here than she knew. She had to watch her step, watch for tricks. Despite their disagreements, she knew this was a clever man sitting opposite her.
“Fascinating … so Professor Gerrard,” Watkins broke the silence. “Please, we’d love to hear your case.”
For the next 10 minutes or so, Kirsty gave it everything. She used all her experience, all the years of research and notes, anecdotal stories and so on, to present what she considered an airtight case disproving the myth of black male sexual dominance. It was stirring stuff, she thought, and as the minutes ticked by, she felt more and more elated with how things were going. Mbengwi barely offered anything in his defence and, despite her caution earlier, Kirsty let her guard down, too carried away with her own apparent success.
“So it is your position,” Watkins said, “that women do not naturally gravitate towards the most … powerful individuals, the most virile, the … well, let’s say it here, the best endowed males. Professor Mbengwi says those males are black males … you say that doesn’t matter.”
“I do say that, yes. The evidence I’ve put forward proves it. Women don’t become attracted to a man because of his penis size or anything like that. In fact, it is barely relevant - as long as the man can deliver a baby, biologically speaking, that’s the only factor that could potentially be linked. And then there are all the other issues like being a good man, a good provider, a good...”
“So the pleasure of sex isn’t relevant?” Watkins interrupted, steepling his fingers and looking thoughtful.
“I don’t believe so,” Kirsty shook her head. “I won’t say it isn’t … er, nice to have good sex, a healthy thing … but my evidence proves women can easily ignore such things in the long term, have perfectly good relationships and marriages with men of any colour or creed, regardless of penis size.”
“And the fact that black men have significantly bigger penises …?”
“I would hardly call that a fact …”
“... and how would you know, Kirsty?” Mbengwi interrupted. “One thing noticeably missing in all your research is the black male member and its size and impact on the female psyche. It makes me wonder, Kirsty … have you even seen a black cock? In person?”
Kirsty sat open-mouthed for a second. Did he just say that?
“Whether or not I’ve seen one, as you say, in person isn’t really here nor there…”
“Oh, I beg to differ, Kirsty,” Mbengwi laughed. “In fact, I believe that is the crux of the case. You conduct research but it is all hypothetical. Where’s the practical evidence? Where’s you putting yourself in the position to test your theories in practice … why have you never had a sexual relationship with a black man?”
“How… how dare you!” Kirsty glared.
“It would be the ultimate test, surely? You take a big, black cock inside you and see if you still say all these things, tell all these lies…”
“Now, hold on a second… this is outrageous…!”
“Are you saying that this intelligent, successful woman would renounce her life’s work just because of sex?” Watkins said, addressing Mbengwi and ignoring the flustered, enraged woman.
“Yes, absolutely,” Mbengwi said assertively. “This is the core problem with Ms Gerrard’s work, has always been. She’s never tested her theories personally, cherry picking cases to support her own ideas rather than getting down and dirty herself.”
“Well, I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it today!” Kirsty exploded, crossing her arms and sitting back in her seat in a huff.
“We’ll see,” Mbengwi said. “But now I think it is my turn to present my case, am I right?”
“No, this has gone too far…”
“Ah, but now, that’s not fair,” Tom Watkins interjected. “Let’s at least hear what he has to say.”
“It won’t make any difference…” Kirsty sulked, controlling her fury at that infuriating smug smile from Mbengwi.
“Excellent,” he said. “I’m going to present my case in the form of first-hand testimony from women who agree with my point of view. So I’d like to welcome a very special guest onto the show tonight…”
He leaned forward and grinned at Kirsty.
“... Miss Emily Gerrard!”
Kirsty, who had been about to zone out while Mbengwi plead his case, snapped back to full attention at the mention of her sister’s name… though surely a coincidence… must be a different women with the same… name… oh fuck…
Emily strode out onto the stage, dressed conservatively, the image of a shy young woman you’d not expect to see discussing male sexual prowess. A chair had been wheeled swiftly next to Kirsty while she’d been staring agog at her youngest sister, so quickly she’d only caught the shortest glimpse of a member of the production team slinking away out of camera shot.
“Hi Kirsty!” Emily said, kissing her relation on the cheek. “I bet you didn’t expect to see me today, huh?”
Kirsty couldn’t summon up a reply, just sitting there.
“Good evening, Miss Gerrard,” Tom Watkins said. “Would you like to tell us just why you are here on the show tonight?”
“I’m here to tell the world about how black men are the best,” she grinned, crossing her legs and settling back in her chair.
“But your sister denies this. She, a learned professor, has devoted her career to disproving what you just said. Why should we in the studio and the audience at home… why should we believe you instead of her? She has the evidence… what do you have?”
“My evidence is fairly simple,” Emily said. “My evidence is that I’ve fucked hundreds of black men and each one has been an incredible, breathtaking, orgasm-inducing lover.”
“Emily!” Kirsty exclaimed. “You can’t be serious…”
“Deadly, my dear sister,” Emily chuckled. “I’ve been with a few white guys and they’re just… frankly, it’s comical the difference. And we’re talking hundreds here, Kirsty, so it isn’t just an anomalous black guy here and there… literally every one has been packing major cock… I’d say the smallest I’ve had was 8 inches… but then he was thick as a fucking baseball bat so… made up for it!”
“You can’t talk like that, it’s on TV…” Kirsty glowered, eyes flickering between her sister and the multitude of cameras taking in every second of this performance.
“Ah, I’m sure the audience just wants the truth,” Emily said, ignoring her. “And the truth is that black men are the absolute fucking best!”
“Oh my God…” Kirsty said, hand over her eyes, mortified.
“Oh dear, it appears not even your own flesh and blood can resist the urge to couple with black men… and hundreds of them too! Oh my, that’s a turn up for the books, isn’t it?”
“Look,” Kirsty said, determined to come back fighting. “She’s entitled to her… predilections. We all are… she obviously just likes black men. It doesn’t mean that…”
“Actually, I find lots of white men equally attractive,” Emily said. “They’re just nothing in bed, you know? That’s the killer blow, Kirsty, what they can do to a girl between the sheets.”
“Okay, okay… so you found out my sister likes black men and she’s had some good experiences, it doesn’t prove…”
“Of course, of course, but perhaps my case will be strengthened when the next guest is revealed…”
“I don’t really see what… what the… oh my God… Alison!?”
Alison Gerrard walked out into the bright lights of the studio set, grinning from ear to ear. She was also dressed in conservative fashion, dark trousers and a matching jacket, stylish yet understated. She sat down next to Emily on another freshly supplied chair.
“Good evening everyone,” she said, nodding at the two black men and at Emily, then turning her attention to Kirsty.
“Alison… don’t tell me you… but what about Timothy? You’re… you’re MARRIED!”
“Yes,” she said, holding up her hand, the lights in the studio causing her diamond ring to sparkle. “I guess I am… but you need to know this, sister. It made no difference in the end. I still went black.”
“No, Alison, how could you do this? This… it’s just wrong. You must have been just having a mid-life crisis or something. It wasn’t…”
“Yes, Kirsty,” Alison said with iron in her voice. “It was. It was… the cocks, the skin contrast, the incredible fucking multiple orgasms…”
“Oh yes, the multiple, multiple, multiple orgasms!” Emily said, pretending to roll her eyes. Both sisters laughed, though Kirsty remained aghast.
“But… but your marriage was rock solid… is rock solid… I mean…”
“I know… I guess it just goes to show the power of the black male if even a marriage such as mine can be broken in two so easily,” Alison shrugged. “Trust me, there wasn’t anything wrong with my marriage, except my hubby had a pencil dick and my black lovers don’t.”
“But…”
“See, the problem is women just don’t know that, you know, size means a lot,” Emily said. “Too many men without the right equipment spreading stuff about how no, it doesn’t matter, this and that… and it just becomes accepted. The power of the patriarchy, whatever it is, white male privilege… it all comes down to convincing us that bland sex is the norm, the height of what we can achieve… but then you have a big, thick, long black cock and boom, that’s out of the window. You suddenly see the world with new eyes… if you can tear them away from all those big, throbbing cocks, of course.”
Kirsty slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. This was a disaster. Two members of her own ****** on television, shouting out their love for black men. Everything she’d worked for, shot down by her own flesh and blood. How could they do this… unless… could it be they were right? From everything they’d said, one thing rang true in her mind. She hadn’t ever “done the practical”. She’d never been with a black man… and these women had. Her sisters had… and they loved it!
It wasn’t that black men didn’t attract her. She looked fearfully at Tom Watkins and Mbengwi. They were both handsome men, tall and strong. There was no shame in being attracted to these men. That had never been the point of her research… but were they right? Did she need to take the practical exam before she could definitively prove them wrong?
It would prove them wrong, wouldn’t it? She could have sex with Mbengwi as an experiment, prove that she could resist whatever alpha thing he was doing and go on with her life. There was just one problem…
… she hadn’t had sex since that foolish night so many years ago when she’d conceived Gemma and Jane, that one, stupid mistake that had threatened to ruin her life. She had come out the other side stronger, with two wonderful ********* she loved more than anything… but at a cost to her own sex life. She’d vowed never to have sex again and, while sometimes tempted, she’d kept that promise. Deep down, feelings stirred, long-suppressed urges were rising to the fore in her mind… would this be what let her down? If she gave in to prove them wrong… would her body betray her?
“You look thoughtful, Ms Gerrard,” Tom Watkins said, breaking her out of her trance. She realised all eyes were on her.
“Sorry, I just… it’s a lot to process at once, knowing your two sisters are … well, have made different life choices to what you expected.”
“You mean we’re sluts,” Emily said, causing Kirsty to blush. “It’s okay, sis, I love being a slut! I’ve reclaimed the word. It’s a word of power - we control our own sexual identities. We fuck who we want, when we want. And it just so happens we only fuck black guys…”
“... just like you will, Kirsty.”
Kirsty glared at Alison, who just sat there, grinning evilly at her.
“Er, no, I don’t think so,” Kirsty said. “I’m strong enough to resist this so-called alpha male power you two claim they have. I think most women are.”
“Like, say, Chloe?”
“Of course, she’s a strong girl, going to get married to that man, the rich one…”
“Do you agree with her, Chloe? Do you think you could resist?” Emily said.
Kirsty’s head whipped round again to see her third and final sister moving towards her. Her heart sank even further, if that was possible, and she actually stood up in shock.
“Oh no… Chloe… please… not you too…”
Chloe stood a few feet from her sister, looking deep into her eyes… then nodded, slowly.
“Oh yes, me too,” she said, softly.
“Oh my God, this can’t be happening,” Kirsty said, slumping back onto her chair, her spirit battered and bruised by this ordeal. “But… the wedding… your engagement…”
“Long since consigned to the dustbin of history, my dear sister,” Chloe chuckled. “In fact, I just closed the deal for good yesterday. Let’s just say that after a very healthy exchange of views with some very charming black male friends of mine, I’ve put that whole engagement nonsense to bed.”
“Chloe… what have you done?” Kirsty said, pleading.
“You really want to know?” Chloe grinned. Before Kirsty could reply, Tom Watkins cut in.
“Oh yes, please do tell the audience at home just how you ended your engagement to this fellow?”
“Well, I guess we’re all adults here,” Chloe smiled coyly. “I was in the office of a … friend and his friends helped me convinced Rufus that there was no future for us.”
“And how did you do that?”
“By letting them all fuck me in front of him, of course,” Chloe said. Kirsty groaned, looking visibly sick.
“My, that is certainly one way of ending a relationship,” Tom Watkins said. “And you did this with black men, I believe?”
“Oh, of course, I’ll never touch another white man again for my whole life. There is really no comparison.”
“Chloe… how can you say that?” Kirsty whimpered.
“Because it is true, Kirsty,” Chloe shrugged. “I know, sorry, WE all know here that black is biggest and best sexually. I can’t fathom how you can study this and not have come to the same conclusion. I think Emily is right - it is because you haven’t fucked black yourself. I held out until literally the moment I had to say ‘I do’ at the altar… but I couldn’t do it. I knew deep down I needed to fuck black men, that the only thing I wanted to say “I do” to was to a black man asking me if I wanted him to empty his balls in my pussy. And I’m so happy I reached that conclusion as I’ve had a blast since I did so.”
“She’s right,” Emily said. “Watching her get fucked by black studs is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Chloe just looks… perfect with black dicks up in her.”
“God… this is… wait… Emily, how do you know this?” Kirsty said, realising what her sister had just said.
“I’ve watched her have sex loads of times, Kirsty,” Emily said, nonplussed. “She’s watched me fuck guys too.”
“Oh Jesus, I can’t believe this is happening,” Kirsty said.
“Believe it, honey,” Alison said. “We’re all here tonight for you, you know this, right?”
“Wha… what?” Kirsty said, confused.
“We love you, sister, and we want what’s best for you… and we want you to be a black cock slut just like us…”
“Please, Kirsty, open your mind and your heart…” Emily said. “Join us and you’ll never regret it.”
“No!” Kirsty shouted, almost screaming, though she was shaken, both by the revelations and by the earnest, honest way her sisters were speaking to her. They truly believed what they were saying, but Kirsty couldn’t give in. This wasn’t just sex to her, this was her career. If she gave in, everything she’d worked for would be washed away like it had never existed. How could she do that to herself?
“No, I can’t, my life… my work… I don’t believe it. This is all a trick, you’re all lying… black men aren’t like this… women are stronger, we can resist. We’re not controlled by our bodies… we can’t…”
But she was feeling different, though she wouldn’t admit it. She did feel … strange. Like there was something smouldering inside her now where before there was just ice, blackness. A fire had been lit inside her… and while she was fighting with herself to snuff it out, she couldn’t be sure her efforts were entirely genuine.
“It’s okay to admit you are wrong, Kirsty,” Mbengwi said. “It’s not the end of the world, you can build a new career. The woman who discovered the truth and set out to convince women, people across the world that black men were the best mates for them. All you’ve got to do is admit it, that black men are superior lovers… that you want them inside you.”
“It’s only natural,” Tom Watkins said, dropping the impartial show host persona. “You know it, deep down.”
“No, no, no, no!” Kirsty said, feeling trapped, pressured from all sides… and from within, most disconcertingly. Why was the broadcast continuing? This wasn’t a discussion anymore… this was… this was… she didn’t even know what this was anymore. “Please… we need to stop… the show needs to… why are the cameras still filming?”
“Oh, we’ve only just begun, my dear,” Tom Watkins said. Kirsty buried her face in her hands and groaned.
“This isn’t happening…”
A hand softly rested on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, comfortingly. Kirsty looked around and there was her mother, Margaret, smiling down at her. She looked different… more stylish, modern... but what was she doing here?
“Mother! What… I mean…?”
“Hush, dear,” Margaret said, stroking her eldest ********’s hair. “It’s okay. You are among friends here. They just want what’s best for you…”
“No, mother, it’s my career, they don’t understand,” Kirsty stammered. “I can’t… I can’t just say or do what they want… even if I wanted or want to. It’s not… I don’t believe…”
Margaret got down on one knee in front of her, both hands over Kirsty’s.
“It’s okay to admit what you feel, Kirsty, nobody will hold it against you if you just do what feels right,” Margaret said. “Don’t deny yourself the pleasure of being with a black lover… I wish I had gone black much earlier than I did. You will be the same as me… relieved, let go of all that baggage and just…”
“Mother, what are you saying? Oh my God, that’s why… you’re here because… you’re a fucking slut too!”
Kirsty’s face was frozen in horror and she tore her hands away. This was all her nightmares rolled into one. Her whole ******… openly admitting to being black cock sluts! She should flee, get out while she could… but she didn’t. Something kept her here and she couldn’t say what that was…
“Honey,” Margaret was saying. “Please… I want you to go black. For me, for your sisters… for your *********, Gemma and Jane.”
“NO!” Kirsty screamed. “You leave them out of this, they’re innocent! They… you can’t do it to them, they’re not…”
“They’re women, just like you… they deserve to know the truth… and what better person to teach them than their mother? I wish I could have taught you this when you were their age, Kirsty… but I’m making up for it now. Go black. Let Professor Mbengwi put his big cock in your pussy. Let him stretch you like all of us here have been stretched, that delicious feeling of taking so much in your pussy, making it feel like its doing its job for the first time ever… let him cum in you, feel his balls pressing against your skin, pulsating, emptying themselves in your womb…”
Kirsty looked up, tears running down her face and saw it. Both of them, in fact. Mbengwi and Watkins were standing now, their trousers round their ankles…
...and both were sporting the biggest cocks Kirsty had ever seen.
“I know why you deny yourself, Kirsty,” Margaret said. “The girls, you promised to be true to them and not to make the same mistakes again. You promised to work so hard to provide for them when nobody else would… and you succeeded. They’re both beautiful, intelligent, just like you… you all deserve to feel the pleasure of sex with black men.”
“Oh my God…” Kirsty said, eyes fixed on the two stiff pricks sprouting from the men in front of her. It was meant to be a disgusted groan… but it didn’t quite come out like that. She didn’t even consider the fact that, on television, these men had exposed their erect penises. Weren’t there laws against that sort of thing? For that moment, Kirsty didn’t think about that. She only saw the cocks.
“Yes, they are impressive, aren’t they?” Margaret said, leaning in close to her eldest ********, whispering in her ear. “Just imagine them inside you, dear, filling you up… stretching your little pussy, the pussy that’s been so cruelly denied for so long…”
Much as she hated herself for it, she did feel something… a stirring, something inside her she’d either suppressed or had never known existed. She couldn’t be sure. Those cocks… despite all her research, all her work… fuck, they were mesmerising, entrancing… there was a special power to them even she couldn’t deny. One that made her pussy quiver and melt like never before.
“Yes, I felt that way too,” Margaret said, still whispering in her ear. “That strange feeling like someone’s unlocked something inside you… you just need to open up and embrace the new feelings, Kirsty. Give yourself to this man… both of these men… all black men… and let your new self be free…”
“No…” Kirsty whimpered. “I can’t… I’m just… the pressure of you all, it isn’t real. I can resist. I must resist. For my career… my ******… my *********.”
“Yes, your *********,” Mbengwi said, smiling, his cock still stiff as iron and pointing right at Kirsty’s face. “Tell me, Kirsty… did you leave town recently?”
“Uh… what?” she said, trying to tear her eyes from the cocks. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Mbengwi just grinned and then, behind him and Tom Watkins, a huge viewing screen blinked into life, previously unnoticed. A notice appeared on it, reading: “Viewer discretion is advised. The following footage contains scenes that some may find distasteful.” This disappeared and new words replaced it. “Though only white male viewers… female viewers are strongly urged to watch and learn.”
The words again disappeared and suddenly there was a shot of a front door. Kirsty’s eyes went wide as she realised it was her front door. What was going on here!?
A large black hand reached out and pressed the door bell. A few seconds went by and then, to Kirsty’s horror, the door was opened by her ********, Gemma.
Who promptly, in her surprise, dropped her towel and revealed her naked, teenage body to the TV audience!
“NO!” Kirsty screamed, but she felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders, holding her down gently but firmly. There was nothing she could do… the action on the screen continued.
She was nervous too, as much as anyone not used to television would be before going out live to a large number of viewers - and this topic, she’d been assured, would draw significantly larger viewing figures than normal. Sex sells, after all, and even dry, academic discussions about sex piqued the interest of the public. She shook her head upon remembering the conversation with one of the producers, a tall, black man with a shaved head called, improbably, Zulu. She had raised an eyebrow when he’d said that, but he had merely chuckled and said his ****** took their African heritage very seriously.
Of course, she wasn’t aware of the angle the TV station was advertising this show with - it was being streamed live on the station’s website, thereby circumventing certain rules from the TV authorities and because it was all about sex, they had to have it behind an age wall or whatever those things were called. Kirsty had no idea that the advertising and marketing for the show was entirely different from what she thought it would be about … and the TV station was very careful not to let her in on the secret. If she’d known that she herself was the major selling point, she would have run a mile.
So there was Kirsty, fully prepared for a serious academic debate, ******* of the surprises in store for her. She was ready to go, hair meticulously arranged, clothes of the highest quality she could afford, the vision of professionalism. She was ready to destroy Mbengwi’s ridiculous theories and expose him as a racist fraud.
“Ah, Professor Gerrard, so good to see you here tonight,” a handsome, dark-skinned man said, approaching her with his hand held out. “Tom Watkins, your host tonight.”
“Hello, Mr Watkins,” she smiled, shaking his hand. His grip was very strong, holding onto her for a little longer than was probably necessary, his penetrating gaze causing her to shudder a little.
“Yes, it is our honour to have you and Professor Mbengwi on tonight’s show,” he said, finally letting go. There was something about this man she couldn’t put her finger on. He radiated confidence, almost to the point of arrogance perhaps. Kirsty took a breath and refocused herself.
“It’s a first for television,” Watkins said. “Well, television in this country anyway. I presented a … similar show on US TV a few months ago. You may have seen it?”
“Er, no, I don’t think I did,” Kirsty said.
“Nevermind, it was a fascinating experience, let me tell you, so I’m really interested in seeing how things go tonight. If it all goes well, I’ll have to introduce you to the star of that show, Miss Jessica McFarland. It really changed her life, that show … maybe tonight’s will be as revelatory for you?”
“Well, I don’t know about revelatory, I don’t see either of us changing our positions really,” Kirsty said. “I’m just here to challenge some of the urban legends and myths that go around these days. It’s important that young people don’t fall into the traps of believing things and …”
“Yes, fascinating,” Watkins said, looking over her shoulder. Kirsty frowned, but of course, this man was black. Of course he’d not be interested in her particular take on the situation. Well, just another man to take on tonight, the patriarchy trying to oppress and control women as usual. She’d fought against such men her whole career and had come out on top every time. One more wouldn’t dent her confidence. It just made her more determined to put her case out there, to make people see reason.
“Professor Mbengwi, so glad you could make it as well,” Watkins was saying. Kirsty turned to see her adversary walking, that same old annoying grin on his face, towards the pair of them. She suppressed a shudder, though to her eternal shame it wasn’t one of hatred. The problem with Mbengwi was he was an attractive, handsome man. She could see why women liked his company, so to speak. She found herself drawn to him, but it was something she would never admit. Irrelevant, too, to the general point - that no woman could resist the allure of a black man. Of course they could … Kirsty would show this tonight.
“Ah, Kirsty, my dear friend,” he said in his deep, deep voice. “I am so looking forward to tonight’s show. Are you? Yes, I think you are. You do so like to challenge the truth, after all. But we’ll see if perhaps maybe we can’t make you rethink your position on all this, yes?”
“Perhaps it will be you who changes your mind, sir,” she said, huffily. “Anyway, when do we start?”
“I am pleased that you are eager to begin,” Mbengwi chuckled and Kirsty felt like a droplet of iced water had trickled down her spine. She had the sudden sensation that perhaps the show wouldn’t be as straightforward as she’d anticipated … but, of course, what could possibly happen? She was on television, nothing out of the ordinary could happen, right?
---
“Hello and welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to tonight’s episode of ‘Sociology Today’! I’m your special host, Tom Watkins. If you were expecting to see your usual host, Lydia Snow, then don’t worry, she’ll be back next time. She’s gone on holiday to Africa and is having a … very interesting time over there, so I hear. Which leads us nicely into tonight’s topic, a particularly interesting one that I’m sure you all know about already, but just in case … black male sexuality and the dominance of the black man in today’s sexual landscape.”
“With us in the studio tonight we have Professor Kirsty Gerrard taking the Nay seat and Professor Mbengwi, on the Yay side. So, let’s not waste any time beating about the bush here … Professor Gerrard, it is your position that the black male is not the dominant, shall we say “alpha male” in today’s society when it comes to sex?”
“That is correct,” Kirsty said, nodding. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that the concept of the alpha male is false in and of itself. Many studies indicate that there’s no such thing.”
“That’s very interesting. And I believe your position is the exact opposite, Professor Mbengwi?” Watkins said, turning to Kirsty’s opponent, who was still sitting there, as smug as ever.
“Oh, very much so, yes,” Mbengwi smiled. “In fact, I will make a very bold claim indeed. I will put my career on the line here. I hope this counts as ‘good television’, Mr Watkins, because I will stake my entire career, my livelihood, everything … on Ms Gerrard renouncing her position on the black male tonight on the show. I intend to put forward so convincing a case that she will come round to our… I mean, of course, my way of thinking.”
“You mean…?”
“Yes, I will retire and publically renounce my beliefs if Ms Gerrard has, by the end of the evening… shall we say, not seen the light?”
“Ha!” Kirsty burst out, unable to contain herself. “I never thought you to be a foolish man, Chancel, but I take your bet. It’ll be my pleasure to see you eat your words after all these years!”
“Perhaps,” he said, that same maddeningly smug smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes were fixed on hers, his powerful eyes boring into her. “My only condition is this - that I be the one to … consummate your new-found desires when you do finally come round.”
“I don’t know what that means but yes, whatever, I agree to any conditions because I won’t be the one losing this bet.”
Mbengwi gave no verbal response, merely nodding slightly to her. Deep, deep down, Kirsty had a flash of a warning of a premonition … had she just made a terrible mistake? He wasn’t stupid - there was more here than she knew. She had to watch her step, watch for tricks. Despite their disagreements, she knew this was a clever man sitting opposite her.
“Fascinating … so Professor Gerrard,” Watkins broke the silence. “Please, we’d love to hear your case.”
For the next 10 minutes or so, Kirsty gave it everything. She used all her experience, all the years of research and notes, anecdotal stories and so on, to present what she considered an airtight case disproving the myth of black male sexual dominance. It was stirring stuff, she thought, and as the minutes ticked by, she felt more and more elated with how things were going. Mbengwi barely offered anything in his defence and, despite her caution earlier, Kirsty let her guard down, too carried away with her own apparent success.
“So it is your position,” Watkins said, “that women do not naturally gravitate towards the most … powerful individuals, the most virile, the … well, let’s say it here, the best endowed males. Professor Mbengwi says those males are black males … you say that doesn’t matter.”
“I do say that, yes. The evidence I’ve put forward proves it. Women don’t become attracted to a man because of his penis size or anything like that. In fact, it is barely relevant - as long as the man can deliver a baby, biologically speaking, that’s the only factor that could potentially be linked. And then there are all the other issues like being a good man, a good provider, a good...”
“So the pleasure of sex isn’t relevant?” Watkins interrupted, steepling his fingers and looking thoughtful.
“I don’t believe so,” Kirsty shook her head. “I won’t say it isn’t … er, nice to have good sex, a healthy thing … but my evidence proves women can easily ignore such things in the long term, have perfectly good relationships and marriages with men of any colour or creed, regardless of penis size.”
“And the fact that black men have significantly bigger penises …?”
“I would hardly call that a fact …”
“... and how would you know, Kirsty?” Mbengwi interrupted. “One thing noticeably missing in all your research is the black male member and its size and impact on the female psyche. It makes me wonder, Kirsty … have you even seen a black cock? In person?”
Kirsty sat open-mouthed for a second. Did he just say that?
“Whether or not I’ve seen one, as you say, in person isn’t really here nor there…”
“Oh, I beg to differ, Kirsty,” Mbengwi laughed. “In fact, I believe that is the crux of the case. You conduct research but it is all hypothetical. Where’s the practical evidence? Where’s you putting yourself in the position to test your theories in practice … why have you never had a sexual relationship with a black man?”
“How… how dare you!” Kirsty glared.
“It would be the ultimate test, surely? You take a big, black cock inside you and see if you still say all these things, tell all these lies…”
“Now, hold on a second… this is outrageous…!”
“Are you saying that this intelligent, successful woman would renounce her life’s work just because of sex?” Watkins said, addressing Mbengwi and ignoring the flustered, enraged woman.
“Yes, absolutely,” Mbengwi said assertively. “This is the core problem with Ms Gerrard’s work, has always been. She’s never tested her theories personally, cherry picking cases to support her own ideas rather than getting down and dirty herself.”
“Well, I’ll be damned if I’m going to do it today!” Kirsty exploded, crossing her arms and sitting back in her seat in a huff.
“We’ll see,” Mbengwi said. “But now I think it is my turn to present my case, am I right?”
“No, this has gone too far…”
“Ah, but now, that’s not fair,” Tom Watkins interjected. “Let’s at least hear what he has to say.”
“It won’t make any difference…” Kirsty sulked, controlling her fury at that infuriating smug smile from Mbengwi.
“Excellent,” he said. “I’m going to present my case in the form of first-hand testimony from women who agree with my point of view. So I’d like to welcome a very special guest onto the show tonight…”
He leaned forward and grinned at Kirsty.
“... Miss Emily Gerrard!”
Kirsty, who had been about to zone out while Mbengwi plead his case, snapped back to full attention at the mention of her sister’s name… though surely a coincidence… must be a different women with the same… name… oh fuck…
Emily strode out onto the stage, dressed conservatively, the image of a shy young woman you’d not expect to see discussing male sexual prowess. A chair had been wheeled swiftly next to Kirsty while she’d been staring agog at her youngest sister, so quickly she’d only caught the shortest glimpse of a member of the production team slinking away out of camera shot.
“Hi Kirsty!” Emily said, kissing her relation on the cheek. “I bet you didn’t expect to see me today, huh?”
Kirsty couldn’t summon up a reply, just sitting there.
“Good evening, Miss Gerrard,” Tom Watkins said. “Would you like to tell us just why you are here on the show tonight?”
“I’m here to tell the world about how black men are the best,” she grinned, crossing her legs and settling back in her chair.
“But your sister denies this. She, a learned professor, has devoted her career to disproving what you just said. Why should we in the studio and the audience at home… why should we believe you instead of her? She has the evidence… what do you have?”
“My evidence is fairly simple,” Emily said. “My evidence is that I’ve fucked hundreds of black men and each one has been an incredible, breathtaking, orgasm-inducing lover.”
“Emily!” Kirsty exclaimed. “You can’t be serious…”
“Deadly, my dear sister,” Emily chuckled. “I’ve been with a few white guys and they’re just… frankly, it’s comical the difference. And we’re talking hundreds here, Kirsty, so it isn’t just an anomalous black guy here and there… literally every one has been packing major cock… I’d say the smallest I’ve had was 8 inches… but then he was thick as a fucking baseball bat so… made up for it!”
“You can’t talk like that, it’s on TV…” Kirsty glowered, eyes flickering between her sister and the multitude of cameras taking in every second of this performance.
“Ah, I’m sure the audience just wants the truth,” Emily said, ignoring her. “And the truth is that black men are the absolute fucking best!”
“Oh my God…” Kirsty said, hand over her eyes, mortified.
“Oh dear, it appears not even your own flesh and blood can resist the urge to couple with black men… and hundreds of them too! Oh my, that’s a turn up for the books, isn’t it?”
“Look,” Kirsty said, determined to come back fighting. “She’s entitled to her… predilections. We all are… she obviously just likes black men. It doesn’t mean that…”
“Actually, I find lots of white men equally attractive,” Emily said. “They’re just nothing in bed, you know? That’s the killer blow, Kirsty, what they can do to a girl between the sheets.”
“Okay, okay… so you found out my sister likes black men and she’s had some good experiences, it doesn’t prove…”
“Of course, of course, but perhaps my case will be strengthened when the next guest is revealed…”
“I don’t really see what… what the… oh my God… Alison!?”
Alison Gerrard walked out into the bright lights of the studio set, grinning from ear to ear. She was also dressed in conservative fashion, dark trousers and a matching jacket, stylish yet understated. She sat down next to Emily on another freshly supplied chair.
“Good evening everyone,” she said, nodding at the two black men and at Emily, then turning her attention to Kirsty.
“Alison… don’t tell me you… but what about Timothy? You’re… you’re MARRIED!”
“Yes,” she said, holding up her hand, the lights in the studio causing her diamond ring to sparkle. “I guess I am… but you need to know this, sister. It made no difference in the end. I still went black.”
“No, Alison, how could you do this? This… it’s just wrong. You must have been just having a mid-life crisis or something. It wasn’t…”
“Yes, Kirsty,” Alison said with iron in her voice. “It was. It was… the cocks, the skin contrast, the incredible fucking multiple orgasms…”
“Oh yes, the multiple, multiple, multiple orgasms!” Emily said, pretending to roll her eyes. Both sisters laughed, though Kirsty remained aghast.
“But… but your marriage was rock solid… is rock solid… I mean…”
“I know… I guess it just goes to show the power of the black male if even a marriage such as mine can be broken in two so easily,” Alison shrugged. “Trust me, there wasn’t anything wrong with my marriage, except my hubby had a pencil dick and my black lovers don’t.”
“But…”
“See, the problem is women just don’t know that, you know, size means a lot,” Emily said. “Too many men without the right equipment spreading stuff about how no, it doesn’t matter, this and that… and it just becomes accepted. The power of the patriarchy, whatever it is, white male privilege… it all comes down to convincing us that bland sex is the norm, the height of what we can achieve… but then you have a big, thick, long black cock and boom, that’s out of the window. You suddenly see the world with new eyes… if you can tear them away from all those big, throbbing cocks, of course.”
Kirsty slumped back in her chair, shaking her head. This was a disaster. Two members of her own ****** on television, shouting out their love for black men. Everything she’d worked for, shot down by her own flesh and blood. How could they do this… unless… could it be they were right? From everything they’d said, one thing rang true in her mind. She hadn’t ever “done the practical”. She’d never been with a black man… and these women had. Her sisters had… and they loved it!
It wasn’t that black men didn’t attract her. She looked fearfully at Tom Watkins and Mbengwi. They were both handsome men, tall and strong. There was no shame in being attracted to these men. That had never been the point of her research… but were they right? Did she need to take the practical exam before she could definitively prove them wrong?
It would prove them wrong, wouldn’t it? She could have sex with Mbengwi as an experiment, prove that she could resist whatever alpha thing he was doing and go on with her life. There was just one problem…
… she hadn’t had sex since that foolish night so many years ago when she’d conceived Gemma and Jane, that one, stupid mistake that had threatened to ruin her life. She had come out the other side stronger, with two wonderful ********* she loved more than anything… but at a cost to her own sex life. She’d vowed never to have sex again and, while sometimes tempted, she’d kept that promise. Deep down, feelings stirred, long-suppressed urges were rising to the fore in her mind… would this be what let her down? If she gave in to prove them wrong… would her body betray her?
“You look thoughtful, Ms Gerrard,” Tom Watkins said, breaking her out of her trance. She realised all eyes were on her.
“Sorry, I just… it’s a lot to process at once, knowing your two sisters are … well, have made different life choices to what you expected.”
“You mean we’re sluts,” Emily said, causing Kirsty to blush. “It’s okay, sis, I love being a slut! I’ve reclaimed the word. It’s a word of power - we control our own sexual identities. We fuck who we want, when we want. And it just so happens we only fuck black guys…”
“... just like you will, Kirsty.”
Kirsty glared at Alison, who just sat there, grinning evilly at her.
“Er, no, I don’t think so,” Kirsty said. “I’m strong enough to resist this so-called alpha male power you two claim they have. I think most women are.”
“Like, say, Chloe?”
“Of course, she’s a strong girl, going to get married to that man, the rich one…”
“Do you agree with her, Chloe? Do you think you could resist?” Emily said.
Kirsty’s head whipped round again to see her third and final sister moving towards her. Her heart sank even further, if that was possible, and she actually stood up in shock.
“Oh no… Chloe… please… not you too…”
Chloe stood a few feet from her sister, looking deep into her eyes… then nodded, slowly.
“Oh yes, me too,” she said, softly.
“Oh my God, this can’t be happening,” Kirsty said, slumping back onto her chair, her spirit battered and bruised by this ordeal. “But… the wedding… your engagement…”
“Long since consigned to the dustbin of history, my dear sister,” Chloe chuckled. “In fact, I just closed the deal for good yesterday. Let’s just say that after a very healthy exchange of views with some very charming black male friends of mine, I’ve put that whole engagement nonsense to bed.”
“Chloe… what have you done?” Kirsty said, pleading.
“You really want to know?” Chloe grinned. Before Kirsty could reply, Tom Watkins cut in.
“Oh yes, please do tell the audience at home just how you ended your engagement to this fellow?”
“Well, I guess we’re all adults here,” Chloe smiled coyly. “I was in the office of a … friend and his friends helped me convinced Rufus that there was no future for us.”
“And how did you do that?”
“By letting them all fuck me in front of him, of course,” Chloe said. Kirsty groaned, looking visibly sick.
“My, that is certainly one way of ending a relationship,” Tom Watkins said. “And you did this with black men, I believe?”
“Oh, of course, I’ll never touch another white man again for my whole life. There is really no comparison.”
“Chloe… how can you say that?” Kirsty whimpered.
“Because it is true, Kirsty,” Chloe shrugged. “I know, sorry, WE all know here that black is biggest and best sexually. I can’t fathom how you can study this and not have come to the same conclusion. I think Emily is right - it is because you haven’t fucked black yourself. I held out until literally the moment I had to say ‘I do’ at the altar… but I couldn’t do it. I knew deep down I needed to fuck black men, that the only thing I wanted to say “I do” to was to a black man asking me if I wanted him to empty his balls in my pussy. And I’m so happy I reached that conclusion as I’ve had a blast since I did so.”
“She’s right,” Emily said. “Watching her get fucked by black studs is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Chloe just looks… perfect with black dicks up in her.”
“God… this is… wait… Emily, how do you know this?” Kirsty said, realising what her sister had just said.
“I’ve watched her have sex loads of times, Kirsty,” Emily said, nonplussed. “She’s watched me fuck guys too.”
“Oh Jesus, I can’t believe this is happening,” Kirsty said.
“Believe it, honey,” Alison said. “We’re all here tonight for you, you know this, right?”
“Wha… what?” Kirsty said, confused.
“We love you, sister, and we want what’s best for you… and we want you to be a black cock slut just like us…”
“Please, Kirsty, open your mind and your heart…” Emily said. “Join us and you’ll never regret it.”
“No!” Kirsty shouted, almost screaming, though she was shaken, both by the revelations and by the earnest, honest way her sisters were speaking to her. They truly believed what they were saying, but Kirsty couldn’t give in. This wasn’t just sex to her, this was her career. If she gave in, everything she’d worked for would be washed away like it had never existed. How could she do that to herself?
“No, I can’t, my life… my work… I don’t believe it. This is all a trick, you’re all lying… black men aren’t like this… women are stronger, we can resist. We’re not controlled by our bodies… we can’t…”
But she was feeling different, though she wouldn’t admit it. She did feel … strange. Like there was something smouldering inside her now where before there was just ice, blackness. A fire had been lit inside her… and while she was fighting with herself to snuff it out, she couldn’t be sure her efforts were entirely genuine.
“It’s okay to admit you are wrong, Kirsty,” Mbengwi said. “It’s not the end of the world, you can build a new career. The woman who discovered the truth and set out to convince women, people across the world that black men were the best mates for them. All you’ve got to do is admit it, that black men are superior lovers… that you want them inside you.”
“It’s only natural,” Tom Watkins said, dropping the impartial show host persona. “You know it, deep down.”
“No, no, no, no!” Kirsty said, feeling trapped, pressured from all sides… and from within, most disconcertingly. Why was the broadcast continuing? This wasn’t a discussion anymore… this was… this was… she didn’t even know what this was anymore. “Please… we need to stop… the show needs to… why are the cameras still filming?”
“Oh, we’ve only just begun, my dear,” Tom Watkins said. Kirsty buried her face in her hands and groaned.
“This isn’t happening…”
A hand softly rested on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, comfortingly. Kirsty looked around and there was her mother, Margaret, smiling down at her. She looked different… more stylish, modern... but what was she doing here?
“Mother! What… I mean…?”
“Hush, dear,” Margaret said, stroking her eldest ********’s hair. “It’s okay. You are among friends here. They just want what’s best for you…”
“No, mother, it’s my career, they don’t understand,” Kirsty stammered. “I can’t… I can’t just say or do what they want… even if I wanted or want to. It’s not… I don’t believe…”
Margaret got down on one knee in front of her, both hands over Kirsty’s.
“It’s okay to admit what you feel, Kirsty, nobody will hold it against you if you just do what feels right,” Margaret said. “Don’t deny yourself the pleasure of being with a black lover… I wish I had gone black much earlier than I did. You will be the same as me… relieved, let go of all that baggage and just…”
“Mother, what are you saying? Oh my God, that’s why… you’re here because… you’re a fucking slut too!”
Kirsty’s face was frozen in horror and she tore her hands away. This was all her nightmares rolled into one. Her whole ******… openly admitting to being black cock sluts! She should flee, get out while she could… but she didn’t. Something kept her here and she couldn’t say what that was…
“Honey,” Margaret was saying. “Please… I want you to go black. For me, for your sisters… for your *********, Gemma and Jane.”
“NO!” Kirsty screamed. “You leave them out of this, they’re innocent! They… you can’t do it to them, they’re not…”
“They’re women, just like you… they deserve to know the truth… and what better person to teach them than their mother? I wish I could have taught you this when you were their age, Kirsty… but I’m making up for it now. Go black. Let Professor Mbengwi put his big cock in your pussy. Let him stretch you like all of us here have been stretched, that delicious feeling of taking so much in your pussy, making it feel like its doing its job for the first time ever… let him cum in you, feel his balls pressing against your skin, pulsating, emptying themselves in your womb…”
Kirsty looked up, tears running down her face and saw it. Both of them, in fact. Mbengwi and Watkins were standing now, their trousers round their ankles…
...and both were sporting the biggest cocks Kirsty had ever seen.
“I know why you deny yourself, Kirsty,” Margaret said. “The girls, you promised to be true to them and not to make the same mistakes again. You promised to work so hard to provide for them when nobody else would… and you succeeded. They’re both beautiful, intelligent, just like you… you all deserve to feel the pleasure of sex with black men.”
“Oh my God…” Kirsty said, eyes fixed on the two stiff pricks sprouting from the men in front of her. It was meant to be a disgusted groan… but it didn’t quite come out like that. She didn’t even consider the fact that, on television, these men had exposed their erect penises. Weren’t there laws against that sort of thing? For that moment, Kirsty didn’t think about that. She only saw the cocks.
“Yes, they are impressive, aren’t they?” Margaret said, leaning in close to her eldest ********, whispering in her ear. “Just imagine them inside you, dear, filling you up… stretching your little pussy, the pussy that’s been so cruelly denied for so long…”
Much as she hated herself for it, she did feel something… a stirring, something inside her she’d either suppressed or had never known existed. She couldn’t be sure. Those cocks… despite all her research, all her work… fuck, they were mesmerising, entrancing… there was a special power to them even she couldn’t deny. One that made her pussy quiver and melt like never before.
“Yes, I felt that way too,” Margaret said, still whispering in her ear. “That strange feeling like someone’s unlocked something inside you… you just need to open up and embrace the new feelings, Kirsty. Give yourself to this man… both of these men… all black men… and let your new self be free…”
“No…” Kirsty whimpered. “I can’t… I’m just… the pressure of you all, it isn’t real. I can resist. I must resist. For my career… my ******… my *********.”
“Yes, your *********,” Mbengwi said, smiling, his cock still stiff as iron and pointing right at Kirsty’s face. “Tell me, Kirsty… did you leave town recently?”
“Uh… what?” she said, trying to tear her eyes from the cocks. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Mbengwi just grinned and then, behind him and Tom Watkins, a huge viewing screen blinked into life, previously unnoticed. A notice appeared on it, reading: “Viewer discretion is advised. The following footage contains scenes that some may find distasteful.” This disappeared and new words replaced it. “Though only white male viewers… female viewers are strongly urged to watch and learn.”
The words again disappeared and suddenly there was a shot of a front door. Kirsty’s eyes went wide as she realised it was her front door. What was going on here!?
A large black hand reached out and pressed the door bell. A few seconds went by and then, to Kirsty’s horror, the door was opened by her ********, Gemma.
Who promptly, in her surprise, dropped her towel and revealed her naked, teenage body to the TV audience!
“NO!” Kirsty screamed, but she felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders, holding her down gently but firmly. There was nothing she could do… the action on the screen continued.
