Authors: Vera Roberts
“Are you sure?” He took out a small riding crop and stroked it as if it was His cock.
Sarah nodded again, this time with increased anticipation. Her breasts were lightly coated with sweat and she anxiously licked her lips. She waited for her Master to fuck her, give her that release, to make her beg for it. She stared into the depths of His green eyes and met His heat and intensity.
She waited all day to feel Him buried deep inside her, driving into her over and over as He toyed with her body and emotions. “Yes, Master.”
Scott caressed her swollen nipples, flicking them with His fingers. He slightly stroked Sarah’s pussy with the riding crop, playing with her cinnamon folds. “We’ll see about that.” He used the riding crop to pat her heat. She became wetter with each tap.
Sarah strained against the rope and her pussy naturally jerked upwards to feel the sensation more. “Master…” she moaned.
“That’s right, I’m your Master.” Scott dropped the riding crop and climbed on top of the table. His cock was already out and hard. He rammed inside Sarah and clasped His hands tightly around her throat. “I’m going to fuck you like the nigger bitch you are.”
“Fuck me, Master,” Sarah struggled to breathe.
****
“Are you okay?” Eric asked her.
Sarah shook her head and turned towards him. She realized her hands were wrapped around her throat. She thought fast. “Um, yes…I thought I was getting a sore throat so I was checking for swollen lymph nodes.”
“Well, I have something that’ll make you feel a lot better,” Eric stood up. “Can I have everyone’s attention? I just want to say to everyone, thank you for supporting me so far. My college ride has been awesome, and I hope it’ll only get better now with a draft and contract to a NBA team!” he said to applause.
Eric turned to Sarah. “But none of this would be possible without you by my side, baby. You have been my biggest cheerleader. You share Bible scriptures with me whenever I’m down and have all the pressure in the world on my shoulders. I can’t promise you everything but I can promise you my world,” he slowly got down on one knee and took out a small jewelry box and opened it. “Sarah Renee Roberts, will you marry me?”
Sarah looked down at the solitaire staring back at her. It was perfect. It was a heart-shaped diamond that over two carats by her estimation. It was the first ring she picked up when she and Eric first started dating, and he had made a vow to get the ring for her. He made good on his promise.
Eric was everything she could ever want in a man, and Sarah felt increasingly bored in their relationship. But she wasn’t about to let him go, not at least until she had Scott within her grasp first. “I will!” she screamed.
Their families cheered and applauded the young couple as Eric slipped the ring on Sarah’s wedding finger. She showed everyone her new piece of jewelry as Eric received congratulatory hugs and comments.
Sarah secretly hoped Caprina had a short trip to Atlanta.
B
OOK
II
—
S
COTT
“He who controls the present, controls the past. He who controls the past, controls the future.” (George Orwell)
O
NE
“It’s Always Greater in Decatur.” It was the city’s slogan and many residents believed it. Decatur was every bit of Americana one could find: strong Christian values, Friday night football games that always turned into both a social and gossip gathering, and clean sidewalks with families galloping along them. All that was missing was an old lady putting her apple pies on a windowsill.
As Scott chauffeured the rented Mercedes down the city streets, Mariana found herself excited, mesmerized, and incredibly uneasy. She would normally be talking about random topics, but she was deathly silent. “You’re quiet,” Scott finally broke the ice. “Are you okay?”
“I’m uncomfortable,” she finally admitted.
“You don’t have to be.”
“You just don’t understand what it feels like to be in my position.”
Scott thought back to the interrogation Oliver gave him on Thanksgiving. “Oh, I have an idea.” He pulled into a parking lot and turned off the car. He turned to his girlfriend. “I would never intentionally put you in a compromising and uncomfortable position unless I was sure you would be able to handle it. If you feel uneasy, just say the word and we’ll be on the first flight back to L.A.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it.
Mariana relaxed and smiled. Maybe being in Decatur wouldn’t be bad, after all. “I’m fine. Let’s go eat.”
They stopped at a local diner for lunch before heading to Scott’s mother’s home. They had arrived in Atlanta the night before and were going to have dinner with his family that evening. Mariana finally put her worries to rest. She was in her boyfriend’s hometown. If things really went well, an engagement was around the corner. She already imagined what type of wedding she wanted. Something small, not too big or flashy. Maybe something exotic like Hawaii or Italy. Maybe the beach? Or a summer wedding in the park? Mariana had to concentrate on her root beer float to keep from bouncing in her seat.
“There’s something I need to mention to you about my family,” Scott began. There was no easy way of explaining what happened or the bullshit Mariana was going to face.
“Oh?” Mariana pushed away her wedding fantasies for a brief moment. “What is it?”
“There’s no easy way to tell you this so I’ll just come out and say it,” Scott slumped back into his seat, “they’re not going to like you.”
Mariana chuckled. “What do you mean they’re not going to like me? They don’t even know me.”
“They won’t like you because you’re Black,” Scott swallowed. “Not anything you did, per se. But for another reason.”
Mariana felt her heart sank into the bottom of her Louboutins. Whatever wedding plans she pushed away were officially buried—along with her and Scott’s relationship. Very calmly, she stood up and brushed herself off. “Mari,” Scott called to her, “let me explain.”
A knee-jerk reaction can be classified as an immediate unthinking emotional reaction produced by an event or statement to which the reacting person is highly sensitive. By the sharp sting on Scott’s face and his jeans full of Mariana’s root beer float, it was clear he hadn’t expected that reaction from her.
T
WO
For religious people, Christmas is the celebration of birth of Jesus Christ. For the secular folk, Christmas is a day to get together with friends and family and exchange gifts. For Caprina Waters, Christmas was just another day that just happened to have some sort of religious connotation to it.
Bah, humbug.
She made the annual trip to visit Colette in New York. It was only a day trip, but it seemed like forever. She had to stay with Colette for the entire day. She didn’t have a choice. Over the years, the pair had patched up their relationship as long as Colette didn’t try to sell Caprina out to the highest bidder. Caprina, in return, paid for Colette’s lifestyle. Colette, as Caprina found out, was quite expensive to shut up.
“Merry Christmas, Ricci!” Colette cheered as she held up a glass of eggnog.
“Merry Christmas, Colette,” Caprina forced a grin.
“I’m so glad you were able to come this year! I miss seeing you around here. You should come by more often!” Colette beamed.
“I’m based in L.A. now, as I’ve explained to you several times over.” Caprina sighed.
“Well, L.A. is not that far from New York. It’s only a few hours by plane!” Colette explained.
“When I have time to see you, I will,” Caprina was curt.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Colette asked.
“No,” Caprina briefly looked up and thought about Scott, “not yet.”
“You’re not getting any younger, Ricci,” Colette reminded her. “Whatever happened to that Greek guy? What was his name?”
“Dimitri,” Caprina replied. She thought about how different her life would’ve been if she accepted his final offer. “I don’t talk to him anymore.”
“He was too old for you, anyway.” Colette shook her head. “That other fella you dated afterward, now, he was a nice one!”
Scott’s face appeared in Caprina’s memory. He was so young and sweet. Several years had done him some good. He improved with age like a fine wine. “He was, wasn’t he?”
“Well, I know whoever you’ll end up with, he will be a wonderful companion to you.”
“I know,” Caprina got up and gathered her things. “Well, I need to get going. I have a plane to catch for Atlanta.”
“Oh? What’s in Atlanta? A new photo shoot?”
“Not really,” Caprina smiled, “but a lot of hope and opportunity.”
T
HREE
Being a sprinter in high school still had its benefits years later. Mariana didn’t realize how fast she could run in five-inch heels.
She ran as far and fast as she could. She was sure the locals thought she was nuts and it was only a matter of time before word got back to Scott where she had gone. He wasn’t her problem, however; getting back to California as soon as possible was proving to be a pain.
She finally rested somewhere that was inconspicuous enough where no one could possibly spot her—in an alley between businesses. She found a safety spot behind a dumpster and slumped down to the filthy concrete. She was only gone for a few minutes but it seemed like hours. She was sweaty, out of breath, but incredibly heartbroken. Did he really bring her across the country just to drop the bombshell his family were racists? What in the hell did he expect her reaction to be?
Sure, honey, it’s okay! I can play house nigger for your mom and sister!
Mariana reached into her jeans pocket and got out a small stash of bills. It was only $100. Maybe she could figure out how to get a bus pass somewhere and be on the road back to California before Scott could realize where she was. Scott. Her now ex-boyfriend. It was a guarantee her father would hang him by his balls.
She let out a sigh and began to figure out a plan. If she moved out of Scott’s house by the end of the week, she would be able to stay with her family temporarily until she found a roommate. She would have to quit her internship at McCormick and Sheppard, but that was a small price to pay. The further away from Scott she was, the better.
Maybe Mariana thought too soon. She was approached by the local sheriff and deputy. “Miss, do you have a place to stay tonight? There’s no loitering in the city.”
Truth to be told, Mariana didn’t have one. She and Scott were staying at the Mandarin Oriental in nearby Atlanta. “I’m just counting my money, Officer, I’ll be on my way.”
“Do you have any ID or other forms of identification on you, Miss?” The deputy asked.
She had left her purse in Scott’s car. “I don’t have any, Officer.”
“Stand up, Miss,” the sheriff ordered, and Mariana complied. She wiped the dirt off her jeans and tried to make herself look as presentable as possible. “What’s your name?”
“Mariana Harlow,” she replied back.
“Mariana Harlow, huh?” The deputy moved closer to her and began to examine her. “Where are you from, Mariana Harlow?”
“California,” she was getting irritated, “look, if you’re going to arrest me, just do it. I haven’t done anything wrong!”
“Well, we’re not going to arrest you but we will detain you,” The Sherriff nodded, “Deputy, place the cuffs on her.”
“What? Wait! What for?” Mariana protested. “I haven’t done anything!”
“According to some eyewitnesses, you slapped a man at a soda shop.” The deputy placed Mariana in handcuffs, “that’s enough for assault and battery.”
“What?” Mariana couldn’t believe it. First, her boyfriend sprung the news that his family were lifelong KKK members, and now she was on the verge of being arrested. “This is ridiculous! I haven’t done anything wrong! I want to make my phone call!”
“There’ll be time for that later,” The Sherriff pulled out his walkie-talkie and spoke into it, “All righty, nephew. I got her. Come get her.”
“Nephew? What?” Mariana questioned before she saw the beaming headlights of a Mercedes. The car stopped and out popped Scott, in his best Burberry boxer briefs.
“Thanks, Uncle,” Scott smiled as he approached Mariana with handcuff keys in tow, “I’ll take over here now.”
F
OUR
Deborah Reed kept touching her French roll to make sure not a single hair was out of place. Her blonde coif was styled to perfection, and she needed to look great. She was the epitome of a Southern belle—the kindness of June Cleaver and the beauty of Lucille Ball. She didn’t wear jeans or pants. She wore skirts and dresses as every
lady
should.
She put on her Tiffany pearl earrings and a matching necklace. She had spritzed some Chanel on her clothing. Only a little, though. She wanted to be noticed, not nauseating.
She set the table earlier that afternoon and changed it no less than five times. This wasn’t just a simple family dinner; it was
the
dinner.
She lived in a medium-sized, two-story home a few miles away from downtown Decatur. She and Scott’s father had bought the home back in 1972 and paid $50,000 for it—an extravagant purchase for a young newlywed couple. It originally had three bedrooms and two bathrooms, and throughout the years the house had seen its fair share of renovations with an addition of a den, a laundry room, an extra bedroom, and a bathroom.
Scott wondered aloud why his mother needed all that room, and she always responded she was preparing for the future. To Scott, that was a not-so-subtle hint that his mother wanted him to move back home and finally give her grandbabies. She was fifty-six years old and only had fancy Tiffany jewelry to boast of. She needed something else to brag about to compete with those nagging fools at bingo every Tuesday.
It was Scott’s first trip back home in many years, and Deborah spared no expense in welcoming her only son back home. She took out her finest china and spent extra time creating his favorite childhood dishes—fried okra, fried chicken, cream cheese mashed potatoes, and baked macaroni and cheese. She would top it off with a red velvet cake and coffee.
Maybe the home-cooked meal would convince Scott to move back home.