Lyle’s erection never fades. As he listens to Kirsten’s voice it fills painfully with blood until it is so hard that he can feel his heart beating...in it. She seems to be speaking as they fuck, but her words are all but lost in the rhythm of the bed and only their tone reaches him. She is pleading with the black man, begging for him to fuck her. He can hear the word fuck each time she gasps it.The black man fucks her. Gripping her shoulders, he takes her roughly from behind. He is not a rough. Her hair was crudely chopped off, tangled and filthy, her skin grimy, her cheekbone bruised, her lips split and puffy, her clothes little more than rags. Her wrists were thin and her jaw line sharp."I remember you, at the widow's farm, in that front bedroom," I said, thinking of her lovely face distorted in passion, her body heaving beneath me. "I hope you haven't forgotten." Somebody else, sir," she said, wiping her mouth with her hand and tearing off another hunk of bread. "Never saw you. More

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