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Message-ID: <63669asstr$1451211003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RavensDrkGothic@aol.com
Full-name: RavensDrkGothic
Subject: {ASSM} Afternoon at the Cinema
Lines: 175
Date: Sun, 27 Dec 2015 05:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Afternoon  Cinema Delight
 
    A long hard week, of business  meetings, made more ardous by the need 
to use a bit of makeup to try to hide the  obvious bruises on her face.  
Explaining to each person she met, about her  accidental falling down the 
basement stairs.  At least the swelling was  down by the time she had her first 
meeting in Milwaukee.  Nordberg would be  a nice addition to the list of 
clients for the firm.  Old established  machine shop, well much more than a 
machine shop.  Feeling good about the  initial meeting and having a feel for 
their needs and expectations.  Also  feeling good that she didn't bring any of 
her team with her for this initial  interview.  Wouldn't be the first time 
that she "fell down the basement  stairs" or anyway used that excuse.
    The weather a bit better than when  she left in the midst of a series 
of small snow storms.  Having to  reschedule her flight, because of that 
black bastard Mark, and find a pharmacy  for not only drugs and ointments; but 
also for cosmetics.  The flight was  uneventful, with no lonely man trying to 
pick up a battered woman.  Guess  that is the upside, of being beaten 
before you get on an airplane.  The day  of grace before the meetings, allowed me 
to do away with some of the stiffness  and pain in my body.  Not walking 
like I was fucked in the ass steady for  24 hours was a blessing.  Shaking my 
head thinking about that  night/morning.  Not even sure how many had fucked 
her after Mark left with  the black bitch.  Just knowing that every hole in 
her body was sore and  leaking sperm, black cock sperm.  At least satisfying 
to know that no white  cock had me.
    Drawn out of her revelry as she  navigates the tight streets of the 
lower Main Street neighborhood.  Seeing  the looks of the men and women of the 
mixed lower class community, as the big  SUV slowly cruises the streets.  
Pulling into the chain linked parking lot,  locking her vehicle and walking 
through the fence to the entrance of the  Checkered Lounge.  Her heels 
clicking loudly on the mostly dried  sidewalk.  Then moving slowly to the entrance. 
 Looking through the  grimy door.  Seeing Willie behind the bar, waving at 
him and walking  directly over to an opening, an empty stool.  Recognizing 
some of the faces  from the week before, seeing the grins on them.  Knowing 
that they had  fucked her, not because she allowed them; but because Mark 
gave her to  them.
    Shivering as she thought again of  that morning, looking at the table 
in the corner.  Wondering to herself,  how many had fucked her, how many had 
cum in her body.  Not a pleasant  thought, as Willie walked towards her, 
dragging his bar rag over the  mahogany.  In spite of the abhorent behavior of 
that night, feeling a moist  feeling between my legs. 
    "Welcome back, Missy Patrice, haven't  seen you in a week."  His eyes 
bright and wide in a knowing look.   Hearing a snicker or two from behind me. 
 "Do you look pretty as  always,"  his eyes taking in my outfit as I open 
my coat.
    "Is Mark here, Willie?"  The  question tentative, as he had not 
answered any of my text messages or phone  calls. 
    "He is out checking on things."   The word "things" meaning that he is 
checking his enterprises.  Meaning his  buisnesses.  Well that entailed 
quite a bit here.  Bars, pool halls,  theaters, massage parlors, crack houses, 
whores and drugs.  Quite the king  of the neighborhood.  "Let me reach out to 
him," Willie taking a cheap cell  phone and sending a message.  Fixing me a 
drink, nodding my head, as he  lifts a bottle of single malt scotch.  
Taking a quick gulp and then  sipping, waiting as I talk with Willie.  No one 
bothering me, not even the  black girls.  One of the perks of being a girl that 
Mark likes alot.   A few white women trying to catch the attention of the 
black studs, and the not  so stud blacks.  Just wanting, needing to feel 
those black arms, pulling  her tight against a hard black cock.  Shaking my head 
at those sad women,  then giggling to myself, as I realize I am one of them 
also.  Finally while  drinking my third scotch, did Willie nod to me as he 
answered his  phone.
   " Mark will meet you at the Liberty  Theater in about 15 minutes," 
relaying the information as he talks with  him.  "Oh, walk over there, he will 
pick you up."  Finishing my drink  as I think about that.  At least it is 
daylight, and only 5 blocks.   Nodding my head to Willie, touching his hand for 
a moment, and leaving some  money on the bar. 
    Buttoning my coat up against the cold  of the wind swept streets.  
Walking with a quick stride, the cold wrapping  around my lower legs and 
chilling them, even under my skirt.  Cursing Mark,  knowing that I am not prepared 
to walk the snowy cold streets.  Catching  glances from the people loitering 
on the blocks.  The light from the winter  sun bright; but not flattering 
to the "Mean Streets of Poughkeepsie." Most are  wondering what a well 
dressed woman is doing in this neighborhood.  Most  thinking I am a lawyer or cop. 
 Not dressed to be a hooker.
    After a brisk, walk of less than 10  minutes, pulling on the door to 
the theater, and sliding into the older theater,  now converted to a series of 
smaller showing areas.  Taking a breath of the  stale musty air, wishing I 
had another breath of the cold air to clean that air  from my lungs.  In 
spite of the local and state laws, the woman behind the  counter was smoking a 
cigarette.  "That will be $10 or $20 if you are  staying all day."
    Shaking my head, "I am waiting for  Mark."  Looking at me then nodding 
to a corner alcove, "he isn't here yet,  but thanks for the heads up."  A 
wry smile on the woman's face for a  moment.  At least in the alcove it was 
semi-warm, shivering a little as I  look around.  The ticket lady, the 
concession stand, the patrons wondering  in, paying their money.  Not much you 
would expect from a down and out  theater.  Most no buying anything as they walk 
past me,  giving me a  look.  Wondering as they look at me from the nose 
down, not meeting my  eyes; but taking in everything else.  Mostly men, some 
with a woman on  their arm, not really a date, so much as the woman is a 
"date."  I guess a  semi-warm theater is better than an alley or a storefront.  
Especially in  the afternoon. 
    Finally after more than an hour  waiting, a tall black man pushes 
through the glass doors of the theater.  A  couple of other men behind; but my 
eyes only on him.  Mark.  His eyes  catching mine as I step out of the alcove. 
 As expensive as my coat was,  Mark's had to be worth 10 times that.  
Walking quickly to him, feeling a  flush of excitement, as he wraps his arms 
around me, his thick lips finding mine  and kissing me deep.  My lips parting 
and tongue, tasting him, rubbing  against him as my fingers stroke the thick 
muscles of his neck.  Feeling my  body trembling, not from the cold; but from 
being with him, his touch, his  look.  Knowing that he finds me attractive, 
as my hand slides under his  coat.  Smiling as I confirm my thoughts.  His 
thick shaft, tenting his  slacks, pushing against my hand.  Pulsing as I 
stroke along it.   Feeling myself flushing again.  Looking at the cashier, 
seeing her look of  disapproval.
    "I can see you are glad to see me  baby."  His self assured words 
telling the whole story.  Moaning  softly as his hand slide down my back to the 
back of my thighs, then up again,  his big hands, cupping my ass cheeks.   
Oooooooo. Moaning as I lean  against him, pulled against his body.  Then 
quickly swatting my ass, not a  little bit hard.  Taking my arm and pulling me 
along with him.   Stepping quickly as he goes behind the counter,  rummaging 
through a boxes  of clothing.  Pulling out a wrinkled dress, handing it to 
me.  "Put it  on bitch."  His voice harsh, as I look up at him.  "How many 
fucking  texts and phones messages did you leave me?"
    Stepping back, shocked by his  rage.  "I just wanted to let you know, I 
would like to see you."  My  lower lip trembling, my heart beating faster.  
My left arm flinching as I  thought I detected movement of his right arm.  
"Well, you are seeing me you  little black cock cunt.  I thought I made it 
clear to you the other night,  that you don't possess me or have any call on 
me."  His right arm, moving  slightly.  My left arm moving up defensively, 
then feeling the slap against  my right cheek.  "Ahhhhh."  The moan quick and 
loud, following the  slap on the still bruised cheek.  Tears quickly 
pooling in my eyes.   Staggering back, and pulled close again as his right hand 
grabs mine.   Fingers in a tight ring around my upper arm.
    "Now put that dress on you fucking  white whore."  His words loud in 
the almost empty lobby.  His men  watching, the clerk furtively glancing to 
the front door and then back behind  the counter.  Feeling his fingers 
tightening as I hesitate.   "Do.  It. Now." each word loud distinct and menacing.  
Dropping the  dress on the counter.  My fingers fumbling with the buttons on 
my long  black winter coat.  Folding it and placing it on the counter top.  
 Then after a moment, my fingers reaching to my lavender blouse.  Undoing  
the buttons with nervous fingers.  My eyes watching his, seeing a flicker  
of excitement, as my small breasts are exposed.  The swollen nipples  
sticking out, as I slide the blouse down my shoulders.  Pulling it from my  skirt 
waist.  Looking with fear at Mark, and with excitement, as my fingers  reach 
to the button on my black wool skirt.  Undoing it and then the  zipper.  
Pushing it over my hips, then down my long legs.  Exposing  the white hips and 
thighs, framing the lavender thong.  The string ties in  neat bows, mewling 
softly, as I see his eyes, look down at my mound.  At  the pouty lips barely 
covered, and then at the wet spot as he prods my legs  open.  Hearing a 
soft laugh from one of the men behind him, looking at him  and then the other 
man and then the cashier.  The woman turning away to  take cash from a man 
entering the theater, stopping to look at me behind the  counter, through the 
glass, and then walking quickly into the theater as one of  the men stares 
at him.
    Gulping quietly, as I step out of the  skirt, and fold it with the 
blouse, neatly on the counter.  My naked  breasts rising a falling quickly, 
nipples fully distended from the small  mounds of my chest.  Rolling my thighs 
highs down my long legs, and  balancing on one hell and then the other, as I 
fold them on top  of my  clothing.  Stepping back into my heels, naked, 
exposed in the lobby of the  adult theater.  Not daring to cover myself as I 
look at Mark, the  customers, sidling past, looking; but not lingering. 
     Mark's hand reaching  forward.  Long strong fingers extending, gently 
touching the warmth of my  still red cheek.  Stroking gently, shifting my 
head, as I moan and rub on  his fingers.  Knowing I am a pathetic white woman, 
just a white pawn to  this black king.
    His other hand reaching to the  wrinkled dress on the counter, handing 
it to me.  "Put it on baby."   His voice so soft, so gentle.  Taking the 
dress, and old house dress, and  pulling it onto my arms.  Then slowly 
buttoning it from bottom to  top.  His fingers still stroking my cheek, cupping my 
chin, as I look at  him.  His other hand undoing his winter coat.
    Laughing softly.  "Patrice, you  don't look like that confident up and 
rising white business woman; but you look  like a middle age housewife, 
waiting for her white little cocked husband to come  home."
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