”“Really?” Samantha asked.“Yes.”Samantha had anticipated that reaction from Dexter, although not with the kind of emotion he had exhibited. ...he had put him on that machine, assuming that he would prefer the next machine more.She pointed over to the stationary bike.“Try that one.”Dexter climbed on the bike and started to pedal. He had been on it for about two minutes when he stopped.He looked over at Samantha and said, “I don’t like this one, either.”“I thought you liked riding a bike,” Samantha. Several double brandies later he was just as confused, but the drink fogged his mind. It was easier now through a layer of drink to remember the scene of his daughter beneath the corpulent though vigorously thrusting African who had just so politely and courteously kissed her hand.A scene cursed his mind. A man should not be aroused by the sight of his own daughter being fucked by a randy middle aged fat man. A black man at that, but the sight of his daughter being fucked in his own bed two. More

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