A week later, Larry Jefferson sat on the patio of his downtown apartment, reading the morning paper. He was a corporate attorney with a home office, so he had nowhere to rush to.

As he read, his attention was drawn to a short article with a photo of a face he recognized.

“Megan Witherby, the 15 year old daughter of James and Darlene Witherby, remains missing. Megan rose to prominence last month when she publicly criticized her father’s company, the General Bank, for a lack of diversity on its board. The Witherbys are one of the country’s most publicized families, bringing this missing persons case into the national spotlight. The prestigious Mount Coolidge Academy, where Megan was captain of the cheerleading squad, reports that it is in constant contact with the police and the Witherbys and is doing whatever it can to see Megan brought home safely.”

Larry shook his head in frustration, and grabbed his phone. He scrolled to a chat group he had with his friends, and typed.

“Yall see this morning story on that white bitch Witherby? Look how crazy everyone is going. Country will never learn yo. Racism is so deep that most think this is normal,” he wrote.

Larry saw that Jamal Davis, who reparated Megan at his house party, was typing a response.

“Yeah I saw. World’s crazy. Goes to show we havta double down. Black lives wont start mattering without action,” Jamal replied.

Larry responded with a thumbs-up emoji.

He had dedicated his life to community activism and moved in those circles. Injustice revolted him, so when his corporate day job gave him space, he also dabbled in civil rights law. White supremacy had kept its boot on the necks of his people for too long, and he’d be damned if he did nothing about it.

***

In his office across town, Joshua Kent was doing some reading of his own. His secretary, Samantha, had just delivered the police report on the deaths of John and Carla Travis, the father-daughter duo who died during the Black Lives Matter protest. Vanessa Carmichael, strategist for the Left Party, sat across his desk enjoying a cup of coffee.

Joshua took a sip of his own coffee as he looked at the case file.

“Case number: 2022CCUC0043

Case status: Closed

Date of filing: February 19, 2022

Investigator: Det. Carl Henderson, Special Victims Unit

Suspected Perpetrator(s): Larry Jefferson 28 (bm), unidentified accomplices

Victim(s): John Travis 48 (wm), Carla Travis 12 (wf)

Incident summary:

Victims were shopping in the downtown area when the January 6, 2022 Black Lives Matter riot (case number 2022CCUC0034) broke out, causing victims to attempt to hide from the carnage. Suspected Perpetrator was a participant in the riot and, according to witnesses, was accompanied by two other individuals, presenting as black females. Upon discovering the victims hiding in an alleyway off King George Lane, where the bulk of the riot occurred, Suspected Perpetrator and accomplices proceeded to beat both victims. Victim Carla Travis was additionally subjected to forced fellatio with Suspected Perpetrator. Victim John Travis was killed first, followed by Carla. Cause of death of both victims is severe blunt force trauma to the head by metallic objects, presumed to be baseball bats. Carla’s vagina and anus were additionally severely lacerated, both within and without, by the Suspected Perpetrator using a broken bottle of beer.

Investigator’s comments:

- Suspected Perpetrator was identified through DNA evidence (semen) obtained from Victim Carla’s stomach during autopsy.
- Suspected Perpetrator’s accomplices could not be identified.
- Two witnesses independently corroborated the incident report. One observed from a first floor apartment and the other from the street adjoining the alley opposite King George Lane.
- Investigators instructed to cease investigation and close the case file. Further investigation was terminated and no charges brought.”

As he read the file, Joshua, now annoyed, grabbed his red pen and started angrily drawing red lines through the word “riot,” writing “protest” above, and similarly crossed out each racial identification. Vanessa eyed him over her glasses.

“Ben just won’t listen, look at this mess,” he announced, throwing the file onto the desk.

Vanessa adjusted her glasses and took the file.

“‘Riot,’ seriously?” she asked, shaking her head. “And these repeated references to the supposed perpetrators’ race… Jesus, we have work to do with this particular police department.”

Vanessa’s eyes shot back up to an earlier part of the file: “Det. Carl Henderson, Special Victims Unit.”

“White girl dies: The police deploy a whole special unit to investigate. Typical,” she rolled her eyes.

“Right? And they would have had this Larry Jefferson in cuffs by now, interrogating him about the transgender persons who apparently accompanied him. Imagine that PR disaster!” Joshua replied, sighing. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, “and then… come November, you and I will be out of a job.”

Vanessa looked over at Joshua. In addition to being the country’s Attorney General, Joshua Kent was also the Left Party’s presumptive nominee for Prime Minister after the next election. He was her boss, and with any luck, he would give her a cozy government job if they made more electoral gains.

“Not if we can help it, Josh,” she said, placing down the case file. “It’s time to unveil our Social Criminal Justice initiative.”

“Isn’t it prema…” Joshua began saying as his intercom rang. He sighed.

“What?” he asked, pressing the button.

“Sorry for bothering you, sir,” Samantha said. “But Tracy is here and says your ex wife wants you to take her in.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he said, exasperated. Tracy was his 13 year old daughter. Her mother, his ex, was an unstable drunk, but he had ambitions and didn’t have time to care for needy brats. “Call her back and get her to come pick Tracy up.”

“I tried. Her number seems to have been disconnected,” his secretary said.

Joshua rubbed his eyes, sighing deeply. Vanessa picked up on his agitation and remained quiet. She silently twirled her pony-tail.

“This can’t be happening!” Joshua shouted and slammed his fist on his desk. “I need just one win.”

He looked to Vanessa.

“Let’s announce the fucking initiative!”

***

Larry was dispirited by the reaction to Megan Witherby’s disappearance. He was always a vocal champion of social issues and took oppression head on, but the relentless white preoccupation with their little princesses at the expense of black lives really weighed on him.

This concerned Cynthia.

Larry hadn’t spoken much to her that week, instead deciding to bury himself in his work. They texted, but she hadn’t had a good fuck in at least two days.

“Here for u babe,” she texted Larry when she heard Mark coming in the front door. Cynthia was lying on the bed in her bathrobe. She sighed and rolled her eyes, realizing she’d need to get her kicks from her husband today.

“No way I’m fucking him, though,” she mumbled silently to herself as she heard her husband walking down the hallway.

“Oh, hi honey,” Mark said, smiling, as he walked briskly into the room. “Didn’t think you’d be home.”

“Mmhmm,” she said, smiling friendlily to him as he walked past to their en suite bathroom.

Seconds later, she heard the toilet flush as he walked back out.

“How has your day been?” he asked.

“Needy,” she answered, biting her lower lip, eyeing him through some strands of the blonde hair covering her face.

“Oh?” he asked with interest, a naughty smile developing on his face. His dick started waking up.

“Drop ‘em,” Cynthia ordered. “Come on,” she hurried him, as she leaned back against the bed’s headboard, watching him closely.

Mark didn’t waste another second. He accepted any of the infrequent sexual advances he could get from her.

He unbuckled his belt and was out of his pants and underpants moments later. His 5-inch dick stood hard and at the ready.

Cynthia smiled gently, eyeing his cock and getting off the bed. She effortlessly let her bathrobe fall to the floor, revealing the naked body Mark very rarely got to see. His cock twitched.

She approached him and laid her hand softly on the top of his shaft, grazing her fingers along its length. This was nothing compared to Larry’s member, she thought. Even if she were to fuck Mark again, her pussy was so used to the thorough banging Larry had been giving her that it would be an unsatisfying experience for both of them.

Cynthia smiled at her husband, and circled her fingers around his dick.

She lightly tugged on the unimpressive penis, being careful not to grip, as she looked down at his balls. She raised an eyebrow and let go of his dick.

Mark sighed, as Cynthia looked back up at him and leaned toward him.

“Have you been cheating on me?” she whispered in Mark’s ear.

“What? No?”

“Your balls are not blue…” she indicated.

“Uh… what?”

“We haven’t fucked for months, at least, probably more than a year…” she reminded him. “How could your balls look this normal if we haven’t fucked?”

“I… I… uh, jerk off?” he said, almost as if he were asking her a question rather than answering her directly. He blushed.

“You bastard… You have been cheating on me… With your hand. That’s pathetic, but no less of a betrayal,” she said as she circled around him, tracing her index finger over his shoulder.

Mark wasn’t entirely submissive. He was on the verge of accusing Cynthia of cheating on him with an actual lover, but he stopped himself at the last second, succeeding only in letting out a whimper.

He knew Cynthia was cheating on him, or at least he thought he knew. She always went out late at night, overflowing with sex appeal, and returned, tired, early the next morning, often reeking of alcohol and sex. He stopped asking her about it some time ago. She always seemed sexually satisfied despite their sexlife being virtually nonexistent, but naturally he couldn’t prove that she was seeing another man.

“I’ll remember this, buster,” Cynthia teased as she walked gracefully back to his front. She looked Mark in the eyes, and without a word, nodded her head once. He knew exactly what that meant.

Cynthia leaned back and sat back down on their marital bed, spreading her legs.

Mark, hard as a rock, honed in on his wife’s waiting pussy. This was usually the closest thing he got to sex since Timmy was born. Even then, she mostly had him eat her out in the dark so he couldn’t see her privates. Today was a rare treat.

He spread her labia open and dove in with his tongue. At least he knew what got her off after much practice, leaving her satisfied. He, however, had to be content with his hand and some tissues afterward.

After about 5 minutes of cunnilingus, Cynthia grabbed a handful of his hair and pushed his face hard into her pussy. Her legs crossed behind his head and kept him close. His mouth was properly wet as pussy juice flooded out.

He knew he shouldn’t, but at that second he gripped his own cock and gave it a few quick tugs. Ropes of his own cum erupted onto the floor below as he groaned into Cynthia’s pulsing cunt.

As Cynthia’s grip of his hair loosened and her legs fell to his sides, they both panted for several seconds.

Cynthia laid back on the bed, letting go of his hair. “Clean it,” she said dismissively.

Mark sighed. He knew she hated seeing, hearing, or in any way experiencing him cumming. She had never prohibited it, of course, but whenever he came her sexual mood obviously took a downturn.

He stood up, only for Cynthia to turn on her side, with her back facing him. He got the message, shrugged, and went to the bathroom to collect toilet paper.

Mark loved her dearly, but more than that, he knew he should consider himself lucky for being married to Cynthia Smoak – she didn’t even take his last name – the supermodel that defined a whole generation. Her probable sexual adventures with someone else did bother him deeply, but not enough for him to risk breaking them up.

Above all, he knew divorce would be terrible for the children. Cynthia would not fight for custody – she had an involved, but compared to him quite distant relationship with their kids – but Mark knew that it would certainly be in their best interest for their parents to stick together.