Bedlam

Her camera, a fickle friend, kept recording her abandonment of morals, her blackening on Jamal's cock.

"Dirty bitch, watchin' when you shoulda been playin' 'stead of giving me all those stuck up looks when I rolled on by" Jamal huffed as he drove himself into her. Maggie couldn't remember doing that, but then she couldn't remember much right now, her teeth felt like they were being rattled loose from her head as he pounded her mercilessly.

"Say it, say you a dirty bitch" he barked, a hand pawing at a fat tit.

"I'ma dirty bitch!" she wailed as he pinched a nipple hard.

"A dirty bitch dat loves cock," he continued.

"I love dirty bitch cock!" she babbled nonsensically as his cock triggered a micro-orgasm that once would have been classed as major by her, not anymore, not after the two huge ones he'd already released from her body.

His hand closed about her throat, squeezing her hard enough to get her attention, a sudden feeling of utter helplessness and fear that strangely drew her closer to another orgasm.

"Don't' fuck me around, get it right," he said, real anger in his voice.

"I'm a dirty bitch and I love cock, your cock," Maggie moaned, truth adding weight to the words.

Pleased with that he fucked her hard in silence for a few moments, Maggie tumbling internally to what she knew would be a cataclysmic climax. She felt from the way his cock seemed to inch ever further within her on each stroke that he was getting close to finishing as well. His cock felt like it was homing in on her womb, battering past her cervix as it sought proximity to her eggs.

"Black, you want black," he said, his own words juddering as they fell off his tongue, his control slipping now.

"I want, I want black," she repeated.

He grunted, losing his train of thought, his pleasure a physical impediment to his voice, all Jamal wanted to do now was slam his cock as hard, as fast as he could within her. His dark skinned, hunched over figure reminiscent of an artist imagining of a Minotaur, a fearful combination of man and bull. As he pounded on Maggie, that's what he was, a bull, a breeding bull.

"I want, I want black, black, black cock...uhhhhhhhhhh, fuck, fuck, fuck, Jesus fuck, Jesus, God, Jesus," Maggie lost control of her own tongue, it because as loose and confused as the thoughts in her head. While impending orgasm had left Jamal silent, it rendered her effusively garrulous.

"Black, big...uhhh big black cock, big black bastard...fuck...uhhh fucking me good. Big, oh God so big, black bare, fuck me bare.... Jesus you are fucking me bare...uhh, cum, cum in me, cum in me bare...uhhhh cumming, cumming on black......NNNuuugghhhlllfuf!" Maggie thought she'd be knocked clear off his cock as he exploded inside her. She knew it wasn't that powerful, wasn't that large an ejaculation. But it felt that way.

<0>

The camera doesn't lie. It doesn't take sides, offer opinions, judge actions. It doesn't see everything either. It missed Jamal spiking the refreshments. It failed to capture the avarice of Allen. It couldn't interpret the effect of ego on two rappers desperate for a second taste of fame.

The camera did record Mercedes and her bottled up desires. Long denied and long forgotten feelings for a rapper named Cill that she had idolized in her youth. Desires that once released were recorded for posterity.

The camera did reveal, to the husband of Victoria, that his wife was not always happy in their marriage. The biggest smile he had seen on her face since their wedding day portrait was when she had a foot of black cock pulsating inside her pussy.

The camera uncovered a side to Sophia that no one would have guessed at. Good things come in small packages; giant sluts apparently come in the shape of diminutive dancers at times.

Unexpectedly the camera recorded the person supposed to be in charge of it, showing a stunned Allen and John exactly what their coworker was made of. Revealing hidden talents, hidden depths to a person they thought they knew. Other hidden depths within her, these were well explored by Jamal's probing cock.

The camera informed as well. Olya's husband discovering its work a year later as he surfed the internet. Finding a clip of his wife, her body golden hued and perfect, splattered with semen as Cill and Krush double penetrated it, both black men flooding her with their tribute. Her husband had barely flinched at the scene culminated, his illusions shattered months before when his wife had presented him with another child, one who's dark skin marked him as another man's son.

Memory, truth, knowledge. The camera provided it all. The night, the hospital, the drugged drink, it provided unrestraint, chaos, bedlam.