Black Dragon Mafia

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Katherine learns a lesson about looking for trouble...
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GothVix
GothVix
24 Followers

The year is 1957; in a very small (fictional) town in California, women are vanishing in large quantities and no one is talking about it. Aspiring reporter Katherine Fisher is on the case to investigate, despite her colleagues, her boss, and even her straight-laced boyfriend tells her not to. Katherine is about to learn a valuable lesson; when you look for trouble, trouble is going to find you.

Hesterville, California, 1957

"Boss, you gotta put me on this story, I'm good for it! I got all the chops, I know the right words to say—"

"Look, Fisher. You bug me one more time about this story I'm going to strip you of your secretarial work. Your job is to smile, answer phones, and look pretty." My boss Mr. McGee tells me, blowing cigar smoke in my face. I cough, fanning away the smoke and fighting the urge to tell him off.

I'm tired of smiling and looking pretty; I applied to this job because I have a knack for writing. He knows I do; I sent him my writing, sent him stories I've covered, as well as a Bachelor's degree in Journalism from Massachusetts. I'm more qualified than half the men in here. He'd be a fool to not let me cover this story!

I hate that I have to beg him for shit like this; the story was supposed to be about a man who stole fifty-eight dollars worth of pornography magazines from the corner store six blocks down from where my job stood. I already interviewed eye witnesses, plus snagged a confessional from the suspect as well as a few comments from the officer who arrested him. I did tons of extra credit while the man who's supposed to be covering the story is busy trying to get me out of my pencil skirt. Creep.

Speak of the devil, here he comes, strolling in the office, not a care in the world that he's forty-five minutes late and hasn't had his work done by the deadline.

"Got the story, boss. Hello, Toots." He winks at me. I bite back a snarl and smile at him, tightening the sweater around my midsection. He digs into his suitcase and pulls out a pathetically thin stack of paper, littered with coffee stains and typos.

I swear to you my right eye started to twitch.

"Turns out the man that stole the pornos was a minister at some church three towns over. His name is...Franco Kaminsky or something Polish."

The man that stole the magazines was actually a Russian immigrant named Boris Kuznetsov who's a Catholic priest from the rural area of our town who stole the magazines to sway people from temptation. Kuznetsov's plan was to steal all of the magazines so he could burn them as a way to 'cleanse the sin out of literature'. Franco Kaminsky was a story that was covered two weeks ago about a drunk, who claimed he was Jesus, tried to impale himself with a cross so he could resurrect himself three days later.

He would know that had he done his research.

"Actually, Mr. Thomas, his real name is..."

"...Boris Kuznetsov." Mr. McGee interrupted. Snatching the notes I gave him, he handed them to Mr. Thomas.

"Someone else did extra credit for your story. These notes should save you the embarrassment."

"Thanks, chief!" Mr. Thomas replied.

"Yes, that someone is..." I chimed in.

"...I better see that story done by Monday or it's your ass!" Mr. McGee interrupted (again). My pig of a coworker smiled a wide smile and ran his happy self into his office.

"So, you're going to let him take credit for my work? Again?" I asked my boss. Mr. McGee puffed on his cigar.

"Look, sweetheart, you know how this business runs. The readers are not going to listen to what you, a black woman, have to say. Especially one that could lose a few pounds."

"Excuse me—"

"—I'll tell you this. You're lucky you got this job, considering all the other women I've passed up that would've been happy where you are and won't try to rock the boat. Do your job, keep your nose down, and smile. It's that easy. An easy paycheck." Mr. McGee said in a tone that made it loud and clear; I needed to stay in a woman's place.

"Thank you, Mr. McGee." I said, biting back the venom trying to come out.

"Good. Now go home. Your shift has been over. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Can you believe that guy? The nerve!" I cry. My boyfriend slices through the steak I cooked and nods his head.

My boyfriend had just come home from his campaign with Jimmy and desperately needed a beer with a nice plate of steak and potatoes and some quiet. I know he needs silence after a hard day's work but I needed to vent.

"I'm telling you, one of these days I'm going to tell him off!" I add, pounding the table.

"Katherine, don't pound the table. It's very unladylike." He says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. I take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, dear." I say.

"Just don't do it. And don't yell. Anger isn't becoming of a woman, especially my future wife."

"Okay..." I say. I reach for a beer, but his eyes make me stop myself. I grab the water instead.

"Have you ever thought about losing some weight?" he asks.

"Pardon me?"

"No offense, but the neighbors are talking. You're getting chunkier."

"You didn't have a problem with it when you were dating me."

"Well, since Jimmy and I are running for office, I can't do with having a partner by my side that doesn't look like the image of a First Lady."

"You're running for mayor. Not president of the United States." I throw my napkin on the plate.

"I've lost my appetite. I'm going to bed."

"Don't be like that, Kat."

I'm already storming down the hallways and slamming my bedroom door.

Image of the First Lady my ass. He knew I was no Skinny Minnie when he met me, but because he's running for mayor it's a problem?

My hands find themselves grabbing the noticeable pudge on my stomach, the lumps and rolls on my sides and back. My thighs, once thick and strong, feel like globs of fat and disgust. It's one thing to have your boss make comments about your size, but to have your own boyfriend?

"Katherine." I hear him say through the door.

"Come on, don't be like that. Open the door."

"Buzz off, Johnathan."

"I'm coming in, anyway."

He opens the door.

He's soaking wet, towel wrapped around his waist. I don't know if he took a shower at lightning speed or he wanted to get himself naked in an attempt to seduce me.

"My comments were not the best," he starts. I build up my reserve as he wraps his arms around me, kissing my cheek.

"Your comments were uncalled for, Johnathan. I didn't appreciate it." I fold my arms and turn my head.

"Well, let me make it up to you, love."

In a blur, I'm on my back, legs spread, and Johnathan thrusting into me like his life depended on it. This should be the part where I'm screaming and moaning over this, but I'm not. Yes, it feels good, but I feel...bored. I want him to bite my neck, to stimulate my clit, hell...talk filthy to me.

Nope.

He buries his face into my neck when he cums, sliding out of me and withdrawing the condom.

"Was it good?" he asks. I smile weakly.

"It was the best." I say. Satisfied, he slides on his boxers and turns on his side to sleep. I lie on my back, clit throbbing and sexual frustration ebbing through my body. I turn to him, who's snoring soundly, and slink my way out of bed. Throwing on a gown, a trench-coat, shades, and a scarf, I grab my keys to drive down the seedy part of town.

"Hello again." The clerk smiles at me, her tone lacking judgment.

"Can I get...issue #4?" I whisper to her. The clerk looks behind me, scanning back and forth before digging into her desk and pulling out the book. I slide her the five dollars.

"Fourth room on the right. And please," she says, "clean up your mess."

The room was lit red, with a chair and a box of tissues at the bottom. It reeks of sex, cum, and shame. My kind of room. Closing the door, I take off my trench coat and glasses. Sitting on the chair, I part my legs and flip open the book. In the first panel, I see a woman tied up, surrounded by naked men with hard dicks.

I feel myself getting aroused.

I flip through.

I pretend I'm the protagonist, begging to be let go, but silenced when someone shoves a dick down my throat.

I pretend it's Johnathan's; he's finally taking charge and doing the shit I like for once.

I stroke my clit, feeling myself get wetter.

The protagonist has three dicks shoved in all of her holes, her eyes hazy with ecstasy. I think about Johnathan, his running mate Jimmy, and that cute grocer down the street stuffing my throat, ass, and pussy and moan loudly.

I slide my fingers into myself, moaning loudly as my spots are hit and pleasured.

The pages got filthier, sinful; the ending page ends with the protagonist getting drenched in cum and that's when I lose it; I rub my clit at a rapid pace and cream all over my thighs and chair. Panting, I lick my cum off my fingers, grab the tissues and get to cleaning.

I exit the room, hand the clerk the book, and scurry out of the shop, promising myself to never go back again.

"Did you hear?"

I snap out of my daze. My neighbor Sheri is tapping my hand frantically.

"You remember Vanessa? That homebody no one talks to? Her husband has been looking for her." She tells me.

"What do you mean, her husband has been looking for her?" I ask.

"He said he hasn't spoken to her in weeks. One morning, he came home from work, and poof, she's gone. No note, no missing clothes, no trace of her. It's like she up and vanished."

"When did this happen?"

"About a week ago. He went in for questioning, but was released when the cops couldn't find any foul play. She's the fifth girl this month."

"Fifth girl?"

"Have you been living under a rock? Women have been vanishing off the face of the earth for months now. First it was two last month, three the beginning of this month, one three weeks later, and now Vanessa. Something's going on, and no one's saying anything." Sherri rings the front of her dress.

"I tried to tell the cops about it, but they shooed me away. Said I was telling stories."

Well, Sherri was the town gossip, so of course the cops wouldn't put it past her to make this stuff up. But something about what she said is sending chills down my spine.

"You think it could be a...killer?"

"Oh, heavens! I sure hope not!" Sherri says in a shaky voice.

"I'll be more careful. Be sure to lock your doors and windows at night until someone gets to the bottom of this." I tell her.

"And you do the same. I'll call you to check in every night. If I don't hear anything I'm calling the police." Sherri says. She clutches her necklace, biting her lip. She's visibly shaken. I pat her shoulder, reassuring her that everything is going to be okay while thanking whatever deity above for this.

I may have just found my way into my journalism career.

GothVix
GothVix
24 Followers
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3 Comments
Avidreader99Avidreader99almost 6 years ago
This is gonna be awesome

Great start I'm so looking forward to the next chapter! I'm Faving this!

Sammy1on1Sammy1on1about 6 years ago
Love!

Great start, I can't wait to see where this goes.

AnonymousAnonymousabout 6 years ago
Needed more

A good start but way to short . Please continue but make chapters longer

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