Fair, it was incredibly fair and pale and beautifully white. She was a swimmer. Sex He set tea down on the coffee table long enough to pull the bookshelf away from the wall and allow his access to the heavy metal door cleverly concealed behind it. She was his payment for the hair on his body, for the white blood that corrupted him from a rape some time before the Civil War. He took a moment to make sure that the front door was locked and that the blinds were drawn. He had, honestly, hoped that she would be wearing a thong, but now that he saw her in those sensible and tight little white panties, he was pleased. Rebecca was screaming bloody murder, her tight little white body was shaking with fear and the force of her sobs and Malcolm hadn’t even started yet. He watched with glee as her cute, tight, white cotton panties moistened between her legs. Her breasts were nothing more than a handful, a little bigger than A-cups and a little smaller than B-cups. He pushed his finger inside and she threw back her head and howled into her gag again. She was helpless to clean it off. She had that New England Irish intelligence that didn’t come from brilliance as much as it did from the quick
