The Polished Glass 05
The Incident
Meredith continued to worship Joy in secret from her window. Every time she was gooning in the daytime, she would keep an ear out for Joy. She would then quickly scoot over to her window and peep out the curtains while masturbating and fully nude.
She was hoping to just catch a glimpse of Joy. She wanted to see what she had on, what she did with her hair. It was all so thrilling for Meredith. She absolutely loved getting sexually aroused by black women even if they were dressed normally. Doing this and watching porn was her only hobby now.
Because of her newfound obsession, she started adding black Instagram models to her rotation of porn clips to watch. These custom curations featured black women dressed in their best. Sometimes business attire, workout sessions, and of course the more suggestive outfits guiding their followers to their paid adult content. Meredith would spend hours naked in her gooncave taking it all in.
It felt so right and perfect to worship porn in the nude even if her goddesses were wearing clothes. She loved feeling inferior to them. Her everyday life was full of control and intimidation. At home, gooning nude until she faded to nothing was always her goal. However, soon, just getting fleeting glances from Joy was not enough. She decided to venture out and find new opportunities to see black women. Maybe one day she will actually have a chance to interact with one normally.
Meredith decided to start grocery shopping. Usually, she pays for delivery. Her old self really couldn’t be bothered with going into a store, but the opportunity of seeing a black woman was too appealing not to try. She decided to start shopping at upscale grocers not because she needs to—her pantry is already stocked—but because the produce aisle could be fertile ground for her secret obsession.
She spots the young black lady the second she enters: maybe late twenties, wearing leggings that cling to soft hips, braids pinned up in a careless crown. The woman is bagging apples, scrolling her phone with long, almond-tipped nails.
Meredith’s pulse thumps between her legs. The dull ache of arousal grows into a needy throb.
She doesn’t need apples. She needs her.
She circles the aisle twice, pretending to examine tomatoes, her chest buzzing. The familiar frost slides over her face—the brittle shield she’s honed for decades. The Karen mask. She waits for the moment the woman steps aside, distracted. Meredith wedges her cart too close. A light bump.
“Excuse me,” the woman mutters, polite, ready to let it slide.
Meredith won’t let it slide. She wants the heat. She enacts her plan.
“You should watch where you’re going,” Meredith says, voice sweet but sharp as a tack.
The woman blinks. “I was watching. You hit my cart.”
“I don’t appreciate that tone. You people—” Meredith lets it hang there, vile, bait. Her belly coils.
It works. The woman’s eyebrows shoot up. Her voice rises—good.
“Oh hell no. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, lady? You need to back up—”
Meredith’s thighs press together under her skirt. The words pour over her like her favorite porn audio. That voice. That power. That righteous fury she’ll never own herself but craves with every secret nerve ending.
A manager appears. There’s a fuss. People stare. Meredith soaks it in, a filthy sponge. Look at me, she thinks. Hate me. Hate works. Hate is real.
She’s asked to leave, a calm security guard steering her cart away. The black woman’s final words echo behind her—“You racist bitch, don’t come back!”
Meredith feels her clit throb as the glass doors slide open. The sun hits her face—she’s soaking wet. Meredith gets in her car and drives away, but she doesn’t wait to get home.
Instead, she finds a parking lot a few blocks away. In her car, tinted windows rolled up tight, she opens her phone. Her screen flickers to life full of private folders full of her favorite porn clips saved on her phone. She started curating these a long time ago when she needed her porn fix on the go.
Meredith’s hand dives under her skirt, her breath cracking. She’s never masturbated in public before, but the incident she caused, the degradation, the sheer beauty of experiencing that black woman’s energy… all of it was just so intense. She had to pleasure herself.
In the heat of the moment, she came fast—too fast—but it’s not enough. She had to get home to porn. She drives home on trembling legs, juices sticky on her thigh, replaying the woman’s voice in her head like a hymn. Her hand drifted between her legs as she navigated traffic.
By the time her garage door seals her inside, she’s halfway undone again. Upstairs, the blackout porn shrine waits. A trail of clothing from the garage to the stairs is left behind. In her room awaits more porn. More tabs. More black goddesses. The mask can crack now. The Karen in aisle six is gone. The naked porn worshiper is here. Meredith wants nothing more than to be the naked black porn worshiper forever.
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