Carla was humming a tune as she soaked in the bubbly-filled bathtub. Long John could not quite make out the melody until Carla finally began to bellow out at least some of the correct lyrics.

"Tonight, tonight, how many will I fuck... tonight?"

Long John O'Tool, erotica author of nearly a hundred interracially explicit fuck books laughed as Carla resumed humming with la-la-la lyrics. He was amazed at Carla's willingness and sheer ability to have another experience like the one she had had the night before on their first visit to The Zebra Lounge.

Tonight would be different for Long John; at least he hoped it would be. Tonight he wanted to try to have a conversation with the club's owners. He almost wished that Carla would admit that she was just too fucked out from the night before to get out of bed.

He remembered the young girl Christine's confusion when he asked what a single white man's membership fee cost. Yeah, he realized, business or not I definitely need to bring Carla with me. I'm sure she will find something to keep her occupied.

*****

Coach was busy doing his regular pre-opening task list, ensuring that he had a full crew of servers, bartenders, and security people to handle tonight's crowd. It was Saturday and Saturday's were always the busy night at The Zebra Lounge.

He had paperwork chores to tend to as well. Mark had key indicators that he followed and one of those was the guest count. Mark wanted to know how many people came in as a head count, how many of them were white couples, how many black singles, and how many white single women.

What amused Coach was when Mark would inevitably speculate on how many white pussies were fucked by black dicks either at the club itself or outside later that night, after connections had been made within. Mark's formula started with the white female count. The assumption was that for each white pussy, you added one black on white fuck. Next, the he assumed that two men fucked half the white pussies. The third metric was to estimate that ten percent of the white pussies were gang-fucked by an average of five black dicks. There was also an alcohol adjustment factor that added an extra percentage based on the total night's accumulated liquor sales; the more liquor served, the higher the percentage of white pussy penetrations.

Each night, Mark would spend an hour going over Coach's reports, using his calculator and jotting down the total into a ledger he maintained.

"What's it add up to?" Coach would ask.

"Believe we generated four hundred and thirty eight fucks last night,"

"So, what's the total now," Coach would ask.

"Puts us over eight thousand since we opened."

"Hmmm, about fourteen total miles worth of big black pipe laid huh?" Coach would add.

"Yeap, sounds right," Mark would agree, "and at the rate we're going now, bet it adds up to over a hundred miles worth by this time next year. We're a fucking social phenomena."

Coach could never get over Mark's maniacal preoccupation with interracial sex. "The man is a true sexaholic," he told his brother Randolph one afternoon between holes on the back nine.

"Yes he is, but Marlene, that's some sweet pussy!" Randolph added.

"And don't we both know that," laughed Coach.