1. THE 'N' WORD...a prologue of sorts

Setting the tone of a class is critical, especially in college.  Most
students don't want to be there and in today's information-now-world a
professor must not just be an old-school lecturer.  We must be engaging, we
must be controversial.

So a couple of weeks into my freshman class on Race and Ethnicity I usually
drop the bomb on them by walking in and writing the word "Nigger" on the
board.  The response is always the same: gasps followed by utter silence.
I wait, letting the word and the silence linger there.  Finally I ask, a
group of sixty freshmen, mostly white, with a few Asians and three blacks,
"Who can say the word Nigger?"

Silence lingers throughout the room.  Sixty students' eyes fixed on the
40-year-old black female professor who has just asked them the most
controversial question possible.

When no one answers, I go through a lengthy history of the word in language
and Black identity.  I ask the question again, the history lesson now done,
"Who can say the word Nigger?" I scanned the room, gauging the reaction of
my stunned students.

A black girl, Carrie, a jock on a basketball scholarship, finally breaks
the lengthy silence, "Black people."

I smile, because that is always the first answer.  I push, "Why only Black
people?"

She responds, "It is clearly racist if any other race says it.  But if a
Black person uses it, it is usually ok."

"I see," I say, thoughtfully.

Mike, another black student, adds, "I'm Black and I would never use such a
word.  It is an insult to our race, our history and how far we have come."

"Interesting," I agree, but attempt to push the envelope, "but what about
thoughts from our other races?"

Finally, Emily, a shy blonde girl puts up her hand and whispers, almost
embarrassed to speak, "I could never say the 'N' word."

"Why?" I probe.

She looks around the room. "It would offend someone."

"But don't many words offend people?" I ask.

"I suppose," she whispers, clearly wishing she hadn't spoken.

I break eye contact with the embarrassed girl and continue, "There are many
words that offend people.  For example, who has used the word faggot?"

A few brave students raise their hands.

"Queer?"

A few again raise their hands.

"Dyke?  Bitch?  Whore?" I give them the list.

Miko, an Asian student who has spoken intelligently on almost every issue
the first two weeks of class, speaks up, "Those are all offensive, but they
are not race words, they are sexual words.  If the 'N' word is offensive,
which it is, what about the word 'Chink' or 'Gook'?"

I nod my head, "They too are offensive and could easily be added to this
conversation.  But for now let's stick to the one word, Nigger."

A student, who has never spoken before, a nerdy looking white boy, is the
first to use the word, "It is 2012, and the word Nigger is just as
offensive as the other words mentioned."

"Agreed," I say, but continue to push their thinking, "yet, no one refers
to faggot as the the "F" word, although I guess there is another "F" that
fits that isn't there?''  This gets a solid laugh from the group and seems
to relax them just a bit.  "My point is, the word Nigger has become a
category of its own, hasn't it?"

Madison, a very pretty blonde, asks, "Professor Jefferson, isn't this
conversation an insult to you personally?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, knowing full well what she means.

"Well, the use of the word Nigger," she says, her voice stressing the word,
"is clearly offensive when said by a white person towards a black person,
regardless of the context."

I smile, attempting to distance myself from the word. "I don't enjoy
hearing the word used, even by fellow black people, or the way black
stand-up comedians like Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy use it so liberally for
laughs, but in a class discussion like this, the word takes on a different
context.  One where the word distances itself from the negative
connotations it has historically symbolized."

I noticed an odd smile cross her face, one that I could not read.  My
answer seems again to lighten the tension in the room and the conversation
opens.  For the remainder of the period, the discussion goes on with a few
more students responding and one more actually using the word.  Most
continue to call it the 'N' word and even then, they look down, avoiding
eye contact with me when they imply the taboo word.

The conversation evolved into clothing and fashion and I pointed out,
"There are two polar opposites of appearance and the impact it has on black
image.  For one, I dress a certain way to create a persona that will be
taken with respect.  A respect that is much harder to earn than if I was
the same age, similarly educated and white.  On the other hand, the rap
culture, gangsta rap and the glamorization of thugs, pimps and hoes to the
cultural mainstream manifest another image.  In reality, the vulgarization
of popular culture, and the sexual objectification and degradation of
females, goes back through the history of blues, rock and roll and r & b."

After a few more minutes of frank discussion, as students debated who was
to blame for today's excess sexuality, Madison asks another
question. "Professor Jefferson, is that why you always dress so properly?
To become more white?"

That surprises me, but I explain. "Not to be more white, but to be seen as
an equal to whites.  How one dresses defines, at least in some respects,
who one is."

Madison reflects on this briefly before saying, "So how does what I wear
define who I am?"

I pause, knowing the answer could be very judgmental. "Well as young adults
you dress casually because in this school setting that is the norm and you
are less likely to be judged."

"But you are judging me now," she points out.

"Touch?," I reply, "but only because the question was asked. The point I am
attempting to make is that how you dress is part of your culture.  Students
dress casually at school because that is the norm, yet these same students
will dress much more provocatively when they go out to a party."

"Fair enough," Madison agrees, before adding, "but the stereotype you just
created is not race based."

"True," I conclude, "but the end result, even in this faculty, is that as
one of the very few black professors, I feel it is important to dress the
part."

"Even though your husband doesn't?"

I look up, as did my class, unsure who said that.  Unsure who it was, I
explain, not liking the way this conversation has led to me personally,
"Well first of all, he is my ex-husband, but we will not go into the
details of that.  Secondly, you have just made my point.  As a white
professor, and a male, Professor Hamilton doesn't have to earn the respect
the same way I feel I do. I know that sounds sexist and racist, which I
suppose is how it will be taken, but I am trying to be totally honest with
you."

"But Conner doesn't try to make a statement, he is just who he is," the
same boy explains.  I recognize him as a player on our basketball team, a
team my ex sometimes assistant coaches.  I am immediately envious of the
first name familiarity this student has with my ex. I try to brush the
jealousy away, but my hatred for my ex bubbles just below the surface.

With only a few minutes left, I hear Emily arguing with Madison.  I ask,
"And what seems to be the problem?"

"My sister won't even utter the word Nigger, even after the conversation we
have just been having," Madison explains, revealing a new piece of
information to me.  Although they both had the same name, their very
different demeanors had me assuming they were cousins at best.

Emily, her voice slightly shaky, "It's not that I am incapable of saying
the word.  It's I refuse to say it.  The word is offensive to many and thus
I will not say it...ever."

Madison glaring at her sister, her tone suddenly angry, threatens, "We will
see about that."

I smile at her stubborn morality; I respect it.  She understands who she is
and doesn't break when pressed by her clearly dominant sister.  "Of
course," I explain, "it is much bigger than that.  I have met many people
who are racist towards the black race or any race for that matter, even
though they don't say the word.  The word, like many others, has evolved
into a derogatory term that will never change."

"Exactly," Emily agrees, glaring back at her sister.

Madison adds, "So if I say Nigger I am racist and if I don't say Nigger I
may still be racist."

She is now liberally using the word Nigger, and I try to get a grip on the
conversation. "No, that was not the message I was trying to get across.  I
was simply implying that racism is much bigger than the use of a derogatory
word or not."

Emily, on a roll now, as if trying to stand apart from her overbearing
sister, continues, "Plus, I like the way you dress Professor Jefferson.  I
don't see it being about race, but rather about respect and authority. You
demand respect by how you dress.  When a professor comes to class in shorts
and flip-flops I have a hard time taking them seriously.  All I wonder is
why am I paying 400 bucks to take a class with someone who doesn't take
their job seriously."

Madison, her face going redder, clearly not used to being contradicted by
her sister, says, "So Professor Jefferson is a better teacher than
Mr. Hamilton because she dresses better?"

"Yes," Emily confidently says.

"So you are against using the word Nigger because it is racist, but you
have no problem judging a qualified professor based on his dress?  How
hypocritical."

I break the sisterly disagreement.  "I think we are getting off topic.  And
I definitely don't want to get into a conversation about the quality of our
professors based on clothing.  Regardless of our disagreements, I have no
doubts about the competence of Professor Hamilton."

Madison, ignoring my attempt at closure, pushed the envelope, "If Professor
Hamilton was not here, and there were no African American students, many
here would have no problem saying Nigger.  Some would even use it in a
blatantly racist way."

"I wouldn't," Emily counters.

Madison keeps going, her words dripping condescending superiority, "Oh I
know you wouldn't.  But I know many in here would.  I have heard the word
used hundreds of times in my life."

Looking at the clock, I decide the point has been made and I wrap up my
lecture.  "Our time is almost up.  I hope you understand the point of this
lesson.  Every one of us comes from different pasts, different histories,
pasts and histories that have helped develop your values and beliefs.  And
as we move forward in this course, you have to be able to be aware of your
personal values and respect others.  The reality is the word Nigger will
always be offensive when used in a derogatory context. But it is only
through discussion and respect that we can ever move forward."

I dismiss the class and watch as Madison and Emily are arguing the whole
way up the stairs.  I consider intervening, but it is not my place.

When I look back now and try to pinpoint when my fall began, it always
comes back to this lesson.  I didn't know it at the time, but from this
moment on Madison's respect for me changed.  She always looked at me smugly
and I always felt like she was assessing me in a way I could never fully
explain.

Oddly on occasion, Madison would pop up in my dreams.  I never remembered
them completely, I never do, but it seemed she always was in control,
always smiling smugly and always flaunting her superiority over me.
Looking back now, clearly it was my subconscience warning me of what was to
come...but I missed it completely until it was far too late.

amiH

2. A SHORT HISTORY OF ME

To tell my story, my unbelievable story, my fall from grace, my complete
and utter humiliation, my loss of dignity and my ultimate complete sexual
satisfaction, I must let you know who I am as a person.

My name is Felicia Jefferson, a name that goes all the way back to my
ancestor's white master hundreds of years ago.  I am 40, 5'6" tall and my
figure is 38D-28-40. Obviously my breasts have been the center of attention
since I was a teen. They are both a blessing and a curse.  I work out
regularly (have for decades), both for stress relief and to keep fit, so
I'm firm and in pretty good shape, if I do say so myself. Some sag and
jiggle of course, with gravity and three kids, but I look younger than my
age. Large brown eyes, naturally long lashes, prominent cheekbones, and
large luscious lips that all my men have loved. I keep my hair straight,
black (no tints or dyes), shoulder length (professional styles; not
natural, but no weaves, braids, dreads, or curls). I have chocolate brown
skin, smooth, few wrinkles but not many age wrinkles (just crow's feet), no
stretch marks, dimples in all four cheeks (face cheeks and ass cheeks), and
no cellulite.  In truth, for my age, I am told I am still very attractive,
although I hadn't felt very attractive after my second divorce and
relatively long dry spell.

The dry spell was for a variety of reasons, but the main two were my
professional career and my upbringing had prevented me from being remotely
outgoing. I was raised to be a prim and proper girl, a black girl living in
a white man's world.  My early blossoming in the chest brought me tons of
unwanted attention and I won't even go into the details of the sexual
harassment I endured from a very early age. I did learn to hide my body as
best I could and focus on my studies if I was going to be successful. So I
became a typical compulsive over-achiever, workaholic, with the tendency to
take work and myself too seriously, always restless to test myself at
something new, thus sacrificing my personal relationships. I always had to
prove myself.

I'm a professor, specializing in gender and race/ethnicity studies. I also
have a law degree, have worked both in the State Attorney's and Public
Defender's offices, both briefly, as well as in non-profit firm, partnering
with two other female attorneys, worked in my first ex-husband's law firm
while teaching part-time at a small law school; got my Master's and
Ph.D. in Sociology, and finally got tenure a few years ago.  I now head the
race/ethnicity division of the Gender Studies program, where my most recent
ex still works, under me.

I am rather stern, prim and proper, and dress that way too for the most
part. I wear business suits with matching jackets and skirts (rarely dress
pants; not often pants of any sort; mostly skirts and dresses, none too
short or tight) and mostly standard, basic colors (black, grey, tan or
cream; nothing too bright or loud or garish). Even most of my undergarments
are rather staid, at least by today's standards. Basic colors again, mostly
white and black, a few mauve and lavender. Like my outerwear, no prints or
loud or garish colors. I do have push up bras, and even some demi-bras,
half-cup, shelf cup, I am embarrassed to say, mostly from ex-husbands or to
cater to their tastes for lower cut tops or dresses and some cleavage
revealed. Which was also the source of the few thongs I still own, along
with two garter belts (white and black), and lace-top thigh-high
stockings. I do hate pantyhose, I must confess, and have worn the stockings
to avoid them when not going bare legged. I have some black slips and white
slips (full and half) for my business suits and some dresses, but most of
my panties are either white bikinis or white briefs (several "granny
style").

Due to my stuffy professional personality, my actual sexual experiences as
an adult have been very restricted. I was morally rigid and sexually frigid
with both my husbands, with very limited dating before, between or since my
marriages.  In retrospect such a standoffish attitude was at least partly
to blame for the collapse of both my marriages.

At 40, I had long accepted myself for who I was and didn't expect to
change.  I had tried to be more open with my second husband, I had tried to
let go of my insecurities and my feminist ways, an odd contradiction I
know; but in the end I had never been able to free myself of the invisible
chains holding me back...and then came Madison.


3. OUT OF THE BLUE

I was teaching a class on cultural patterns in this country, about a month
after my 'N' word lesson.  The course analyzed many aspects of cultural
diversity in an attempt to break down racial barriers and understand the
difficulties that still exist in true equality, regardless of the civil
rights movement and having our first Black President. The reality is we are
still a far cry from equality and abolishing racism.  Further into the
first term, we get into the nitty-gritty of the course.  For example, I
talk about rape and the fact that it is not perceived as a crime the way it
should be and that some countries actually encourage and justify rape, or
at the very minimum turn a blind eye.  I point out how defendants on trial
for rape are generally better off with females on the jury because female
jurors are more likely to subconsciously decrease their fear of rape by
looking for things the victim did that put her at risk (where she was, who
she was with, what she was wearing, all the "she asked for it").  I also
teach about how rape of black females (or males for that matter) was not
prosecutable from slavery through the era of Jim Crow laws until later in
the 20th century, and still is reflected in even lower rates of prosecution
for rape among black women than women generally.

The students' personal research papers, worth 30% of their final grade, are
assigned half way through the course and due a month from the end of the
term.  The days after the papers were assigned, Madison Adams, a C student
so far and one who had challenged my lectures ever since the 'N' word
lecture, came to my office.  Dressed in a casual t-shirt and jeans, with
her blonde hair in a ponytail, she asked, her tone implying her superiority
over me, "Professor Jefferson, I want to do a rather intriguing, but
potentially controversial topic."

I was curious, as I usually get the same generic essay topics. I asked,
"What do you have in mind, Madison?"

"It is Ms. Adams, actually," she responded, a condescending look plastered
on her face.

"Sorry, Ms. Adams," I apologized, slightly uncomfortable and threatened by
the young confident white student.

"That's better," she replied, her tone still implying a class distinction
between her and me.  "I want to write her research paper on 'Visual Sexual
Harassment'."

Unsure where she was going with this, I asked, "And what exactly do you
mean by that?"

She explained, "After listening to all your lectures on sexual harassment,
I have realized that many girls, especially young girls like myself, are
disrespected based on our good looks and that staring, gazing, and leering
constitute sexual harassment."

I was intrigued, thinking back to the way I was treated by men, mostly
white men, ever since I was a young blossoming girl.  I agreed, but warned,
"Well, that is a very interesting topic, but quality research will be very
difficult."

She shrugged, her tone still displaying the vaguest hint of superiority,
showing the upper-class white-girl snobbish mentality I had experience my
entire life. "I already have some research under way."

"Ok, go for it, Ms. Adams, I am looking forward to your research."

"I bet you are," she scoffed, and exited before I had time to process her
implication.

After she left, I tried to figure out what had just transpired.  Clearly
she had treated me with a lack of respect.  I wondered if it was because I
was black.  Deciding the thoughts of one student were not enough to bring
me down, I reflected on her topic some more.  It goes both ways, I
reflected.  There are a surprising number of pretty female students who
wear jeans and t-shirts to class except on test days, when they come
scantily attired in mini-skirts and low-cut tops, even for female
professors and even when the tests are machine graded.  Setting
heterosexual male professors aside, even for heterosexual female and
feminist professors, it is difficult not to look.  Your eyes just gravitate
to what is being so provocatively put on display.

My thoughts were disrupted by another girl, Miko Mora, a light skinned
Asian, who came and asked if she could do her project on power based by
race and how it impacts the class system. Again, I was intrigued; knowing
she was a very strong student and it would be a good read, of which I got
very few.  Miko was also one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen in
person.  An American-born Asian, with big eyes, big breasts and butt, rare
in Asian girls, and long thick black hair.  It was like she had the body I
wished I had and the brains to go with it.  She was also always smiling and
oddly always sat with the rather dim-witted Madison, her polar opposite.

The very next day in class I saw a new Madison that continued over the next
three weeks.  Gone was the t-shirt and jeans she usually wore, except on
exam days, and instead she was dressed in a micro-mini skirt and a low cut
blouse that did nothing to hold in her clearly braless breasts.  She also
now sat in the very front row with her pretty girl posse (Madison, Miko,
and Ashley Washington, a pretty, big busted brunette).  As I lectured, I
was greatly distracted by the constant crossing and uncrossing of Madison's
legs and how she purposely let them part and thus gave me plenty of
opportunities to look up her skirt and see her sheer white panties.

I should note that I was not a lesbian or bi or even bi-curious in my first
40 years of life.  I knew when a girl was pretty, or noticed when a girl
dressed like a slut, but that was about it.  In reality I was more jealous
than anything.  I was envious of girls like Madison and her 'I'm entitled'
attitude; she got whatever she wanted, while I had to work my ass off for
every little thing.

My resentment was mixed with the fact that she evidently thought flashing
me would somehow bolster her power position over me.  The resentment was
actually more at how her condescending treatment of me brought flooding
back my many levels of guilt. I have always had multiple layers of shame
and guilt. Guilt and shame over any sign of increasing sag or jiggle. Guilt
and shame as a feminist of being so body-conscious and competitive with
other women: black women, white women, and young women in their teens and
twenties. Feeling envious and jealous in spite of myself, about how I sized
up against them as a sex object: breasts and butt, waist and legs, face and
hair.  This was ironic given my relative lack of sexual desires.  Guilt and
shame about the secret sense of pride I felt when a man noticed my body,
and the vapid vanity and inanity of it all.

Lastly, although I tried to push her out of my dreams, a recurring dream of
Madison treating me as her personal maid began to replay in my nights.  It
was always the same.  I was dressed in a slutty Halloween maid costume and
forced to serve food and drinks to Madison and her sorority girls.  It had
never been sexual, just a clear cut line between Mistress and Servant,
white versus black, aristocrat versus serf.

On the day the essays were due, I rummaged through the papers and was
surprised to learn Madison had not handed in her essay.  I shook my head
out of a mixture of 'I should have known' and disappointment, as I was
curious to read her results.  I read a few papers that first night and was
about to go to bed when I reached Miko's.  I wasn't going to read it, as it
was already past midnight, but the title stunned me: My White Mistress:
Understanding My Place.

Curiosity got the better of me and I flipped to the first page:

The history of female submissiveness in the Japanese culture is very clear.
The woman is to be submissive and obedient to her father, her brothers and
eventually her husband.  The American-born Japanese girl lives in two very
contrasting worlds.  On the one side, the Japanese daughter is expected to
be loyal and obedient to her Father and to show her worthiness by being
successful in school.  On the other side, the Japanese teenager attempts to
fit in to American culture and fad, a culture where academics have become
less important and shallow appearances are what defines success.  Living in
two very different levels of expectations, most Japanese young women end up
moving to one of the two extremes.  People assume that Japanese girls in
America have evolved and moved away from such historical submission...but
we have not.  Instead the American-born Japanese girl ends up never really
finding her identity in the world.  They have grown up submissive, but, in
today's America, the girl should be aggressive and confident.  In some ways
growing up in America has made me a girl without an identity or culture. I
am no longer a stereotypical Japanese girl; yet, I am also not a truly
American girl.  The loss of identity had me struggle through my high school
years. Attempting to fit into two worlds, but feeling that I was fitting
into neither...and then I met my white Mistress.  It was through the
complete submission to my Mistress that I have come to grips with who I am.

The rest of the essay was a mixture of the history of Japanese submissive
expectations and how such history made it impossible for her to not be a
submissive as well...regardless of her American birth certificate.  She
alluded to her sexual submissiveness and how through such obedience she had
found the equilibrium she had long searched for and with such equilibrium
she has found her true identity.

As I read the lengthy essay, I couldn't help but feel my long-neglected
vagina getting wet.  I tried to ignore the temptation but felt my hand
involuntarily going to my vagina. I continued reading the naughty
admissions of my strongest academic student.  She paralleled her Mom's
obedient behaviour towards her Father with her own submission to her
Mistress.  In conclusion, she reflected that only through complete and
utter surrender of her own sexual desires to her Mistress had she been able
to accept herself for who she is.

Once done, I closed my eyes and brought myself to an intense orgasm, an
orgasm that had Madison pop into my head just as the crest of pleasure
waved through me.  Suddenly ashamed by the impact that essay had on me and
my weakness to submit to my wanton desire, I shook my head and decided I
wouldn't assess the essay and write my comments until tomorrow.

I tossed and turned all night, my head reeling from the revelation that
Miko was a submissive lesbian.  That night the maid dream replayed in my
head, only this time it ended with me on my knees massaging Madison's feet
while she watched TV.  I awoke in a sweat, mortified by the subservient
dream that kept replaying in my head and even more mortified to feel a
sticky wetness in my panties.


4. A POWER SHIFT

Once my class had ended the following day, I asked a still inappropriately
dressed Madison to meet me in my office.  She agreed, her condescending
tone dripping with superiority, "Sure Professor, but not until after
lunch."

I considered making a scene and demanding she meet me right then, but it
seemed like a futile time to have a pissing match.

I went to lunch myself and was finishing Miko's paper a second time when
Madison arrived.

Madison didn't knock, but walked into my office a little after three, much
later than I thought we had arranged.  She tossed me a paper and sat down
on one of my two chairs.

I reached for the crumbled paper and shook my head.  It was barely over a
page in length, not typed and with no references.  I tried to conceal by
contempt for her sloppy work while I read it.  After all her talk in class,
and here confidence in her topic, this is the crap she brought in?  I was
just finishing reading the strictly opinionated and diva-centered paper
when I heard a clunk.  I looked up to see she had repositioned herself and
now had her three inch heels on my desk and was leaning back in the chair.

I gave a look that could no longer hide my disgust at her behaviour and
essay.  Her smile faded in a heartbeat and she asked, "You don't like my
paper?"

"Well, Ms. Adams, it really wasn't what we discussed."

"I won't say this often, as it is rarely true, but you were right," she
responded, insulting me at the same time.

"Excuse me?" I asked, taken aback by her straightforward criticism of me.

Ignoring my shocked tone, she continued, "Finding litigation and case law
focused on "visual sexual harassment" was very difficult to find.  But
there were a plethora of experiences I had during the time I was writing."
I stood up, trying to regain the power shift that seemed to be swinging to
the white girl's side.  As soon as I did, I could see her skirt was so
short, particularly sitting the way she was, I could see the top of her
thigh high stockings.  She seemed to notice my gaze, and smugly added
implying I was visually sexually harassing her, "My evidence continues to
pile up."

"Pardon?"

"You were checking out my legs, Professor Jefferson," she confidently
claimed.

I stammered, trying to defend myself, even though I had no reason to be
defensive, "I-I-I was not."

Smiling she quipped, her tone speaking to me as if I was a child, "Really,
Professor Jefferson.  I have noticed you checking me out since I tried this
experiment."

"I have not," I protested adamantly.

"Don't worry, Professor Jefferson," she continued, ignoring my protest
entirely, "You aren't the only one who has visually sexually harassed me."
She let her heel fall to the floor.  She asked, her tone that of a white
Mistress talking to her maid, "Can you get that for me?"

Mortified, but not wanting to offend her, I walked over and reached down
and retrieved her heel.  I handed it to her.

"Could you put it on, please?" she asked her tone suddenly polite.

I don't know why, as I knew this was a complete power play, and that by
obliging I was giving into her little game, but my body was moving while my
head was still considering the consequences. I touched her stocking foot
and an electric spark slid up my back, surprising me completely.  I hastily
put the heel back on and quickly moved back to my desk, a location where I
felt back in my comfort zone.  She smiled, "Thank you, Professor
Jefferson."

"You're welcome," I replied trying to get back to the topic at hand, her
essay. "Now back to your essay."

She interrupted me, "Professor Jefferson, I need an 'A' in this course and
thus on this paper."

"How can I give you an 'A' based on what you have handed in?" I asked,
assessment being the only power card I had left.

"I get 'As' in all my other classes and have always got 'As'."

Even though she didn't put it in her research paper, there was some basis
for "visual sexual harassment" creating a "hostile workplace," including in
the classroom.  But if I gave her an 'A', I was devaluing the work her
peers had done when writing and researching their papers. "I can't give you
an 'A' Ms. Adams, but I do think your topic has merit.  I will give you
another week to write a personal reflection paper."

She shook her head "no" and divulged, "Professor Jefferson, your staring,
leering and panty-peeping has made me very uncomfortable in your class.
Being treated like a sex object and drooled over by my lesbian teacher was
very distracting and?."

"I am not a lesbian," I protested.

Madison snapped, "Don't interrupt me, Professor Jefferson. Trust me, you
are a dyke.  You haven't stopped staring between my legs since I started
this experiment.  I bet you have even dreamed about me at night, haven't
you?"

My face flushed, luckily being black she couldn't notice, as I stammered,
"I-I-I have done no such thing."

She mocked me, "Y-y-you haven't done no such thing. Nice cover, Professor
Jefferson.  The reality is that the real reason I didn't finish my paper
was because you treated me like a sex object and I felt uncomfortable
writing about you and your nasty thoughts."

Defeated and worried she could go public with her false but very damaging
accusations, I ended up giving her a completely undeserved 'A'. "Fine,
Ms. Adams, I will give you an 'A'."

She immediately stood up and proclaimed, "Thank you very much Professor
Jefferson, I may reward you one day for your obedience."

Before I could respond to her last word, obedience, she walked out of my
office.  I left home early furious at myself for being manipulated by the
stuck-up bitch.  I replayed the conversation in my head and tried to see
where it went all wrong.  I decided I would make sure I was never alone
with her again.

That night, I woke up in a hot sweat, my hand in my panties, the dream the
same, but this time I was sucking Madison's stocking-covered toes while she
told her friends about how I became her Nigger servant.

My dreams were getting more and more subservient and hearing her call me a
Nigger in front of Miko, Ashley and her sister Emily was a mortifying new
low.  I tried to fall back asleep, but became obsessed with the humiliating
way Madison was treating me in my dreams and in real life.

I promised myself I would have to talk with her and deal with this once and
for all.


5. COLORISM

I spent extra time getting dressed for my planned confrontation with
Madison.  I wore a black business suit that was all business with matching
black stockings and garterbelt.  I felt both powerful and sexy; if nothing
else, my confrontation with Madison had awakened a dormant sexuality.

Other relevant topics that come up in my classes include race and gender
stereotypes, and cultural differences in how sexual promiscuity is viewed
between racial and ethnic groups.  Also, there is colorism--the valuing of
not only white over black skin, but also lighter over darker skin, which is
virtually a cultural universal, common in Africa as well as North, Central
and South America, and Asia as well.  In fact, common in families of mixed
race, including my own, this has been a particularly frustrating power
fight in my life with my three children.  My students now knowing more
about me as an individual, I discuss my children and our unique racial
differences in color.

My oldest daughter LaKeisha (we all call her Keisha) is 25. Keisha just got
out of law school, has just passed the bar and is working at the law firm
with my first husband (she was a product of rape from a black friend of my
mother's that I don't want to get into...but has played a pivotal part in
my complete lack of trust or faith in the men I have loved or have
supposedly loved me). She is very similar to me, both physically, with dark
black skin, and in terms of personality. She has always been very studious
and serious. She dresses relatively conservatively, and a bit older-styled,
kind of stuffy, like me, compared to others in her generation. Keisha is
taller than me at 5' 8" and slimmer and more athletic (was on the track
team, then the tennis team, in high school). 36D bra size, and, though I'm
not sure of her waist and hips, I'm sure narrower than me. "Bubble butt,"
like me. Both her tits and ass are "perkier" and firmer than mine, no
matter how much I work out, just because she's younger and more athletic
than me. She's very self-conscious about how large her breasts are, going
back to middle school (she developed before most of her friends, and got
embarrassed about bouncing and jiggling, even in sports bras, when running
track or on the tennis court).

While Keisha looks and acts a lot like me, the twins don't. They are a lot
less serious, and less driven than either Keisha or me. They are spoiled
(much more so than Keisha ever was), always more than a bit "bratty," with
an "entitled," presumptuous, rambunctious attitude, Nicole even more so
than Nicholas (he's always been fine with being called Nick, though Nicole
has for years insisted on her full name being used with family or
friends). Both are 18, and, in contrast to me and their older (half)
sister, are very light skinned with virtually all "white" (or Caucasian)
features. In contrast to Keisha, who always went to public schools, the
twins always went to private, almost exclusively white, schools, and were
thought of and treated as "white" by almost everyone. In fact, there have
been many awkward occasions through the years when the twins' teachers,
friends and friends' parents were astonished to discover that their mother
and/or older (half) sister were black, or mistook me for "the maid," or
Keisha for some potential threat as if she or I were "from the ghetto" just
because of the contrast between their skin color and racial features and
ours, which was all the more ludicrous given the way Keisha and I typically
dressed, acted and presented ourselves, looking and talking "white" in all
respects but our skin color.  The twins' father is Conner Hamilton, and he
comes from big old white money and thus the twins have always lived a
rather easy life.  He treated Keisha well too, but Keisha always resented
his white money and desperately wanted to make it on her own.  So although
it has never been discussed between my children, colorism has indeed played
a major factor in my childrens' relationships in society and among
themselves.

The class had time to read an article and discuss it in small groups until
class ended.  I chickened out and didn't confront Madison and returned to
my office to assess papers.

That afternoon Miko knocked on my door.  I invited her in and she
cautiously came in with a look of fear written all over her face.

I asked, "Miko, is something wrong?"

"No, ma'am," she quickly replied.

Curious why she was here and even more curious about her essay, I probed,
"What can I do for you, Miko?"

See refused to make eye contact when she revealed, "My Mistress ordered I
drop off a package to you."

Her response had me in a state of disbelief. I knew she had a Mistress
based on her essay, but couldn't make the connection with me.  Although
deep down, I think I knew before I ever opened the package.  "Mistress?" I
questioned.

"Yes, ma'am," she whispered, her shame flaming red on her cheeks.  She
opened her bag and put a medium sized box on the corner of my desk.  Still
not looking up at me, "I have to go now."

"Do you want to talk about this?" I asked.

She shook her head "no" and bolted out of my office before I could probe
any deeper into her shame.

I stared at the box for a few minutes, trepidation filling my soul.  I had
a hunch it was from Madison.  Partly because of her behaviour, partly
because of the way Miko was always around her and partly because I couldn't
fathom from whom else it could be.

I tried to assess an insipid paper by some rather clueless boy, until the
agony of what was in the box finally pushed me to the edge.  I reached for
the box and opened it.  There was an envelope labelled, 'Professor
Jefferson' and something else wrapped in tissue.  I opened the envelope and
read the letter.

Dear Professor Jefferson, Your lecture today fascinated me.  It proved all
my theories about you true.  You discussed earlier your reason for dressing
as you do and I immediately assessed that theory as false.  I knew then
that the reason you dressed as you did was because you were attempting to
be white; to distinguish yourself apart from the majority of your race.
You are ashamed, and always have been ashamed, by your color and therefore
jealous of white girls like me.  You want the privilege and the respect
that white woman get and you attempt to get it by spewing your racial
jargon of equality and racial understanding.  Yet, every time you see your
two white children a piece of you burns in fury and jealousy at the
privilege they get without any work, while you and your dark skinned
daughter have had to work for everything you have.  The irony of it is
beautiful.  You talk about colorism, yet you are yourself wilfully unaware
that you are a part of the problem, not the solution.  You want to be
white.  You want to hide who you really are.  So I got you a little present
that I think will help you come to grips with who you are.

Your White Mistress

P.S.-I expect you to wear it to class tomorrow.  Any form of disobedience
will result in a punishment.

I was aghast.  I was appalled.  I was mortified.  I was curious.  I opened
the rest of the box and was confused to see white stockings.  I pondered
the significance of these stockings.  Obviously they were white.  White
stockings on blacks are seldom seen except in porn movies.  By wearing them
I was agreeing with this girl's assessment of my character.  Anger burned
inside me, at the condescending analysis of my character, particularly on a
lesson that was supposed to point out the varying degrees of racism in
society.  I cursed to myself. No longer in the mood to assess papers, I
went home.

That night, after I had simmered down, I tried to figure out what was
happening.  I was 99.99% sure it was Madison behind the whole thing, but
until I was a 100% sure, I couldn't go to the Dean. Yet, just before bed, I
felt my body going into my school bag, taking out the stockings and putting
them on my chocolate-skinned legs.  Once on, I looked in the mirror and was
instantly drawn to the sharp contrast of my black skin with the white silk
stockings.  Unable to resist, I felt myself falling back onto my bed and my
hand sliding down to my privates, which were surprisingly already wet.
Why?  I couldn't figure it out.  I closed my eyes, and let go of all my
questions and anger and pleasured myself.  As soon as my eyes closed, it
was Madison who emerged in my fantasies.  She had the smug look on her face
as she beckoned me to her.  I brought myself to a quick, but powerful
orgasm.  Once I had come, I was furious with myself for being so weak
again.  I am a powerful woman.  A mother who has raised three children, for
the most part, on my own.  A woman who has overcome adversity to get my
Master's, my law degree, and am now a highly respected professor at a
prestigious school.  I was more determined than ever to deal with this once
and for all.  I pulled off the white stockings, the symbol of servitude,
and tossed them in the garbage.  Content with my resolve to end this silly
charade, I finished getting ready for bed.

That night though my resolve could not resist the twisted dreams that
overcame me.  This one was different.  I was wearing all white: white
stockings, white heels, white skirt, and a white blouse.  I had a collar
around my neck and was on all fours on a leash, being led by a woman in
black.  I never saw the woman's face, but her voice, confident,
condescending and ruthless was unmistakable.


6. PANTY-SNIFFER

In open defiance to the so-called order by my wannabe-Mistress, I actually
wore dress-pants instead of a skirt.  I arrived early and assessed a couple
of papers before class.  I was startled when I heard a knock on my open
door.  It was Miko.  She was dressed all in white and looked sheepish.

I invited her in and she sat down and asked, "Professor Jefferson, are you
wearing your stockings?"

"No, Miko, I am not," I replied.

"Oh," she said, a new fear beginning to build.

"Why does that worry you so much, Miko?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

"Mistress will punish me if you disobey," Miko informed, her eyes blazing
with fear.

"Why?" I asked shocked.

"I don't know, but she made it very clear if I didn't make sure you were
wearing white stockings today, I would be punished," Miko explained, never
making eye contact.

"I'm sorry, Miko, I didn't even bring them," I answered.

Miko surprised me by going into her book bag and retrieving another pair of
identical white stockings.

I asked, "How will she punish you?"

"I don't know ma'am, it is always different," Miko whispered, her shame
clearly visible.

"Miko, I don't know what to tell you.  I can't wear the stockings or
Madison will think I am complying with her demands," I explained, throwing
Madison's name in there to see if I was correct about my assumption of her
Mistress.

Tears began to form in the lovely Asian's face. "It's ok, ma'am, I
understand."  She stood up to leave when I felt my heart breaking for her.

"I'll think about it," I promised.

She turned to me, a ray of hope in her eyes, "Thank you, ma'am."  She
hurried out as she had yesterday.

I looked at the stockings for a while wondering what to do.  I knew deep
down submitting to this task, no matter how small and trivial, was
acknowledging my weakness and her strength.  On the other hand, protecting
Miko seemed important.  I closed my office door and reluctantly put on the
stockings.  My subtle victory, my statement that I was not going to roll
over, was by wearing pants. There was very little evidence of my obeying.

I had just finished putting my flats back on when I was again startled by a
knock on my door.  I opened it to see a wild-eyed Emily, Madison's younger
sister.  She walked into my room and closed my door.  She immediately
began, "Ms. Jefferson, don't wear the stockings today."

I looked down letting her realize I was already wearing them.

Even more frantic she continued, "Professor Jefferson, you have to take
them off.  They are a symbol.  A symbol of her power over you."

"But you are wearing them too," I pointed out.  She was wearing a very
similar white outfit to Miko.

"I don't have time to explain, but all her slaves are wearing white
stockings today as a symbol of their obedience to her."

"To Madison?" I asked.

"Yes, to Madison. She is our Mistress and her next target is you."

"But you are her sister," I pointed out, bewildered, the roller coaster
ride of shocking revelations continuing.

"I know, I know, I don't have time to get into that now.  If she knew I was
here warning you she would punish me like she did when I questioned her in
class earlier," she divulged, her body gestures showing her nervousness.

"What can I do?" I asked, meaning how could I help her.

She walked over to me, fear in her eyes and insisted, "You can take off the
stockings.  It is too late for me, but you still can be saved."

"But Miko was here earlier and said she will be punished if I don't wear
them," I revealed.

She sighed, "Figures. We will all be punished if you don't obey, but that
is our problem, we got ourselves in this irreversible mess, not you."

"How many are there?" I asked, curious.

"Too many," she vaguely answered. "Anyone you see wearing white stockings
in this heat today is one of her slaves.  She is pretty much unstoppable.
But I like you Professor Jefferson.  Once she gets a hold of you, there is
no way to stop her, no way to save you.  You will become a slave like me
and Miko," she warned.

"A slave," I questioned, dazed by her frank prediction.

She glanced at her watch and pleaded, "For your own sake, Professor
Jefferson, take off your stockings.  Don't give in."

I opened my mouth to respond, but she opened the door and fled out of my
office.  Looking at the clock itself, I realized I had fifteen minutes
until class.  I closed my office door one more time and taking Emily's
warning seriously, I took off the stockings.  I felt bad knowing that Miko
and Emily would be punished, but knowing that by protecting myself, maybe I
could hopefully save them.  As I undressed and dressed again, I wondered
what being a slave to Madison implied.  Was it just domineering or was it
sexual, as I originally assumed.  'Madison would not have sex with her own
sister, would she?' My brain muddled, I rushed to class and arrived a
couple of minutes late.  Sitting in the front row on each side of Madison,
all in white, were Emily and Miko.  Dressed all in black was Madison.
Madison's eyes bored into me as I reached my podium.  I hoped the podium
and the dress pants kept her unsure of whether I had obeyed her command.  I
lectured for the day on the slow transition of women in positions of power.
I discussed Mother Theresa, Margaret Thatcher, Hillary Clinton, Sarah Palin
and Michelle Obama among others.  I talked about a future time when a
female leads this great country and a time when women were paid the same as
men in all professional fields.  It was a powerful lecture and I purposely
attempted to avoid eye contact with Madison.  The four girls (Ashley was
there too, dressed in her usual casual jeans and a t-shirt) were the only
ones in the front row I realized and let out a gasp when I noticed that
both Miko and Emily had their panties down at their ankles.  I didn't think
anyone else could see the exhibitionist act, but both girls' faces were
ruby red and they were staring at me. I could see the pleading eyes of Miko
and instantly felt guilty.  I finally made eye contact with Madison who
smiled and nodded her head in the affirmative, I assume implying I was to
do the same, which was ludicrous and impossible.  I quickly looked away,
flushed, and stammered on about their assignment.  Their assignment was to
present on Monday (today was Thursday), a two minute presentation on a
woman who has had a major impact in the world.  Of course, they could not
use any woman who I had discussed in class.

I dismissed the class and purposely refused to look in the direction of
Madison and the girls while I bundled up my lecture notes.  I pretended to
be busy even as I heard the clicking of heels coming towards me.

I finally looked up and both Miko and Emily were in front of me, the rest
of the room empty.  It was impressive how quick a group of students could
disperse from a room.  I wondered where Madison went, but was grateful she
was gone.

Emily came to my podium and dropped her white panties on my desk.
"Mistress Madison thought you would like my panties."  Her face was still
ruby red and she whispered so Miko couldn't hear, "Good job, Professor
Jefferson.  She is furious and will redouble her efforts to get you on your
knees begging to be her slave.  So stay strong."

She moved away and Miko came to me.  She also handed me a pair of white
panties.  "Mistress Madison insisted I give you my wet panties.  She made
me masturbate before class and come in them."  Her humiliation burned
through her very being and she quickly walked away as well.  Once both
girls were gone, I looked at the two panties, the only difference being
Miko's had a pink waistband.  I quickly grabbed the panties, surprised at
how wet and sticky they felt and put them in my pocket.  I rushed back to
my office, my fear of being caught with student's panties dominating my
thoughts.  Once in my office, I put the panties in my desk drawer and
pondered what to do next.  I now knew Madison was definitely the Mistress,
but I still had no evidence that she wrote the letter and there was no way
her submissive slaves would rat her out.

I tried to get Madison and the girls out of my head by marking a couple of
papers, but my eyes kept going to my drawer.  A sweet scent lingered on my
left hand from when I touched the dirty panties and it was tempting me in a
way I had never been tempted.  I was not a lesbian.  I had never found a
girl sexually attractive.  Yet I wanted to smell Miko's and Emily's
cum-filled panties.  Knowing they came because of me somehow made the
thought of their scent more erotic and more difficult to resist.  Finally,
figuring by smelling them I would be disgusted and I could move on, I
pulled the two pairs of white underwear out of my drawer.  I looked at them
like they were alien objects.  I finally took Miko's panties and placed
them to my nose.  Instead of a pungent scent I expected, the smell was
sweet and enticing.  Now curious, I grabbed Emily's cum-drenched panties,
which were substantially wetter than Miko's, and took a big sniff.  The
aroma was so intoxicating I held her panties an inch from my nose.  I
allowed the powerful, erotic, sinful smell to linger in the air in front of
me.  I felt a subtle tingle down below, a slight spark I had long ignored.

I went back to Miko's and compared the two quite different, yet equally
pleasant, scents.  Suddenly, as if being pulled in, I wondered what their
juice would taste like.

Emily's panties in my hand, no longer in control of my movements, I put
them to my mouth.  The taste a mixture of cotton and cum was surprisingly
appetizing.  Without even being aware, I was attempting to retrieve more of
Emily's sticky juice from her stained panties.  Suddenly aware of what I
was doing, I dropped the underwear on my desk.  What was I doing?
Mortified, I put the tainted panties back in my drawer and took a deep
breath. Desperate to clear my head, I went to lunch.

Throughout lunch, I tried to come to grips with what was happening to me.
My dreams were pulling me deeper into Madison's grip.  The panty-sniffing I
had just done was a wake-up call to a weakness I had I never knew about.
All that said, while I ate my overpriced soup and sandwich, I could feel a
craving to smell those panties again.  I continued to try to push the
sinful thought out of my head, but it always crept back in, each time
harder to push away, harder to resist.  I considered taking the afternoon
off, but was worried about someone, somehow finding dirty underwear in my
desk drawer.  I had to discard the girls' underwear, but was not sure how.
I finished my lunch and headed to my Thursday afternoon fourth year class,
which was a three hour, once a week seminar with twelve students.  Today's
discussion was 'Ending Poverty in America'.  Surprisingly, my grad student
assistant Eleanor was not in class, which was very strange.  We were
fifteen minutes into our discussion on how race is a major barrier to
overcoming poverty in America, when the door opened and Eleanor came in
wearing white stockings, her face flushed and her hair was tousled.

She apologized, "Sorry Professor Jefferson, I was tied up in a lunch
meeting." She hastily took her usually seat right beside me at the round
table.  Seeing the white symbolic stockings on my nerdy grad student was
one more stunning revelation. Eleanor was the epitome of shy nerd.  She had
big glasses, wore her hair in ponytails and always wore long flowery
dresses.  I imagined she had never even had a date before and now she was
seemingly a slave of Madison's.  I also wondered how Madison had got the
twenty-five year old to submit. It seemed more impossible than every other
revelation I had learned recently. How did they even meet?  They would
never even be in the same circles; actually Eleanor didn't even run in a
circle. These and a hundred questions more ricocheted around my head.  The
seriousness of my current predicament became more real.

"Professor Jefferson."

"Professor Jefferson."

"Professor Jefferson, are you ok?"

 I felt a tug on my sleeve and I was brought out of my stunned stupor. I
stammered, "S-s-sorry, I zoned out there for a bit."

"What were you thinking about, Professor Jefferson?"

"Nothing," I quickly retorted, and got the class back into our discussion.
Although slightly distracted, the next hour went by fast and furious as the
students bounced around idea after idea on ending poverty.  I was
rejuvenated by their passionate, exciting, and naively optimistic ideas.

I ignored the constant vibrating of my phone during our brainstorming
session.  Only my kids and Eleanor had my cell number so I assumed it was
something trivial, like it always was with the twins. So once we had hit a
lull in our brainstorming, I suggested we take a break and come back in
fifteen to create a hypothetical strategic plan.  The group all left and I
checked my phone. When the first image popped up I dropped the phone.  It
was a picture of Eleanor tied up.  I picked up my phone and slowly looked
through the rest of the pictures sent by an unrecognized number.  There was
Eleanor kissing a black stocking-clad foot, presumably Madison's; a picture
of Eleanor smelling a shoe; a picture of Eleanor with panties in her mouth;
a picture of Eleanor naked, her breasts surprisingly large; a picture of
Eleanor tied to a bed with a pussy straddled over her face, the black
stockings in view, but not enough to finger Madison, with the text comment,
"This is why she was late. She was all tied up!!!"

The class began to slowly make their way back into class chatting and
checking their cell phones. Eleanor didn't arrive until the last second and
she completely avoided eye contact with me.

Attempting to ignore the naughty images burned in my brain, I started the
second half of class.  Time seemed to stand still as the students worked in
groups and I went back and forth between them.  Eleanor assisted the two
groups as well, showing not the slightest recognition of the naughty secret
she had.  The class ended and I asked Eleanor to stick around.

Once all the students had left, I went on the offensive, "Eleanor, how did
you end up in this predicament?"

She looked directly into my eyes and played dumb, "I have no idea what you
are talking about."

I pulled out my phone and showed her the pictures.  She went as white as
the stockings on her legs.  She stammered, "I-I-I, oh my God, I can't
believe she took pictures."

"Madison?" I asked, wanting official confirmation.

She avoided answering the question directly, although her facial expression
answered it for me, "Mistress disciplined me in her attempt to add you to
her harem of subs."

"Harem of subs?" I repeated.

"Yes, I am sorry Professor Jefferson, but she is determined to add you,"
she informed me.

"How many of them are there?" I asked, trying to get the full scope of
Madison's web of debauchery.

"I don't know, at least a dozen."

"A dozen," I gasped.

"Probably more," she added.

"What can I do to help you?" I asked.

Madison's voice interrupted our conversation, "Slut, get over here now."

Eleanor blushed and immediately rushed over to Madison.  Madison winked at
me and said, ignoring the obvious tension, "See you in class tomorrow,
Professor Jefferson." She grabbed Eleanor's hand and led her out.  I was
left speechless.  I also felt a damp spot in my underwear.  I couldn't
remotely understand what was getting me horny, but the slow burn was
becoming harder and harder to ignore.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, Madison returned, startling me again.
She tossed me a pair of pink panties that landed on the table in front of
me.  "I think you'll like Eleanor's soaked panties.  Be a good girl and
maybe you'll get mine."

"Madison, stop," I ordered, my voice sounding strong and determined.

She glared at me.

Realizing I had called her by her first name, and that I had already lost a
bit of my power, "Sorry, Ms. Adams, this has got to stop."

Her cold glare faded and a devious smile replaced it.  "Oh, Ms, Jefferson,
we are just beginning."

Before I could respond, she was gone again and I was even more rattled.
Not wanting soiled panties sitting on the table of a class I just taught, I
grabbed them and was surprised at how wet they were.

Madison peeked her head in the door yet again, a smile on her face as she
saw the panties in my hand, which I quickly dropped, and ordered, "And I
fucking expect you in white stockings tomorrow, Professor Jefferson."

Just as quickly she was gone and I shoved the wet panties n my pocket.
Conversely, I felt my own panties getting wetter against my will.

 I returned to my office and pulled the panties out of my pocket.  I
couldn't resist, no matter how much I knew it was nasty and wrong, and
pulled the wet panties to my nose and took a big sniff.  The scent was not
as pleasant as either Miko or Emily's, but it wasn't bad either.  I sat
back in my chair, pulled down my pants and began rubbing my burning pussy.
I let out a louder than expected moan the second I touched my usually
ignored pleasure zone. I found the wettest part of Eleanor's cum-filled
undies and put them in my mouth.  Wanting more, I reached into my drawer
and pulled out the other two co-ed's used panties.  My fingers never
leaving my pussy, I took Emily's panties and took in her delicious nectar.
I rubbed myself furiously, my head a cloud of forbidden sin.  My senses
were a tingle as I tasted Eleanor's sweet cum, I smelt Emily's seductive
aroma and I gave myself pleasure I usually refrained from.  It took only a
couple of minutes for me to feel the crescendo of pleasure pulse through my
entire body.  Unlike what I usually did the rare times I masturbated, this
time I kept rubbing my pussy through my entire orgasm.  The sensations
continued pulsing through me like an electric current of joy.  When the
last remnants of the orgasm dissipated, I tossed both soiled co-ed's
panties on my desk and felt the sudden burn of shame.  I was mortified at
what I had just done.  I quickly pulled up my pants and, desperate to get
out of my office which had a lingering scent of my sinful deed, I grabbed
the three pairs of evidence and tossed them into my bag.

All the way home, the guilt of what I done filled me with a shame I hadn't
felt since I was married.  When my first husband made me swallow his cum or
fucked me in my ass, I obeyed because it gave him pleasure and thus gave me
pleasure too.  But as soon as the sinful slutty act was done, I felt an
overwhelming shame.  I was a dirty whore like so many others and I had to
resist such temptations, no matter how good they made my body feel....


7. GOOD VIBRATIONS...a foreshadowing

I got home and put the three pairs of soiled underwear each in their own
sealed bag and hid them under my bed.  Home early, I decided to have a long
shower, so I changed out of my soiled undies and after a lengthy cleansing
I put on a clean pair.  Thursday is my laundry day, so I went into my
children's room and grabbed their laundry, like I always did.  The first
load was my nasty undies and the rest of my clothing from the week.  I went
upstairs, started supper, and dusting the house.  Oddly, I have always
loved cleaning.  It is such a relaxing change of pace compared to my
workday.  I turn on some music and just clean.

When the first load of laundry was done, I went downstairs and put the wet
load in the dryer, happy the incriminating evidence of my brief lack of
control was now washed away.  As I dumped the second load in, my daughter
Nicole's, I felt my hand working on its own, pulling out my daughter's worn
underwear.  I had touched and washed her undergarments for eighteen years,
but suddenly they were enticing, intriguing and intoxicating.  I
impulsively sniffed all five pairs of her dirty panties.  The scent was
similar in each pair, although one pair had a different scent that had my
fresh panties getting wet.  I kept the unique smelling white undies and
tossed the rest into the machine. Once I had started the machine, I leaned
back against it and lingered smelling my daughter's unique aroma.  I
realized the bouquet was a mixture of her juices and sweat, probably from
working out.  These were clearly her gym undies.  As my pussy involuntarily
rekindled the fire down below, I looked at the old drying machine,
vibrating and humming like it always did, and felt my legs lead me over to
it.  Positioning myself so my vagina was making contact with the shaking
machine, I leaned forward, closed my eyes and let the vibrating sensations
pleasure my body while my daughter's sweaty undies were in my mouth and
pressed against my nose.

As soon as my eyes were closed, visions of Madison popped up, her legs open
in class, her finger beckoning me forward, her smile so sweet, her open
legs so inviting.  I saw myself walking over to her, falling to my knees.
She opened her legs wider, allowing me clear visual access to her panty
covered vagina.  Desperate to smell her pussy, to taste her juices in her
thin cotton fabric, I lean forward, but am stopped by her hand.

I hear her voice, powerful and unwavering, "Beg, Nigger."

The harsh word feels like a thousand daggers stabbing my body, yet the
humiliation only seems to make my pussy wetter and my desire to smell and
taste her stronger.  I look up into her hypnotic eyes and ask, weakly,
"Please."

She closes her legs completely and the treasure I was craving is no longer
in view.  "That is terrible.  When your older daughter LaKiesha submitted
to me, she begged like a good Nigger should.  She panted like a dirty fat
black whore.  Like the Nigger slave she wanted to desperately be."

Hearing her talk about my eldest child in such a degrading way reinserted
the daggers, and yet, most disturbing and disgusting, got my juices gushing
all the more. I stammered, "M-m-my daughter?"

"Yes slut, your daughter is a good Nigger slave. She is a very obedient
girl," Madison purred.  Her eyes bore into mine until I look away out of
utter humiliation.  "Is your cunt wet, Nigger?"

I should have been furious at being called a Nigger, but instead my vagina
got wetter.  Ashamed to admit the truth, I remain silent.

Madison called, her tone condescending and arrogant, "LaKeisha, get your
coon ass out here."

In seconds, my daughter, my 25-year-old lawyer, crawled out, completely
naked, except for white stockings.  Once she was beside me, not making eye
contact with me, Madison ordered, "Slut, check to see if your Mammy's
panties are wet."

"Yes, Mistress Madison," my stubborn daughter replied and moving behind me,
roughly put her hands directly on my juice-filled panties.  Her touch was
so rough that some of my juices leaked down my leg.  "She is fucking
drenched, Mistress Madison."

"Of course she is, she is a Nigger slut just like you," Madison announced
with confidence. I winced at being called a Nigger again, but my vagina
continued to feel tingles of pleasure.

"Yes, Mistress," my daughter agreed.

"Now come and show your still-in-denial Mother what a good slave does."
Madison opened her legs and I watched transfixed as my daughter crawled
between the co-ed's legs and buried her face into Madison's panty-covered
vagina.

Watching my daughter submit completely had my vagina bubbling to the brim
and jealous that she was allowed the privilege of white pussy.

Madison looked directly into my eyes and explained, while giving soft
moans, "All you have to do to come, Nigger, is admit you are mine."

The last Nigger shot was the final straw. My hot vagina, my wet pussy, my
burning cunt, spoke for me as my orgasm burst, "Madison, I am yours, use me
as your Nigger slave.  Own me. Own Me.  Own me.  Own me."

My dream orgasm flooded into reality as I came hard all over my washing
machine, my scream shaking the walls.  I humped and ground as best I could
on the machine, not wanting the intense orgasm to ever subside.  The orgasm
spread through every one of my pores and lingered for a few minutes.  Once
it subsided, I came to my senses and quickly stood up, my youngest
daughter's dirty panties falling from my mouth.  I opened my eyes and
looked around, mortified at what I had just done, what I had just
fantasized. I had just had the most amazing orgasm of my life humping my
dryer while thinking of my eldest daughter and me becoming sex slaves to
Madison.  I got myself together, took off my second pair of soaked panties
today and, realizing I had not started the second load of laundry yet,
tossed my symbol of sin and my daughter's last pair into the machine and
started the machine.

I had just recovered my breath completely when I heard the door open.  I
also realized my water for spaghetti was probably boiling over by now and
rushed upstairs.  Although neither my son or daughter noticed anything
different about me, I felt like my sin was on full display, that they knew
I had sinned in such a nasty way.  It was an illogical thought, but it was
the one that stayed in my head all evening and helped make sure I didn't
return to the temptation again that night.


8. FUCKED UP FRIDAY

I woke up fresh and determined not to allow my weakness to overcome me
again.  I wore a black skirt and a blue blouse and, like every Friday, went
bare legged (it was my version of casual Friday).  I purposely did not wear
the white stockings, determined now more than ever not to submit to
anything the bitch might attempt to get me to do.

Friday's classes are always current event pieces and how they relate to the
course.  Students come to class with newspaper articles, internet postings,
even tweets and we discuss their significance.  Not wanting to have to deal
with Madison by accident, I was late again by a couple of minutes.  When I
looked up, I saw that Madison was in her usual spot, dressed in a flowery
summer dress and beige pantyhose, much more conservative than the past
month.  Miko, on the other hand, was again in white stockings and 4-inch
heels, but wearing a leather black skirt, white almost see-through blouse,
and a black choker.  It was easily the most shocking thing someone like
Miko could wear. Both Emily and Ashley, Madison's best friend, were not in
class, which was odd.

Twenty minutes into class, Ashley arrived in jean shorts and a t-shirt and
apologized for being late before she sat down.  The class was uneventful;
even Madison was not stirring the pot like she usually does, and I began to
think maybe I had made my statement.  The class ended, and everyone
dispersed as they usually do on a Friday, lightning quick.

Finally relaxing after being tense all morning, I returned to my office and
saw a line of three boys I didn't recognize waiting at my door.  As soon as
they saw me they scattered as if they had been caught red-handed, which I
thought very odd.  I opened my door to my office, which was unlocked which
was also strange and was greeted with the most shocking thing yet. Emily
was naked, except white stockings, tied to my chair and was sucking the
cock of some really overweight student.

I said, "Excuse me, what the Hell is going on here?"

The chubby boy, jumped, pulled up his pants and stammered, "I-I-I'm sorry,"
and rushed out.

I closed my door and looked at poor Emily.  Her face and chest was coated
with cum and tears streamed down her face.  I untied her and pulled her in
for a motherly hug, not thinking about the cum that would transfer to my
clothing.  I let her cry and just be held before I finally said, "Emily,
this has officially gone way too far."

Through sobs Emily blabbered, "I-I-I know, Professor Jefferson.  But, but,
there is nothing I can do."

"We can call the cops," I suggested.

"On my own sister?" she questioned.

"Well what kind of sister does this?" I countered.

"It was my fault," she defended Madison, like a typical abuse case.

"No, my dear, it isn't," I comforted.  "You are a victim."

"But I, I, I like it," she stammered, tears rolling down her face again.

"You do?" I questioned. "What do you like?"

"I am submissive.  Which means even though my mind hates me and throws
society's morals at me, my body weakens and gives in to powerful people.
Being told what to do sexually, being tied up and being pushed to do what I
shouldn't or normally wouldn't do, is the only way I get...." she explained
and quit in mid sentence.

"Get what?" I asked, oblivious of her meaning, though it should have been
obvious.

"Get off.  It's the only way I get off," she admitted, frustrated and
embarrassed by her revealing the truth.

Having got off on such submissive, masochistic humiliation in my head
yesterday, I understood her in a way I wouldn't have a day earlier.  I
continued to try and comfort her, "Emily, it is ok; I can help you get
through this."

"Ma'am, it is too late for me. My relationship with my sister, my Mistress,
is a love/hate one.  I hate my sister with every fibre of my being.  She is
a selfish bitch; a sadistic diva; a ruthless Mistress.  But, underneath all
that, she knows exactly what I need.  It is so frustrating that I need her,
but I do."

She stood up and began to get dressed.  She explained, "But you are
different than me.  You are a professor. You are self-assured. You are
proud.  And you're a good person with strong morals. I just was trying to
protect you.  Once you succumb there is no going back."

The compliments flattered and shamed me.  If she only knew the dreams I had
been having, or that I had got off smelling her stained panties, or that I
had the greatest orgasm ever just yesterday while fantasizing of becoming
her sister's slave.  Just the thought of yesterday had my vagina tingling
again.  I tried to ignore the temptation to touch myself, to stay focused
on our conversation.  "Thank you, Emily.  I always thought you too were a
strong personality."

Emily smiled for the first time. "I used to be."

"What changed?" I asked.

"Madison's punishments can be pretty extreme," Emily admitted, now fully
dressed. She added, "Like for example sucking cock after cock in my
favourite professor's office."

"I am so sorry, Emily.  There must be something I can do for you."

"There is."

"What can I do for you, Emily?"

"Don't submit.  Be strong.  If you can resist her, maybe one day I can
too," she said, with a sigh so heavy that she had already accepted her fate
was sealed.

"I won't submit," I confidently promised.

Emily's smile returned slightly.  "I got to go.  Madison will want full
details of our conversation."

"What will you say?" I asked.

"I'll lie and tell her that I offered myself to you like she requested.
That you threatened to expel me if I didn't leave immediately."

"You think that will work?" I asked, my undies getting damp at the thought
of the very cute Emily pleasing me. I tried to push away the thought of her
beautiful pale face buried between my dark legs.

"I doubt it, but it is worth a try," she shrugged.  She took my hands in
hers, looked into my eyes and said, "Good luck, Professor Jefferson.  Be
strong."  She squeezed my hands and left me alone.

Rattled and undeniably horny, I decided to go for a walk, hoping the fresh
air would calm me down.  Replaying the week, I realized Emily was right.  I
was strong.  Yes, I did succumb to my lusty hidden desires on a couple of
occasions, but always in the privacy of my office or home.  I had resisted
the orders of a clearly powerful girl, who usually gets what she wants.
Feeling precariously victorious and proud, I returned to my office,
planning to finish assessing my final couple of essays.

When I returned though, all my pride vanished. On my desk, was another pair
of panties and an envelope.  I quickly closed my door, which had been
locked, and collapsed into my chair.  The new panties were also white, but
had a red bow on the front distinguishing them as different from the other
three I already had.  I avoided touching the new pair of underwear while I
picked up the envelope and noticed it was addressed to Professor Jefferson.
I tentatively opened the envelope.  Like the last one it was typed,
although this time the tone was much different.

Professor Slut, I thought it was made clear to you what was expected from
you.  You have disappointed your future Mistress and have already had not
one, not two, but three punishments scheduled for you once you submit to me
as my slave.  If you don't want that number added to you will follow the
instructions like a good little pet.

1. You will come to school on Monday dressed entirely in white, the color
that you wish you were born and the color you have attempted to emulate
your entire pathetic life.  If you have to go shopping then do so.  I
expect white bra for those cow tits you have, I expect white panties to
cover that fat black butt ass and coochie cunt of yours, I expect white
stockings to hide as best you can those dark legs of yours and I expect a
white skirt and blouse or a white dress to finish your race makeover.  Any
deviations from these instructions will add to your punishment when you
succumb to me as your supreme White Mistress.

2. You will masturbate right now while sniffing your future Mistress's
dirty panties.  I came in them twice already today.  You will soon be
sniffing the scent directly from the source.  Once you have come like the
nasty whore you are, you will leave your cum-filled panties in your desk,
where one of my other slaves can find them.  If this task is not completed
to my satisfaction, yet another punishment will be added to you when you
eventually submit to me wholly as my personal black play thing.

3. Tonight and twice tomorrow, you will masturbate yourself to an orgasm
without using your fingers or toys.  I expect a detailed written summary of
how you accomplished this task ready by Sunday at lunch. If this order is
not fulfilled your White Goddess will add another punishment when you bow
at my feet like a good slave.

4. You will go to church on Sunday without wearing any underwear.  If you
disobey this simple expectation another punishment will be added to you
once you are on your black knees begging to smell my sweet white pussy.

5. Lastly, you will go to Mac's Diner after church and find as secluded a
booth as you can. A slave of mine will meet you there to check your cunt
and make sure you obeyed my command.  She will also explain to your
stubborn dumbass nutshell of a brain the consequences of disobedience to
your White Mistress.

A reminder since apparently following instructions has been difficult for
you, slave.  Each disobedience will be followed by a harsh and humiliating
punishment.  You are already at 3!!!  You should know that no one has ever
been able to refuse submitting to me and I doubt very much if a stupid ass
Nigger like you will be the first.

Now accept your role as a slut and submit....

Your White Mistress

P.S.-Now get fucking yourself cunt!

Fury bubbled through me.  How dare she make such ridiculous presumptions
and demands of me?  I read the letter a second and third time trying to
find a passage that could be the proof I needed to prove once and for all
it was Madison.  Yet, as usual, she seemed to craft her obnoxious demands
in such a way to make it clear to me it was she, but to protect herself as
well.  Furious, I threw the letter on my desk.  I went to stand up, but
felt myself bound to my chair with invisible restraints.  My panties were
so wet I could feel my juice leaking down my leg.  My anger began to falter
as my desire to come took over.  Again, in a pattern that was becoming more
consistent and alarming, I took Madison's stained panties in my hand and
brought them to my nose.  The aroma, much stronger than the previous scents
I had lustily, dementedly sniffed, was also the most intoxicating I had
smelt.  It was heavenly and a powerful attack on my senses.  I leaned back
into my chair, pulled up my skirt and began to rub my fevered vagina.  I
closed my eyes, remembering my submissive acts when married and rubbed my
clit frantically while attempting to retrieve any of Madison's remaining
juices.

Madison walked into my office, closed the door and spoke angrily, "What are
you doing with my panties, Nigger?"

I quickly took her panties out of my mouth and stammered, "I-I-I don't
know."

Madison walked over to me, dressed entirely in black, grabbed me by my hair
and pushed me to the ground.

Fear overwhelmed me and I stuttered, "I-I-I am sorry, Ms. Adams, I don't
know what got into me."

She laughed harshly. "Fuck, you really are a stupid fucking Nigger.  How
the hell did you ever get a job as a professor?  You did it because you are
a slave.  A slave for white pussy.  You want to be my personal Nigger dyke,
don't you?"

My pussy dripping wet, it was hard to deny it, but I tried to stay
strong. "No," I weakly protested.

Her harsh laugh echoed through my small office.  "You are too funny.  You
really believe you have some control in this situation, don't you?"

Her tone and self-confidence scared me and my own pride and confidence
seemed to fade into emptiness. I feebly defended, "Yes, Ms. Adams.  I am
your professor."

I felt a hard slap on my face as she explained, "Shut up, Nigger.  I am the
professor now.  The professor of discipline.  And you are my student.  My
fat, stupid, black-ass Nigger student. Is that clear?"

My cheek burning in shame, I whimpered, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" she asked, her hand moving back as if she was going to strike
me again.

"Yes, Professor," I replied, hoping that was what she wanted to hear.

Her hand fell to her side and she ordered, "Now come for me, you darkie.
Come on all fours, like a good Nigger pet."

My vagina so wet, so excited, I obeyed and began to rub my cunt like a
horny slut in front of my white student.  It took less than a minute to
feel my orgasm building and less than another minute for me to let out an
inaudible scream as I came from my humiliating racist treatment.

My orgasm spread through me like a tidal wave of pleasure and, when the
final soft waves flowed through me, I opened my eyes.  I was in my office,
panties in my mouth and somehow on all fours on my floor, like a dog.

Ashamed, I quickly took off the panties and stood up.  A small puddle of my
cum was on the floor.  Mortified, I quickly cleaned it up and tried to get
my bearings back.

What was happening to me?  Why could I not resist the ridiculous order
given by an uppity, privileged white girl?  Why had I come so hard from
being treated so inferiorly?  Who was I becoming?  And lastly, could I
resist the inevitable fall that Madison had already implied?

I obeyed Madison's obscured order and placed my panties in my left hand
drawer, my mind desperate to find a way out of this mess.


9. CREATIVE MASTURBATION

The drive home was hell, my mind seemingly playing tricks on me.
Everywhere I turned I thought I saw Madison.  Anxiety riddled me as I tried
to figure out a way to end this once and for all.  Between Madison's words
and my naughty daydreams, I had begun to act in a way I had been critical
of my whole life; a way that men had tried to treat me for years.  The
thought of falling further petrified me and I knew I had to stop this once
and for all...yet that evening....

Around ten, I was getting ready for bed, having ignored as best I could the
earlier memories of the day.  I remembered that Madison's soiled panties
were still in my briefcase.  I went downstairs and grabbed a plastic sealed
bag to keep the panties, when I should have thrown them away.  When I
pulled them out, the temptation was too strong and I tentatively took a
quick sniff of her sweet sex sealed in her cotton undies.  Unfortunately
for me, it was all it took to shift my mind from proud black woman to horny
eager submissive wannabe.

I grabbed the letter and read it for the umpteenth time. My first task was
to cum tonight without using my hands or toys.  Of course, I had no plans
of following through with the orders set out for me, but my body had other
ideas.  Suddenly really horny, I scanned my room for something I could use
to obey the order.  Seeing my brush, which had a three-inch handle, I
grabbed it and went to my bed with Madison's panties.  Getting completely
undressed except for my nightie, I lay on my back and put the white girl's
soiled panties back in my mouth.  I could only imagine how ridiculous I
looked with the white underwear in my mouth, but I didn't care at the
moment, my only focus my needy vagina.  The scent of Madison's vagina juice
so close to my nose was exhilarating. I sucked her panties into my mouth,
searching for any last remnants of the powerful white woman.  Opening my
black legs wider, I slid the brush handle easily into my damp vagina.  I
began to quickly pump the brush in and out of me, disappointed the brush
wasn't longer.

Suddenly, I was transported back to my office, with a still tied Emily
sitting on my chair. The events replayed exactly as they had earlier today,
but this time instead of leaving she announced, "Professor Jefferson,
Mistress insisted I could not leave your office unless I brought you to
orgasm first."

My pussy tingling already from seeing the beautiful Emily bound a few
minutes earlier, I suddenly was craving such attention.  When I didn't
protest or refuse the offer, Emily pushed me onto my desk and spread open
my black legs.  She quickly discarded my already damp panties and buried
her pale white face between my dark lips.  While she licked my swollen
clit, she slipped two fingers inside my bubbling volcano.  I let out an
out-of-character scream the instant Emily buried her fingers inside
me. Fucking me like a man, she pumped my vagina hard and fast, her mouth
never leaving my clit.  Soon my orgasm was brimming at the surface and one
deeper penetration, which widened my vagina lips, an orgasm shuddered
through me.  Her fingers stayed in me, keeping my pussy lips stretched
apart...holding me open while my juices flooded out of me.

The orgasm finally complete, I lay in my bed completely drained and
sexually satisfied in a way I could not remember ever feeling.  I looked
between my legs and gasped.  The brush was almost completely in me, far
past the handle.  I slowly pulled it out, wincing as the bristles pricked
my now overly-sensitive vagina.

Completely exhausted, my legs numb, I didn't bother getting out of bed,
instead falling into a blissful slumber.

*****

The next morning I woke up to an odd smell, slightly pungent, yet oddly
appealing.  As I opened my weary eyes, I realized my face was buried in
Madison's panties.  In one immense wave, yesterday came flooding back.  My
cheeks burned with shame at my weakness and what I had succumbed to.
Luckily, no one had yet seen my growing number of indiscretions.  My body
already warming up, I knew I was going to be adding to that number.  For
some reason, remembering the clear instructions of the letter, I scanned
the room again for something I could use.  Unlike the brush yesterday,
nothing was an obvious choice.  I sighed, getting frustrated, my pussy
pleading for attention.  I stood up, my legs still Jello, and started
searching my room.  I had perfume bottles but the lengths were too short,
and if the contents somehow sprayed in me that would not be good.  I had a
comb, but the handle was thin and rather flimsy; I didn't want to think
what would happen if it broke. I continued scanning the room, getting more
and more agitated.  Finally, I noticed the remote control for my
television.  It was long enough, but the buttons were an issue.  But my
need to come taking away any logical reasoning, I returned to my bed.
Worried my moans could wake my children, I shoved Madison's well used
panties in my mouth.  My vagina already well lubricated, I shoved the odd
pleasure-stick in my vagina.

I was suddenly dressed in a cheerleader's outfit and Madison had me
crawling on all fours while hooked to a leash.  I was led to Ben Mauer, our
all-star white quarterback. He was still in his uniform and dripping with
sweat.

Madison said "Here is your promised Nigger."  She pulled my chain until I
was at his feet and handed it to Ben.

"Thanks, baby," said Ben suavely.

Madison sat down on a nearby chair and watched.

Ben quickly discarded his sweaty uniform and padding and presented his
rock-hard, eight inch cock to me.  He ordered, "Get sucking, bitch."

Excited and nervous, I opened my mouth and took his stiff cock in my mouth.
I struggled to get into any rhythm and Ben finally grabbed my head and
began pumping his cock in and out of my mouth.  After two minutes of
hardcore face-fucking, he pulled out and demanded, "Bend over, bitch.  Time
for the quarterback to get into the end zone."

I obeyed, like a good slut should, and felt his cock easily slide in my
wanting vagina.  He grunted, "Holy shit, Madison, this Nigger is tight."

Madison laughed. "Well enjoy it, she won't be for long."

He grabbed my hips and began to really pound away at me from behind.  He
asked, "How does the Nigger like white meat?"

I moaned, loving what he was doing to me, "I love white meat."

The hard fucking continued for a few minutes until I heard him ask Madison,
"Where should I shoot my wad?"

Madison responded, "Your choice.  You can spray your dominant seed up her
cunt and right into her womb or pull out and spray your superior juice all
over her face."

Both choices mortified me, but my orgasm was building, and I just kept
enjoying the quarterback's white cock buried in me.

"What do you think, slut?  Should I cum up your black cunt or all over your
black face?"

I didn't want to be the one to choose, so I avoided it by trying to
manipulate him with dirty talk, degrading myself even more, "I'm your slut,
do with me as you please."

"Fuck, she is a submissive little slut, isn't she?" the quarterback said,
seemingly impressed by my whorish declaration.

"This is just the beginning," Madison teased, her eyes staring directly
into mine.

The quarterback grunted, "I'm coming Nigger, I'm shooting my seed deep in
your cunt." The moment I felt his semen coat my vagina walls I too came,
feeling his seed fill me completely.  He didn't slow down as I shook and
quaked through another humiliating orgasm.

I opened my eyes just as the orgasm fluttered to an end and was surprised
to realize I was on my knees and the remote control was lodged deep in my
cunt.  I spat out Madison's panties and rolled over onto my back.  I pulled
out the remote control and looked at it, coated with my cum.  I sighed,
realizing what I had just done and lay on my back, depressed.  As soon as I
had recovered from coming, common sense came rushing back to me and I felt
guilt and shame at what I had just done to myself and what I had just
fantasized about.  I took a long shower, attempting, like Lady Macbeth, to
wash away my sins.  Unfortunately, as with Lady Macbeth, the sins don't
just wash away.

*****

I went grocery shopping, worked out, had a second shower and read a book.
I did everything I could do avoid thinking about my obvious predicament.
Doing a quick cleaning of the house, I ended up in my son's room and
snooped in his dirty laundry.  Finding a pair of his underwear, I looked at
them closely and saw what looked like a semen stain.  I felt myself put
them in my pocket and returned to my room.

Reading the letter again, I knew there was no way I could go to church
without panties.  It was just far too morally wrong.  I also knew that
wearing all white, as she ordered, would give her even more power,
something I could also not allow.  I looked at the threat: three
punishments.  I pondered what they would be and I pondered how many more
she would add when I didn't obey her orders again.  Then I shook my head;
the idea of her punishing me was preposterous.  Yet, like every other time
recently, I felt a tingle down below.  I let out a sigh and, looking at the
clock, figured I had an hour before I had to start making supper.

Oddly, even though I had no intention of following the other commands laid
out for me, I decided, absurdly, to obey the masturbation order.  I went to
the kitchen and pondered what I could use.  I found lots of potential
pleasure sticks: a wine bottle, a Coke bottle, a turkey baster and then,
remembering a sorority initiation task when I was pledging, I opened the
fridge.

I grabbed a long, thick cucumber, similar to the cock I had fantasized Ben
having, and walked, well, rushed in all honesty, to my room.  I tossed my
son's underwear and the cucumber onto my bed and quickly got undressed.
Once on my bed, I rubbed the cucumber up and down my pussy lips, getting
them nice and wet.  The cucumber was wider than any cock I had ever had in
me.  I grabbed my son's underwear with my free hand and put it to my nose;
a very different scent than the girls' panties, yet somehow just as
intoxicating.  I searched for the stain and brought it to my mouth just as
I allowed the cucumber to enter me.

Suddenly I was at Madison's sorority, naked, in the center of the room,
with a dozen white girls watching me fuck myself with a cucumber, like some
nasty whore.

Madison, who had another unrecognizable girl between her legs, ordered,
"Professor Jefferson, why are you fucking your coochie like a cheap hoochie
mama, like a 2-cent whore, in front of my sorority?"

Other girls made lewd comments that only added to the humiliation, as did
the whispering among each other. Shamed, I had no answer.  I finally
answered, "For you, Ms. Adams."

"For me?  But you're fucking yourself in front of my sorority sisters in
our sorority house.  Are you auditioning? Maybe you aspire to be our
sorority house Nigger. Is that what this is about?"

A part of me found it appalling and deeply galling to have this painful,
shameful racial history invoked so callously by this callow, bratty white
girl.  Asking me, a professor of gender and race studies, if I 'ASPIRE' to
be their 'sorority house Nigger'!  I was so humiliated and infuriated, and
yet my vagina was all the more juiced and agitated.  I was speechless but
felt my head nod up and down.

"But house Niggers were generally the light-skinned Niggers, the ones with
white blood in them who were favored by whites because they were smarter
and better looking, looked and acted more civilized, farther from the
jungle, more human, less like apes and monkeys.  The real darkies like you
were generally field Niggers, weren't they?"

My God!  The arrogant white girl had gotten me to agree that I 'aspired' to
be her sorority house Nigger only to throw it back in my face and REJECT me
for being too dark, telling me a 'darkie' like me that looked like an ' ape
and monkey' would generally be a 'field Nigger'!  Personally, this was bad
enough, but professionally it was made worse by the fact that this was
historically accurate, and that colorism is so historically obdurate as to
be virtually universal culturally even to this day-insidiously inserting
itself even between members of the same family, including my own.  It was
all too much for mind to handle, but my gushing gash had a mind of its own.

"Then again," Madison mused aloud, "house Niggers were more intellectual,
at least compared to other Niggers, often learning how to read.  And you
are a professor, after all.  Perhaps we can make an exception if you agree
to be bred by lots of white men and boys, like you were with the twins, who
look white and don't take after you at all.  Do you agree to be white bred?
Of course this was a privilege and house Niggers were known to be utterly
loyal.  Do you agree to be utterly loyal and white bred?"

I hesitated, humiliated, and yet felt my delirious head dumbly nodding
again.  Girls cheered and heckled as I continued to pump the long green
vegetable in my vagina.

"Say it, slut?" Madison demanded.

My vagina burning hot, the cucumber widening my pussy lips like never
before, had me in a delirious state, that I would agree to almost anything.
"Yes," I moaned, my orgasm building.

"But you are a proud, black woman with a prestigious job?" Madison pointed
out.

My orgasm bubbling closer to release, I proclaimed, "I don't care. I'm your
slut.  Your house Nigger.  All the window dressing of how I am perceived is
just a front.  You saw past that, Mistress Madison, and to the real me.  A
Nigger slave eager to please their white Mistress."

Madison was pleased, "Come for me, House Nigger, come for your white
Mistress.  Come harder than you have ever came.  Now Nigger.  Now."

My whole body spasmed and quaked as another orgasm coursed through me my
entire body.  I lay completely spent on my bed, the cucumber still deep
inside me.  Each fantasy that penetrated my head became nastier, more
submissive and led to an even more extreme orgasm.  I hated myself so much
for what I was becoming, what I was fantasizing, yet the pleasure that came
with it was becoming more and more addictive.  I craved it the way I used
to crave nicotine when I smoked.  Yet, my mind was now betraying me too.
This fantasy was much nastier and the historical knowledge thrown in my
face was bizarrely erotic and yet disgraceful.  Worse yet, it was my own
mind, not Madison, creating these humiliating historical shots. Why was my
subconscious creating such derogatory scenes? Not to mention the implied
reference to my two children. What was becoming of me?  And more
importantly, how could I stop this accelerating train that seemed to be
picking up steam?

Looking at the clock, I cursed, realizing I needed to start supper soon.  I
had one more quick shower and was walking down the stairs when my son
walked in, sweaty from a game of basketball.

He said he was going to jump in the shower and my first thought was
devastatingly humiliating. 'I wonder what his underwear will smell like?'


10. SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAY: Revelations

I dressed in my Sunday best, ignoring Madison's ludicrous request to not
wear panties to church.  It was actually this request that finally last
night pushed me to ignore my growing temptations and stand tall, proud and
defiant.  Although being defiant to a 20-year-old college girl did seem
rather pathetic.

My kids had always attended church with me.  But this time they resisted
going to church, only giving in after I'd pleaded with them, almost
whining.  I wondered what this meant, nearly apoplectic about the prospect
of my children finding out what I'd been going through and losing all their
respect for me, maybe church could cleanse me of my sins and thoughts.  I
was sweating profusely the whole drive to church, alone in my car, the kids
insisting on driving themselves over separately.  The kids and I got to
church just as the first hymn was playing.

As hymn after hymn played, I began to feel rejuvenated.  I felt the old me
coming back.  The preacher gave a lengthy sermon on inner strength and
resisting temptation.  I felt as though he was speaking directly to me and
my resolve became even stronger.

When church was done, the kids each went their own way, and I decided to
tell this slave of Madison's that I was done once and for all.  My resolve
even stronger than when I woke up this morning, I was even more determined
to end this silly charade once and for all.  I arrived at the designated
meet spot and found a semi-secluded spot in the back.  I ordered a coffee,
refusing to order food; I planned for this to be a short and sweet
one-sided conversation.  Five minutes became ten and I began to get
frustrated; I had better things to do then wait for some slave of Madison's
to arrive.  I was just finishing my coffee when the elegantly dressed
Mrs. Hart came in.  Mrs. Hart, Jessica Hart, the Minister's beautiful wife,
saw me and began walking towards me. Anxiety came flooding in, not because
I thought she was the slave of Madison's, but because she might catch me in
a compromising conversation with some whorishly dressed girl.

She smiled and asked very tentatively, "May I sit down, Felicia?"

"Of course," I responded politely, even though I desperately wanted to get
out of there.

The waitress returned and topped me up and filled Mrs. Hart's empty cup.
The silence deepened as I nervously sipped my coffee.  Her smile
disappeared and she said, in a whisper, "I am so sorry to ask this Felicia,
but did you obey the letter?"

"Excuse me?" I responded, although I knew what she was asking.  I just
couldn't comprehend how she could possibly be the slave of Madison's I had
been waiting for.  It just was incomprehensible that the preacher's wife
could be a submissive slave to a young college co-ed.  I couldn't even
begin to fathom how the two would ever meet, never mind how Madison could
ever end up having Jessica Hart submit to her.

Her voice still a whisper comforted me, "It's ok, Felicia, I know what you
are going through now.  I have gone through it too; actually I am still
going through it."

"But how?" I asked.

"It is a long story, but long story short, her parents are good friends of
ours and over a few months she slowly broke me down," she explained, her
shame clearly displayed in her blotchy red cheeks; she had not yet looked
me in the eye since revealing her submission.

"But you are married!" I pointed out.

"Yes, I know," she sighed.  "But no matter how much I attempted to resist
her, I was just too weak. She is a very determined young woman."

Trying to stay strong, I confidently announced, "I won't submit to her."

"I hope you are right," she replied, although her tone hinted she doubted I
would be strong enough.  "But I have to ask, are you wearing panties right
now?"

"Yes, I am," I proudly announced, showing my inner strength.

She looked into my eyes for the first time.  "I am very impressed, Felicia,
you are a stronger person than I am."

"You can be strong too," I suggested.

Her soft smile faded.  "No, once you submit, there is no turning back."

I asked, curious, "What did she do to you?"

She looked away again and whispered, "I won't get into the details, but I
think it is important you know the consequences of not submitting to her
and then later submitting. I resisted her advancements for a long time, but
once I gave in she tested my loyalty.  One punishment is I must now orgasm
during every church service. I also am expected to please her during every
family gathering at some point, which is very risky and causes me extreme
anxiety.  She has also made it crystal clear I have one more punishment to
come."

I looked up at her for the first time in a while, baffled by the sexual
admissions of this, I thought, pure woman. "Why?"

"I couldn't resist," she shamefully admitted.  She stood up and said, "I
will be right back."

I sat stunned by yet another baffling revelation.  How would I resist
Madison, if a Preacher's wife couldn't?  That said, after talking to her, I
was more determined than ever to not submit.  Her shame at what she had
done was the strength I needed to stiffen my resolve to not submit.

She returned to the table, but did not sit.  She apologized, "I am sorry to
do this, but I will be punished if I don't."  She handed me what I assumed
was her panties.  I took them and tears beginning to form on her face, "I
am so sorry, Felicia.  I have got to go."

I put them into my purse before anyone could see.  Although I was confident
that I would not submit, I was also suddenly horny. I left a twenty on the
table and rushed to my car.  My head was spinning with both my need to
pleasure myself, and the new revelation of Mrs. Hart as a lesbian.  I
almost ran a red light, the distraction of my needy vagina itching for
attention and my brain a complete whirlpool of confusion.  At the red
light, I pulled out Mrs. Hart's red panties and took a quick sniff.  My
pussy instantly pulsed, her musky aroma making me even hornier and more
desperate to come.  I looked out my window and saw a young blonde looking
at me with disgust and my shame hit me hard.  I dropped the panties onto my
lap and looked away. Distracted, I didn't notice the light change until the
car horn behind me beeped.  Oddly, I felt a small discharge from down below
and knew I had to get home soon. Three more red lights and three more
intoxicating sniffs of the Preacher's wife's aroma and I pulled into my
driveway and quickly went to my front door, where I fumbled with my keys
way longer than usual.  Once inside, I bolted up the stairs and into my
room.  Pulling my skirt up, I quickly discarded my panties and pulled out
Mrs. Hart's thong.  I put it to my nose as I had with all the others and
began rubbing my clit like a wild woman.

Madison was in my office and sitting at my desk.  Her panties were in her
hand and I was on the floor.  She held them above me like she would a bone
to a dog.  She ordered, "Beg, slut."

Instead of speaking, I whimpered like a puppy.

She lowered her panties onto my face and then back up.  I reached for them,
but was unsuccessful.

"Are you a good pet?"

I panted like a good puppy would.

She lowered the wet panties back onto my face and let them linger there.  I
took in the delicious aroma and whimpered when she pulled them away.

From my submissive position, I could see her naughty smile.  My vagina was
dripping wet and was on the verge of ecstasy as Madison continued her
toying with me.  She continued dropping her white soiled panties on my
black face over and over, teasing me viciously.  Finally, my whimpering
becoming louder and more constant, she ordered, "Come for me, Nigger."

The word Nigger was the trigger and I came hard again, my pleasure not
stifled but stoked, ignoring by the humiliation I should have felt.  As the
orgasm spread through me, I softly tapped my clit, adding a new sensation
to my orgasm.  Once completely spent, I fell asleep, the wet panties still
in my mouth.

When I woke up a couple of hours later, I grabbed the Preacher's wife's
dirty underwear and tossed it against the wall.  My frustration at my
weakness and at the growing number of people involved in Madison's apparent
seduction of me was bringing me far past my boiling point.  And why was
being called the 'N' word the trigger that got me to sexual bliss?  I was
better than this...I had to be better than this.

Even after another sexual breakdown, I was still determined to end this
once and for all.  I refused, even when temptation returned, to masturbate
again that night.  It was hardly a victory, but it was a start.


11. MANIC MONDAY

I woke up confident, although a little worried about the format of today's
lesson.  It was an open forum style where I ask the simple question: "What
do we do to end racism?" Usually this is a very open and thought-provoking
discussion, but with Madison on her little power trip, I was a bit nervous.
I considered changing the lesson, but if I let her dictate my lessons, I
was letting her win.  Again, I ignored the command of wearing white,
instead wearing almost all black.  I wore a black skirt, black stockings,
black heels, and a black blazer.  The only hint at color was the purple
blouse underneath.  In secret rebellion as well, I also wore black panties
and bra.  My confidence, even after all my indiscretions, was high. Today
was the day I reclaimed my identity.  Today was the day I reclaimed my
color.

Now I won't get onto the details of what turned out to be a fascinating
class, but the ideas flowed easily and by the end of the class, anything
seemed possible.  It went so well, the last week seemed like a bad
nightmare that had never really occurred.  The girls even were all dressed
appropriately for class, in jeans and t-shirts, even Madison.

The class ended just as it used to do, with everyone leaving and I packing
my things and going back to my office.  I was checking my e-mail twenty
minutes later when I heard a knock on my door.

I opened it and Madison was standing in front of me now dressed in a black
leather skirt, black stockings, a red blouse and red four-inch heels. I
stared at her, surprised by her outfit and the fact that I thought I had
finally turned the tide.  She walked past me and sat down...at my desk.

I closed my door and ordered, my tone sharp, "Get out of my desk,
Ms. Adams."

Her first words to me were, "You are already at 6.  Do you really want to
hit 7?"

I sighed, "Madison I have told you before.  This is going to end now."

She smiled, flipping her heels off, showcasing her perfect feet and her now
pink toenails, and rested them on my desk. "Oh Professor, I do agree, this
is going to end now."

"Good," I responded, relieved she realized I was not playing her game.

"You really don't catch on do you?" she asked, shaking her head.

The pretentious bitch was really beginning to piss me off.  I sarcastically
replied, "Oh do tell."

Her smile faded. "I wouldn't use sarcasm with me, Felicia."

I noticed her using my first name.  Just one more level of disrespect added
to the plethora already given.

I sighed again, "Just please leave."

Ignoring me she began, "Did you know I have been doing some research and
have concluded that the Negro race was better off back before the end of
slavery, the Civil Rights movement and Affirmative Action?"

I sat down in the visitor's chair, and asked "And how are you going to
defend such a preposterous statement?"

"Well we could look at the higher rates of STDs and AIDS among blacks;
black females in particular, here in America, but also in Africa for
example.  All stats, I recall, you presented to us at one point."

On the defensive, I argued, "Yes, that is true.  But it was with the point
that blacks have had a much more difficult time breaking out of poverty
because of the institutionalized social and cultural legacy of slavery and
white colonialism."

"And black women and girls went from being raped slaves and colonial
subjects to ghetto gutter sluts and nigga hoes," she stated harshly, before
adding, "While black men and boys thugged on their 'brothers' and pimped
out their 'sisters'.  Her tone then suddenly changed drastically, like she
was speaking the gospel truth.  "America and Africa since the 1960s.  'Free
at last.  Thank God Almighty, free at last!'"  Her acidic, sarcastic
quoting of Dr. Martin Luther King's 'I Have a Dream' speech was
particularly searing.

My voice rose slightly.  "Th-th-that w-was not the p-p-point at all?." I
sputtered, my head too cluttered to think or respond articulately.

"Or, one could perceive it as one more example of the black race's
self-destructive aspects and of those cultural-sexual patterns and trends
that have always existed.  In fact, in terms of the degrading and harmful
effects on blacks and on whites and society generally, a very persuasive
argument could be made that, overall, blacks were better off before all
this equality crap," she rather casually, but confidently, pointed out.

I opened my mouth and flapped my thick, parched lips, but nothing came out.
I felt like a befuddled, dim-witted child.

Madison continued, "Thus I have concluded, blacks and whites were both
better off under slavery and Jim Crow, and Africa was better off under
white colonial rule...which leads me to you."  Her voice suddenly shifted
from knowledgeable to flirtatious.

"M-m-me?" I stammered stupidly.

She stood up and moved towards me, standing above me, "An argument can be
made that blacks need whites to dominate and control them 'for their own
good.' Just like children need parents to discipline and punish them and
tell them what to do 'for their own good,' and just like pets need their
human masters to train and discipline them 'for their own good.'"

Her hand touched my shoulder and I was mortified when her touch sent a
chill down my back and directly to my special place. I tried to ignore the
tingle, to fight the temptation to stoke the fire, my head spinning out of
control.

When I didn't answer, she continued, "So you see, blacks are thus naturally
more animalistic, more primitive and primal and more in touch with their
'animal nature'.  Basically, they are driven by sex, with less moral
boundaries. While whites, on the other hand, are more intellectually
developed, more civilized and thus more successful.  It's cultural history,
quite frankly, with such strongly established patterns of superiority and
inferiority: test scores, educational and occupational achievement. In the
end, it is all biological, genetic and evolutionary."  Her hands squeezed
my shoulders, before returning to my desk and my chair.

I was suddenly greatly intimidated by this white co-ed.  Her theory, such
as it is, is one that has been the driving force behind my repression and
propriety all these years.  I know my history.  I knew that by allowing my
sexual desires to control me, like so many of my ancestors had, I would
never be able to break past the generations of stereotypes.  This fear had
kept me shackled to a straight and narrow life, where I resisted any
temptation that would put me at risk of being the sexual deviant I knew was
deep in me.  But here, in my office, all those years of resistance, all
those years of being above such weakness, were crumbling before my eyes.

I still had not spoken; she continued her philosophical assessment of my
race and thus me personally.  "You see Felicia, such sexual desires cannot
be eliminated.  Oh sure they can be channelled, contained and restrained,
kept caged, so to speak.  But the reality can never be caged forever and
you, my submissive, need to break out of your cage. Break out of your
invisible shackles that have held you from feeling the pleasure, I am
guessing, you have felt this past week."

Her stocking-covered feet were back on my desk and I couldn't believe how
badly I wanted to touch them.  To bow down to them. To cleanse them.  I
suddenly realize I had spent my whole life putting white girls like her on
a pedestal. I viewed them as prettier and superior to me, my "better" in
almost every respect. Thus I spent years trying to emulate their success by
becoming like them in every way possible.  Yet, at this moment, I know
longer wanted to be like them as equals, but rather I wanted to be the
black slave who always obeyed her Master and Mistress.  I tried to stop
such thoughts from dominating my head, my educated brain, my proud soul.
Yet, with each sharp word that Madison stabbed into my heart, with every
quick glance at her perfect white skin, I weakened.

"Tell me honestly, Felicia.  Have you not once touched yourself thinking of
submitting to me?"

I lied, acting all dignified, "I have not."

Her smile faded, her tone changed, "Don't lie to me, Felicia. I can tell by
your facial expression that you are lying to me."

"I am not," I argued, although it was weaker than I planned it to be.

"Bullshit," Madison responded, calling my bluff, "I can tell by the look in
your eyes that you are lying to me."

Humiliated, I began to stand up to leave, but she quickly grabbed me and
sternly said, "We are not done here.  Sit down, Felicia."

Flashbacks to my childhood and my Mom's stern voice came pouring back and I
sat down obediently, still refusing to make eye contact with her.

"So I will ask you one more time, and if you are lying I will add yet
another punishment to your already long list of disobedience.  Have you
masturbated about me?"

Just wanting this to end and the wetness down below betraying me
completely, I admitted, "Yes."

"Good girl," she praised me, like I was her six year old child.  "See was
that so hard?"

I didn't say anything, my mind petrified of what might come out.  My vagina
was itching to be touched and I had to use every ounce of will power to
ignore the burning desire.

"Are you horny right now?" Madison asked, her tone implying she already
knew the answer.

I quickly lied, "No."

She chuckled, "Still lying to your future Mistress."

"You're not my future Mistress," I protested, but even I was beginning to
not believe it.

I assumed she was smiling, but I didn't look to find out.  "You're right,"
she agreed, surprising me.

Surprising myself, a wave of disappointment filled me, ignoring it as best
I could, I attempted to be strong, "Of course, I am."

She stood up again, walked over to me and put her soft white hands on my
tense shoulders. "Oh my, Felicia, you are very tense."

I again remained silent.

She began to massage my shoulders gently, my resistance instantly becoming
more confused.  Her touch sent waves of pleasure through my entire body.  I
felt her hot breath on my ear, bringing further sexual sensations. "You
want to submit to me now, don't you Felicia?"

My heartbeats echoed through the room so loudly I actually felt I would
burst.  My head was spinning in so many directions, my years of fighting to
be an equal was struggling to stay on the surface.  Yet, the pleasure I had
experienced the past week was overwhelming my history and my logic.

Her hot breath on my ear only made me more confused, distracted, out of my
comfort zone.  She whispered, her voice so seductive I felt like forbidden
prey, "Submit to me, Felicia.  Don't fight it.  I know what you need.  You
know you want to submit to me.  You need to give yourself to me entirely.
You need to be free from this illusion you have had that you are to be
dignified and proud and resist your sexual temptations.  Be who you are.
Be your history.  Be my...."

Her next word, which I was hanging on like an obedient dog waiting for its
bone, was interrupted by a knock on the door.  The knock was like an
endorphin killer, or like getting thrown in a cold shower, a harsh wake-up
call.  I frantically ordered, "Get your shoes on, Ms. Adams." Thankfully,
she obliged my request and she sat down in the chair that she should have
been sitting in all along.

I composed myself as best I could and opened the door.  It was my
department secretary with the agenda for the meeting scheduled to take
place in an hour. Although I was flustered, I desperately tried to maintain
pretence of poise and professionalism.  She gave me a quizzical look, but
didn't say anything as she handed me the agenda I had requested she type up
for me.  As she closed the door, I took a deep breath, relieved I had not
been caught in a more compromising position.  Yet, the near disaster was a
wake-up call and I knew was a warning from above not submit to Madison.

 Once she was gone and I had closed the door, Madison instantly turned back
on her dominant persona, standing up, "Now let's get back to where we
were."

"Ms. Adams, this is over.  I have a meeting in less than an hour."

Madison put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me slowly to my office
floor.  My knees weakened on her touch and although my mind was screaming
'no', my body gave no resistance to the gentle persuasion.  Now on my
knees, in the ultimate submissive position, she explained, "Felicia, I have
always wanted my very own Nigger."  I winced at her use of the 'N' word,
yet my pussy's dormant flame quickly rekindled.  Seeing my reaction, she
continued, slipping her stocking-clad feet out of shoes again, "You see,
Professor, I know exactly what you need.  You need a white Mistress who
makes all your decisions for you.  You need a White Mistress to break you
out of your prestigious wannabe-white bondage, to allow you to be who you
really want to be...a good Nigger slave. Tell me, Professor Jefferson,
Felicia, Nigger...tell me what you want."

She lifted her stocking feet to my face, her perfectly pedicured toes, just
an inch from my big lips.  I stammered, my head reeling from the reality
that I suddenly knew she was right.  My vagina juice was leaking through my
panties and I desperately needed to come.  I tried to stay strong, even
when every fibre of my body disagreed, "I want you to leave."

"Really.  I tell you what Professor.  If your cunt is dry right now, I will
walk out of here right now defeated and will never bother you again.  Is
that reasonable?"

I cursed my weakness, knowing it was a great deal, but a deal I could not
win.  "Ms. Adams, please just go."

She pulled me up, and moved her hand under my dress.  I pushed it away, but
was scolded harshly, her anger able to be triggered in a heartbeat. "Stand
still, Nigger, don't you ever touch me unless you have my permission,
understood you fucking cunt!"

Instead of freaking out at being called such harsh names, my vagina leaked
some more, and I absurdly apologized, "I'm so-so-so sorry Ms. Adams, for
touching you.  It won't happen again."

She smiled and said condescendingly, "You may make an obedient little cunt
licker yet."  She moved her hands to my sopping wet pussy and concluded,
"Well, I guess being my little Nigger slave does excite you doesn't it?"

I whimpered at her touch, giving away any last pretence I wasn't horny. My
body was screaming inside to just submit unconditionally to this powerful,
beautiful white Mistress.  Yet, my mind was desperately struggling to
resist the growing temptation.  I knew, like Eve, if I took one bite of the
apple, everything would change.  I stammered, "N-n-no."

"Then why is your Nigger cunt so fucking wet?"

I had no reasonable answer to this question.  So I again weakly pleaded,
"Please leave, Madison."

The slap across the face stunned me.  "How dare you address your white
Mistress so disrespectfully?  That is now another clear breach of your
submission to me and will be punished, what number are you at now, eight?"

Panic spread though me and I quickly corrected her, "It's only seven."

She laughed harshly.  "So you acknowledge you deserve seven punishments
from your Mistress, Nigger?"

Suddenly realizing my error, I stammered, "N-n-no, I was just...."

A second slap burned my cheeks.  "Shut up, Nigger."  Her finger went under
my panties and grazed my vagina lips.  I let out an involuntary moan.  The
white co-ed asked, looking for the answer she was used to receiving, "Do
you want to come, Nigger?"

"Yes," I whimpered, my head unable to think straight in this heated
condition, and her fingers teasing me so well.

"Yes, what?" she asked.

"Yes, please," I replied, my breathing getting more erratic.

She moved her finger away. "You can't really be that stupid, can you?"

Wanting her finger back there, my vagina so close to ecstasy, I apologized,
and finally used the words she had been waiting to hear, the words my inner
soul had been dying to say for a week, even if my mind had not accepted it
yet, "Yes, Mistress."

Her finger went back to my wanton vagina.  "You understand, Professor," she
sneered.  "Once your Nigger cunt comes on my white finger, you are mine.
You will do whatever I say, at all times."

"Yes, Mistress." I agreed, without hesitation, my body far too gone to
resist the hypnotic sexuality of this white Goddess.

"What are you?" she questioned, her finger slowly parting my wet vagina
lips.

"Your slave," I whimpered, wanting to be just that.

"What kind of slave?" she tested, her finger beginning to penetrate my
forbidden tunnel.

I knew what she wanted me to say, but I hesitated.  Such a final
humiliation was too much and I paused.

She wiggled her finger in me; she leaned in, her hot wet breath on my ear,
"Answer me slut, what kind of slave are you?"

She found my g-spot and my legs weakened, my orgasm bubbled and I began to
come shamelessly all over Madison's finger.  She instantly pulled her
finger out and I collapsed onto the floor, weak from the ultimate orgasm
that was now pulsing through me.

I hear heard her rant, "You fucking Nigger, how dare you come without
permission!  I guess saying the number of punishments coming to you being
eight was fucking anticipating."  I zoned her words out as the delirium
from the orgasm overpowered everything.  I was quickly brought back to
reality, like a cold shower, when I heard the clicking of what I assumed
was a camera.

I opened my eyes shocked to see Madison using her phone to take pictures of
me.  She smiled "Just in case you had thoughts of backing down after you
declared your complete obedience to me.  Now open your legs wide and let's
see that wet cunt of yours."

"Please no," I begged.

"Now, Nigger slut," she exploded.

I shamefully obeyed and closed my eyes while she took more photos.

"Pull your panties down so I can get a good look at my new property."

Humiliated, as the concept of being property killed the last of the orgasm,
I obeyed, knowing that fighting her while in this position was utterly
hopeless.  She took a few more pictures and she smiled, a smile nastier
than the Devil, and she said, "You better get composed Professor, you have
a meeting in a few minutes."  Calling me Professor was like a cold shower
awakening me back to the harsh reality of what had just occurred. I was
supposed to be the adult, the professional. She walked out, leaving my door
wide open with me still on the floor.

I quickly got up and closed my door.  I collapsed back in my chair,
exhausted, mortified and yet completely sexually satisfied.  I knew I had
taken a damn big bite of that apple and knew that my life had forever
changed...and just like Eve...I had no idea what was going to happen next.


12. HEEL

Lust is a powerful emotion; like a drug though, once the high is done, the
withdrawal is incredibly painful.  All night, my head spun around with what
I had done.  I made myself feel better by the thought that all that had
really occurred was she had masturbated me to an orgasm.  It was very
wrong.  It was morally wrong.  It was ethically wrong.  But, it could have
been so much worse.

This devastating weakness of mine now officially exposed to Madison was
very troubling, but was balanced by the great news that my daughter Keisha
had been assigned to work on a civil rights case with the NAACP.  I had
convinced her to come over tomorrow night for a celebratory supper and she
reluctantly agreed (I must admit our relationship had never been really
great, but that is another story).  So for the first time since Christmas,
I would have all three of my children in my home.  It was so exciting and a
great distraction from my sin.  I went and grabbed a roast, potatoes and
all the fixings for a grand supper.

That night, while I tossed and turned, my submission to Madison replaying
in my mind, I contemplated my next move.  Shames overwhelmed me as I knew I
had been weak, but I also knew I now had to be strong.  I convinced myself
I was capable of such strength and that the pictures she took were unlikely
to be too compromising...at least I hoped they weren't.

*****

Deciding I didn't want any confrontation with her, or at least to avoid or
delay it as long as I could, I wore the white stockings.  I was surprised
how nice they looked on my legs, yet how ashamed I felt knowing I was
wearing them strictly to not upset Madison.

I arrived at class slightly late again, a new trend of mine, and Madison's
smile widened when she saw me and my obedient clothing submission.  I tried
to ignore her, but my eyes kept glancing back at her, my body yearning for
her approval.  It was frustrating and probably showed as I was very
distracted during class.  After finishing giving a historical lesson on the
NAACP and telling my class, like a beaming proud Mom, that my daughter
would be working for them, I let them go twenty minutes early, something I
never, ever, did.

I high-tailed it out before Madison or anyone could talk to me, but half
way to my car, my cell vibrated.  I stopped to check and it was a text from
MistressM.  I sighed, how did she get my cell number, it wasn't even
listed?

I clicked on it and read the text:

Tue 11:12 Mar 22 11 If I didn't know better I would think u r trying to
avoid me, your WHITE MISTRESS.  But I know my NIGGER SUB would never avoid
me...would she?

A second text followed:

Tue 11:12 Mar 22 11 That would add a punishment and I can't imagine my
NIGGER CUNT would want that...would she?

Then a third:

Tue 11:13 Mar 22 11 Or does my NIGGER BITCH like being punished...I think
maybe she does.  If she is not in her office in ten minutes...I will add
another punishment...

As I lingered, frozen, a fourth text came: It was a picture of me after my
orgasm.  It was not too revealing, but my facial expression could only be
described as orgasmic bliss.

Realizing her blackmail intent, I cursed to myself and headed to my office.
Once inside, I waited and waited and waited.  I went from anxious and
nervous, to frustrated and angry as an hour passed by.  Finally, there was
a knock on the door.

I called, "Come in."

No one entered.

I called a second time, "Come in."

Again, no response.  I began to think I had been mistaken and the knock was
the office beside me when a sharp meaning filled knock repeated itself.

This time, I got up and opened the door.  A look that would melt ice bore
into me when I opened the door.  Madison, wearing a rather conservative
flower-print sundress walked in and once I closed the door, reprimanded me.
"Nigger, how dare you make me wait at the door?"

I began to speak, when she demanded, "On your knees, Nigger, you dare not
disappoint me again today or the punishment will be your pictures on
Facebook, understood?"

I dropped to my knees instantly, not for a second doubting that her threat
was real. Once on my white stocking-covered knees, I also replied, "Yes,
Ms. Adams, I understand."

She sat on my chair and put her thigh high boot on my leg.  "Unzip me,
Professor Jefferson."

I nervously and quietly obeyed the order, my hand shaking the whole time I
unzipped the boot.  Once unzipped, she ordered, "Take your White Mistress'
boot off, Felicia."

I again obeyed, slightly surprised by the civil manner of Madison.  Once it
was off, Madison demanded, "Clean my foot, Darkie."

Darkie for some reason felt more insulting than the other derogatory terms
she had used on me.  Uncontrollably, and yet undeniably, I felt a tingle
flow through me.  I leaned forward, extended my tongue and began licking
her stocking-clad foot.  I started on the top and moved to her perfectly
manicured toes.  I took each toe individually into my mouth and pretended
they were small penises.  She lifted her foot up a bit and I began to lick
the sole of her foot.  A mixture of silk and sweat should have been
disgusting, but instead was erotically sweet.  I felt my vagina getting wet
yet again.

"You like licking my feet, don't you, Nigger?"

The word and her condescending tone somehow made me wetter.  I admitted,
"Yes, Ms. Adams."

"I think it is time for your first punishment," she announced.

Trepidation filled me, but I remained silent.

"You told the class you were having a special supper tonight," she began.

"Y-y-yes," I stammered.

"With the whole family," she continued.

"Y-y-yes," I stuttered, worried where this was going.

She changed topics.  "Are you horny right now?"

It was undeniable.  So I answered honestly, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" she barked.

"Y-y-yes, I'm horny, Ms. Adams."

"Do you want to come?"

"Yes," I admitted, looking away.

"Look at me when you speak to me, Nigger!" she exploded.

I immediately looked into her eyes and grovelled, "I'm sorry, Ms. Adams."

Her softness returned.  "Grab my boot."  I did.  "Take off your panties."
I shuddered in anticipation of what was to come as I obeyed. "Go to your
chair and lift up that skirt so I can see that black cunt."  I obeyed
again, silently, my body loving every second, while my brain attempted to
reason with me.

"Spread those Nigger legs wide, I want to see that cunt I now own," she
announced, like I was a prize show pony.

Tears began to well in my eyes, the humiliation getting even bigger, I
begged, "Please, don't make me, Ms. Adams."

She laughed.  "Oh, Professor, you needed me more than any of my other
sluts.  I knew it the first week of class.  You have been living this fake
life for years, this charade of civilized living.  But I could tell deep
down you are just like every other Nigger, a horny slut desperate to serve.
Am I wrong?"

What a question.  Of course she was wrong.  I was a respected professor.  A
powerful black woman who had fought for every little thing I had.  Yet, at
this moment, all that mattered to me, was coming and obeying this white
bitch.  I wanted to look away, but instead, with tears now rolling down my
face, I admitted, "You are right, Ms. Adams."

"And I assume, that right now you desperately want to come," she predicted.

"Yes, Ms. Adams."

"Take the lengthy heel of my boot, slut, and use it to fuck yourself."

"What?" I asked.

"You heard me.  Fuck yourself with the heel of your Mistresses' boot.
Now!!!"

Her tone change startled me and I quickly obeyed, inserting the thin heel
inside my very wet vagina.  Not surprisingly, it easily went in.

"How does that feel?" she asked.

"It feels good in my vagina," I honestly replied, as my desire to come took
over.

"Your vagina," she cackled.  "What are you, 12?  You have a cunt!  A
fuck-hole! A Nigger pussy!  Not a fucking vagina."

"Sorry, Ms. Adams," I moaned, now beginning to fuck myself with the boot.
"My cunt is getting very wet, Ms. Adams."

"So back to our earlier conversation.  You are having a special supper
tonight."

"Yes," I whimpered, worried about what she had in mind, but more
preoccupied with the boot heel in my cunt.

"Well, I think you are going to invite me to come and meet your family
tonight," she suggested, in a tone that implied it wasn't a suggestion.

"But it is a special family supper," I defended, still fucking myself.

"Stop fucking your Nigger box," Madison demanded.

I reluctantly obeyed.

"All you have to do to be allowed to come in front of your Mistress is
invite me to dinner tonight," she explained.

I let out a subtle sigh.  I was far past horny and I knew if I didn't ask
her, she would probably just show up anyway.  So I reasoned that the best
way to at least attempt to gain some control of the situation at all was to
give in first.  "Ms. Adams," I began all cordially, "would you please be so
kind to be a part of my family's celebratory supper tonight?"

She answered, so civil that it was like we were two friends, "I would like
that very much."

She surprised me, by dropping to her knees, between mine, and grabbing the
boot.  Without a word, she began pumping her heel in and out of my pussy.
My moaning increased, even as I tried to keep it down so others wouldn't
hear my throes of passion.  With her white face so close to my pussy, I was
a puddle of goo and after only a couple of minutes of her fucking me, I
came, my juice flooding out of me.  She continued fucking me with the boot
heel until the orgasm was over and lightning quick, stood up and took a
much more humiliating picture of me spread wide open with a boot in my
pussy.

"Clean my boot, slut," she ordered.

I reluctantly took the boot out of my pussy and placed the heel at my
mouth.  I sucked off my juice like a dirty whore.  The shame again waved
through me, as it always did after I had finished coming and logic came
flooding back.

She made me put her boot back on for her and just as she was leaving I
asked, "Are you sure you want to come tonight, it will probably be pretty
boring."

Her smile, as wicked as one can look, sent a chill down my back, "Oh, I
doubt that very much."  She gave me a wink and walked out the door.

I collapsed into my chair, wondering what she could possibly have in mind
for tonight.  Everything up to now had been very discreet and it seemed
unlikely she would out me in front of my children. Pacified by that theory,
I got myself back together and headed home early to prepare for my
daughter's special supper.


13. MAID TO BE

I spent an hour deciding what to wear in the evening, realizing what I wore
would make a statement to Madison. If I changed into something casual she
might attempt to question me.  If I stayed in the same white stockings I
was implying I was still her sub.  After bouncing back and forth, I decided
to stay in the skirt and white stockings, desperate to not attract any sort
of negative attention from Madison.

Supper was planned for six o'clock and when it was ten after six I began to
relax.  Maybe she wasn't coming. Keisha was dressed in a power suit, having
come directly from work.  The twins, on the other hand, were dressed in
designer jeans and shirts, like they almost always wore.

I had just begun to serve supper after half an hour of polite chit-chat
when there was a knock at the door.  I let out a sigh and excused myself,
knowing the kids weren't going to get off their lazy asses anyways.  I took
a long deep breath and opened the door.  Madison looked beautiful as
always.  She was dressed to impress in a black skirt, just above the knee,
matching black pantyhose or stockings and a nice flower print blouse.  She
smiled and asked, "You haven't started without me, have you?"

"I was just bringing the food to the table," I replied.

"Good," she smiled and after a second of awkward silence, "Are you going to
invite me in?"

I stammered, "O-o-of course.  Please don't let my children know about what
I have done."

"If you behave today, my slut, it will remain our little secret...for now,"
she promised and yet hinted at breaking the promise...eventually. A chill
went up my spine at the threat of future humiliation and potential
revealing of my sins.

She sauntered in and I led her to the dining room.  The look of each of my
children seeing the beautiful white girl was interesting.  Keisha's face
expressed impatience and annoyance; Nicholas was one of horny male
adolescence; while Nicole seemed a mixture of surprise and admiration.  I
introduced her to my children, "Keisha, Nicholas and Nicole, this is
Madison, she is a student in my Race and Ethnicity class.  We had made a
previous arrangement to meet today to discuss her research project."  It
was a lie, a lame one at that, since Keisha would know, based on my
invariable principles that I would never invite a student over...ever.  And
my class' essays were always done by now.  On top of that, what student
comes to meet their professor dressed so attractively?  That said, it was
all I had to cling to my fragile position.

Madison added, acting like a sweet southern belle, "I am so sorry to
impose, but Felicia said she made way too much food."

I winced at her calling me Felicia, one more thing Keisha knew I would
never allow.  I hid my worries and offered Madison a seat beside me. Once
she sat down, I began dishing out the dinner, as I always did.

I started with my guest and handed her a bun. I continued handing out the
fresh buns and then sat down with mine.  As the others began cutting and
buttering their bun roll, Madison asked, "Felicia, could you butter my
bun?"  I was mortified.  Madison saw the look on my face and temporarily
saved me when she added, "Sorry to be such a prima donna, but I just got my
nails done before I came here and I would hate to wreck one."

Feeling a shameful burning inside, I avoided eye contact with my kids and
took her bun and obliged her, which probably looked sincere to the kids,
but I knew was a subtle test of obedience.

I handed it to her, and I hoped no one else saw her smug smile.

After a couple of minutes of silence, just as I began passing the salad
around, Madison opened, talking to the twins, "So are you two both in
college? I think I would remember you two."

Nicholas blushed at the flattery, while Nicole explained, "Oh no, no, we
are seniors in high school."

"Well, you look older than that," Madison said, clearly buttering her up.

Nicole blushed with pride, then glared at me, "Thank you, someone treats me
like I'm still twelve."

Madison looked at Nicholas, her voice just hinting at flirtation, "And you
too, Nick, I assumed you were my age."

Nicholas tried to play it cool, but failed miserably, "Yeah, I get that all
the time."

"I bet you do," Madison responded slyly, making Nicholas melt and Keisha
shake her head in disgust.  I was riddled with anxiety as I watched Madison
immerse herself in my family.

Trying to break the adulation her would be white siblings were giving
Madison, Keisha asked, "And what are you writing your paper on?"

"Oh, it is a little bit edgy and controversial," she replied.  "On a
different happier note, I hear this supper is for you."

Not one to be the center or attention, Keisha humbly replied, "It's just a
good opportunity to give back."

Madison, acting all curious, "How so?"

"Well, I mean with the election in 2012, it is important to protect the
rights of all minorities, not just blacks, in the re-districting and
gerrymandering that has been all too common," Keisha explained, her tone
implying Madison would not understand.

Madison asked, "Felicia, could you get me some ice tea?"

I stood up, again feeling humiliated at being treated like a maid in my own
house, and instead made it casual, asking, "Does anyone else want some ice
tea?"

Both my twins in unison, as if desperate to be just like Madison, echoed,
"I would."

Keisha, her voice flat, replied, "I'm fine."  Her eyes displayed her
displeasure at the whole ordeal.

I quickly returned to the table and handed my guest and twins glasses of
ice tea.

Madison looked at it like it was poison.  "Could I have some ice in my ice
tea, Felicia?"

"Of course," I replied too quickly.

"Me too," both twins added.

I took back the drinks, hoping my submissive behaviour was not as obvious
as I felt it must be.

I returned a second time, just to hear Madison explain the same theory she
had already presented to me, about blacks being better off in the past.  I
sat down and listened as Keisha glared at me to interrupt, to defend, to
contradict the white know-it-all.  Yet, I remained silent.

The next fifteen minutes was a mix of eating, and heavy disagreement
between Madison and Keisha and me silent, while getting slowly more and
more wet down below, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

By this time, Madison had finished her theory and Keisha was about to
explode. I went to get dessert and Keisha followed me into the kitchen.

"Why is she here?" my daughter confronted me.

"I'm sorry, dear," I replied, "I forgot all about it and when she arrived,
I invited her to stay, not thinking she would."

"She's a racist bitch," Keisha accused.

"Oh honey, she just comes from a very old school family.  It is our job to
break these stereotypes by teaching her reality," I lied.

"I can't believe she believes such absurd things.  Has she learned nothing
from your course?"

"It has been a slow, steep learning curve," I sighed.

"And she speaks with such blithe authority and self-confidence and she is
treating you like you are her maid."

"She is not," I disagreed, knowing full well that was exactly what was
occurring.

"Really?  You got her ice for her ice tea," my daughter pointed out.

I defended, I thought believably, "Oh honey, I was just being a good host.
On that note, we should get back there with dessert."

We returned and Madison was giving fashion advice to Nicole, who seemed to
be idolizing Madison completely.

We sat back down and Madison asked, although her tone implied it wasn't a
request, "Can I have some ice cream with it?  Vanilla."

I got back up and looked at the twins who gave a dumbfounded look at my
obedient behaviour and, I imagine, at my acquiescence to this white girl
treating their mother like a waitress, or worse, a maid in her own house.

I was ashamed, humiliated and embarrassed, but also guilty and ashamed that
my pussy was tingling and begging for attention.  I returned and scooped
white ice cream for Madison and the twins.  Her stubborn behaviour clearly
established, Keisha, not surprisingly, declined the offer.

Madison asked Keisha, "So tell me about this case you are working on."

"It would not be interesting to you," Keisha replied, dismissing Madison's
interest.

"No please do. I am trying to get my head wrapped around why, we as
taxpayers, pay for a court case over something so absurd," Madison
announced, clearly attempting to push Keisha and test me.

Trying to save my daughter, I explained, "Every ten years, with the
decennial census, the lines of voting districts are re-set based on updated
census figures.  Historically, traditionally, the party in power in each
state at the time uses the occasion to draw the district lines in their
favour, which is termed gerrymandering.  Sometimes they make deals that
benefit factions of both parties, such as drawing districts that maximize
blacks and/or other minorities in one district while maximizing
conservative whites in another district, in effect segregating districts
and constituencies racially and ideologically, securing the election of
black or Hispanic Democrats in one district and conservative Republicans in
another district."

Madison listened and then said, "But since both parties agree, no
disadvantage exists."

Keisha, her tone barely concealing her brimming anger, "First Madison, you
being a white girl in a white world would never understand the harsh
realities of being black.  On a historical note, there has been a long
history and a strong tradition in both parties, gerrymandering to rig
districts to favour one party or group over others.  It may be agreed upon
by both parties, for mutual advantage, but it clearly is politically and
unethically, unfair and undemocratic."  Now on a roll, her voice dripping
with contempt to this white girl who had crashed her special night, she
continued, "Also, by creating districts that are more homogeneous and less
mixed by race, class and ideology, gerrymandering has been a major factor
in creating gridlock in national and state legislatures, making it easier
for more extreme, ideologically rigid candidates to get elected and less
necessary for them to moderate their views to appeal to diverse
constituencies.  In fact, I would argue that just like having racially
segregated schools creates separate and unequal schools where the lack of
racial and cultural diversity lowers all students' education in the
broadest sense that is necessary for creating good citizens in a diversely
active civil society, voting districts segregated by race/ethnicity, class
and ideology has the same effects, in effect clogging the dialogue between
diverse groups necessary for a democracy to function, with respecting each
others' differences and expecting compromises."

Madison, attempting to be just slightly condescending, clapped. "Wow, that
was a very impassioned argument, yet it still doesn't justify the money
spent on lawyers and court cases, especially when it offers no solution to
the so-called problem."

"It's not about a solution.  It's about equity.  Both major political
parties and all of the political and ideological groups involved naturally
like drawing districts in ways that favour their election, rather than
having a fair, level playing field for open competition.  And they have
organizations, lobbying and campaign money backing them up."

Madison, her hand now on my leg, and under my skirt, countered, "But so do
you, don't you?  You have the NAACP, do you not?  Are they not a lobbying
organization with big money backing them up?  Christ, didn't they help win
the last election?"

"Oh my God.  It is exactly that type of white world thinking that holds us
back still.  Ever since the 1964 Voting Rights Act, and each time the Act
has been renewed since then, Southern states with histories of Jim Crow
laws and voter discrimination have to have any voting laws and
re-districting decisions reviewed by the Civil Rights division of the
Justice Department.  Historically, the NAACP has followed state voting laws
and re-districting closely and advocated with the Justice Department and
sometimes against them in court, particularly with Republican
administrations.  This is the law, not some lobbying group trying to be
heard," Keisha finished, slamming her fist on the table and standing up.

Madison squeezed my leg and stood up as well.  Her tone changed from
confrontational to compassionate.  "I am so sorry, Keisha.  I grew up in a
home where arguing was the only way to be heard.  Now I just fight to
fight."  Madison walked over to my eldest daughter and wrapped her arms
around her.  The contrast between my daughter's black as night skin and
Madison's white as snow skin was so apparent, it bordered on absurd.
Oddly, the feelings bubbling inside me were not motherly and protective,
but rather jealousy and envy.  Madison had never touched me with such
tenderness.  My daughter, one who hates hugs, was stiff as a board at
first, but much to my surprise melted in Madison's white arms, something
she had never done when I had attempted to console her.  My jealousy only
multiplied at both Madison who had got a physically emotional response from
my daughter that I could never get and at Keisha for getting the tender
passion I had never received from my Mistress.  Suddenly, realizing my
weakness and the fact that I had referred to Madison as my Mistress, I
shook myself back to reality.

"Nicole and Nicholas," I ordered, "Please start putting the dishes away."

Madison, letting Keisha out of her white cocoon asked, "Felicia, could you
do it? I would like to get to know your kids better."  Although her tone
was friendly and her rationale logical, I knew by her facial expression
that this was an order and not a suggestion.

My fake smile plastered on my face, I replied my voice way too syrupy to be
believable, "Sure, you guys go hang out.  I'll clean up the dishes."

I looked at Keisha, whose facial expression was one of utter confusion.  A
look I recognized all too well.  Her pussy was tingling and she couldn't
figure out why.  Madison took her hand, "Would you give me a tour?"

Clearly trying to ignore the tingle, she shook her head just slightly,
before replying, "Um...sure."  I watched the white co-ed leading my strong,
independent daughter.

I quickly cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and washed the few big
dishes.  The whole time panic filled me as I wondered what Madison had in
mind not only for me, but my children.  Nicole was clearly in awe of
Madison already, while I imagine I knew exactly what Nicholas would be
whacking off to tonight. But Keisha was exactly like me, which was why we
butted heads so much.  She was pig-headed, stubborn, proud and determined
to prove herself in this white man's world.  This focus also left her
emotionally unavailable and, like me, the perfect prey for a hunter like
Madison.  I let the dishes air dry, something I never did and went to find
the four of them.

My head spun with a trillion ugly scenes I would find when I got
downstairs.  Yet, what I found was the four of them playing Just Dance on
the Wii.

Seeing Madison's stocking-clad toes brought me instantly back to earlier in
the day.  My mouth watered and I couldn't believe how much I craved
Madison's salty sweat.  I stared at her feet moving all over like a dog
watching a tennis ball during a tennis match.  I just wanted to fall to the
floor, grab her foot and clean it.  Of course, sanity prevented such
temptation and when the song ended, Nicholas went to the washroom.  Madison
asked, "Do you have another washroom?  All that physical activity has woken
up my bladder."

"On the second floor.  It will be the second door on your left," Nicole
instructed.

"Thanks," Madison winked at my young daughter and walked past me, a smile
on her face that screamed trouble.

Once she was gone, Keisha remarked, "She's quite the fireball."

I laughed for the first time in days, agreeing "That she is."

"I think she is awesome," Nicole announced, like a star-struck teenager,
"and she is taking me shopping sometime."

"She is?" I asked, surprised by this new piece of information.

All giddy and excited, a side of Nicole I seldom saw, she added, "She also
said she would get me into her big year end sorority party and thus get me
an early invite to pledge next year."

"She did, did she?" I asked, very worried about her intentions.

"Yes," Nicole confirmed.  "Madison is awesome."

Keisha added, "She is a psycho just begging to be analyzed."

"Who?  Madison or Nicole?" I joked.

Keisha allowed a rare smile to cross her face, which made her look even
prettier, "Well both actually, but I was talking about Madison."

"Shut up," Nicole snapped.

We both ignored her. "Yeah, I still haven't figured her out."

"Oh I have," Keisha confidently assessed.

"Do tell," I curiously enquired.

"Isn't it obvious?  She must always be the centre of attention.  She will
also show how far she can go before she will be stopped, very typical
spoiled brat syndrome.  She treated you like a maid and when you didn't say
no she pushed you further.  As for me, she challenged me, I stood my ground
and she backed down."

I contemplated this assessment, ignoring the clear critical shot my
daughter had taken at me.  Was she right?  If I stood up to her, I mean
really stood up to her, damn the consequences of the photos, would she
leave me alone?  Did I want to be left alone?  The answer should have been
an obvious and indisputable: yes! Yet, my very damp, needy, vagina, had a
very different opinion, which I desperately tried to resist with every
fibre of my being.

I ignored my moral dilemma, instead defending myself. "Keisha, I was not
being her maid; I was just being a good host."

"If you say so, Mother," she replied. Her disdainful tone clearly implying
she didn't believe me.

"She isn't gone, is she?" my son asked in a panic, returning from the
bathroom.

Nicole sarcastically replied, "No Nick.  She is upstairs, getting undressed
in your bedroom."

"Nicole!" I gasped.

"What?  Nicholas has been drooling all night and staring at her like a
complete creep."

"I was not!" Nicholas defiantly protested, his face giving away his true
feelings.

Nicole pushed it further, "I thought you were going to pull out your lizard
and offer it to her as an appetizer."

"Enough!" I exploded

"Enough, what?" Madison asked, returning from the washroom.

"Oh nothing.  The twins are just disagreeing as always," I explained.

"My sister and I used to fight too, but now we are really, really close,"
Madison responded. Only I knew the reason they no longer fought and the
underlying implications of her words.

Keisha announced, "I need to get going.  I have to get up early tomorrow."

Madison yawned, "I should get going too.  I let my sister borrow my car and
just got dropped off here. Can you give me a ride to the sorority?"

Keisha's face said no, but her lips said, "Sure."

"Awesome," Madison said, all Valley Girl, and gave Keisha one last hug.
She went and gave Nicole a hug and stunned Nicholas by hugging him too.
She walked to me and said, all pleasant and with manners I never knew she
had, "Thank you very much for inviting me, Felicia.  We can continue our
research talk tomorrow."

"You're welcome," I responded, stunned by her pleasantness.

She hugged me too, her hand giving my ass a sly squeeze, her touch
triggering a slight leakage down below.

I watched her leave with my daughter, helpless to stop her.

*****

An hour later, I got ready for bed and was startled to find a sex-toy on my
bed with a note.

Slut, I searched your room and could not find any toys.  Unless you have
hidden them really well, I am guessing you don't actually own any.  We will
discuss that deficiency tomorrow.  So, I searched Nicole's room and found
this little toy.  I expect you to fuck yourself, thinking of submitting to
me completely and to the fact that I am very confident that your older
daughter will join you in submissive servitude to me.  She is just like
you...desperately lost and searching for sexual release.  On a positive
note, you were such a good Nigger maid tonight, I am taking away one of
your punishments.  Now go fuck that Nigger box of yours with your
daughter's toy.

Mistress M

My mind was reeling, both at the fact that Madison had been in my room and
the fact that she seemed to have plans for Keisha too.  Feeling my motherly
instinct taking over, I called Keisha's cell.  No answer.  I sent her a
text.

Tue 9:31 Mar 23 11 Keisha please call me when you get a chance.

I got ready for bed stressed that my daughter might be being seduced right
then.  Oddly, the more I thought about it, the more my mind began to play
tricks on me.  I began to feel jealous again at the thought of Keisha and
Madison together.  I began to envision Keisha and me fighting for Madison's
attention.  These thoughts triggered a reaction down below and I scurried
to my bed and, taking my daughter's toy, began to fuck myself, even as I
scolded myself for my weakness.

I was on my knees at Madison's sorority, right beside me was Keisha, also
on her knees.  We were both naked except for a dog collar on our necks and
white garters, stocking and heels.

Standing in front of us, Madison was holding both of our leashes."Are you
Niggers ready for your initiation?"

"Yes, Mistress Madison," we answered in unison.

"Again, remember, whoever gets off the most sorority girls wins.  The loser
will be our bathroom Nigger for the rest of the semester.  The winner will
be our pleasure puppy.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress Madison," we both eagerly agreed.  Keisha gave me a fierce
glare, telling me she had no intention of losing.

We were led into the main lobby of the sorority where over thirty girls,
all scantily clad, were waiting, having wine and conversing.  Madison
unhooked our leashes and announced, "Game on, sluts."

As soon as our leash was off, Keisha pushed me to the ground and quickly
went to the closest girl to her.  I couldn't believe the words out of her
mouth, "Could this Nigger dyke please be allowed the privilege of eating
your white pussy?"

I watched dazed as the pretty blonde, without a word, opened her legs and
my daughter buried her head between them.

Madison whispered, "Looks like you will be drinking a lot of pee, Nigger
Mommy."

Her words brought me back to the task at hand and the consequences of
losing, I crawled, like a puppy, to a pretty brunette and asked, "Ma'am,
can this Nigger Mammy lick your vagina?"

She scoffed, "My vagina?  Try again, Professor Jefferson."

Hearing my name used brought a rush of anxiety that I quickly pushed down
remembering the task at hand and the consequences of losing. "Sorry
m-m-ma'am, your white beauty distracts me from thinking straight.  Can this
stupid Nigger lick your lovely white cunt?"

"That's better, Professor, let's see if you can earn an A," she teased,
opening your ivory legs and presenting me with a young, ripe, trimmed cunt.
I quickly crawled into the Holy whiteness and began licking the heavenly
sweetness.

I let out a scream as my orgasm shuddered through me, the complete
degradation of my daughter and me bringing me to euphoria.  My juices
leaked out of me and my daughter's toy was coated with my cum.

Suddenly there was a knock on my door, followed by the worried voice of
Nicole, "Are you, ok, Mom?"

I quickly called back, my voice disconcertingly high, "I'm fine, honey,
just thought I saw a spider in my room."

She laughed. "I thought you were dying."

I thought I might die, the humiliation of my daughter hearing me scream out
an orgasm completely mortifying.  "No-no, I'm fine, honey."

"Ok," she replied, and walked away.

My daughter's toy still in my hand, I quickly went to my washroom and
washed my sinful evidence away.  I tried the toy and wondered suddenly when
she had bought it.  I pondered two things: one, how I was going to put it
back and two, where the Hell did I put it back?

My phone rang a few seconds later, my text tone indicating it was a text,
and I went to get it.

Tue 9:59 Mar 22 11 Your daughter will be very easy prey.

I stared at the message hoping it would disappear.  I texted Madison back.

Tue 10:01 Mar 22 11 Where did you get the toy from?

Tue 10:02 Mar 22 11 Did you use it, slut?

Tue 10:02 Mar 22 11 Yes.

Tue 10:02 Mar 22 11 It was in Nicole's undies drawer. Did u cum, my sub?

Tue 10:03 Mar 22 11 Yes.

Tue 10:05 Mar 22 11 Good...tomorrow u r not to wear underwear...understood,
slut?

Tue 10:06 Mar 22 11 Yes, Ms. Adams.

I waited a while in case there were more texts, but none came.  So I put on
my robe and went downstairs to get a glass of water.  The twins were
downstairs watching Letterman. I quickly rushed upstairs and put my
daughter's toy back in her drawer. Relieved, I returned to my room to
compose myself, wash my face and straighten my clothes. Finally calmed
down, I went back downstairs and watched some TV with my children.


14. A Brief Interlude into the Mind of Keisha Jefferson

I can't believe the predicament I am in because of my Mother.  What a
fucking night.  I am so angry right now I could fucking snap. I didn't want
to go to my Mother's house in the first place, but you can't divorce your
family...although after today I may look into it.  My siblings are spoiled
brats, as ashamed of me as I am of them, and my Mother and I have never
really got along, probably because we are so similar.

First of all how could she allow that white girl to come into our home and
disrespect our race like that?  I wanted to slap her in the face. It took
everything I had to not explode at both my Mother and that white girl
Madison.  Her apology wasn't sincere but I had to fake it to be civil.
Then to make matters worse, she invites herself for a ride home.  What
could I do?

The ride home was tedious.

Madison attempted to apologize again, but she sure wasn't very good at it.
"So I'm sorry about getting so confrontational at supper.  It wasn't the
right time or place."

"You think?" I sarcastically responded.

"Don't get me wrong.  I believe everything I said," the white bitch said
calmly. "It's just wasn't the place to stand on my soapbox."

"Your soapbox?" I mistakenly asked, allowing her to continue the absurdity.

"Yes. I have been attempting to start the long process to dismantle all the
absurd civil rights legislation that was passed by our insipid politicians
in the past.  America's slow fall from grace goes hand in hand with the
increase of rights for black people," Madison explained rather
matter-of-factly, not remotely concerned by how offensive such a suggestion
was to me.

Luckily, I pulled up to her stuck-up pretentious Barbie-girl sorority.  My
fury about to burst, I wanted to just push her out the door, but social
etiquette restrained me.

Madison than asked me the most absurd thing ever, "Could I come and observe
you at work?"

"Are you kidding me?" I asked, dumbfounded by the absurdity of the
question.

"Well, you seem to disagree with my very well-documented and historically
proven logic.  Why don't you prove me wrong?"

Anger boiling again, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "Sure, why don't you
come to my office one day and I will introduce you to my NAACP bosses and
we can bond."

Apparently oblivious to sarcasm, Madison eagerly said, "Awesome, I'll do
that."

Before I could say no, she was out of my car.  I sat there dazed and
confused.  What the fuck had just happened?

I drove home furious, ignoring the text from my fucking Mother.  If I
responded then it would not be pleasant.

I tossed and turned all night, every potential nightmare scenario possible
playing over and over.  I was determined if Madison was serious and showed
up one day, I would put her in her place, no more Ms. Politically Correct.


15. SWEET SWEAT

That morning I woke up early and had a long shower.  I woke up the twins,
as I always did, and went downstairs.  I had cereal and milk on the table
by the time the twins came stumbling down, still groggy-eyed to the
kitchen.  Once both seated, Nicole asked, "Mom, could you please get me a
glass of orange juice?"

"Sure, honey," I responded.

"It's Nicole, Mother," Nicole scolded, like I was her child.

I ignored the condescending attitude and handed her a glass of orange
juice.

"Actually, Mother," she said, the way she said 'Mother' clearly implying
her disapproval of me, "I think I'll have some white milk."

I began to wonder if my daughter was treating me like a maid, like Madison
had yesterday, but let the thought go, she and her brother had always
treated me like their maid....that is what children today do.  Their sense
of entitlement was so ingrained in our society, parents today really have
no power, especially a parent like me...a single Mother with a wealthy
ex-husband who bought his children's affection.

I got her a glass of milk and quickly left for work before more demands
could be made of me.  Rattled, I pondered if this was just more of my kids
demanding entitlement issues, or had Nicole noticed the Domme/Sub
relationship that was developing between Madison and myself.

I got to my class just in time and gave a lecture about current politics
and the Obama administration.  Not surprisingly, Madison questioned his
role as President, but ignored the race issue.  She mostly focused on
health care and the current economic state, reiterating typical Tea Party
rhetoric, ignoring the reality that Obama was dealt a very bad hand.  The
class got into a heated debate about whether Obama was a good President and
even briefly into the race issue, but luckily Madison behaved herself,
although the smirk on her face was a clear message to me.  Once class was
done, I headed to my office anticipating some sort of humiliation from
Madison.  I also hoped to reason with her to keep my family out of this.

I worked in my office until lunch, when my teacher assistant Eleanor
arrived, dressed in a pretty sundress, pink nylons and five inch heels.
Before last week, I had never seen her in either a dress or heels.  Her red
cheeks told me she found this as uncomfortable as I did.  I wondered if she
knew what I had done.  She opened, "I am sorry about last week, Professor
Jefferson."

"Let's pretend it never happened," I responded.

"I wish I could," she replied, refusing to make eye contact. She explained,
"I am here for two reasons.  First for our usual Wednesday meeting for
tomorrow's class and two to tell you that Mistress Madison will be here at
1:30 and expects you to be in your office."

I sighed.  Obviously, Eleanor knew.  "I see," I responded, attempting to
act casual.

"I am supposed to tell you there will be an extreme punishment if you are
not here," Eleanor whispered, clearly mortified by our current predicament.

"Don't worry about it, Eleanor, I have it under control," I explained,
sounding way more confident than I really was.  "Let's focus on tomorrow's
class."

I quickly laid out my plan for the class and sent Eleanor on her way to do
some research.  She rushed out of there as quickly as she could, clearly as
uncomfortable and humiliated as I was.  I went out for lunch, and
contemplated what the consequences would be if I didn't return.  Knowing
full well that Madison wasn't one to lose, it was a fleeting idea that soon
faded when I pondered the numerous punishments she might subject me to.  As
was becoming the norm though, my vagina began to dampen slightly as I
considered these same scary punishments. What would they be? I couldn't
even fathom what they may be or how far Madison would go to show her
dominance.

I returned early, and sat at my desk beginning to create this year's final
exam.  A little after 1:30, Madison walked into my office without
knocking. She was dripping with sweat, having obviously just worked out.
She closed the door and locked it.  She turned to me, her tone clearly
showing her disappointment in me, "Why are you not on your knees, Nigger?"

I hastily fell to my white stockinged knees, scared of her wrath.

She walked to my desk and sat down on my chair.  She looked down at me and
demanded, "Take off my shoes and socks, slave."

I obeyed, my hands trembling.  Once the shoes were off, I pulled off her
sweaty white socks.

Once both were off, she ordered, shocking me, "Clean my white feet,
Nigger." My repulsion must have been obvious because, she roared, "What is
that repugnant facial expression for?"

I stammered, desperate to calm her, "I-I-I am sorry, Mistress Madison, but
the task is utterly humiliating."

"So?" she asked, "You are my black slave. Black slaves don't question their
superior white Masters, do they?"

"N-n-no," I mumbled.

"Black sluts like you serve one purpose, don't you?" she asked, rubbing her
sweaty white foot on my face.

"Yes, Mistress," I shamefully replied.

"And what purpose is that?" she questioned.

"To serve," I answered.

"Good girl," she purred, her anger suddenly gone, "You are learning, you
may make a good little Nigger slave yet.  Now get to work."

I took her right foot in my hand and began licking her sole.  The taste was
quite distasteful, but somehow my pussy was getting wet from the submissive
act.  I took each toe into my mouth cleaning it completely, sucking each
like a small white cock.  Once the first foot was done, I repeated the task
on her left foot.

Once done, she stood up and pulled down her shorts and panties.  I was
suddenly staring directly at her shaved white cunt.  Her bright red lips
slightly wet with either sweat or her juice.  She smiled looking down on me
staring at her cunt and chuckled, "Like what you see, cunt?"

I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing I was mesmerized by
her cunt and that I desperately wanted to taste her sweet nectar.  I
replied, "Not really."

She laughed even harder, "You are a terrible liar.  I know for a fact that
if I offered my sweet white cunt to you those nasty big fucking Nigger lips
would dive in like the starving Nigger dyke you are.  But you have not
earned the right to taste my cunt.  Oh no, no, you have not."

Her humiliating words were mortifying, because I, for some unknown reason,
could not stand up for myself and because I knew at this very moment it was
true.  I watched as she turned around, bent her ass into my face and
explained, turning her face so she could look at me with a wry smile. "On
the other hand, you have earned the right to clean my ass crack clean of
sweat."

I stared at her tight perfect ass in awe at first, but that was quickly
replaced with disgust at the newest task expected of me.  I muttered,
pleading, "Please, Mistress Madison, don't make me do this."

"You are testing my patience, Nigger.  I expect this resistance from your
older daughter. She will be tough to break, but you should know your place
by now," she explained, pushing me even harder by referring to my daughter.

"P-p-please leave my daughter out of this," I begged, "I'll do anything."

"I know you will and so will your daughter.  Why have only one Nigger slave
when I could have two?" she asked.

"Please, Mistress, not my children," I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes.

"Oh, I don't want all your children. I have enough white sluts to please
me. I actually think they will be good allies in my quest to train you as
the submissive Mammy slave you want to be," she hinted.

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused by her implications and the way she
said Mammy instead of Mommy.

"You are a dumb Nigger.  How did you ever get so many degrees?  Your twins
will soon be your home Master and Mistress.  Maybe not sexually, then again
maybe, that Nicholas looks like he would fuck you in a heartbeat and Nicole
is clearly dominant like me."

I was shocked to my very core. "You want my children to use me as a slave?"

"Aren't they already?" she asked.

"Not in the way you are implying," I defended.

"Not yet, maybe, but the underlying context already exists.  They are the
superior white children and you and Keisha are the embarrassing black
offspring.  I bet they don't even introduce you to their friends, do they?"

Thinking back on it, she was right, I seldom met any of their friends.
"No, but that is not because of my skin color."

"Isn't it?" she questioned.  "We can talk more about your family issues
another time.  Right now you are delaying your task.  Clean my ass crack
and be sure to get my rosebud cleansed too."

I stared at her white ass, but didn't move, my mind reeling by her
accusations and my current task.

"Now," she roared and I quickly buried my black face between her white as
snow ass cheeks.  The taste was even more disgusting than her feet and I
quickly attempted to accomplish the humiliating task.  "Slow down, Nigger,
enjoy your place" she snapped.  I obeyed and reached her anal entrance.  I
tentatively cleaned it with my tongue thankful to not taste anything
different than the salty sweat.  After a couple of minutes of utter
humiliation, Madison turned around, her pussy now inches from my face, and
said, "Take a good look at my cunt, Professor."

I obeyed, staring at her hard clit and pink pussy lips.

"If you keep obeying, one day I may let you please me," she teased.  She
moved her cunt forward, rubbing her pussy on my face.  I instinctively
extended my tongue to taste and felt the sudden burn as her hand hit my
cheek.  She exploded, "Did I fucking give you permission to use your Nigger
tongue on my cunt?  That is one more punishment added to your total.  I
thought you were beginning to learn obedience and your place, but clearly
not.  Get on your desk and lift up that skirt to show me that Nigger hole
of yours."

I quickly obeyed, Madison's tone demanding obedience.  Once on my desk,
legs open, my naked pussy on display, having obeyed her text to not wear
underwear.  I nervously watched wondering what she planned to do.  She
reached down on the floor, picked up her panties and shoved them in my
mouth.  The taste was a mixture of sweetness and sweat, good and bad. She
suggested, "If I were you, I would keep them in your mouth."  My eyes went
wide wondering what her intentions were.  She slowly rubbed her finger up
and down my wet pussy lips making them wetter and me conversely hornier.
Then suddenly she slapped my pussy hard.  I whimpered into her panty gag.
The second and third sharp slaps stung my pussy, yet somehow my desire to
come only increased.  She whispered, "Professor.  I have to leave now.
But, for your disobedience today you will be punished tomorrow.  You are
forbidden to come until I give you permission, understood?"

I nodded my head in understanding as she slid a finger inside me and began
pumping my cunt.  I could feel my orgasm building out of my control.  She
kept fingering me harder, demanding, "Don't you dare come, Nigger!"

I tried to refrain to resist the rising tide, but I couldn't and I began to
shake uncontrollably.  I was scolded throughout my entire orgasm, her
finger continually pumping me, "You're coming aren't you, you fucking dumb
slut. You really are one stupid bitch.  You can't obey a simple order. You
may be the dumbest smart Nigger I have ever met."

Once my orgasm was done, she pulled her finger out of me, wiped my juice
off on my dress and got dressed.  Once dressed, she smiled, "You wait until
the end of class tomorrow, Professor.  Oh, do I have a surprise for you."

I just got off my desk when she opened the door, leaving me barely able to
cover my sin.  I sat at my desk, again frustrated at my weakness and
inability to stand up for myself and pondering with dread what kind of
surprise she could possibly have for me.


16. ANOTHER BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE MIND OF KEISHA JEFFERSON: THE UNKNOWN
BEGINNING

When I arrived back from afternoon meetings, I was shocked to see Madison
sitting at my desk.  Anger quickly rose in me and I demanded, "Get out of
my desk."

Madison smiled, but obeyed, her smile wide.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" I asked, going on the offensive, the
only way this pretentious stuck-up white bitch was going to learn.

"I came to watch you work like you offered," she explained.

"I was being sarcastic," I retorted.

Her sweet smile vanished. "Well, I guess it is too late now."

"No, it is not, leave now," I demanded.

She shrugged, "That's too bad.  I just finished talking with Mr. Walters
about how you invited me, a college student from your Mother's class, to
shadow you for the next while.  He thought it was a great idea and would be
very powerful having someone of my race and economic stature on their
team."

I was floored.  Now what was I to do?  I couldn't go and tell Mr. Walters
the truth; he would just argue that it would be good to have a white woman,
especially a big name white woman, on our team.  My tone scathing, I
warned, "Fine, stay then, but stay the Hell out of my way."

"As you wish," she smirked, which ticked me off even more.  I cursed my
Mother in my head.

I sat at my desk ignoring the conniving little bitch.  I checked my e-mail
and realized if I had her here all day, I may as well have her work for me.
After about twenty minutes, where she just sat there in silence, I
suggested, my tone still implying my strong disapproval of her being here,
"Do you want to see what really happens here?"

Her smile broadened, "Sure, I would love to see how you justify wasting my
daddy's tax money."

I snapped back, "Why are you really here?"

Her smirk returned, "For you to prove to me that I am wrong."

I shook my head in utter frustration.  "I need the transcript for files
173-182. Go see Zelda, she will show you how to find these files. Once you
have printed them, search for any references to earlier voting cases. "

Madison stood up, "Yes, ma'am," she responded and left, her tone though
dripping with condescending propriety.

Once she was gone, I worked on my attack plan for the case.  It was a
frustrating endeavour, as I went through previous cases, and tried to find
one that already had substantially held in our favour. A couple of hours of
mind-numbing reading, and I was no further along than I had been when I
started.  Frustrated, Madison's timing was impeccably bad.  She walked in
and tossed the files on my desk.  I looked up with a glare I hoped would
intimidate her the way it did most people.

Unfazed, she sat down, in a dramatic huff, looking as bored as one could,
"Well, that was riveting."

Using her prima donna attitude against her, I sarcastically replied, "Oh
my, did white girl do work for the first time in your life?"

Her smile disappeared in a heartbeat.  "It's not my fault I come from a
family with two parents who actually loved each other."

Anger boiled again, "You pretentious bitch, how dare you speak to me that
way?"

Her tone dripped with authority, as she stood up, suddenly towering over
me, "Don't you ever speak to me that way again.  Do you understand?"

Suddenly rattled by her dominant retaliation, I stammered, "F-f-fine,"
before standing up to balance the power shift that I felt was beginning to
occur.

Her smile suddenly back, "Good, we understand each other. I'll be back in a
bit. Ta-ta!"

Once she left, I sat back down furious again.  What the hell just happened?
How the hell was I going to get rid of her?

*****

By the time she returned, I was in a late meeting with the firm's top
lawyers.  Continuing her pretentious persona, she actually walked in and
offered, "Sorry to interrupt but Ms. Jefferson invited me to observe."

Mr. Walters gave me a sceptical look, but continued the debriefing.
Madison listened intently, for the first time not speaking.  Once back in
my office, Madison offered, "Well, that was interesting."

"How so?" I queried.

"Everywhere there are descendants of slaves and yet now they are trying to
be Masters," she pointed out.

"Excuse me?" I responded, shocked by the obnoxious utterly racist
statement.

"Just pointing out a fact," she said, casually.

"Well, let me point out a fact too," I began, struggling to maintain my
composure. "We have worked way too hard, for way too long to stop now.  And
you are not the first white supremacist to attempt to derail our goal of
equality and you won't be the last."

Her smile broadened and she replied, standing up and going to the door,
"You are going to be fun to break."

Before I could respond to the odd statement she was gone.  I slammed my
hand on my desk, frustration bubbling over.  This girl was getting to me
and that was usually one of my strengths, ignoring the racists who tried to
bring us down with their condescending, 'I-am-superior' attitude.  Even
more determined to win this case, I buried my head in my research.


17. PUNISHMENT: BLOWING THE QB

Thursday morning, I knocked on Nicholas' door to wake him up.  I came back
a few minutes later and he still wasn't out, which was abnormal for him. I
knocked a second time and nothing.  So I opened the door to make sure he
was up and was greeted with the shocking image of my son jerking off.  He
stared at me with an odd smile not even remotely attempting to cover up.  I
quickly closed the door and went back to my room. Mortified, I sat on the
edge of my bed contemplating that I had just caught my son masturbating.
My mortification doubled when the image of his large penis wouldn't
disappear from my head.

I decided the best way to deal with this was to pretend it never happened.
I returned downstairs and Nicole was at the kitchen table having toast.
She immediately pointed out, "You look flustered, Mother, is something
wrong?"

I quickly responded, my cheeks on fire, "No, no, I'm fine."

Her smirk implied she knew it wasn't fine, but she thankfully let it go.
She asked, "Mother, could you get me a glass of milk."

I did and was just putting the milk away when Nicholas came into the
kitchen.  He said, his voice way happier than his usual growly morning
self, "Good morning, Mother."

I replied, attempting to ignore what I had just scene moments earlier,
"Good morning, Nic. Can I get you any breakfast?"

"Sure thing Mom," he said, sitting at the table.

I made him his favourite, placed it before him and said, "I am off to
work."

Both my kids wished me, in a way too sunny and out-of-character, "Have a
good day, Mom."

I left and drove to work, confused by my children's odd behaviour.  My only
real conclusion was that their attitudes changed the day after Madison was
at my house.  My head pounded as I attempted to deal with my screwed-up
life. I arrived at work early and went to my office to collect my thoughts.
I was determined to stop, at any cost, Madison's control over me, even if
it cost me my job.  It was now seeping into my home life and I couldn't
risk it any more.

Much to my surprise, Madison was not in class today, which at first relaxed
me, but then worried me when I remembered her warning that I was in for a
surprise after my class.  Once class was done, Ben Mauer, our football
quarterback, strolled into my classroom a smug smirk on his face.  My
naughty fantasy of him flashed back into my head and I suddenly felt frozen
in place as he sauntered up to me.  I held onto my podium attempting to be
casual, "Mr. Mauer, what can I do for you?"

His answer stunned me. "You can suck my cock."

"Excuse me," I responded, shocked by his words.

"I think you heard me.  Madison told me you were one of her sluts, which
surprised me greatly.  I have had a couple black bitches, but never one
with such a big rack.  Now, I have class in an hour, so I suggest we find a
place for you to complete your punishment, Professor Jefferson."

"Mr. Mauer, please leave right now," I demanded.

"If that is what you really want, Professor Jefferson," he said, before
adding, "Although, Madison insisted I deposit a load of my cum down your,
how did she word it, Nigger mouth."

"Mr. Mauer, please," I weakly resisted.

"Please what," he asked, moving towards me, "please allow you to suck my
big hard white cock?"

His hand quickly slid under my skirt and went directly to my damp pussy,
the podium the only thing from hiding this public violation if anyone
walked in. "Not here," I begged, mortified by my excitement and his
aggressiveness.

"Where do you want to go to suck my cock?" he asked, his finger parting my
pussy lips.

Desperate to get out of the public eye, I offered, "My office."

His finger slid in me easily, "Lead the way, Professor."  He pulled his
finger out and added, "You are pretty wet, Professor.  Did the thought of
sucking a big white cock excite you?"

I ignored the question and headed to my office, with a lock.  My head was
spinning with both the shocking expectation Madison had for me and the fact
that my pussy was wet with the thought of sucking his cock. Once in my
office, my door locked, he put his big strong hands on my shoulder and
pushed me gently to my knees. On my knees, he waited quietly. I knew what
was expected, but I looked up to him, my eyes pleading, and begged, "Ben,
please don't make me do this."

He chuckled, "I'm not making you do anything.  If you don't want to suck my
cock and take whatever punishment Madison has in for you, go ahead.  But, I
know Madison and I highly recommend you obey her orders."

I asked, suddenly curious by his statement, "Have you seen her punish
others?"

He chuckled, "Oh yes, many times."  I looked at him curiously, so he asked,
"You want to hear about other sluts, don't you Professor Jefferson?"

I stammered, "N-n-no that is not what I meant."

His laugh bellowed, "I think it is, Professor.  Well you know what she did
to her sister when she was disloyal and that is nothing.  Once she has
evidence on you, she will make you do unimaginable things if you are
disobedient."

"Like what?" I asked, curious and fearful.

He chuckled. "Well, Becky Carlington was a dyke who Madison had very
incriminating pictures of who was ordered to go and lose her virginity to
myself and a couple other football players after our first win this season
where she lost her virginity in all three holes.  Then there was Echo
Stanton who was ordered to masturbate herself to orgasm at her church
during a service. Her level of punishment is unimaginable, Professor."  He
unzipped his pants and dropped his jeans.  "To make things easier for you,
Professor Jefferson, I'll get my snake released for you."  He pulled down
his briefs and released a big, hard almost nine-inch cock.  I stared at it
in disbelief.  He put it in his hand and tapped it on my forehead.  The
humiliation burned in me, but my fear of further punishment was higher as
was my sudden craving to gobble his big cock.

I had always liked sucking cock.  It was a position of power.  When it was
in my mouth and hands I completely controlled the man's pleasure.  Sex was
not like that, but a blowjob was.  I took his cock in my hand, his white
penis and my black hand a stark contrast of color.  "You want to suck it,
don't you?"

I would like to have denied it, to have proudly rejected the notion, yet
the truth was I couldn't.  I felt the urge to obey and please overwhelm
me. Avoiding the question, I took his cock in my mouth.  I swirled my
tongue around his mushroom top, teasing him.  A soft grunt implied his
approval.  After a couple of minutes of focusing on his cock-head, I began
to slowly bob back and forth on his cock, each time taking more of his very
impressive cock in my mouth.  As I sucked his cock, I continued to convince
myself that I was doing this because I had to, but the reality was I could
have said no, I could have walked away, as I had convinced myself I was
going to this morning.  Part of it was the fear of what Madison might do to
me and my family, but an increasing disturbing part was the sexual thrill
it gave me to obey.  Allowing my brain to go on 'pause' and just obey was
liberating in a way I can't even begin to explain.  I considered my
ancestors who just did their work and obeyed their white Masters for
centuries and how simple life was back then, it was literally black and
white, or to be more specific white and black.  Attempting to clear my
mind, I focused on this big white cock in my mouth.  I wanted to get him
off, but on my terms, when I wanted him to come.  I bobbed faster, like a
dirty slut would do and then I slowed down to a snail's pace like a loving
wife would do, savouring the cock.  His moans changed as I changed, my
power thrilling me and soaking my panties.  A part of me, the nasty part,
the part held dormant for so long, wanted to feel his cock in me, but I
pushed that thought aside and continued pleasing the white quarterback.
After twenty minutes of a variety of cocksucking, I decided it was time to
get him off.  I also was determined to not taste his cum, something that
had always repulsed me.  I bobbed back and forth and used my left hand to
enhance his pleasure. Within a couple of minutes I could tell he was close
and I moved my mouth away.

He surprised me by grabbing my hair and shoving his cock back in my mouth,
"Don't you dare stop sucking my cock, slave."

My pussy tingled with pleasure, my face burned with shame and my brain
sparked with anger.  He held my head with both his hands and was soon
literally fucking my mouth with his cock.  I gagged on his cock a couple of
times, but quickly adapted to the harsh face-fucking.  He grunted, "I'm
coming slut," and I felt his warm seed begin to coat my mouth.  While still
ejaculating, he pulled out of mouth and sprayed the rest of his white cum
all over my black face.

I was doubly mortified at both being forced to swallow and then having him
give me a facial in my own office like some cheap whore.  He made it worse
by rubbing his cock-head and the last of his cum on my cheek and pushing it
back into my mouth.  Defeated, I cleansed his cock.  Much to my surprise,
unlike either of my past husbands, his cock didn't shrink.  He asked, my
cock still full with his big cock, "I bet you want me to fuck your Nigger
cunt, don't you Professor Jefferson?"

Stunned by the question, I didn't know what to say.  My pussy, soaking wet
with my own juice, gave away any pretence of propriety, yet he didn't know
that.  Yet, I knew if he put his big cock in me there was no way I could
keep quiet. I was not a moaner.  I took his cock out of my mouth and
whispered, "Not here, Ben."

He chuckled, putting his cock away back in his underwear and pulling up his
pants, "Ahhh, but you do, don't you?"

"I didn't say that," I replied, attempting to avoid answering the question.
Suddenly, his cell phone was out and a flash followed.  He had taken a
picture of my cum-coated face.  I was mortified and begged, "Please, delete
that."

"Oh no, this is just for my personal file.  I always take pics of the sluts
who eagerly suck my cock.  But be a good little cocksucker and I won't
allow anyone else to see this...besides Madison of course."

"I'll do anything," I pleaded.

"Oh, I bet you would," he smirked.  "I would love to fuck your Nigger pussy
and ass, Professor Jefferson, but Madison made it clear you have not earned
the privilege of white cock in your Nigger cunt yet.  I suggested your ass,
since that is hardly a privilege when a cock as big as mine fills it, but
she still said no, sadly. Oh well, soon enough, I hope."

Like a gentleman, he pulled me up and I absurdly said, "Thank you."

He laughed, "You are welcome, Professor, you are very welcome."  He left my
room, leaving my door wide open.

Coming in instantly was Eleanor.  I quickly tried to cover my face, but
Eleanor closed the door and explained, "It's ok, Professor.  I am here to
clean you."

"Excuse me?" I asked, confused.

She walked over to me and licked the cum off my cheek. I moved away and she
grabbed my hand and said, "Please, Mistress insisted I do this."  I stood
still confused until my teacher assistant, the sweetest girl I knew, had
finished retrieving the cum from my cheek, forehead, chin and lips.  When
her tongue touched my lips, I impulsively kissed back.  She kissed back
briefly before I broke the kiss, backing away.

Again mortified by my reaction, I apologized, "I am so sorry, Eleanor."

She quickly responded, "It is not your fault, Professor."

"But... this is getting way out of hand," I replied, suddenly hysterical.

She pulled me in and hugged me.  For a couple of minutes she held me tight,
calming me down.  Her warmth slowly soothed my anxiety.  She whispered,
"It's ok, Professor, if you just allow yourself to succumb to her will,
things will get better, I promise."

I looked into her eyes, "But I am your and her Professor."

"Does that really matter anymore?" she asked.  "She takes peoples'
weaknesses and uses them for only her personal manipulation and pleasure."

"But," I began, but she put her finger to my lips.

"We are just pawns in her big game, Professor.  She has already called
checkmate."

Using her metaphor, tears welling in my eyes, I responded, "But I wasn't
even playing the game."

This broke the tension by accident as Eleanor laughed.  "Oh but we all
are."

We shifted our conversation to the afternoon's seminar and pretended we
were not both just pawns to some stuck-up bitch's sick, twisted game.


18. A THIRD BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE MIND OF KEISHA JEFFERSON: PHILOSOPHY

When I arrived at work on Friday I was stressed about the thought of
Madison being there.  Luckily, she wasn't and I got to work hoping
yesterday was just a mirage of absurdity.  The morning went well as we came
up with a detailed strategy for presenting our case to their lawyers in
hopes of not having to go to trial.  After a crazy morning, I was typing up
all our brainstorming when Madison sauntered in.  She sat down, and asked,
"Do you always wear such unflattering clothes?"

Instantly my blood boiled.  I wore the same clothes I wore every day, a
business suit. While this white stuck-up pretentious bitch strolled in
wearing four-inch pumps, a skirt that showed way too much leg and a blouse
that didn't even attempt to hide her large breasts.  While I used my brain
to get attention, she used her body.  I responded, attempting to be calm,
but unable to hide my contempt, "Unlike you, I don't use my body to get
attention from men. I actually use my brain."

She laughed.  "Oh, Keisha. You are funny. You can't be that naive."

"How so?"

"The greatest strength a woman has is her body. Women want to emulate it,
men want to fuck it."

"That is exactly why men still dominate this world, girls like you," I
countered.

"Men don't rule the world, they just think they do," she replied,
confidently.

"Really?" I replied.

"Sure, for example, do you know where I was this morning?" she asked,
daring me to enquire,

I didn't take the bait. "I truthfully don't give a fuck."

"You should," she responded.

"And why is that?"I asked, falling into her game.

"I was getting to know Mr. Walters better," she announced, her tone and
smirk dripping with sexual innuendo.

"He wouldn't," I defended, praying she was just trying to get a rise out of
me.  He was my hero, my inspiration.  He and Carol Myers were the top two
lawyers in the NAACP and were everything I inspired to be.  No nonsense,
confident and determined to lead the change to true equality.

"He would and he did," she revealed, before adding, "and he is very
well-endowed."

"Get out!" I demanded in disbelief, my voice rising uncontrollably.

She laughed, but stood up, "Oh Keisha, this is only the beginning."

She walked out before I had a chance to respond.  Fury burned in every
fibre of my being.  Had she really stooped so low as to seduce my boss just
to get to me?  What type of game was she playing? Was she telling the
truth?  The more I considered it, the more I calmed down. She was playing
me.  There was no way that Mr. Walters would sacrifice his career for this
two-bit slut.

 Relaxing a bit, I decided she was indeed playing a game with me and I was
not going to let her win. I was flying out tomorrow for a week in
Washington with Mr. Walters. Once I returned, I would deal with her once
and for all.


19. CREAM PIE

To avoid my children, I was out of the house before they were awake and in
my office doing some work.  It was a refreshing change to just be in my
office doing work.  The morning flew by as did my lecture, again no
Madison, which was curious. Miko was also absent, something that had never
occurred before.  I returned to my office after class and opened my door to
yet another surprise from Madison.  On my desk, her legs wide open, cum
leaking out of her cunt, was Miko.  I quickly closed the door, making sure
to lock it.  I ordered, "Miko, cover yourself up."

"No, Professor, I can't," she responded, tears streaming down her face.

"Why?" I asked, although I already knew the answer.

"Mistress Madison insisted I cannot leave your office until you have
retrieved all three loads of cum inside me," she explained, between tears.

"Really?" I responded, dumbfounded.

"Yes," she whimpered, utterly humiliated by her predicament.

"Why do you obey?" I asked, desperately trying to understand the power
Madison has over people, although my pussy was already beginning to start a
fire at the sight of the drop dead gorgeous Miko.

"Why do you?" she retorted, her tone implying she didn't appreciate the
question.

"I don't," I began, then corrected, "I mean, I...."

"Exactly," she said, in agreement, "There is no explanation, only the
thrill of obeying and the pleasure that comes with the humiliation she
forces onto us."

"I don't get a thrill," I defended.

"You don't?" she asked, her eyes meeting mine.

I paused, realizing I was lying to myself and to this poor Asian student
who was in the same boat as me, especially since I could feel my panties
getting wet, "Well, that is a lie.  But as soon as I have recovered from my
orgasm, I am mortified at what I did."

"But, the orgasms are better than ever before, are they not?" Miko asked,
her finger going to her clit.

"Yes," I admitted looking down and away from the pretty girl whose huge
breasts seem so out of place along the rest of her petite body.

"That is the ethical dilemma, isn't it," Miko asked.

"What is?" I questioned, confused.

"Well, do you do what gives you the most pleasure, or do you ignore your
own personal fulfillment because of the expectations of a society that
already has a well established hierarchy we cannot overrule."

"It isn't that simple," I suggested, as I tried to wrap my head around my
own weakness.

"Isn't it? Miko asked. "As soon as your sexual desires are triggered, your
decisions are straightforward as you allow your desire for pleasure to
lead. Yet, once your desire for sexual bliss has been satisfied, you feel
the guilt of society's expectations."

"I suppose, but...."

"No buts, Professor, it is the truth. Because of my cultural background and
upbringing, the acceptance of such a reality was quite easy, yet you are
still coming to terms with the undefeatable social hierarchy we will in."

I was quiet as I considered her assessment of hers and my situation.


The silence was broken as Miko asked, her finger absently rubbing her clit,
"Are you going to do your task?"

"Do I have a choice?" I asked, refusing to look at her.

"Not really," Miko responded, her tone admitting her defeat as well as
mine.

I admitted, "I have never done this before."

"Eaten cunt?" the tiny Asian asked, the use of the word cunt coming from
her innocent mouth more shocking to me than the fact that she was
completely naked, her legs spread wide open on my desk, with cum leaking
out of her cunt.

"Yes," I confessed.

"Well, trust me, you will be doing it a lot in the near future," she
predicted.

"Is there any way out of this?" I asked, looking up and into her eyes.

"Disappear," she suggested, "otherwise, no one has ever been able to resist
the temptation of Madison."  She paused, a soft moan escaping her sweet
lips, before stressing by repeating, "No one."

"But I can lose everything," I sighed.

"She won't let that happen, as long as you obey.  She is a bitch, but deep
down she cares about her sluts, and knows exactly what you need and what
your limits are, but only as long as you give 100% of your mind and body to
her. With Madison it is always all or nothing, there is no grey, everything
is black and white."

The harsh reality hit me hard.  There was no turning back without losing
everything.  I asked, my pussy now burning for attention at the sight of
this sexy petite Asian girl, "You don't fear what she will do to you?"

She shook her head no, "I used to, but through giving myself to her
completely, I have come to accept who I am."

"Who you are?"

"Yes.  I am her slave.  Her property.  She owns my mouth, my cunt and my
ass. I suck the cock she demands me to, I get fucked by the men she orders
me to and I eat the pussy of the girls she instructs me to. She owns me
completely and with this complete submission comes sacrificing myself to
her.  When you give yourself to someone a 100% you feel so free that all
your stresses dissipate, but you must earn her trust."

"By always obeying?"

"Utterly," she agreed, "so please come and clean my cunt, I am so horny.
Madison has forbidden me from having an orgasm for a week now, but gave me
permission to cum once you crawled between my legs and retrieved the boy's
cum."

"Whose cum?" I asked, as if it matters.

"Three football players, Mike Saunders, Derek Whisken and some black kid I
don't know," she admitted, her fingers rubbing her clit quicker.

"But isn't that humiliating?" I asked, "being forced to fuck people you
don't know?"

"Didn't you blow Ben Mauer, yesterday?" she asked, her tone slightly
condescending.

"Y-y-yes," I stammered, realizing I was indeed just like her.

"And it was humiliating, yet you got off doing it, didn't you?" she
assessed.

I nodded my head yes, unable to put into words my shame.

Her tone shifted as she ordered, with sudden force, "Now get over here and
eat my cunt, Professor."

Desperate to get this over with and yet intrigued just the same, I obeyed
the Asian's command, and dropped to the floor and was soon directly in
front of the Asian's tiny cunt.  I stared at it briefly, unsure where to
start, but my decision was made for me as I felt a foot on the back of my
head and I was pushed into her cum-filled pussy.  I opened my mouth and
began licking her cunt lips.  I could taste the salty cum and instantly
wondered what her pussy would taste like without being coated by sperm.
Yet, as soon as her moans began to increase, I felt the same power and
thrill I felt when sucking a cock.  I was in control of her pleasure, even
if I wasn't sure what I was doing.  I sucked on her clit, which made her
whole body shake.  I continued long wide stokes up and down her pussy lips,
attempting to clean her pussy.  Parting her lips, I tried to retrieve any
cum deep inside her cunt, now eager, like a dirty slut, to complete my task
as completely as possible.  Her moans increased and knowing she was really
close, I took her clit back into my mouth and put as much pressure on it as
possible.  Her legs tightened around my head and she mumbled something
incoherent as my face was flooded with a mixture of her cum and the cum of
the three boys who had just fucked her, presumably in my office.  I
continued swirling my tongue around her clit as the orgasm flowed through
her, knowing how I loved the double sensation of orgasming and still being
pleasured.

Suddenly her legs opened a bit and she demanded, her tone delirious,
"Finger-fuck me, Professor."

I obliged, sliding two fingers easily inside her soaking wet cunt.  I
pumped them in and out fast, trying to keep her revved up and ready for
multiple orgasms.

"More," she begged.  When I didn't understand, she begged deliriously,
"more fingers, fill my whore cunt."

Stunned by her words and request, I quickly added a third finger inside
her, surprisingly easy.

Still not satisfied, she demanded, "More, Nigger, fill my cunt!"

I was shocked at hearing the word Nigger from her, yet the flood of juice
in my panties proved Pavlow's theory.  The more I was demeaned, the hotter
I got.  It was mortifying, yet a reality I could not control, no more than
a crystal meth addict can control their need of the drug.  I decided, fuck
it, and attempted to shove my whole fist inside the petite Asian's cunt.  I
did it slowly, scared I might tear her, but her lubricated cunt swallowed
my entire fist.  Once it was inside her, it was my turn to shift
personality, when I spoke.  "Like that slut?  Like being fist-fucked by
your Nigger professor?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, "fist-fuck my whore cunt."

I pounded her pussy with my fist and after only a couple of minutes of
pumping while I sucked on her clit a second orgasm exploded out of the
Asian slut.  She collapsed sideways on my desk, clearly spent from the
double-orgasm.  I pulled my fist, covered in her cum, out of her and
instinctively put it to my mouth.  The men's cum long gone, the taste on my
fingers was all hers, and it was heavenly.  I savoured each remnant of her
sex and knew I needed to come too.

Still out of character, I climbed onto my desk and straddled my Asian
student, seeing her no longer as a student, but as a vessel to my much
needed orgasm.

Unfortunately, it was not to be.  Miko explained, "Oh, how much I would
love to eat your black pussy and make you cum like the nasty little slut
you are, Professor."  The words 'slut' and 'professor' so close together
were so absurd, and yet only added to the humiliation and the desire to
come.  "But, Madison made it clear I was not allowed to pleasure you.  You
still have punishments to accept yet."

I was suddenly deflated.  Every time I did give in to my naughty
submission, I was beaten down again.  I quickly got off of the Asian girl,
rattled by my impulsive act.  I stammered, "I-I-I am sorry, I shouldn't
have done that."

Miko sat up and smiled, "Oh, yes you should have.  I just am not allowed to
return the favour."

I sat on my chair, my head down, suddenly feeling awkward.

Miko stood up and apologized as she got dressed.  "I'm sorry for using the
'N' word, but Madison insisted I use it at least once during our
encounter."

A smile crossed my face I couldn't control.  The absurdity of it all was so
obvious.  She couldn't even use the word now, but could, in the throes of
passion, use it in the most degrading sexual way possible.

When I didn't respond, she explained, "But you see we are very much alike,
Professor."

"We are?" I asked, curious about the correlation.

"Yes.  We are both products of our past.  It is in our DNA," she revealed.
I looked at her confused, she continued, now fully dressed, "You see, you
and I are both bound to be submissive based on our historical pasts.  Oh
sure, we attempt to rewrite history or create a new history, but the
undeniable reality is that we are enslaved by our DNA.  We were created to
be slaves to others and it is through obedience that we get the most
pleasure.  I too wish it weren't true...sometimes."

Now in academia mode, I countered, "But isn't it up to us to break the
cycle and start a new story, create a new DNA?"

She smiled at me like an adult would a small child, "Oh, Professor, your
worldview is still so idealistic, especially after all you have submitted
to already. Can't you see the reality that is slapping you in the face?"

As I reflected on her words, I knew she was right.  The cold hard reality
was clear; I was exactly as Miko described me.  I wanted to deny it; I
wanted to break the cycle; I wanted to be above all this, but I wasn't.  I
was weak.  "I see it; I just am desperately trying to resist the
temptation."

Miko walked to the door and smiled, "Just give in unconditionally,
Professor Jefferson."

She left, her words lingering in the air and spinning in my head.  I sat
paralyzed for a lengthy time and was only awakened by a knock on the door.
Startled, I called, "Come in."

I wasn't really surprised when it was Emily at my door.  Nothing surprised
me any more.  She asked, ever-so-sweetly, "Do you have a minute, Professor
Jefferson?"

"Of course," I responded, hoping that for once this was not the work of
Madison.  Of course, I was not to be so lucky.

She nervously handed me an envelope and explained, "This is from my
sister."

I took it, but didn't open it up.  I looked her in the eye and attempted to
show my gratitude. "Thanks for attempting to warn me."

She sighed.  "I wish I could have done more."

"I know, honey," I replied, trying to help with her guilt.

She whispered, "There is one more thing."

It was my turn to sigh. I asked with trepidation. "What is it?"

Looking down, avoiding eye contact with me, Emily revealed the next task,
"You are supposed to take off my panties. Madison is convinced you are
addicted to my and other girls' panties."

Knowing there was no point avoiding the inevitable, I moved to her and
dropped to my knees and put my hands under her skirt.  I pulled down her
pink panties and slid them down her black stocking-clad legs.  Emily seemed
to hold her breath as I was between her legs. Once off, I held them and
instantly felt the undeniable need to smell them.  I resisted the urge and
stood back up.

Emily let out a big breath implying she was clearly flushed by my touch and
said, "I have to get going.  I am so sorry, Professor."

"No need, Emily," I replied, and watched her hurry out the door.

Her panties still in my hand, I moved them to my nose and took a long
sniff.  Her sweet aroma was intoxicating and the fire down below which had
almost flamed out was instantly as fiery as hell again.  I was startled and
humiliated when Emily returned and caught me smelling her used panties.

She stammered, her cheeks red, "I-I-I forgot my purse."  She quickly
grabbed her purse and left my office a second time.

Mortified at being caught doing exactly what Madison had predicted I would
do, I put her panties in my purse and decided it was time to leave my
office before I received any more visitors.

I arrived home, distracted by the still simmering fire down below and went
to my room and directly to my bed.  My hand wandered to my needy cunt,
while my other hand retrieved Emily's soiled panties.  Putting them to my
nose, my body weakened as my mind drifted to another fantasy.

I was back in my office and on my knees pulling down Emily's panties.
Looking up, I could see her pretty shaved glistening pussy lips.  My mouth
watered and I suddenly had an irresistible desire to lick her pussy.  I
knelt paralyzed, unable to move, just waiting the order to please. Yet,
with no Madison around, Emily pulled me up and kissed me gently, her tongue
swirling inside my mouth.  The kiss was tender and passionate; accelerating
in intensity the longer the kiss lasted.  I could feel the sweet sensation
below stirring.  Emily broke the kiss, her sweet smile pulling me in and
she pushed me onto my desk. Silently, she pulled my panties off and
positioned herself between my legs.  Her tongue lapped slowly on my pussy
lips bringing a thrilling sensation to my entire body.  My body revelled in
the sweet pleasure this pretty white girl gave.  My moans increased
uncontrollably, and I writhed on my desk, feeling the orgasm hitting me
like a tidal wave. Each pulse brought pure joy through every pore of my
very being.

The orgasm that flowed throw me was so utterly fulfilling that it drained
every ounce of energy from me.  Exhausted, I fell asleep, my face buried in
Emily's soiled panties.


20. THE TWELVE SLUT-MANDMENTS

I woke up a couple of hours later and, returning from going pee, I saw the
envelope Emily had given me at the end of the day. Although tired,
curiosity got the best of me. I grabbed the envelope and opened it. It
included a letter and a small journal.

My Nigger Dyke, It is now time!!! Read the following rules that you MUST
obey at all times NOW. Some have been already implied, but now any remote
breaking of a rule will come with a punishment.

The Twelve Slut-mandments 1. You will always call me Ms. Madison even in
public.  2. You will no longer wear panties, unless you are on your period.
3. You will no longer wear a bra...EVER!  4. You will wear white stockings,
not pantyhose at all times.  This includes while sleeping and will only be
taken off to shower.  5. You will only wear 3 inch or higher heels.  6. You
will obey ANY order ANY person requests you to do...EVER.  7. You will
always wear skirts or dresses. Any jeans or dress pants you owned will be
donated.  8. You will have your cell phone on at all times in case I need
to get a hold of you.  9. You will only come with permission of another
person.  10. Your son and youngest daughter are superior to you. Treat them
as such.  11. Every night before bed you will write in your Slut-mandments
journal. You will include every sexual act you committed in DETAIL. You
will also include your honest feelings.  12. Lastly, unless in public, you
will immediately drop to your knees and say "How may I please you,
Ms. Madison?"

Again, breaking any of these rules will result in a punishment.

This weekend's special Slut-mandments: 1. While at home you will ALWAYS be
completely naked except your WHITE silk stockings. (You may have a robe
available in case you have unexpected visitors)

2. You will go shopping Saturday morning and buy the following toys: -a
butt plug (reasonable size) -a double ended dildo -handcuffs -2 vibrators
of varying size to fill your slut box completely -a vibrating egg -a
strap-on dildo -three more toys of your choice to surprise me.

3. You will be home the rest of the weekend.

4. You will leave the door unlocked so I or any of my subs have access to
you at all times.

Your White Mistress

Madison

P.S.-Are you still wearing clothes?

I was mortified by the letter; I was also dripping wet from the letter. I
was considering the consequences of such a submission when I heard a knock
at the door.

I nervously went to the door already knowing it had to be Madison. She
walked in unannounced and said, "Are you ready for your final training?"

"Pardon?" I asked, still waking up, having fallen asleep an hour earlier.

"Did I stutter, slut?" she asked, her words sharp like knives.

"Madison stop treating me like this," I demanded.

"Like what? You are my dyke, my property. I own you and can use you as I
please," she rationalized.

"You are a submissive whore," she shot at me, walking towards me.

"You are a complete slut," she continued, reaching me.

"You are a Nigger who craves submission to the superior whites like me,"
she smugly accused, her eyes boring into me, her hand on my arm.

Although my resentment at my treatment was bubbling inside, I was so weak
after the bombardment of sexual attacks and submissions over the past month
that I had no words to defend myself. Her touch melted any resistance I had
left. Her words like darts hit me, but instead of hurting, they made me
wetter.

"But I see you have not followed my instructions," she said, her tone
showing her disappointment. "There will have to be a punishment for that."

I quickly explained, , "I just finished reading the letter a couple of
minutes ago."

"Why is that?" she asked, impatiently.

I stammered, desperate to defend my accidental disobedience, even though I
had no reason to have to defend myself, "I-I-I came home and took a nap."

"You fucked yourself to sleep, didn't you?"

I didn't answer.

"You really are an insatiable slut, aren't you?" Madison accused.

I looked down at the floor, unable to look at her.

"Answer me!" she roared.

I stammered, "I-I-I'm not a slut."

"You can't even convince yourself that is true," Madison replied, seeing
through my weak defiance.

"Please leave," I pleaded.

"You dumb slut. I own your black ass!" she roared, scaring me. She squeezed
both my stiff nipples and twisted. "Tell me, are you a whore?" she
questioned.

Scared, defeated and horny, I mindlessly admitted, "I'm a whore."

"A fucking dyke," she pushed.

Humiliation burned through me as I agreed, "Yes, I am a fucking dyke."

"For white pussy?" she added.

"Yes, for white pussy," I concurred.

"Go upstairs and get dressed in what was instructed in the note," she
ordered.  When I didn't immediately move, she ordered, "Move your Nigger
ass now!"

I quickly obeyed, scurrying up the stairs to strip for my white
intruder. My hand shook as I got naked and even more as the white stockings
slid up my dark-as-night legs.

As I finished getting the last stocking up, my anxiety already at a new
high, even as my pussy leaked slightly, I heard her yell, "Hurry up
Nigger. You are supposed to wait on me; I am not supposed to wait for you."

The historical shot was just one more shot at the clearly Domme-sub,
white-black relationship she was creating for us and no matter how much I
tried to fight the urge to submit, to prove her wrong, the more my pussy
protested by leaking out of me. Sadly, I knew that she was right, both
historically and about me. Now dressed to her requirements, I returned to
face the unknown.

"About fucking time," she said, tapping her foot, her arms crossed, a
clearly purposeful pose to make a statement.

"Sorry," I replied, which was absurd to have to say in my own house, only
building on the utter humiliation I was feeling.

She looked me over and asked, "Is that your slut juice running down your
leg?"

I nodded in the affirmative.

"Just the thought of obeying me gets your whore cunt that wet, doesn't it?"

I stood there silent, in my own home, naked except white stockings that
were being worn as a symbol of my so-called inferior race.

"On your knees, slut," she ordered.

My legs wobbled as I didn't instantly obey, which was a rather futile
protest considering my current attire and all else I had done recently.

She chuckled, "Really? This is where you draw the line? Or do you really
just like to be punished?"

I felt my knees weaken and get heavy and I could no longer hold myself up,
the emotional fight too heavy to carry any more. I felt myself fall, like
the final leaf on a tree before winter hits, onto my knees.

Madison walked over to me and ordered, "Take my panties off, slave."

I looked up from my position of utter humiliation and submission to see her
white panties. My hands shook uncontrollably as I reached my hands up. I
slowly pulled her panties down, revealing a beautiful bald white pussy
directly in front of me.

Once they were off, Madison ordered, "Hand them to me."

I obeyed, unable to tear my gaze away from her white treasure.

"You like that Nigger? Be a good slut and one day very soon you will be
allowed to eat from the nectar of perfection," she said condescendingly.

I was frozen. Unable to talk, unable to move and unable to think like the
rational, intellectual I was...or used to be.

I remained silent as she put her soiled panties on my head, positioning her
wet crotch directly on my nose and mouth. The scent was overpowering and
seemed to short-circuit my brain even as the humiliation burned.

Madison explained, "I just knew you were a panty-sniffing cunt. These
panties I have worn all day and I came in them twice. Go ahead lick them. I
know you want to. Taste your white Mistress's cum."

Her scent was too strong and hypnotic to not taste. Although it was
humiliating, I used my lips to suck in and retrieve Madison's exotic taste.

I heard the snap and felt the flash that told me Madison now had more photo
evidence against me. Regardless, my desire to retrieve every drop of her
addicting juice was all I cared about. I knew then, as I do now, that this
was what I needed and craved. What I had ignored my whole life and yet
tried to replicate by being a successful black woman in a white man's
world. Yet, I was never content in that world. I never felt I was ever
myself. Yet, here on my knees, in my home, with a white co-ed's panties on
my head I finally knew I had found myself. There was no denying it any
longer, no feigned attempts at propriety or maintaining any sort of
dignity. I was a submissive slut as Madison described me and I needed her
to own me and lead me to the sexual world of submission I had long ignored
in my failed attempt at respectability.

"How does it taste?" Madison asked.

"Delicious, Mistress," I answered, no longer pretending to fight against
the dominant, determined white seductress.

"Do you want some directly from the source?" she asked.

"Desperately, Mistress," I too eagerly admitted.

"Obey the slut-mandments like a good slave and you will be allowed to lick
from your Mistress's cunt before your daughter."

Bringing up my daughter should have had me defending her, stopping this
white Domme from getting my daughter too, yet it only got me wetter and
jealous. I suddenly realized I wanted to be the first to please Madison.

"Yes, Mistress Madison," I replied.

"Stay," she spoke to me like I was a dog.

I obeyed, of course, as she went to the kitchen. A moment later she
returned and explained, "I will be checking on you randomly all weekend,
slut. Obey each slut-mandment and you will find the pure satisfaction
Niggers like you need and crave. Now come for me like the slut you are
using this nice fresh, thick long cucumber."

She handed me the long green prong and I paused only momentarily before I
lay back on the floor, opened my legs and slid the vegetable into my fiery
wet cunt.

I began to furiously pump the green fuck-toy in and out of me, ignoring how
ridiculous I must have looked. As expected I heard the click and felt the
flash through my closed eyes and knew Madison now had photographic evidence
of me with panties one my head, my big tits flopping carelessly, my dark
legs in white stockings and a big, thick cucumber in my cunt. If there was
any turning back, I had officially crossed the no return line. She owned me
and oddly I was turned-on by it. I had always been one to do my best at
everything I ever did and now my focus was to be the best Nigger slut ever.

"Now, cum for your Mistress, like a good Aunt Jemima," Madison demanded.

The Uncle Tom reference was one more poke at the power shift, using my own
lectures against me.  Implying I was a black woman kissing up to the whites
was the ultimate insult after all I had gone through in my life to be
treated as an equal.

Yet, instead of humiliating me even more, it was the trigger to my
orgasm. Seconds later, I coated the vegetable with my cum as I screamed,
"Oh fuck, Mistress, I'm coming."

Madison asked, as my orgasm spread through me, "Aren't you a good Jemima?"

In a sexual haze of pleasure, I mindlessly mumbled, "Oh yes, your Jemima,
Mistress, fuuuuuck."

When I finally opened my eyes a minute later after my orgasm simmered,
Madison was gone.

Suddenly mortified by my actions, a very common occurrence of late after I
had recovered from my orgasm, I pulled the cucumber out of my cunt and
tossed it aside. Exhausted, humiliated, and unable to fathom how I was
going to attempt to live a normal life any more, I weakly made my way to my
bedroom and was asleep in seconds, strangely keeping her panties on my
head.


21. TOYING AROUND

I woke a little after nine and lay in bed remembering yet another piece of
my utter fall. I remembered the new rules and that I was to go sex
shopping. I had accepted that the best way to deal with Madison was to obey
her instructions, as I tried to find a way to break free from the control
she had over me. Yet as I replayed last night's humiliating panty-head
submission, my cunt tingled. I scanned my room for something to get me
off. On the corner of my nightstand was a brush and I reached for it. I
tapped it against my clit gently, teasing myself for a minute or two,
before using the brush as a cock. As soon as I filled my cunt with my
make-shift cock, I was back into fantasy submission. I imagined the brush
was a strap-on cock and Madison was fucking me while calling me every
racist name in the book as she slapped my tits. Each nasty name, each hard
slap had me wetter and wetter and my first orgasm of the morning shot out
of me like a cannon. I collapsed back onto my bed and lay there for a few
minutes to catch my breath and mentally prepare for my day, realizing I had
again disobeyed an order by Madison. Somehow, I couldn't resist pleasuring
myself, bringing myself to orgasmic bliss at the thought of her. I reached
over and grabbed my journal.

Trying to understand my feelings, I wrote:

I am at a crossroads. I know I should stand up to Madison at all costs,
including my job, and break free from the sexual spell she has over me. I
need to save my eldest child from the grips of such sin, yet the thought of
watching my daughter submit also turns me on. What is wrong with me? What
have I become? Why does being treated like a sex slave get me so wet and
horny I can't think like a civilized person? How have I regressed so much
from the strong confident woman I have always been? Why does just asking
these questions make my cunt tingle? Why am I using such an undignified and
unladylike words such as cunt? As I look in the mirror when I stand up
after sexual abusing myself at the instructions of a white bitch, what will
I see? Who am I?

Writing the words seemed so wrong and dirty, yet somehow releasing such
shame actually liberated me. I had my own journal to reveal my inner
thoughts and sinful acts, a place to release the inner turmoil I felt. I
tossed the book back on the corner of my nightstand and headed to the
shower.

...

By the time I showered and put the white stockings back on my legs it was
almost ten. I considered pleasuring myself again, my cunt already begging
attention, but decided to follow the instructions.

I went downstairs, only in stockings as instructed, and made myself some
porridge, attempting to ignore the growing burn in my cunt. I couldn't
believe how knowing I was not supposed to come without permission only made
the desire to come more powerful. The psychology of it all was frustrating;
I was Pavlov's dog. I tried to read the paper, but couldn't focus and
decided I might as well go and complete Madison's shopping task. I got
dressed, grabbed the letter and headed across town, far from where I lived,
in search of the extreme items she had requested.

I arrived at the store Lace & Things almost an hour later, a mixture of
distance and traffic making the journey tedious. As soon as I entered the
store I could feel my pussy's undeniable tingle at the countless toy
options available. I was flabbergasted at the options, designs, and sizes
that could be purchased for my so-called pleasure.

Scanning the list, the first item was a reasonable sized butt plug. I
wondered what Madison considered a reasonable size. To me the smallest plug
available was reasonable; yet, I was pretty sure Madison would disagree. I
couldn't believe how thick and long some of the plugs were, not even
remotely imaginable of something like that fitting in anyone's ass. I
eventually decided on one that was similar in size to my ex-husband's cock
that had been in my ass numerous times in the past.

I grabbed a pair of handcuffs as suggested, although only after a lengthy
consideration. The worry of what Madison might use them for was
nerve-wracking. It was bad enough that I could not resist her, but if I was
bound I would be completely helpless and at her filthiest whim. Then an
idea popped into my head. If I could get her in handcuffs, I could turn the
tables of humiliation on her and break free once and for all...saving
myself and my daughter. Even after the plan flashed in my head, a part of
me wondered if I wanted to go to the freedom I once had.

Suddenly giddy with excitement of a solution to my problem and yet slightly
horny as I scanned all the toys available for pleasure, I bought two
vibrators, a nine-inch pink one and a seven-inch white one. I couldn't deny
that the thought of using the toys on myself had me tingling in
anticipation, already deciding I would ignore Madison's orders and pleasure
myself when I got home.

It was hard, but I eventually found the double-ended dildos and the thought
of going to the register with this was utterly humiliating. All girls have
vibrators, handcuffs are a simple kink and anal sex is way less taboo than
it used to be.  But a double-ended dildo could only imply one thing and
that was very embarrassing. Of course, the same thing could be said about
the strap-on dildo I was expected to purchase as well.  When I found the
strap-on section I was bewildered with possibilities. I didn't even know
where to begin.

As I perused the vast collection, a white woman, in her early twenties,
asked, "Can I help you, Miss?"

My face burned in shame at being caught looking at such items, and I
stammered, "N-n-no I am good."

The pretty redhead suggested, "If you are looking for a strap-on that
pleases both I would suggest the Double G pleasure strap-on. It has a
vibrating piece that goes inside the woman wearing the strap-on's vagina
for stimulation for her while she is making love to her lover."

I smirked at the thought that Madison and I would be making love.

The young woman continued, "My girlfriend and I love it."

I asked, surprised that she was a lesbian, "Y-y-you are a lesbian?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that.  But I spend a lot more time with my girlfriend
than I do men. They just know how to please better, don't you think?" Her
tone was cheery and playful, such an odd tone for such an odd conversation.

I agreed, no longer ashamed that she might think I am a lesbian, "No
denying that."

The young woman reached for the box and took the toy out. "You see, this
one would...wait, are you more likely to wear this or would your lover?"

"I don't know," I answered, completely unsure what Madison's intentions
were.

"Well, anyways. You can see how this toy will stimulate and pleasure both
women at once," she explained, showing me up close and personal.

"I see," I stammered, my pussy suddenly damp and yet; the conversation with
the young girl had me incredibly uncomfortable.

She put the toy back in the box and said, "What do you think?"

I stammered, "S-s-sure, I'll take it," just desperate to be done this
conversation.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked, her smile sweet.

My head, which was now being led by my fiery cunt, was thinking, 'Yes, fuck
me with that big cock'. But I answered, "I am just going to keep browsing."

"No problem, Miss. If you need anything just give me a holler," she offered
and walked away. I stared at her tight ass as it swerved away, realizing I
was becoming a full-fledged dyke. I shook my head, trying to think like a
woman and not a horny slut, but shopping for toys was not really a good
place to clear my head.

I scanned my list and saw one more detailed item and then three toys of my
choice. I sighed as I looked for vibrating eggs. I couldn't find them and,
although I didn't want to, I had to ask the redhead for help.

She smiled, politely and yet with a sly sexiness I couldn't read, "They are
over by the vibrators. Let me show you."

I quickly replied, "Oh no, I can find them," but she was already leading
the way. I followed like a puppy dog and grabbed the first one I saw.

The pretty sales-assistant said, "Oh no, not that one. Get the bullet. They
are to die for."

I listened to her advice, grabbing the bullet instead. Shame no longer
relevant, after such an intimate conversation and the clear assumption by
her that I was a certified dyke, I asked, "What other toys would you
recommend?"

"For you alone or for you and a lover?" she questioned.

"Either or," I replied.

"Well, my favourite toy when I am home alone or even out and about is the
wi-vibe. It is a toy that stimulates your clit while also sending pleasant
pulses inside. You can have it in a variety of different stimulating pulses
and speeds, thus you never get the same thing twice," she explained,
leading me to the toy.

I quipped, "Well, variety is the spice of life."

She agreed, her hand squeezing my shoulder sending a tingle every which
way, "I say the exact same thing." She handed me the box and after a quick
scan I tossed it in my growing container of toys.

"Anything else?" I asked, knowing I needed at least two more items.

She smiled, "You are really going all out."

"If only you knew," I muttered, wondering what she would say if I told her
the real reason I was buying all these toys.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," I quickly covered.

Moving on, she asked, "I don't mean to be personal but are you more
submissive or dominant?"

I stared at her for a second, stunned by the question.

She explained, "It's just if I know your personality, I can suit my
suggestions accordingly."

"Oh," was all I said for a moment, before answering flippantly, outwardly
exaggerating the obvious truth of my extreme submissiveness, "I am probably
more submissive I would think."

"I thought so," she concurred.

I wonder why she thought so and asked, "Why did you think so?"

"Well, you are a well-dressed woman who clearly is very successful, yet you
were very shy and nervous while looking at our product. I just assumed."

"Oh."

"I am a Domme and when my girlfriend and I get wild I put these on her,"
the redhead informed me, getting way too personal for my liking. Yet, the
thought of this pretty young redhead dominating me suddenly had me
flustered and excited.

She handed me what I learned were nipple clamps. I stared at them wondering
how they could possibly bring pleasure.

"Do you have sensitive nipples?"

"Extremely," I answered, suddenly eagerly trying to sell myself to this
pretty white girl who knew nothing of my current predicament.

"Then these are amazing. A perfect mixture of nipple arousal and obedient
submission," she explained, adding, "when Liz has these on and is near
climax, I will pull on them causing a mixture of pleasure and pain. It gets
her off like nothing else."

I suddenly wanted nothing else than to put them on and have this
mesmerizing redhead do exactly what she just described. I dropped the
clamps into collection, knowing I was only one thing away from fulfilling
my absurd task.

"Anything else?" she asked, her smile seemingly knowing something.

I said, trying to hint at my eagerness to submit to her, "Yes, how about
something that would be a constant reminder of my, I mean a woman's,
submission?"

She ignored my blunder and considered my strange request for a
moment. Finally, she said, "Ooh, I have the perfect thing, your Mistress
will love it." She grabbed my hand and I melted into her as she led me to a
part of the store I had not yet been. It included whips, chains, bindings
and many other unfathomable restrictive devices. She explained, her
enthusiasm like that off a giddy teen girl talking about hot boys, "This
section is more the extreme Domme-sub relationship. Now you can get
downright crazy, but I am thinking you would like to be more subtle than
that. Am I right?"

Her hand left mine and I felt a wash of disappointment, but agreed, "Yes,
subtlety is important."

The redhead smiled, her judgement of me a question, "A professional classy
dignified woman at work, a naughty, submissive slut in the bedroom?"

"I suppose so," I whispered, embarrassed by the very true assessment.

"Don't be embarrassed. I have a keen eye for such things. It is nothing to
be ashamed about. You are a rarity among women. You accept yourself and
your sexual desires and don't limit yourself to the ridiculous hypocritical
standards of today's society," she ranted.

I asked, curious about her point of view from a psychological and
sociological point of view, "What do you mean?"

"Well, society expects perfection from women. They have to be the main
caregiver, the perfect wife and also a productive member in her work
field. We are so bombarded by the expectations of society, that we begin to
believe them and lose our inner sexual selves and our right to be sexual
beings on our conditions... and not society's," she continued.

"Good assessment," I agreed.

She shrugged, "Sorry, I just hate all the pretentious expectations society
expects women like us to live by. I can only imagine it is worse for a
woman of color."

She took my hand back in hers, shooting a pulse of pleasure throughout my
whole body.

Desperate to let her know my willingness to submit to her, I agreed, "Being
black does have its disadvantages in this still very racist society, but on
the other hand knowing my place in the big scope of things has helped me
accept my situation."

She looked at me confused, trying to process my words, before she asked,
"Your position?"

I couldn't believe I was about to say this, yet the words came out of my
mouth just the same. "Yes. At work I am in control and always on, so when I
am not working I have always had trouble releasing my built-up
frustrations. Yet, since I found a Mistress and accepting that my sexual
fate is not in my hands and all such decisions are made for me has been
very liberating."

"But why?" she asked, suddenly taken aback by my declaration.

"I can't fight evolution and honestly fighting my whole life to be treated
as an equal has been exhausting and caused me so much stress, two failed
marriages and kids who I am not connected to. Yet, since I have recently
accepted my social status and that it is the way it is, I have never been
happier," I explained, before adding after a lengthy pause, "sexually."

"Oh my," the redhead gasped, her turn to go red. "Well, I am thrilled you
have found whatever you need to reach such sexual enlightenment. Very few
women ever come close to such liberation."

I looked into her eyes, my vulnerability out there, begging for her to use
me, but she broke eye contact and reached beside me and handed me a collar
with a leash. "This collar can be used as a piece of jewellery in public,
and yet with a simple flip and it you become a collared sub."

I asked, trying one more time to say in every way possible but actually
saying the words, that I was for the taking, "Can you put it on me, ma'am?"

"Sure," she said, expertly putting the collar on me.

I looked in a mirror and without the leash it just looked like a funky
necklace. I asked, "Could you put the leash on too?"

"Sure," she smiled, I think finally catching on to my many desperate
attempts at revealing my desire to submit to her.

She hooked the collar on me and gently pushed me to my knees. My pussy
juice leaking down my leg, I allowed myself to be led to my submissive
position, on my knees, where I craved to be, where I belonged.

She tugged on the chain and I fell forward onto all fours and she paused,
clearly considering what she should do.

I looked up like a lovesick puppy, my eager eyes answering any doubts she
may have had about how she had read the situation.

She asked, "Would you like to see what I would do if you were my sub?"

"Desperately," I answered, my eyes never leaving hers.

She tugged on my leash and I crawled on all fours like a good dog. She led
me a few feet to a chair, where she sat down and slipped out of her heels
and she ordered, "Clean my soles, my pet."

My cunt juice continued to slide down my legs, as I obeyed the order of
this beautiful, redhead stranger.

I had licked her sole for less than thirty seconds when the bell rang
implying a customer had entered the store and she quickly stood up, slid
her feet back in her heels, shrugged and said, "Another time, my pet."

She patted my head and walked off, me still on my knees. I quickly sat up
and struggled to get the leash off the collar before someone saw. I was
just back up, leash off, when a mother and daughter walked by me looking
for something special for the daughter's wedding night.

A feeling of disappointment at not being able to serve her completely, and
exhilaration at the voyeuristic act collided inside me, confusing me yet
again. I dropped the leash into my bucket of toys, grabbed three more pairs
of white thigh high nylons and headed to the register.

Three more people entered the store and the redhead and I could not have
the conversation I desperately wanted to have. She rang up my many items,
packed them up and gave me a special discount for what she called her
special customers. I blushed at the innuendo that was implied by the term
'special'. She circled the bill where I could fill out a survey about the
service I had received for a chance to win a hundred dollar gift card and
she signed it with her name, Allison, and a phone number. I took it receipt
and slipped it into my purse discreetly and her last words to be, although
a whisper, were in a tone that implied it was an order, "Text me."

I replied, "Yes, ma'am," and left the store, feeling the ultimate rush of
adrenaline in having a sexual encounter that I had some control in.

Back in my car, I sat there for a few minutes as I tried to come down from
my excitement. Finally, I drove home, my pussy leaking the whole time.


22. I AM COW, HEAR ME MOO

I pulled into my driveway, my body still quivering from the events of the
past hour. I grabbed the package and rushed into my house, determined to
ignore Madison's command and pleasure myself again.

I closed the door and was surprised to see Madison on my couch watching
T.V., her foot resting on her sister Emily's, back, who was on all fours
being used like a stool.

Madison smiled and asked, "Did you buy what I ordered you to, slut?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered.

"Bring the bag over here," she ordered, before laughing, "what is on your
neck?"

"A collar," I admitted, forgetting I was still wearing it.

She opened the bag and saw the leash and her smile went from ear to
ear. "Oh my, oh my, oh my, what do we have here?" she asked, as she pulled
out the leash. "When I told you to go and buy three things to surprise me I
was expecting tame stuff, but wow, you have actually surprised me."

"Thank you, Mistress," I absurdly replied.

"Why the fuck are you still dressed?" she snapped.

"Sorry, Mistress," I replied, quickly undressing. My pussy was so damp, so
ready to be pleased, that I was completely at the whim of this harsh white
Mistress.

"Fuck, nipple clamps?" Madison announced, "I can't fucking believe it."

I was now naked, except my requisite white thigh high stockings.

"Bring those flapjacks here, slave. You want nipple clamps, I will give you
nipple clamps."

I moved to her and fell to my knees as expected. She shook her head, "Stand
up slut. How am I supposed to reach those flabby black tits from there?"

"Sorry, Mistress," I apologized, "It was just the commandment said to be on
my knees."

"The what commandments?" she asked.

"The slut-mandments," I announced, not even ashamed any more from such a
affirmation.

"And don't you question me, slut," she scolded, twisting my right nipple
hard.

I whimpered, as I repeated the common phrase, "I'm sorry, Mistress."

"Now bend those cow udders over so I can clamp your present on for you."

Having my breasts called cow udders was humiliating, yet I obeyed, bending
them over and holding them up for my white Mistress to punish.

Madison clamped my right breast and a stunningly sharp pain burned through
my tit. She replicated the pain when she put the nipple clamp on my left
breast. Once they were both on, Madison pulled on the chain, slowly
stretching my breasts in ways nature did not intend. It hurt like hell, yet
somehow the humiliation turned me on.

Madison demanded, "Moo for me, Professor Jefferson."

I hadn't heard her call me by my formal title in a while and it was
obviously to show the power she had over me. The new demand was the most
humiliating yet. I wanted to cry, being treated like a farm animal was a
new low in a continual decline of lows. I thought I had hit rock bottom
long ago, but the bottom kept going lower and lower into the abyss of
submission. "Moooo," I weakly said.

"Oh, no, no," Madison criticized. "I expect better while I generously milk
on your udders, cow."

She pulled harder, my udders now at such ridiculous distortion they no
longer looked like breasts. Wanting her to let go, I moo'd like I believed
a cow would moo, holding the vowel for as long as humanly possible without
taking a breath. "Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaah."

"Good cow, Professor Jefferson, good cow," she praised, letting go some of
the tension in my udders.

As she loosened the reins on my udders, I suddenly wanted more. I wanted to
feel the pain; I wanted to be told to moo again. I was a cow, her cow, and
I wanted more. Without instruction, I moo'd again. "Mooooooooooooo."

Madison smiled at my eagerness. "You will be the best jiggaboo pet I have
ever had."

"Moooooooo," was my response to the compliment that excited my cunt.

Madison spoke to her sister who had listened to her favourite Professor's
complete degradation. "Emily you may get up now. My Nigger can replace
you."

Emily winced at me being called Nigger, but as she moved, her eyes showing
me how much she wished she could help me, she said, "Thank you, Mistress
Sister."

Without further instruction, I fell to my knees, got on all fours and
crawled into position. Madison placed her feet on my back as she continued
going through my purchases. "Oh, a wi-vibe, a great choice, cow. Aaaaaah,
my cow slut was thinking about her Mistress. A strap-on that pleases me
while I fuck my whore. How very thoughtful," she said, her tone as
condescending as humanly possible.

"Moooooooooo," I replied.

Madison laughed and continued, "A decent sized butt plug too. You really
are a whore, Professor Jefferson. No, seriously. It is one thing to
fantasize about being a lesbian Nigger slut to a white Goddess, but to
actually go out and purchase all the kinky items you want me to use on you,
well wow, even I couldn't have predicted such utter slutiness."

"Mooooo."

"Emily, take this butt plug and fuck your favourite Professor's cunt to get
it lubricated and then fill her ass."

Emily apologized to me, "Sorry, Professor Jefferson."

"It's ok, Emily, it is not your fault," I said, trying to make sure Emily
didn't feel guilty for my professional collapse. She had desperately tried
to warn me, to protect me, but I was too weak.

"Cows don't talk," Madison snapped.

"Mooooooo."

I felt the butt plug easily slip inside my cunt and Emily slowly spun it in
a circular motion to get it as lubricated as possible.

I moaned, "Moooooooooo."

After a minute or so of the coating the toy, Madison ordered, "Now her ass,
sister-slave."

"Yes, Mistress Sister," Emily replied, pulling the toy out of my soaking
wet box and preparing to place it in my long ignored ass.

She pulled my ass cheeks apart, and slowly rubbed the toy around my
puckered entrance, delaying the inevitable.

"Now!" Madison roared, threatening, "Or else."

Emily, clearly petrified of whatever 'or else' might be, pushed the full
butt plug in my ass in one hard push.

I screamed, "AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhmmooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
The pain was intense, worse than I ever recall feeling in my ass. I had
been fucked in the ass before, but always it had been prepared with
fingers, lube and usually involved a lot of wine. This time I was stone
sober and in agony.

Madison asked, even as I whimpered like a dying cow, "Did you masturbate
this morning?"

I originally planned to lie, but in the state I was in, my brain was not
functioning and I admitted, "Yes, I did. With a hairbrush."

"You purposely disobeyed an order?" Madison questioned.

"I couldn't help it," I attempted to justify.

"Emily, spank my Nigger's disobedient ass five times where the plug is."

I winced knowing this would hurt like hell. Emily went to my backside and
gently slapped my ass, still pushing the plug to new unexplored depths of
my ass.

"Really, Emily? Do I have to remind you what a spank feels like?"

"No, Mistress," Emily replied, her voice unable to hide the fear.

"Good, now start over, five good hard spanks. A slave needs to be
disciplined when she disobeys. She needs it. Don't you, Professor?"

"Moooo?" I replied, trying to make it a question.

"You may speak if I ask you a direct question," Madison explained.

I answered, as I assumed she wanted me too, "Yes, a slave like me needs
proper discipline so I stay in line."

Madison responded, "Good cow. One."

I moo'd.

A second later I felt the double burn. One of the hard slap burning my ass
cheeks and two of the extreme shot of pain as the plug again explored a new
depth inside my ass.

"Two," Madison announced.

A second slap stung my cheeks.

"Three."

A third had tears coming down my face.

"Four."

Missed the plug and thankfully Madison didn't notice, giving me a brief
reprieve from the extreme pain.

"Five and make it count."

The last slap was harder and encompassed both cheeks and the toy, making me
scream again. "AAAhhhhhhhmooooooo."

Madison broke out in uncontrollable laughter at my unnatural sounds of
torture. Once she recovered, she asked, "Emily, is Professor wet?"

I felt a hand explore my leaking cunt and Emily answered, "She is leaking,
Mistress Sister."

"Professor Jefferson. I recall you once saying rather determinedly that you
would never submit to me. Yet, here you are, in your own living room, on
all fours like a common animal, getting turned-on by being spanked by a
student of yours while a plug fills your ass. Interesting, don't you
think?"

I was mortified by the vivid image Madison recreated, yet I couldn't deny
it. The evidence was indisputable. I had fallen completely. So, I
moo'd. "Moooooo."

Madison stood up and took off her panties. She put them on my head like she
had last night and explained, "I wore them all night and slept in them
while two loads of cum soaked into them, delicious white breeding cum. I
bet you would love to be bred by some white stud, wouldn't you?"

The intoxicating overwhelming aroma of Madison had any thoughts of denial
erased as my tongue without permission from my brain was already lapping at
the white girl's wet crotch.

"Answer me, Nigger," Madison roared, slapping my ass, twice as hard as
Emily had.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhyeeeeeeeeeeeesss, Mistress," I cried,
tears flooding down my face, the pain intolerable, reminiscent of child
birth, although at least these pains simmered after a minute or two.

"Yes, what?" she asked, her hands caressing my ass.

"Yes, I would love to be bred," I agreed, weakly.

"You would carry the dominant white seed in your Nigger belly," Madison
pushed.

"Yeess," I whined, the pain just starting to dissipate, but still clearly
there. I tensed, expecting another slap that would push me over the edge.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Madison asked.

"Oh god, yes," I admitted, wanting nothing more ever in my 40 years of
existence.

Her hands left my ass and I waited patiently as I guessed put the strap-on
in her cunt and around her hips.

Madison ordered, "Emily, get on all fours in front of your favourite
barnyard animal."

Emily nervously did.

Madison came into view, the strap-on on her perfect white hips and she
repositioned Emily so her ass was just inches from my face, sideways. She
explained, "Professor Jefferson, this cock was for you. But, you disobeyed
and pleasured yourself without permission. So you can watch me fuck my
sister knowing this big cock should be in your Nigger cunt."  Madison
pulled the panties on my head to the side so I could get a full view of
what was about to transpire.

Rubbing the plastic cock up and down her sister's cunt lips, Madison asked,
"Baby sis, do you want my big cock in your cunt?"

"Oh god, yes, please fuck my cunt," she moaned, my sweet innocent looking
student, suddenly begging like a horny slut.

"What are you?" Madison asked, clearly trying to humiliate her younger
sister in front of me.

"A slut, Mistress, an incest dyke who is sorry for questioning your
authority, big sister," Emily admitted, her eyes showing a desperation to
please.

"Bend back on my cock, sister slave," Madison demanded, adding, "Fuck
yourself in front of your favourite Professor."

"Yes, Mistress Sister," Emily moaned, leaning back and swallowing the
plastic cock inside her cunt.

From my angle I couldn't see her cunt, just her perfectly curved ass as she
bounced back on her sister's cock. A cock I had purchased earlier today. I
couldn't help but feel shame in playing a part in Emily's sexual
debauchery, yet she seemed to be enjoying it immensely.

"Do you like fucking yourself in front of Professor Jefferson?" Madison
asked.

"Yeeesssss," she moaned, clearly in a state of growing ecstasy, an orgasm
obviously on the rise.

"Do you want your own Nigger play thing?" Madison questioned, her finger
seemingly teasing her sister's butthole.

"Whaaaat? No, Mistress," she protested, still bouncing eagerly on the cock.

"Stop," Madison insisted. Emily surprisingly instantly stopped fucking
herself, a whimper escaping her lips. "Turn around so you are facing
Professor Jefferson, sis."

Emily reluctantly obeyed and was soon facing me, her eyes pleading for
forgiveness, her red cheeks pleading for more pleasure.

"Call Professor Jefferson a slut," Madison demanded.

Emily begged, "Please, no, Madison."

The loud smack of skin hitting skin, Madison's hand on her sister's ass,
echoed through the room. "Don't you dare fucking question me slut! You
remember what happened last time, don't you? That was nothing," Madison
threatened.

Emily's eyes went big with a fear I can't even fathom. I instantly wondered
what Emily's punishment was last time that could make this sweet girl so
obedient and scared.

Emily looked at me and mouth 'I'm sorry' before she slandered me. "You are
a slut, Professor Jefferson."

Madison added, "And a cow."

Emily let out a moan and her face almost met mine as Madison obviously slid
the strap-on dildo back in her sister. "Yes, aaaaah, you are a cow,
Professor Jefferson."

"A fucking cow," Madison corrected.

Emily winced, but echoed the words of her sister-Mistress, "A fucking
cow. Professor Jefferson is a fucking cow."

"And a Nigger," Madison added, pushing her sister to the brink, her values
and beliefs forced to be ignored to be pleasured and to not be punished.

"Oh God," Emily moaned, a mixture of pleasure from the hard, deep thrusts
her sister was giving her and the mortification of the word she was being
made to say. I could see her trepidation at using the word she so
determined not to use.

I attempted to help. "It's ok. I want to hear it Emily. Tell me I am a
Nigger, a slutty cow Nigger." Hearing myself slander myself somehow only
made me wetter.

This seemed to help Emily cross the invisible line of values she didn't
want to cross. "Professor Jefferson, you are a slutty cow Nigger."

"Kiss the Nigger, Emily," Madison ordered, stopping the deep thrusts in her
sister.

Emily leaned forward and kissed my lips. The kiss was gentle and soft, just
like in my fantasy, and she surprised me by slipping her tongue inside my
mouth. I responded with my tongue and we were soon in a passionate kiss,
even in our absurd all fours position. Time stood still as the colour of
our skins no longer mattered, our age difference no longer mattered, all
that mattered was the moment.

Madison eventually broke the intimate moment when she lambasted her
sister. "I wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it with my own eyes. My
sister is a Nigger lover."  Madison resumed fucking her sister and
continued slathering on the insults at her sister; oddly each shot seemed
to increase Emily's moans. "Fuck Emily, you are an embarrassment as a
sister and to the Adams name. You are a Nigger lover, a fucking slut who
craves chocolate. Come for me whore, come like the dirty little whore you
are."

Emily's moans continued to increase and she exploded only seconds after
being told, a scream so shockingly loud I couldn't believe it could come
from the sweet, innocent
Emily. "AaaaaaaaaahHHHHHHHHHhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaafuuuuuuck, fuck, fuck,
fuck, fuck, fuck."

I watched her distorted facial expression, her closed eyes and her
trembling lips as the orgasm spread through her. I was mesmerized by the
beauty of it all, regardless of the way it transpired. Emily's orgasm was
truly blissful and erotic.

Madison pulled out, moved to my mouth and shoved the sticky toy in my
mouth. "Suck it cow. Milk it."

I obeyed, retrieving Emily's cum from the dildo. The taste was sweet,
although the plastic dildo was less appealing.

Madison began bucking her cock in my mouth, literally face-fucking me. I
gagged briefly, but handled the cock.

Madison pulled out, unbuckled the toy and shoved the still vibrating piece
in my mouth. "Clean your Mistress's juices." She swirled the toy around my
mouth as I cleaned the toy that had just been in her pussy.

Finally she pulled it out, bent down and began rubbing her wet pussy all
over my face. "Lick it slut. Get your Mistress off. Lap from the white
perfection you have craved for so long."

I had no choice as she rubbed her pussy all over my face and mouth, her
juices already heavy. I extended my tongue and eagerly lapped up as much of
her juice as possible. The taste was like champagne and after one lick from
the fountain every last remaining speck of my resistance was gone.

Madison seemed to notice, as she asked, "Do you want to go back in time,
slut? Go back to before I liberated you from your chains of false
equality?"

She moved away and I answered, "No, Mistress, I am happy where I am."

"On your knees, like a cow, in your own home, serving your white Goddess?"
she asked, painting a horrifying picture of submission.

Unfortunately, the canvas was painted and I was way too weak, and way too
addicted to even attempt a resistance. All I wanted was to taste her
perfection again, so I admitted, "Yes, Mistress, wherever you see fit."

Madison, her smile of complete victory on her face, shoved her pussy back
in my face and I eagerly continued my licking. It was only a couple of
minutes of heaven before her legs stiffened and I was rewarded with a flood
of her champagne. I savoured every last drop, and searched for more, before
Madison moved away.

My face was coated with her cum, her sweet juice. Madison got dressed and
ordered Emily do so as well, all the while I remained on all fours, like a
pet waiting to be played with.

Once they were both dressed, Madison asked, "Was it worth the wait?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied honestly, although my pussy was begging for the
attention the sisters had received.

"I expect there will be no more issues of disobedience, will there, slut?"

"No more, Mistress," I promised.

"You will be a good cow?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress," I agreed.

"Excellent. I will be here to pick you up at 6:30 tonight. I expect you
dressed up to tease, but not too slutty. We will be in public and I would
hate for the whole school to know how big a fucking whore the prestigious
Professor Jefferson is."

I asked nervously, "Where are we going, Mistress?"

"Dumb sluts like you don't need to know the details, they just need to
obey. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered, humiliation again burning.

"Once we leave, you may get off your knees. But the plug stays in that fat
ass until after you finish tonight's task." Madison instructed, leaving
before I could speak.

Emily again mouthed, 'I'm sorry,' as she followed her sister out of my
house.

My knees burning in pain, I instantly stood up and stretched my legs. I
couldn't believe how completely overwhelmed and excited I got at the
complete humiliation I had just endured. Yet, even as I thought about how I
had been treated, the thought of submitting again was already getting me
wet.

After she left, my sexual frustration at a new high, I needed to vent and
so I pulled out my journal and wrote my feelings:

Each humiliating task, somehow only gets me wetter and more determined to
submit unconditionally. My frustration is twofold: one because I am not
allowed to come and two that I have come to the point where I have accepted
I need to come. Being treated like a farmyard animal was a new low, yet the
thought of not obeying, a thought that used to be very strong in my being,
is now just a brief flicker and then gone.

I am too far gone to turn back now, but yet I can't fathom living a future
on such pins and needles...on such reliance on another.


23. A FOURTH BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE MIND OF KEISHA JEFFERSON: A DREAM

"Beg slut," Madison demanded.

I instantly replied, on my back, my legs spread wide open, completely naked
except for white stockings, "Oh my white Goddess, please fuck my vagina."

"Vagina, you are one stupid woman," Madison laughed, "What are you a
fucking tween? You have a cunt, a sloppy, dirty, box." She tapped on my
clit with her big white strap-on cock.

Desperately wanting to please her, I corrected, using the horribly
insulting word, "AAAhhhh, my cunt, fuck my cunt, please. I need it so bad."

"Your dirty slut box?" Madison question, rubbing the dildo cockhead on my
wet vagina lips.

"Fuck yes," I admitted, frustrated beyond reason, my only thought
submitting to this bitchy blonde, "I'm a dirty slut. Please shove that big
cock in my wet cunt."

She obliged, filling me completely with one big thrust forward, as she
announced, "Here you go slut, beg and you will receive."

Although humiliated by my begging and an uncontrollable need to be fucked,
the pleasure from submission overrode any sense of dignity. I screamed, "Oh
god yes, fuck me, fuck my cunt." I couldn't believe my words, although I
usually got very animated during sex the rare time it occurred, I had never
purposely used the c-word.

I watched her firm tits bounce as she fucked me and couldn't believe how
hungry I was to touch them and taste them. I had never ever considered
another woman sexually, but here I was being fucked by one, suddenly eager
to please her back.

Sensing my weakness, she pushed me further in her verbal assault. "Tell me
you're a dyke, slut."

I admitted, "I'm a dyke."

She leaned down and slapped my tits. "Do better than that, slut. Make me
believe it."

Wanting to please her for some unknown reason deep in my subconscious,
something I could not control at all, I heard myself admit, "I'm a fucking
dyke, a dirty lez who just wants to eat pussy and be used as a lesbian
plaything." Oh my God, I couldn't believe the words out of my mouth, or the
fact that such filthy language only made my thoroughly fucked pussy even
wetter.

Less than five minutes into my sexual submission and I was screaming in
pure pleasure as my orgasm shuddered through me. The whole time I came,
Madison slathered me with false flattery. "You look good like that
Keisha. Writhing around like the cheap whore you are. A fucking slut, just
like your Mother."

The 'mother' shot had me wince as I was nothing like my mother, something I
adamantly fought to be.

"Just a dirty dyke Nigger, like your Mammy, isn't that right slut?" Madison
smirked as she pulled the cock out of me.

I jolted awake, sweat dripping down my face, my panties soaking wet. I
looked around and realized I was alone, in my hotel room. It had all been a
dream. I sat awake trying to understand the mortifying, humiliating dream I
had just experienced. I had always argued that your dreams were your
subconscious begging to be released, but this was something completely
absurd and disturbing. I hated that bitch; I resented my Mom for bringing
her into my life. Yet, I couldn't deny the fact that my panties were
soaked. Casting it off as a onetime, overtired, overworked, overstressed
anomaly, I changed out of my panties, stunned by the fact that I had
apparently orgasm in my sleep, something I had never had happen before.

As I lay back in bed, past exhaustion, I made a promise to myself to deal
with that white bitch when I returned in a few days.

I closed my eyes and fell into slumber.


24. A QUICKIE WITH MY EX

I spent the whole rest of the day a nervous wreck as I wondered what she
had in store for me tonight. She implied it would be public, but she also
implied our secret would be kept. All day my pussy tingled, begged to be
relieved of the dam that was building my juice to an uncontrollable height.

I also practiced walking with the plug in my ass, something that at first
was awkward and slightly painful, but after a couple of hours of walking
around, while cleaning my house in only my stockings with a plug in my ass,
I was used to it, although it did fall out twice. It was strangely
liberating. I also had to get used to keeping it in my ass, having it
almost slip out on a couple of occasions. But when I sat on my couch to
check the weather on the T.V., I was greeted with a sharp reminder of my
submission to Madison.

I got ready, showering, putting on a new pair of white thigh high
stockings, and a cream coloured skirt that was long enough to hide the top
of my stockings unless I was sitting at a certain angle. I added a red
blouse that was not super tight, but definitely showcased my large breasts,
keeping them firmly in place. I had previously taped my nipples to hide the
fact that I wasn't wearing a bra. I wore my hair down and put on more
make-up than I usually did.

Ten minutes early, I heard Madison call from downstairs, "Are you ready,
slut?"

I called back, "I will be right down, Mistress." I grabbed my three inch
heels and quickly hurried down the stairs to see my Mistress, the quick
pace reminding me again of the plug in my ass and that I was not wearing a
bra.

She smiled when she saw me. She was dressed in a school football jersey and
short shorts. She looked like a complete whore, which was definitely me
calling the kettle black.  "A pretty good outfit choice, whore."

"Thank you, Mistress, I am happy you approve," I replied.

"But the blouse will have to go," she said, tossing me a school football
jersey.

I looked at her confused, before she explained, "You really are one dumb
fucking smart person. We are going to our school's basketball game.  Have
you ever been there to cheer on your school?"

"No," I admitted, never really buying into sports.

"Well, don't you worry, you will make up for it today," she promised.

Her tone had me worried, as I unbuttoned my blouse. Once off, I quickly put
the jersey on, hoping she wouldn't see my tape job.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What was what?" I asked, playing stupid.

"What was on your udders?" she questioned, walking over to me and pulling
my jersey up. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Sorry, I just thought I need a way to hide my nipples if we were going to
be in public."

She yanked off the tape, which gave a slight burn, and asked, her tone
dripping with condescension, "And what did I tell you about Nigger's
thinking?"

"We shouldn't," I replied, humiliated that she was not just talking about
me, but my whole race.

"Because you are stupid?" she questioned.

"Yes," I whispered, looking down avoiding eye contact.

She pinched both my nipples and twisted them, "Yes, what, you stupid
fucking Nigger?"

I whimpered, "Yes, Mistress, I am just a fucking stupid Nigger fit to be
your servant."

"Better," she said, her voice instantly back to civility, as she let go off
my nipples. "Where are the nipple clamps?"

"In my room, Mistress."

"Go get them. You need to be punished for thinking for yourself," Madison
explained, again the humiliation burned through my entire being, yet also
had my pussy burning.

"Yes, Mistress," I obeyed, quickly going up the stairs to my room, another
reminder of the butt plug with each quick step. I grabbed the nipple clamps
and returned to my white Mistress, although I returned down the stairs with
more deliberate caution, the burn in my ass really beginning to cause major
discomfort.

"Lift up your jersey, Junglebunny," she demanded.

A new extreme and racist term was shot in my face, yet I obediently lifted
up the jersey and watched as she clamped both my nipples, before she gave
me a rare compliment, "For an old pig like you, your tits are still damn
firm."

"Thank you, Mistress," I replied, oddly thrilled by getting a compliment.

"Let's go," she ordered.

I followed her to her car where I was led to the backseat with a younger
black girl, assumedly a sorority sister. Ashley was driving, and Madison
got in the passenger's seat. Once on the road, Madison introduced me to the
younger woman, "Professor Jefferson, this is Stacey, she is one of our
sorority sisters."

I extended my hand to the pretty black young lady, who I noticed was also
wearing white nylons, and said, "Nice to meet you, Stacey."

Stacey didn't respond, avoiding eye contact, as Madison explained,
releasing another bombshell, "She is a Nigger slave like you Professor, and
only speaks when granted permission. Go ahead slut, you may speak."

Stacey looked at me, her eyes of humiliation replicating mine, as she said,
"Nice to meet you too, Professor. I have heard many things about you."

I wondered what they were. Were they good things by other students or
humiliating things from Madison?

Madison explained, "Stacey will be your fluffer tonight."

I had no idea what a fluffer was and asked, "What is a fluffer?"

Madison and Ashley laughed like I had just said the funniest thing
ever. Ashley, finally speaking, "Oh don't worry, you will soon find out."

Anxiety again pulsed through my veins as we pulled into the parking
lot. Once parked, Madison explained, handing me a ticket. "So, Professor,
you are free to do as you please during the game. Sit with colleagues, sit
with us, whatever your fancy desires. That said, I expect you at entrance
17 fifteen minutes after the game ends, is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered, although it was more embarrassing to say in
front of a complete stranger.

"Your ticket is with us, by the way, but you guys have a box reserved for
alumni and professors up top. Now get the fuck out and cheer on our boys,
or should I say your boys," she smirked, hinting at what was ahead for me.

I got out and began walking to the game, realizing pretty quickly that my
outfit was rather extreme for a college basketball game. Three inch heels,
stockings and a skirt, with our green and white uniforms was a rather
provocative outfit for such an event. I was usually a very fashionable,
presentable woman and I was about to walk into a basketball gymnasium
dressed like this with over 15,000 people.

I sighed, but knew I was way past the point of no return. Once I was in the
gymnasium I was in a sea of people. Only a minute after a couple of
students walked by and said, "Hi, Professor Jefferson."  I said 'hi' back
and searched for a bathroom to hide.

I was near the washroom entrance when the Dean of our school,
Mr. Waterhouse, said, "Well, I have never seen you here before, Felicia."
Hearing my real name being used was a pleasant change after the onslaught
of derogatory names I had been degraded with.

"Hi, Jack," I replied, "some students insisted I come and watch." I pointed
to my outfit and lied, "And they dressed me up too."

"Well, that is the spirit," he smiled, before insisting, "You are coming up
to the alumni box?"

"I don't know," I said, trying to worm my way out of being embarrassed by
other colleagues, as I said, "First, I need to find a washroom."

"Don't go in these ones, they are incredibly unsanitary. Follow me,
Felicia," he insisted.

Screwed, I followed him up a ton of stairs, each one reminding me of the
plug in my ass, until we were in a big fancy private box. There was food
galore, alcohol and over a dozen men. Jack pointed to the ladies' room and
I quickly went there not to pee, but to collect myself. Jack had bought the
lie and I guess this small box was a lot safer than a stadium with
thousands of kids. I washed up and returned to the room, figuring a couple
of cocktails, maybe a few truth be told, would make this go faster and
relax me a bit.

I poured myself a rum and coke, grabbed some appetizers and walked over to
the glass to see what the other men were watching. Typical, the
cheerleaders were putting on a pre-game show. I shot half my drink before
an older man I did not know, probably in his sixties, commented, "That is a
very sweet outfit you are wearing, my dear."

I couldn't tell if he was sincere, condescending or horny, but I explained,
loud enough for most to hear, "A couple of students insisted I show school
spirit and become a real member of the school and it occurred to me I had
never been to a sporting event and so I figured what the hell."

"Well, it is a very impressive hell," he smiled, answering for me the
sincere, condescending, horny question.

I flirted, "Well, I have been told my many men that all women look hot in a
football jersey."

"Damn right," another voice echoed from behind, a voice I knew all too
well, my ex-husband. "But you never ever wore one for me."

"Hi, Conner," I said, as droll as possible.

"Hi, Felicia. That is quite the fashion statement," he pointed out,
thoroughly doing a once over.

I shrugged, "You only live once."

"It is good to see you so alive and chipper," my ex said, taking a shot at
the old me. The frigid me who could never give myself to him sexually the
way he wanted. The way I was willing to do now for a white girl younger
than my daughter.

"The single life will do wonders," I shot back, making sure he knew I was
indeed alive and well.

"Ouch," Jack chimed in. "You two either kiss and make up or go somewhere
else to have your pissing match."

Conner smiled, "One time for old time's sake?"

"There isn't enough booze in the world," I replied, although the thought of
his snake in me right at this moment was incredibly appealing.

The National Anthem ended our pissing match, as Jack called it, as we stood
at attention. The game started and one drink became two, which became three
and as usually happened when I got tipsy, my pussy tingled and my morals
loosened (I know that seems ironic after my past indiscretions).

Conner knew me well and as the evening went on, he began flirting with me
more aggressively. His hot breath melting me like it always had, even if I
didn't always show him, as he whispered, "Let's go to the washroom, baby."

"No," I replied, "this is not the place."

He bit my ear, "They won't notice. Plus, don't pretend you didn't come here
to get laid, Felicia. You are wearing thigh high stockings and are dressed
like a co-ed."

I stammered, distracted by my desire, "I-I-I...."

He pulled me up and led me to the washroom, the other men oblivious.

The plug in me shifted and I was reminded it was still there and realized I
could not let him fuck me. How would I explain it?

In the washroom, I lied, as I fell to my knees, and purred all seductive
and sexy, "Baby, I am on my period, but I can still get you off." I pulled
out his semi-hard cock and took it in my mouth before he even had time to
respond. I swirled my tongue around his growing member and felt it grow
because of me. Once fully erect, I began to slowly bob back and forth,
suddenly craving his salty seed. His moans only enhanced my eagerness and I
was soon furiously sucking his cock.

After a couple of minutes, I heard him grunt and felt his seed slide down
my throat. I didn't slow down, savouring the taste of his cum. Once done, I
stood back up and he smiled, "Where was that eagerness when we were
married?"

I shrugged and said with a naughty smile, dripping with the innuendo that
he would never know, "I am nothing like when we were married."

"So it seems," he smiled back, putting his cock away. He gave me a look
that was a mixture of surprise, admiration and desire that actually had me
aroused and wishing I could just fuck him.

I squeezed his cock. "A rain check?"

"Just ask and you can redeem it," he flirted back, his hand going for my
breast. I tried to push away, but was not fast enough and he learned that I
was not wearing a bra and that I had nipple clamps on.  "What the?"

Before he could say anything else, I quickly pushed past him and out the
bathroom where Jack noticed and smiled, but said nothing.

Conner followed, clearly surprised by this newfound information about his
ex-wife, a prude in his mind most of the time.

I poured myself a fourth drink and found a spot to sit where Conner
couldn't interrogate me. The rest of the game flew by and we apparently won
98-97 with a three-point shot at the buzzer, whatever that means. The boys
were starting a poker game as I got ready to leave.

Jack said, "Felicia, you are always welcome here."

"Thanks Jack," I replied, "It was fun."

Conner watched me, but didn't approach me, a look on his face I couldn't
really read, like he couldn't really read me anymore. I liked having him
confused and rattled. I left the room and headed to where Madison expected
me to be. I bumped into a few more of my ex or current students who hugged
and high-fived me while celebrating like the drunk fools they were. I was
embarrassed and yet all seemed oblivious to my current predicament, so
drunk and ecstatic.


25. THE GLORY-HOLE-IOUS VICTORY

I reached the arranged meeting place, which was outside, and waited like a
school girl for a few minutes. The evening had become chillier and my
outfit was not made for the breeze. Madison finally arrived and said, "So,
how was the game?"

I shrugged, "We won it seems."

"What did you do?" she asked.

I retold the whole story. Once done, she asked, "You really are a slut. I
can't believe you sucked off Professor Hamilton in the bathroom while other
co-workers were just inches away. Does he have a big cock?"

"It is a very reasonable size," I replied.

"Well, don't worry, you will get a very wide range of sizes now," she
promised.

I wanted to ask what she meant, but remained silent.

"You are learning," she smiled, "Come with me."

I followed her through a few hallways and eventually into a small room
where a stool sat. Also in the room was a video camera on a tripod and
Stacey on her knees near a circular hole. I realized pretty quickly that I
was in a glory hole and that Madison planned to videotape my
performance. Madison explained, "Your task tonight is to reward our players
for their glorious victory."

"Oh," was all I could say, hiding my growing excitement. Being quite
intoxicated, a sudden hunger shot through me at the thought of being a
secret cocksucking slut, yet without anyone knowing it was me. Students I
taught would be coming in my mouth without knowing it was their ethics
Professor swallowing their sweet load. Even the fact that it was being
filmed couldn't dull my desire to be the slut that had been released out of
me this past week.

A white cock popped through the hole and Madison said, "Get to work, slut."

I didn't need to be told twice, as I sat on the stool and took the medium
sized cock in my mouth. A moan on the other side only enhanced my
excitement at pleasing this basketball player. Knowing I was going to be
sucking a lot of different cocks, I didn't attempt to tease them, but just
got to work on some hardcore sucking. I bobbed back and forth on the first
cock, desperate to swallow that first load. It didn't take long as the
unknown player grunted, "Take it slut," and sprayed my throat with seed. As
soon as his cock slid out of my mouth and out of the hole, a second bigger
black cock replaced it. I gobbled it whole, suddenly craving more cum. His
cock was wider than most and took more focus to get accustomed to his
girth. But once I got comfortable with his cock in my mouth, I really went
to work. Three or four minutes of constant fast-paced cocksucking and I was
rewarded with my second load of the evening (well third if you count my
ex). "Thanks," the unknown black player said, oddly politely, before
disappearing. Just as fast as one cock disappeared, another replaced it.

The next forty minutes I swallowed another eight loads, give or take, it
was a blur. I took a brief jaw break, where Stacey took over and sucked off
a smaller cock before I was greeted with the biggest cock I had ever
seen. Over eleven inches, it wrecked the 'black guys have the biggest cocks
theory', as it was as white as a cock could be. I struggled to take it in
my mouth and after a minute of teasing with my tongue he ordered, "Slut,
put your mouth on the hole." I watched his cock pull out and I obeyed. He
explained, "I'm going to fuck your face slut."  Suddenly, I felt his cock
slide between my open mouth and he began pumping slowly at first. I closed
my lips around his enormous meat and just sat there as I was used as a cum
deposit. After a minute or two, time really was immaterial by this point,
he began speeding up his assault on my mouth. I struggled but maintained my
breathing and was soon rewarded with the biggest load of cum I had ever had
coat my throat. As he pulled out, I moved my jaw around, suddenly very
sore.

Madison, who had filmed everything without comment, said, "If your slut
mouth is too sore, you can always use one of your other holes."

Again, this should have been humiliating, but the thought of a cock inside
my feverish cunt was too much to resist. A new smaller cock was waiting for
me and I awkwardly positioned myself with one leg on the stool and leaned
back searching for the fuck-stick. Stacey helped by holding me up so I
didn't stumble, the position being slightly awkward. It took a moment of
searching and repositioning, but I finally found the sweet spot and fell
back on the cock. I quickly began bouncing back onto the cock and the wall,
ignorant to how obscene and desperate and slutty I must have looked in my
eager need to get off. I ignored the slight burn in my ass as the plug went
deeper in me with each backwards thrust.

Madison, as if reading my desperate mind, said, "You may come as many times
as you want, my Nigger."

The words were music to my ears, my body and my cunt and I moaned, thanking
her profusely, "Oh god yes, thank you Mistress, you treat me too well." I
closed my eyes and fucked the faceless cock with reckless abandon wanting
to feel my pussy walls coated with the stranger's cum. Being so close to
orgasm for hours, it took only a couple of minutes for my orgasm to spread
throughout me. I never slowed down as my screams of rapture echoed through
the small room.

It took longer than with my mouth, but even as my orgasm still twitched
through me, I felt my box being filled with cream.  As he pulled out and
disappeared back through the hole, another quickly replaced him. This time
I kept my ass against the wall and let the unknown stud fuck me. He was
bigger than the last one and actually started slow, mixing deep thrusts
with shallow teasing. A couple of minutes of this and I begged, "Just fuck
me hard."

"Beg for it, slut," the unknown cock demanded.

I begged, my mind on sexual cruise control, "Fuck my wet cunt, fill me with
cum, baby, I want to be your victory whore."

He obliged, hammering my cunt with deliberate deep thrusts. My moans
increased as his pace did and we had a lengthy glory hole fuck, neither of
us willing to cum. I began bouncing back to meet this thrusts wanting him
deeper in me, frustrated by the wall preventing the glorious cock from
filling me entirely like I desperately needed.  I don't know how long he
pumped his perfect pecker in me before I finally felt the tide rise and
then crash down as another orgasm, cascaded through me. Feeling my juice
explode on his cock seemed to be the trigger he needed as he buried a load
of cum deep inside my pussy.  Once he pulled out, I fell onto my knees, my
body aching from the position.

Madison laughed. "You don't think you are done yet, do you?"

"No Mistress, I just need to change positions," I replied.

"Well, another cock is there for you," she pointed.

I was staring at a shriveled cock that clearly belonged to one of the
coaches. I returned to the stool and took the flaccid cock in my
mouth. Having climaxed, knees sore, jaw aching, I just wanted this to
end. So I bobbed up and down on the smallish cock quickly and wasn't
surprised to feel my mouth coated with some cum in only a couple of
minutes.

"Last cock," someone called from the other side of the wall.

Madison smiled, "Do you want that plug out of your ass, slut?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied, my ass aching as well.

"Well, replace the plug with that nice white cock waiting for you."

The last cock of the night was a nice nine-inch white cock and I obeyed the
orders. Standing up, pulling out the plug that had been lodged in my ass
all day and awkwardly I backed up to the wall. Getting the cock in my ass
was easier than my pussy because of the angle and I slid back, the plug
having gaped my ass, allowing the cock to easily slip into my black
ass. Once it was in, I began bouncing back on the white stick, forgetting
how good a cock in my ass felt. As I got into a decent rhythm, my left hand
began rubbing my clit suddenly eager to get off again, this time from an
ass fucking. I was startled when I felt a tongue on my pussy and opened my
eyes to see Stacey lapping at my cunt. The double sensation of a tongue on
my cunt and a cock in my ass was amazing and brought new thrills of
pleasure. I don't know how long I bounced back on the stranger's cock
before I heard him grunt and felt cum fill my ass. I continued the ass
fucking as I was close, too. When he pulled out, I fell to the floor,
pulled Stacey by the air and began fucking her face and in the throes of
lust demanded, "Get me off, Nigger."

Her tongue did wonders and in less than a minute I reached one last
humiliating orgasm.

Exhausted, sore, disgraced, I looked at Madison and the camera still
filming and moved my fingers to my ass and took some cum leaking out of my
ass, scooped it up and put it in my mouth, suddenly performing for the
camera. I had hit rock-bottom and strangely loved it.

Once the camera was off, I apologized to Stacey for my harsh treatment and
name calling, but she just shrugged even though I could tell she was
shocked by a fellow woman of color using the 'N' word.

Madison chuckled and pointed out, "But that is what she is, a Nigger, just
like you Felicia."

*****

At home, exhausted, I grabbed my sex journal and wrote about my bizarre and
yet oddly liberating evening:

I have become a total, unconditional slut. I am mortified by my actions and
yet remembering everything I did today, my cunt burns wanting more. Why
can't I say no? Why? Why? Why?

What is to become of me?


26. A FIFTH BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE MIND OF KEISHA JEFFERSON: A SECOND
DREAM

Every night that week I began dreading going to bed, every night a
different dream but with a similar message. I would eagerly submit to
Madison and became her submissive pet. She would call me insulting names,
humiliate me and make me beg to please her and every time it got me hornier
and hornier and I submitted like a cheap two-bit whore.

Yet, every time I woke up in a sweat, my pussy was leaking and I had came
in my sleep from the humiliating submission.

The last night in the hotel was my most mortifying dream.

I was on my knees in all white lingerie, beside me was my mother also on
her knees and also in all white. In front of us was Madison and we were
vying for the privilege of serving her. When Madison said, "We are going to
have a game and whoever wins gets to be my pet tonight, the loser gets some
humiliating punishment."

I glared at Mom who looked back at me at first with compassion, but seeing
my glare it shifted to determination.

Madison said, "You two Niggers are going to eat each other out and the
first to get the other to cum wins. There is only one rule: there are no
rules. Get the other one off any way you can and you win and trust me you
want to win."

I didn't even wait to hear Madison say start and I was on my mother,
pinning her to the ground while my free hand slid to her wet cunt. I began
fingering her furiously while she wiggled and tried desperately to get out
of my grasp. I could only hold her for a couple of minutes before she broke
free and glared at me with an anger I had never seen from my meek
mother. She surprised me when she pushed me onto the ground and we
wrestled.  It was ludicrous but we both feared the punishment Madison
alluded to, knowing her sinister mind. After a lengthy struggle, Mom ended
up with her ass on my face, her knees on my arms and she leaned forward and
began spanking my clit. I closed my legs on her hand and yanked hard,
flipping her onto her side. She let out a yelp as she banged her arm and
instead of showing mercy or concern for the woman who gave me birth, I took
her moment of weakness to flip her onto her belly and lay on top of her. I
spread her legs open and returned to fingering her. Defeated, she opened
her legs more and allowed me to get her off. I briefly felt bad but my need
to win and not be punished, like last time when I was gangbanged by a dozen
white supremacists wearing their KKK outfits. Seeing she was close, I
tapped her clit with my thumb and watched as her legs stiffened and she
came whimpering and crying through her orgasm.

Madison said, "Congratulations, Keisha, you win. Felicia, on the other
hand, you lose. Go to the door and wait your punishment. Keisha crawl over
to your new Mommy, your white Mommy, and taste heaven."

I suddenly woke up, again mortified by my dream. Yet my pussy was on fire,
so I closed my eyes and fingered myself the rest of the way to sexual
satisfaction. Once recovered from another nasty thrilling orgasm, I cursed
my mother for bringing this white temptress into my life and promised
myself I would confront her once and for all when I returned home tomorrow.


27. THE LULL

After the longest, most humiliating and yet extremely satisfying day of my
life, I expected more of the same on Sunday.

I woke up in my own bed sore everywhere and still exhausted. I lay in my
bed for over an hour replaying last night in my head and accepting the
reality that my life was no longer my own. All I could do was beg Madison
to allow me to continue my professional life. The evidence she had on me
was overwhelming and the reality was I had never felt so liberated and free
as I did yesterday when I was anything but free. The oxymoron was obvious,
yet the reality was still the same.

All day I eagerly anticipated her arrival and all day I was
disappointed. Knowing the kids would be home soon, I kept on the white
stockings as instructed but got dressed, trying to keep the image of
respectability with my children as best as I could in an already fragile
family structure.

My pussy was on fire all day, begging for attention, but I had now accepted
the conditions of my slavery and was determined to obey the slut-mandments
in their entirety. I didn't dare go to church as I felt I may burst into
flames after the many sins I had committed, plus I was way past redemption.

The next day, Monday, I went to school and again expected some sort of
submission. As I walked to my class and past students I wondered 'Did I
suck his cock?', 'Was he the one who fucked my ass?', or 'Was he the one
with that big white cock?' Madison had turned on a switch inside me and it
had turned on a 'me' I didn't know existed, but now that it had been turned
on it was impossible to shut off.

I arrived in class and Madison was back in class with her little slaves
surrounding her. She had a smug smile on her face, yet she didn't say
anything all class, even when we started talking about the future of female
equality. Every time a male student smiled I wondered if he knew I was a
slut hiding in a professional's disguise. Once class was done, Madison and
her posse, left without a word leaving me confused.

This continued all week. No contact with Madison or any of the other people
who knew of my sexual demise. I considered texting Allison, the redhead
from the toy shop, my eagerness to submit and come growing each day, but I
thought adding another to my sick game of submission was too complicated at
this juncture.

It wasn't until Wednesday night that Madison showed up unannounced at my
house just after dinner. She asked, "Can Nicholas come out and play?"

"What?" I asked confused.

"I need a last minute date and thought Nick would be perfect," she smiled,
looking at Nicholas who was staring at the white goddess. "So, what do you
think, sexy? Can you do a girl a favour?"

He stammered, "S-s-sure. Where are we going?"

"I'll tell you on the way. We are late," she said.

"Ok," Nicholas said, putting his shoes on.

Madison smiled, "Don't wait up, Professor; it could be a late night."

I should have pointed out, like a good mother, that it was a school day,
but instead said, "Have a good time."

As soon as they were gone, Nicole blasted me, "Are you kidding me? He is
allowed out on a school night with a college girl and you give me an eleven
o'clock curfew."

Instead of defending myself, I submitted to her whine, "You know what,
Nicole. You are old enough to make your own decisions."

She was expecting me to fight her, so when I gave in she stammered in
surprise. "G-g-good, thanks Mom. You are the best." She hugged me and went
directly to her cell phone.

I waited up till almost midnight before deciding to go to bed, unable to
stay up any longer. I wasn't asleep long when I felt my cunt slapped. I
jolted up and my face crashed into a wet pussy. I was momentarily confused
until Madison said, "Shhhhh, you don't want your children to know you are
my personal fuck toy. Now clean your son's cum from my cunt."

Every time I thought I had hit rock bottom in my complete sexual submission
downfall, I hit a new low. As much as such a demand was humiliating and
sick, I could already feel my pussy bubbling with anticipation. I leaned
forward and licked Madison's cream pie, the cream of my 18-year old
son. The mixture of Madison's sweet pussy juice and my son's cum was a
potent mixture of perfection. As soon as I started licking her pussy I was
addicted. I sucked on her swollen clit and licked between her pussy lips,
eager to retrieve every last speck of my son's cum. It was only a few
minutes of concentrated licking before I was coated with Madison's juice. I
continued savouring her juice until she got off me and said, "Thanks slut,
your son came rather quick, so I didn't get off." She tossed me her panties
and added to the humiliation, "I was wearing these after your son came in
me. So I am sure there is more on my panties if you are still hungry. Have
you come since Saturday?"

"No, Mistress," I replied.

"Swear?"

"Yes, Mistress."

 You may come tonight, just once, Professor. So make it worthwhile."

I caught the panties, but resisted doing what my body craved. Once she was
gone, and I heard the door close, I grabbed Madison's panties, put them on
my head and licked her wet sticky crotch while swimming in the intoxicating
aroma of her scent. My hand went to my wet pussy and began spanking my clit
over and over again, building to a powerful climax. When I came, I bit on
my lips to not wake up Nicholas or Nicole as the pleasure burned through
me. Exhausted, I fell asleep with Madison's panties still on my head.


28. A SIXTH BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE LIFE OF KEISHA JEFFERSON: A SHOCKING
REVELATION

On the flight home, I decided to ask Mr. Walters about Madison. "Have you
met Ms. Washington?"

His face went pale and I instantly knew that Madison had not lied to me. He
covered, "Yes, a young lady who was looking for an intern job."

"She was?" I asked, pushing for information.

"Yes," he explained, "A non-pay position to improve her resume."

"You didn't hire her, did you?" I asked, concerned.

"Actually, I did. It would be great to have a white woman on staff. It
could have big dividends down the road," he rationalized, as I was already
envisioning the disaster this could turn out to be.

"But, is she qualified?" I asked.

"Well, her resume is impressive and her references are all political big
wigs, so again she could really be a benefit to our cause."

I couldn't tell him the truth. That I knew he had fucked her or that I had
nasty submission dreams about her or that I was worried her real goal was
to humiliate me and maybe even bring down the whole NAACP. So I remained
silent, knowing it would be up to me to deal with her once and for all.

But one more domino to disaster was added as he finished with, "I have
assigned her to you to train. She has been working all week in the
afternoons on research and I want you to work with her."

"Why me?" I asked.

He shrugged, "She requested you."


*****

The flight arrived in at 7 p.m. on Thursday and I decided to go to the
office and see what had happened while I was gone and to prepare for the
inevitable confrontation with Madison.

When I arrived in my office, I was surprised to see Madison in my office,
at my desk.  Instantly angry, I snapped, "Get out of my desk, Madison."

Madison looked up, surprised to see me, and said, "Oh, I was not expecting
you back so soon Keisha."

"It is Miss Jefferson to you," I corrected, my tone full of venom.

Her smug smile returned, her tone condescending, "Oh, I am sorry, Miss
Jefferson."

She stood up and I noticed that she was again dressed like a skank going to
a bar to take it from any guy who offered. I shook my head, "If you are
going to work under me, you will dress like a professional and not some
college floozy."

Her smile never left as she said, "First of all, it will be you soon
working under me. Second, Mr. Walters liked my outfit and the easy access
it gave him if I recall."

I snapped, "Look, I am sick of your attitude. This is a place of business
and a place where respect is earned not given. if you want to sleep your
way to the top go right ahead, but do it somewhere else."

She laughed, "You are funny. So dignified and morally right, just like your
mother used to be."

"I am nothing like my mother," I snapped, wondering what she meant by used
to be. I sat down in my chair and gasped as I was staring down at Carol
Myers, my superior; her face shiny with what I assumed was Madison's
juice. I was speechless, utterly, completely speechless.

"What's wrong Keisha?" Madison asked smugly.

Carol began to move out from under the desk when Madison ordered, "Did I
give you permission to get up, slave?"

"Sorry, Miss Madison," my highly respected, feminist, role model, replied,
returning to her submissive position under my desk.

Madison explained, "You were not supposed to see this. I had no idea that
you would be in tonight. I was just training my new Nigger slut to please
me slowly while I worked."

"Carol, how did this happen?" I asked, ignoring Madison's explanation.

Carol apologized, "I am sorry, Keisha."

"You are sorry for what?" Madison asked.

Carol's face went pale, clearly scared of Madison's menacing tone. "Sorry
for her seeing me in this position."

"On your knees?" Madison asked.

Carol remained silent, her face of shame evident.

"Your face coated with my cunt juice" Madison pushed.

I roared, trying to protect my hero and mentor, "That is enough,
Madison. You will not treat Carol with such disrespect."

"Is that so," Madison asked, smugly. "Slut, do you want me to leave you
alone? All you have to do is say you don't want to be my slave and I will
release you from your bondage of servitude to your white Mistress and you
can go back to your trivial black life. Is that what you want?"

Carol was silent for a moment before she responded, in a whisper, her shame
clearly prevalent in her answer, "No, Miss, I don't want that."

"What do you want?" a smiling Madison said while staring at me.

"To be your Nigger slut," she admitted.

My mouth dropped wide open at hearing such vulgarity from my role-model.

While I stood in silent shock, Madison explained, "Isn't it obvious Keisha?
Black women like your mother, like the slut under the desk and like you are
all living the same lie."

"Really," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

She ignored my sarcasm as she continued her assessment of me. "Yes. You
spend your whole life living this ridiculous belief that you are equal to
whites and that the world is changing and you want to be part of the
change. Well, you are going to be part of the change, the change that
returns you to your original place on the hierarchy of social status. You
read To Kill a Mockingbird did you not?"

"Sure," I replied, in a daze at the circumstances that had just transpired.

"Well, that was the way life used to be and needs to go back to," she
explained. "The hierarchy is pretty simple. The white upper classes, the
white middle class, the white hard working lower class, even the white scum
class and then at the very bottom is the blacks."

"Are you using a book that is pro-equality to point out the racial
inequities in our society?" I asked.

"Oh many authors have been brainwashed by do-gooders that change can be
made, but the reality is society worked way better when blacks knew their
place and were good slaves and not thinking for themselves," Madison
ridiculously concluded, as she pushed past me and sat back in my
chair. "Now if you will excuse me, I have some work to finish up and so
does my new slave."

Furious, disappointed, shocked, all these emotions bounced around my head
as I burst out of the office. The last words I heard as I left were,
"Finish what you started, Nigger."

Tears started flowing, something that had not happened in years, as I made
it back to my car. Instantly, I knew I had to deal with my anger and find
out more about this bitch so I headed straight to my mother's.


29. THE CONFRONTATION

I was home marking papers, slowly getting back into a work routine, Madison
having ignored me most of the week when the front door opened and slammed
shut.

Startled, and worried, Nicole and Nicholas were home, that Madison was
sauntering into my house with some demand that would reveal the shameful
secret I was desperately trying to hide from my two children. Ironically,
it wouldn't be Madison that shattered the resemblance of civility that
still remained, but my own daughter.

Keisha came trouncing into my house in a rage. "What the hell happened
between you and Madison?"

"Pardon?" I asked, shocked by the question and unsure how to answer.

"Well, she is ruining my life and I have you to blame for it," my daughter
threw at me.

"What did she do?" I asked, the possibilities endless of what Madison may
do.

"What didn't she do?" she shot back sarcastically. "She has seduced both my
main bosses and made Carol her lesbian slave."

"Oh my, Carol?" I said, more out loud to myself then to my daughter. Carol
was the most dedicated woman to the black cause I knew and a die hard
feminist who never married because her mission of equality for all blacks
outweighed having any sort of life for herself.

"Yes, Carol," my daughter seethed at me, "And apparently there is another
woman who is a slave to her. You wouldn't know who that may be, would you,
Mommy dearest?"

The icy glare, the bitter tone, was like daggers to my heart as I realized
the impact of my weakness. I stammered, "I-I-I, um I'm so sorry Keisha."

"Sorry for what?" she questioned, her hateful tone still being thrown at me
in full force. "For breaking your ethics as a professor, for unleashing
this bitch onto your daughter, for single handedly leading to the downfall
of all the work the NCCAP has spent decades working on or for being, as
Madison put it, a Nigger slut?"

All the humiliation I had endured was nothing compared to the utter shame I
had caused for my daughter. I heard footsteps and saw both my younger
18-year-old children were watching the confrontation, their mouths dropped
open in shock. I ordered, "Go upstairs to your rooms, please."

But Keisha ordered, "No, no, stay here. You might as well know the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

The twins stayed as Keisha continued on her tirade. "What has she made you
do?"

"I can't tell you that," I replied, trembling at the accusations and truth
that was about to be revealed.

"Is it true? Did you submit to her?" she questioned.

"Yes, but it isn't that black and white," I tried to justify my weakness.

"It isn't black and white? If that isn't the most ironic statement ever! It
has everything to do with black and white or apparently white over black,"
she chuckled with amused hatred.

"I tried to stop her," I explained.

"How, by becoming her sex slave?"

"No, it's, I, she overwhelmed me," I said.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked.

I didn't respond at first, ashamed to admit the cold hard reality.

"Did you fucking enjoy being a lesbian slut?" my daughter screamed at me
loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

"Yes," I admitted, so quiet it was almost inaudible.

"Oh my God," Keisha roared, pacing back and forth. "How could you? How
could you? How could you?"

The devastating reality of how I had disappointed my daughter, a woman I
had desperately tried to bring back into my life, was the biggest blow of
all. "I'm sorry," was all I could muster, my head down in shame.

"Did you offer me to her?" she asked.

"God, no," I defended, "I had no idea about anything that you just told
me. She hasn't even spoken to me since the weekend." A small lie, if you
count the brief encounter last night where I ate my son's cum from her
pussy.

"You have ruined my life," she accused, tears streaming down her face.

Those are words almost every daughter says to her mother at some time in
their life, but this time it apparently was correct.

I repeated my pathetic mantra, "I'm sorry, Keisha, I can't believe how
everything has turned out."

Keisha sighed. "We have got to stop her."

"She can't be stopped," I warned.

"What do you mean?"

"I tried stopping her. She has connections everywhere it seems, and when
you disobey her she punishes you or those around you. I am guessing she
went after you for a punishment for me not submitting to her when she first
came after me," I explained.

"What?" Keisha asked confused.

"She has many sex slaves who she uses to do her dirty work. She is a evil
person who loves to humiliate, yet somehow such power is hypnotic in a way
where she slowly breaks you down until you submit to her," I explained,
trying to justify my weakness. "I rejected her advances at first, but the
bombardment of attacks she threw at me weakened me piece by piece. I can't
explain it, but eventually serving her was all I wanted to do and...." I
stopped realizing my twins were listening.

"No point stopping now, Mommy," Keisha said, the tone in Mommy clearly a
shot at what she thought of my parental abilities.

I sighed. "I couldn't resist submitting to her when the time finally came."

"So you serviced her?" Keisha asked, her face distorted in a mixture of
disgust and hate.

"Yes," I whispered.

"What did she make you do?" my daughter questioned.

I said, "Wait here." I went to my room, grabbed the slut commandments and
returned. "Here are the expectations she has for me."

Keisha read them, her face going redder and redder as she read. She looked
at me, noticed my white stockings and asked, "Are you wearing panties,
Mother?"

I shook my head no, my eyes closed in shame.

Looking up at her half-siblings, she questioned, "So you follow all these
slut-mandments?"

"If I don't I get punished," I said.

"What does punishment entail?"

"Please let the twins go upstairs," I pleaded.

"No, they might as well know all the gory details of the woman in charge of
raising them," Keisha said.

"Last time," I began, trying to put into words this past weekend. "She made
me wear a butt plug all day and I couldn't take it out till after I had
serviced many players of the basketball team at a glory hole after their
victory this past weekend." I purposely ignored the humiliating smelling
panties, eating my son's cum from her pussy yesterday and so forth that had
also occurred during my complete downfall.

"Oh my God," all three of my children said in unison.

"You sucked off your students' cocks at a glory hole?" Keisha asked,
stunned.

Humiliated, I admitted, "Yes, but I had no choice."

"You always have a choice," she spit back.

"I thought that was true too, when I tried to save other slaves that had
already submitted I realized they had no choice. Besides Madison's powerful
personality and threats of discipline that she actually backs up with
action, there is something so inexplicably addicting about Madison, where
she brings out a sexual side of you that you didn't know existed. And once
such a side is turned on it is impossible to go back and time and pretend
it didn't happen," I rationalized, deciding I might as well tell the
complete truth in an attempt to explain what happened and to warn Keisha at
the same time.

"That makes no sense," Keisha questioned, "That is your explanation for
becoming a sex toy for one of your students?"

"I didn't say it was a good explanation, but it is the truth," I replied,
adding, "Think about it. How in the world did Madison get Carol?"

"I don't know," my daughter said, for the first time not with a scathing
tone of hatred.

"I don't either. It seems completely unfathomable, yet it happened
nonetheless," I pointed out.

"I have got to stop her," Keisha said.

"I would love to see you do that, Keisha. But she will attempt to break you
the same way she has many others including me and Carol," I
warned. "Actually, I am so proud that you have been able to stand up to
her, but she doesn't lose."

My daughter's face shifted and I could tell that she hadn't resisted in the
adamant way she had implied so far, but didn't say anything.

She sighed and silence filled the room for a time. I looked at my twins who
were watching us as if it was a live reality show, both shocked by what
they had witnessed.

Finally, Nicole broke the silence, "So is that why Madison took Nic out on
a date?"

"What?" Keisha asked.

"Yeah, Madison came yesterday and picked up Nic for some sorority
function," Nicole explained.

"Really?" Keisha responded, glaring at me, before turning to Nicholas and
asking, "How was your date?"

"Amazing," Nicholas said, beaming from ear to ear.

"Amazing how?" Keisha asked.

"I don't kiss and tell," he smugly replied.

"Do you fuck and tell," Keisha snapped back at him.

His red cheeks gave the answer he wouldn't.

"You screwed the slut, didn't you?" Keisha accused.

He snapped, "Don't call her a slut."

"Oh sorry," she said condescending, "Did you fuck the angel of death?"

"Fuck off," he snapped, sulking away.

Keisha turned her wrath back to me, "You let her fuck your son?"

"I didn't let it happen," I defended.

"Well, you sure as hell didn't stop it," Keisha snapped at me.

I stood dumbfounded as Keisha turned around and stomped out of the house,
slamming the door so hard that the whole house rattled.

I looked at my daughter, who had a bizarre smile on her face I could not
read before she too went up the stairs and into her room.

My whole life had just unravelled in front of my eyes and I was helpless to
stop it and had no idea what to do next.


30. AT HOME MAID

The next morning, I knew the last remnants of respect my children may have
had for me was gone. Nicholas slapped my ass when he got to the kitchen. I
considered saying something, but didn't. He ordered, his tone condescending
like his older sister had last night, "Mother, please get me a glass of
milk."

I did as asked and when I returned he said, "I see you are wearing the
attire your Mistress has instructed you to."

I was embarrassed, but explained, trying to hold onto the role of Mother,
"I am sorry you heard what you did last night, but I am an adult and free
to make my own decisions."

"As am I, Mother," he replied coldly, the use of the word 'Mother'
continuing to be used like barbed wire.

I let that go as I finished making breakfast. I suddenly felt his hands on
my ass as he pulled up my dress and looked at my naked pussy. Just as
quickly as he was touching me, he returned to his seat as he explained,
"Just making sure you are obeying Madison's slut-mandments."

I briefly wondered if he saw the complete list of the rules, but realized
that was impossible as Keisha took it with her.  Undeniably, my pussy
tingled with excitement even as my brain argued 'don't even think about
it.' I scolded him, "Just because you know of my situation, that doesn't
give you the right to disrespect your Mother."

He laughed, "Why not? You disrespect yourself."

"It isn't like that," I defended.

"Then what is it like, Mother?" he asked.

"I can't explain it son. But it is between two adults and I shouldn't have
to justify it," I explained.

"If you say so," he replied smugly, as his sister made her way to the
kitchen dressed way sluttier than I had ever seen her dress.

I immediately said, "No way are you leaving this house dressed like that."

She laughed, "You mean dressed like you?"

It was a slap in the face, but hard to argue. I changed my
approach. "Nicole, you are a beautiful woman and don't need to dress
provocatively to get attention."

"Thank you, Mother," she said, "but Madison choose this outfit for me on
Wednesday when she was here, but I was too scared to wear it until last
night."

"She did, did she?" I sighed. I asked, "Did she tell you wear it or just
suggest you wear it?"

My daughter, in black stockings I noticed, shrugged, "She never told me to
do anything. She just suggested ways to use my natural looks and body to my
advantage."

Curious about the color of her stockings, I asked, "Did she choose your
stockings?"

"Actually, yes, she said black stockings were a symbol of both power and
sexiness," my daughter informed me; I instantly read between the lines that
Madison was making a statement that my mostly white looking daughter was
superior to her dark-skinned mother.

Knowing this was a losing battle, I tried to manipulate her
instead. "Nicole you are 18 years old and old enough to make your own
decisions. You do what you think is right for you."

Nicole hugged me and said, "Thanks, Mommy. You are the best."

Such a compliment warmed my heart after the public humiliation she had
witnessed yesterday.

I poured her a glass of juice and served both my children the French Toast
I had made. We ate in nervous silence each of us thinking about the new
family dynamic that had evolved so quickly. Nicholas kept giving me looks
that made me uncomfortable, like he was seeing me as a conquest. I tried to
ignore the slight tingle down below as I thought about my son as a sexual
being.

The kids finished their breakfast and both hugged me for the first time in
for as long as I can remember, not counting Nicole's earlier hug
today. Nicole's was a normal daughter-mother hug, but Nicolas's hug
lingered way longer then society's expectations, his hand lingering on my
ass the entire time. He surprised me a second time by kissing my cheek
before leaving saying, "Bye, Mommy."

Once they were both gone, I sat down trying to understand what just
happened. Looking at the clock, I realized if I didn't hurry I would be
late for work so I left the kitchen a mess, something I never did, and
headed to work, again trying to find a way to stop the unravelling of my
life which had now come to involve all three of my children.


31.  A SEVENTH BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE MIND OF KEISHA JEFFERSON: HOW CAROL
FELL

I tossed and turned all night. What the hell was I supposed to do about
what I knew? I was deeply disappointed with the actions of my superiors and
role models and was suddenly disillusioned about everything I had worked
for. How could one woman, a girl for Christ's sake, derail so much hard
work so methodically?

Should I blow the whistle on the fiasco that was already happening or try
to stop it myself. If I blew the whistle, the consequences would be huge,
especially if any of this made the media. The best way to end this is to
somehow catch Madison in the act and blackmail her. But how? I got very
little sleep as I prepared for my confrontation that was bound to be
explosive.

I arrived at work early and was thrilled to see that Madison was not in my
office, but a note from Carol was.

Keisha, Please come and see me when you arrive.

Ms. Myers

I took a deep breath and went to talk with Ms. Myers, my mentor, who had
been the role model and the mother figure I never felt my birth mother was.

I knocked on her door and Carol called, "Come in."  Once I was in her
office, she requested, "Please close the door, Keisha."

I did and sat down.

She apologized, "I am so sorry for what you witnessed yesterday. It was
unprofessional, inexplicable and unforgivable."

"It's ok, Ms. Myers," I started.

"No, no, no," she interrupted, "It is not. I am personally mortified by my
actions and those of Mr. Walters. Unfortunately, I can't erase the mistakes
I made and must live with the consequences, one of which I sadly need your
help with."

"What can I do?"

"After you left, Madison and I had a long discussion and she has agreed to
keep our indiscretions secret if we give her a part time paid job now and a
full time paid job in the summer. I was reluctant to agree, but saw no
other way to not harm the cause."

"I see," I replied, worried of the implications in it for me."And what is
my role?"

"I need to know you are ok with this. I know I must have disappointed you
greatly and I am determined to fix my brief moment of weakness, but you are
the only one that knows about my and Mr. Walter's indiscretions."

"And you want me to keep this between us," I assumed.

"Yes. And, she insists on working with you as well," she added.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me, but insisted it was one of the
conditions of the deal."

"How did you end up submitting to her?" I asked.

Tears began to form in her eyes. "I can't explain it, but years of work
first and ignoring my sexual needs had build up to such a point that when
the dam burst, it really, really burst."

"But how?" I asked, struggling to get a grasp on the power Madison had,
even on me, my dreams of submitting growing more and more intense each
night.

"I honestly don't know. She just hit me like a lightning storm. One minute
we were talking about a job, the next thing I knew she shifted the
conversation to sex and how lonely it must be to be a single black woman
and before I even knew what was happening she had me on my knees begging
for her to allow me to cum. It was humiliating, yet somehow she saw through
my desire to submit, something I had ignored since I was in college and was
a submissive to a white woman."

"You were?" I asked, stunned.

"Yes, one of the reasons why I have never married, never really had a
relationship was because I was so determined to break free from my past, a
past that had me a personal slave to my white roommate. It wasn't just
sexual either. I bathed her, I cooked for her, I cleaned for her, I shopped
for her, I was her full-time servant for all her needs both personal and
sexual. But once, I finished college and started over I squelched all my
sexual energy and used that energy for the NCAAP, trying to right my past
wrongs," my mentor explained, shocking me to the core yet again. She
sighed, "until I broke down and submitted to Madison."

"Can we stop her?" I asked, desperately for a confirmation it was possible.

"I don't know," she said, "but we can at the very least contain it."

"Ok, I will do it," I agreed, realizing it was probably best to keep the
enemy close.

"Thank you," she said, clearly relieved.

"But I am going to try to find a way to get evidence on her that will even
the playing field," I said.

"Ok," she replied, cautiously, "but be careful, women like Madison don't
play nice."

"Neither do I," I smiled, confident I could win this battle of wits.

I returned to job, oddly confident considering what I had learned. The
morning was a flourish of chaos as I tried to catch up and finish some
projects with approaching deadlines. After all that had happened, I was
even more determined than ever to prove myself as a dedicated employee and
a future leader of our cause. Yet, even as I worked, I was constantly
distracted wondering when Madison was going to show up. Instead of focusing
on finishing my tasks, I was preoccupied with the thought of the
confrontation I was sure was going to happen...but it didn't happen. She
never showed up and I eventually relaxed and focused on the many tasks at
hand.


32. TRIPLE TEAMED

Friday's class, like the rest of the week, was uneventful, but being
exhausted I put a note on my door that I was unavailable today and headed
home. After making a quick lunch, I decided to take a quick nap, having had
a restless sleep after yesterday's confrontation with Keisha.

I was awoken at 2:30 by a white cock in my face tapping my lips. I vaguely
heard a male voice say, "Open up, Professor Jefferson."

I groggily opened my eyes and saw Ben smiling down at me, his cock staring
at me. He explained, "Madison texted me and told me you were probably
craving some white meat so I brought a couple of friends."

Suddenly alarmed, I sat up and saw two other big white college men
completely naked staring at me. I stammered, "I-I-I Ben, how did you get in
here?"

"Madison made me a key."

"This is incredibly...." My mouth was silenced as he shoved his cock in it.

Ben explained, "Professor, I think there will be no more talking from you."

He held my head and began slowly fucking my mouth. I felt hands paw at my
tits while another set spread my white stocking-clad legs open. I felt
hands play with my pussy, creating wetness in seconds, my desire to come
building instantly like the slut I had become. A couple of minutes of being
molested, Ben pulled his cock out of my mouth and said, "Have you ever been
dp'd, Professor?"

"N-n-no," I sputtered gasping, my eyes going big, surprised by his
intentions.

"Well, no better time than the present to change that," he announced.

"Professor, this is Eddie and Jay, Eddie and Jay, Professor Jefferson," Ben
introduced.

I said nothing as the now named men kept molesting me, getting me wetter
and wetter.

Ben ordered, "Jay, lay down."

Jay did, his seven inch erect cock standing tall and ready. "Professor, I
think you know what to do with that delicious white stick."

I did as expected, straddling his cock and easily allowing it to slip
inside my eager cunt. I let out an uncontrollable moan as it split between
my pussy lips, "Aaaah."

Ben quipped, "If you like that, you will love this." I watched him lube his
cock.

Before I even had time to think, Eddie shoved his smaller six inch cock in
my mouth and demanded, "Get sucking, slut."

I don't know why, but every derogatory name only enhanced my pleasure now
and I obeyed, slowly moving back and forth on both cocks currently in me. A
couple of minutes later, the pleasure beginning to really grow, I felt cold
hands on my ass cheeks and I froze.

Ben ordered, "Beg for me to fuck your ass, Professor."

No longer worried about my dignity, but only being pleasured, I begged, "Oh
Ben, fuck Professor's ass. Stick your big white cock between my big black
ass cheeks and fill me completely."

Pleased with my declaration, he pushed forward, slowly penetrating my still
tight ass, but after last week's gape training with the butt plug, the pain
was minor and slowly dissipated as Ben began pumping in and out. It was
awkward at first, as I tried to keep sucking the cock in my mouth, keep
riding the cock in my pussy and taking the cock buried in my ass.
Eventually a rhythm was created and I had three cocks pistoning in and out
of all three of my pleasure holes. The sensation was unexplainable. The
double penetration was giving me an amazing numbing pleasure, as if I was
constantly on tease, my orgasm simmering, but refusing to explode. Time
stood still as I was used as a personal fuck-toy by these three white
college students. Finally, the cock in my mouth pulled out and sprayed his
cum on my face. A minute later, Ben pulled out of my ass, moved to my face
and stroked his delicious cock in front of me. I opened my mouth, giving
him a big target to hit and extended my tongue. When he was finally ready
he grunted, "Here comes my cum, Professor."

White shots of goo splattered my lips, nose and forehead, as I really began
to ride the cock in my cunt. Milking his cock with my cunt muscles I heard
his grunts increasing and he suddenly flipped me over, pulled out and in
seconds coated my face with a third load of cum. I looked up from my back
and saw Ben taking a picture from his cell phone of my cum-coated face. He
ordered, "Smile, Professor."

I obeyed, smiling, and posing like the dirty slut I had become.

Ben asked, "Do you want to come, Professor?"

"Oh God yes," I answered, like a dog in heat.

"Beg," he smiled.

"Oh please Ben let me come. I need to so baaaaaaad," I whined.

He ordered, "Come for us, Professor."

I didn't hesitate, sliding two fingers inside my feverish cunt while I
rubbed my clit with my other hand. My moans instantly increased and my eyes
closed I came in only a couple of minutes while three white college
students watched me.

When I opened my eyes a minute later, all three boys were getting
dressed. Ben said, "Any time you need a facial, just give me a call,
Professor."

Acting sexy and provocative, I smiled, "I just may do that."

All three left my room and after I heard the door close I looked at the
clock and realized the kids would be home in an hour or so. I went to the
mirror and looked at myself. My hair a mess, my face coated with cum, my
make-up running, I looked like a slutty crack whore. I was mortified and
quickly went to the washroom to shower.

Later that night I was home alone. The kids were at a school dance and I
was actually making up my final exam when the doorbell rang. Instantly my
pussy tingled with anticipation assuming it was Madison.

I rushed to the door strangely excited and was face to face with a young
girl selling girl scout cookies. I bought three boxes and closed the door,
shocked by the overwhelming disappointment I was feeling that it wasn't
Madison.

It was then, as I looked in the mirror after buying a few boxes of cookies,
that I knew I was forever Madison's.


33.  AN EIGHTH BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE MIND OF KEISHA JEFFERSON:
FRUSTRATION BUILDS A weekend of late nights at the office, as I tried to
prepare myself for a deadline on Tuesday, wore me out. My determination to
the cause was even more determined since the fiasco that was Madison-gate.

Monday was also stressful as I waited for the inevitable conversation with
Madison. After a busy morning, the conversation occurred just before lunch.

Madison walked in and announced, "Your Mother's class is hilarious."

"Excuse me," I asked, unable to not hide my disdain for this woman.

"Well, today she was discussing ethics in the workplace. Which is pretty
ironic considering," she smiled, letting the unfinished sentence just
linger there.

I shouldn't have asked. I should have known better, should have known it
was a set-up. "How is that ironic?"

"Well, she threw her ethics out the door when she submitted to me as my
personal professor play thing," she revealed smugly.

My growing anger was hard to control. I tried to remain being civil. "Well,
I am not my Mother."

"That is up for discussion," she responded, the smug look still there.

I wanted to knock that smug look off her face. Through gritted teeth I
replied, "We are nothing alike."

"I disagree," she countered, "I think you are just a younger, more stubborn
version of her."

"Why because we are both black, both proud we are black and both threaten
the long held social hierarchy you so desperately cling to?" I shot back
proudly.

She laughed, a spiteful laugh, "I agree your Mom is proud, proud to be my
personal plaything. Proud to finally accept her place as she came to grip
with the reality her place is serving people like me."

"Bitches?" I snapped, sarcastically, unable to hold back my anger and
hatred.

She chuckled again, "Good one," not remotely fazed by my sharp-like-daggers
words. "The irony continues of course as your so-called leaders, who are
supposed to be morally perfect, have both submitted to me without much
effort by me at all."

"Well, I am not them," I pointed out.

"True. You are in a state of denial."

"Reeeeally," I replied, sarcasm dripping with each vowel.

Containing to ignore my sarcasm, she explained, "You are still so young and
naive."

"I am older than you," I shot back, furious with her condescending
attitude.

"You still think you can change things. You still think the NCAAP is about
changing things for blacks. It is all a facade."

"I have had enough of this," I said, standing up.

"Sit down," she snapped.

Her harsh tone startled me and without even thinking I obeyed her, even as
anger bubbled inside of me.

"Now where was I before you so rudely interrupted me?" she paused. "Yes,
you are an idealist. You truly believe you are equal to whites, that you
can change things. But, your superiors know the reality. The reality is
black and white."

She smiled and paused as if daring me to speak. I remained silent,
frustrated at my weakness and yet somehow unable to stand up to her.

"A reality where they know that there still is a social hierarchy and
although they play the equality game, the reality is they crave the
submission that has always existed among the races, thinking otherwise is
pretentious and just silly. Even right now, you disagree with every word I
say. You want to snap back at me, to counter my arguments, yet I would bet
all my sluts that your cunt is very, very damp."

I was furious; I was outraged; and yet she was right, I was bursting at the
seams. Just the thought that she may be right was horrifying.

"Am I right, Keisha? Is your cunt wet?"

"No," I lied, playing a game of sexual poker.

"I call your bluff and raise you," she countered.

"What?" I asked, distracted by my wetness down below.

"If your cunt is dry, I will release your Mother and Mrs. Myers from their
sexual slavery and leave you and them alone forever," she offered, "but if
your cunt is as wet and damp as I know it is then you will become my
submissive Nigger pet like all the others."

I stared at her. The 'N' word was the biggest slap in the face in the
lengthy assault of my dignity that she had thrown at me the past couple of
weeks. Yet, as much as I tried to ignore it, the reality was my vagina was
leaking slightly out of me and making my panties very wet. I ignored the
offer and said oozing with a confidence I usually had, but had recently
lost, "This is ludicrous and I do not want to hear the 'N' word used in
this office again, is that understood?"

Her facial expression changed and she acted all sincere and apologetic. "Oh
sorry, Ms. Jefferson. You are right; I was just trying to give you an
opportunity to save the others. Alas, that offer has been revoked. Have a
good day Ms. Jefferson."

Before I could respond, she walked out of my office, leaving me rattled,
mentally abused and incredibly horny.

Although I almost never take a lunch break, I decided I had to get out of
this building. This building had been everything to me. An oasis that kept
me strong whenever I had doubts, it had been my church, my place of
redemption. Yet, like a person who loses their way and questions religion
and their God, I had begun to question everything I had spent my life
fighting for. I no longer knew if I had the fight in me I needed. I no
longer knew who I was.

I went for a long lunch, still horny and frustrated with the whole fucking
system. The fact that we still had to fight for the equality we supposedly
got decades ago was absurd. It is 2012 for Christ's sake. Yet, after
dealing with racists like Madison, the reality was we were still far away
from the respect that should come with equality.

After lunch, I returned to work, to find an envelope on my desk. I opened
it and there was a note and a pair of panties. The note read:

Slut to be: After our conversation, I went and visited slave Carol and had
her eat my sweet cunt like the slut she is. She is such a good, obedient
slave. She never questions authority. She understands her place. I also
punished her for your disobedience. I sure hope she is on the pill, hate
for her to have a white baby.

Sorry, I digress. In the envelope are the panties I wore after your
superior (my slave) brought me to orgasm.  I am sure my delicious juices
are still fresh for you.

Enjoy until you can savour perfection from the source.

Your Mistress to be...

I was furious. I was outraged. I was confused. Punishment? Because of me?
This was getting completely ludicrous. Mr. Walters came in and I quickly
tossed the envelope in my bag. After a brief conversation about the motion
that I had to have into Judge Hurst by 10am tomorrow morning, I was alone
again, but I could not get focused. Three times I read the same paragraph
of a brief I had just proofread and I was just too distracted to focus on
the content of it. The legal motion finished yesterday, I printed it off
and left it in a file so I could hand deliver it tomorrow. Mr. Walters
always preached that it is the small things that count, although his advice
seemed less profound than it did a week ago. I decided to go home early and
relieve the burning desire that was causing me such distraction, hoping
once it was relieved I could focus like I usually do.

As soon as I was home, I went to my bedroom, pulled out my seldom-used
vibrator and began pleasuring myself. I closed my eyes and unlike the times
my dreams played tricks on me, this time I was wide awake when I fantasized
about submitting to Madison.

I tried to fight it, but eventually just gave in, my desire to come
overriding common sense. I pulled out Madison's panties from the envelope
and put them to my nose. The scent was intoxicating in a way I couldn't
explain. I suddenly wanted more, my mouth salivating at the thought of
tasting such perfection. My mind on standby, my pussy doing all the
thinking, I felt my hand move the crotch of Madison's panties to my mouth
and I involuntarily sucked the still wet crotch in my mouth. The fabric was
unappealing, but the wetness was heaven.  Madison's panties in my mouth, my
eyes closed, I fantasized Madison forcing me to eat her pussy, forcing me
to become her slave. I frantically fucked myself, my vibrator on high,
while rubbing my clit with my other hand. It was the quickest and hardest I
had ever come as convolutions quaked my very being, from my pinky toe to
the hair on my head. The sensations came in wave after wave as I sucked her
dried cum into my mouth as my own juices exploded out of me.

Minutes later, exhausted and sexually satisfied, my mind slowly turning
back on, I was mortified by my thoughts and my actions. What was becoming
of me? I cursed and was suddenly determined to refrain from having such a
humiliating display of sexual weakness ever happen again.


34. WITHDRAWAL SETS IN

I had gone almost a year without sex at one point, and yet a weekend
without it and one school day and I was a mess. I three times almost texted
Allison in hopes of some guaranteed release, but still was fretful of
adding another Mistress to my already complicated life. I couldn't think
straight and for the first time in my life I was horny during my period
that had arrived in full force on Saturday and was still quite heavy today,
although just beginning to show signs it was on its way out.

Things had also continued to change as my two eighteen year old children
had began taking over the house and treating me like a full-time
maid. Nicole had left a list of things she expected me to do, including
what I was to make for supper; Nicholas had lifted my skirt or dress every
day to make sure I was obeying the instructions of my Mistress. He scolded
me when he saw me wearing panties on Saturday and I was humiliated when I
defended myself to my son that I was on my period.

Nicole had also started dressing sexier every day, wearing very similar
outfits to what Madison wore. I also noticed that her stockings were always
black, which I assumed was a message by Madison of the hierarchy that was
now happening in my own house.

On Monday night, Nicole called me while she was in the bath and ordered,
"Mom, come and wash my hair." I obeyed. As she lay back, I couldn't help
but notice her firm breasts and large erect nipples staring at me.  I know
it was wrong, but I could feel my mouth water and my pussy tingle at the
inappropriate thought of my daughter as a sexual being.

Once I was done a few minutes later, she asked, "Mommy, could you wash my
back?"

"Sure, honey," I replied, reaching for a cloth and lathering it generously
with soap. I washed her back and neck for a minute or two.

"Now my front," she instructed.

I hesitated.

"Doesn't Mommy want to clean her daughter thoroughly?" my 18-year-old
daughter pouted.

I stammered, my pussy burning with desire, "I-I-I, no, yes, you should be
clean." I lathered the cloth again as she leaned back, a slight smile on
her face. I reached forward from behind and washed her belly and belly
button first. I then tentatively moved up to her breasts and lathered them
with sudsy bubbles.

Nicole let out the slightest of moans, which startled me and I felt my face
flush. I continued cleaning her breasts, ignoring the fact that she was my
daughter. Eventually, I was done and she opened her eyes and said, "Thank
you Mommy that was very nice."

"You are welcome, Nicole. If you ever need me to be of service in any way
please let me know," I replied and then realized the words I had just used
and the offer I had just made.

I rushed out of the washroom, but wasn't out of earshot yet when Nicole
replied, "Oh, I plan to take you up on that offer, Mommy."

Her tone dripped with innuendo and although I was mortified at the thought
of committing incest with my daughter, my cunt was arguing with me that it
was a great idea.


35. A NINTH BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE MIND OF KEISHA JEFFERSON: A PLAN TO
STOP MADISON

I tossed and turned all night not falling into slumber until well after 2
a.m. When I woke up, I stretched and rolled over surprised ,I felt so
refreshed before my alarm had gone off. My eyes groggily opened and I
rolled over to check the time. I jolted awake quicker than a cold
shower. My clock said 10:30. It couldn't be. I looked closer and realized I
had not set my alarm. I had missed the 10 a.m. deadline for the motion I
was to submit to Judge Hurst. I frantically got dressed, threw my hair in a
ponytail, something I never did while at work, and sped to work. I rushed
to my office, grabbed the file and rushed to the courthouse, praying that
Judge Hurst would ignore this one time missed deadline. I got there a few
minutes before noon and met his secretary. Her facial expression told me I
was too late.

I asked in a panic, although I already knew I was fucked, "Is Judge Hurst
still in?"

"Yes, but he has already dropped the charges on the Wixon Case," she said,
her tone implying she really was sorry.

"I am dead," I sighed, "I can't believe it. I slept in. I never sleep
in. Ever!"

"Honey, I am so sorry," she said, her hand patting mine. "But Judge Hurst
never breaks the rules, ever."

"Ok," I sighed again, tears beginning to well up. "Could you at least
explain to him what happened when you see him?"

"Of course, dear," she replied.

I returned to work a mess, wondering how I was going to explain the error I
made and the fact that a guaranteed victory case was undone because of my
ineptitude. Then I realized that this was Madison's fault. If she wouldn't
have got me so rattled yesterday, I would not have slept in. I could feel
the flames of anger filling me.

I got to work at lunch and Madison was at my desk. I was about to blast
her, but was not sure if perhaps Ms. Myers wasn't under my desk again. I
asked, "Are we alone?"

She laughed, "Of course."

"Thanks to you, we lost the Wixon case," I accused.

"Because of me?" she asked, her facial expression showing surprise for the
first time since I met her.

"Yes, you. I slept in today and missed the deadline to submit our motion."

"And that is my fault?"

"Yes, because I was so frustrated and angry with your actions that I
couldn't sleep."

"Or was it that you were so horny you were up all night fucking your dirty
cunt thinking of being my black slave?" she countered.

How could she know that? I paused just enough for her to continue,
"Obviously, I am correct."

"No," I countered, "I am just silenced by your stupid assumptions and your
ridiculous accusations."

"I see," she smugly responded. "So, you didn't go home and fuck yourself to
orgasm yesterday?"

"No," I lied.

"Didn't imagine begging to be my slave while you rubbed your fat clit?"

"No," I responded, "This is absurd."

"I can tell when someone is lying to me Keisha and you are definitely lying
to me," she accused.

"Just get out," I requested, much weaker than I was a minute ago.

"Why? So you can fuck yourself to orgasm? Or so you can fuck up another
case?"

"Fuck off," I snapped.

Madison stood up suddenly, her smug smile gone and her eyes on fire. "Don't
you ever speak to me that way you fucking dumb Nigger. Seriously, how
fucking dumb are you? Stop hiding behind this thin lie of propriety. You
fucked yourself yesterday. You fucked yourself while fantasizing about me.
And like yesterday, your Nigger cunt is sopping wet right now."

Before I had time to move, her hand was under my skirt and feeling my
soaking wet panties. "Fuck, you are drenched."

I pushed her away. "Please, leave."

She laughed. "Kiesha. It is only a matter of time now before you are on
your knees, begging to eat my cunt in this office. We can do it now. We can
do it tomorrow. But it will happen. I always get what I want and what I
want know is one more Nigger slut."

I stared at her aghast and ashamed as she left my office, leaving me a wet
mess and just as horny and disoriented as I was 24 hours earlier.

Completely rattled, I calmed myself down and went to see Ms. Myers. She was
at her desk and looked up looking weary and exhausted.

I said, "We have got to get rid of Madison now."

She sighed. "We can't."

"Why?"

"We already discussed this," she replied, although I could tell there was
more.

I explained all that had happened since we last talked including my
disastrous error.

"Oh my," she said, although her mind seemed elsewhere.

I asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Everything," she replied, bursting into tears. I stood there and watched
my strong, determined role model being reduced to tears by that white
bitch, my pure hatred for her impossible to hide.

"It's ok," I tried to comfort her.

"It's the fucking opposite of ok," she snapped, completely out of
character.

"What did she do?" I asked, knowing that somehow Madison was to blame for
this. Just as I asked it, I recalled Madison's threat that Carol would be
punished because of me in that letter yesterday.

"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered, her shame impossible to
hide.

"It's ok," I said. "She has made my mom her slut too."

Tears streamed down her face as she explained. "She made me go to Vic's
House."

"No," I gasped. Vic's House was the exclusive white's only members club.

"And I was forced to," she began, before repeating, "I was forced to-to-to
service them with my mouth."

"Oh my God," I gasped again. "Why?"

"Because I can't control my employees. If I didn't obey, she threatened to
release pictures of me in compromising situations," she revealed.

"She blackmailed you," I said, anger bubbling again.

"Yes, although it is my fault for submitting to her in the first place,"
she said.

"She did this to you because of me?"I asked, realizing just how disturbed
and vengeful Madison was,

"I suppose," she sighed, but added, "but I am the one who broke, not you."

We have to stop her," I adamantly argued.

"I can't. She has too much on me."

"We need to turn the tables," I suggested.

"How?" she asked, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"I need to get her on tape in a compromising situation," I suggested.

"She is too smart for that," Carol pointed out.

"Not if she has no idea she is being taped," I smiled, an idea popping into
my head. I suddenly was feeling good about the situation for the first time
in a while.

"But then the other person would be implicated too," she pointed out.

"True," I considered, "but we can always edit the tape after."

"What do you have in mind?" she asked.

"Well, she is determined to have me submit. I will finally submit to her,
but only in theory. I need a camera installed in my office, we can do that
right?"

"Yes," she considered, "I think we could."

"Excellent," I smiled, taking control, "Get it set-up today if possible."

"Ok," she said, clearly still unsure the plan will work.

"Trust me," I smiled. She had underestimated me all through this ridiculous
game of hers.

We chatted about the plan some more and I left confident that I could end
this once and for all.


36. INCEST IS BEST?

Tuesday in class, Madison had her legs wide open in the front row the whole
class, only enhancing my desire to come. Once class was done, her beautiful
sub sister Emily came up to me and informed me, "Mistress has told me that
she will not be spending time with you until after she finishes her next
conquest, your daughter."

"Oh," I said, oddly more disappointed that she was ignoring me and jealous
that my daughter was getting her full undivided attention. What kind of
mother had I become?

By Tuesday afternoon, with the realization that I might not see Madison for
a while, I was desperate to come. I was unsure if I could continue to obey
the commands as set out until I realized there might be a loophole. I went
to my room and read the slut-mandments. Number nine said: You will only
come with permission of another person. I smiled. It didn't say it had to
be Madison. I just had to find someone to give me permission to come. I
wracked my mind pondering who would do it for me, who would give me
permission to come.

I called Eleanor, as she was the only slave of Madison's I knew that I had
her cell. Unfortunately, she didn't answer. I didn't leave a message as I
didn't need any more potential evidence against me. I sighed, my pussy
burning now that my period was pretty much gone.

I was considering my ex-husband when Nicole arrived home. I knew I
shouldn't, but I was so horny I wasn't thinking straight. I said, "Hi,
Nicole."

"Hi, Mom," she replied, before adding, "Happy you are home. My feet are
killing me and I could use a foot massage."

She joined me on the couch and flipped her legs onto my lap. Although not a
direct order, I obeyed taking her black stocking-clad left foot in my
hands. I massaged her foot thoroughly as she ignored me completely watching
some lame reality show on TV. Oddly, massaging her silk covered foot had my
eager pussy even wetter. I switched feet and continued the foot
massage. Not sure when to quit, I continued throughout the half-hour show,
massaging her ankles and calves as well. When the show ended, she abruptly
stood up and said, her tone slightly condescending, "I am going to take a
shower, I assume supper is already under way."

I stammered, "N-n-not yet."

"What have you been doing?"

"Massaging your feet," I pointed out.

"Well, get to work, I am getting hungry," she snapped, leaving before I
could ask her to help me out.

Two hours later, Nicole had left to soccer practise, supper was done and I
was just finishing the dishes when I felt hands on my ass. Startled, I
turned around to see my son smugly smiling at me. "Nicholas, that is
completely inappropriate."

His hands cupped my breasts. "Nice tits, Mommy."

I gasped, "Nicholas, I am your Mother."

"And a slut," he added, wounding me.

"My private life is none of your business." I snapped back.

"It is when it impacts me, Mommy dearest," he retorted. "And if I am going
to have a slut Mommy, I might as well benefit from having a whore as mother
Plus, Madison gave me a copy of the slut-mandments for me to use to keep
you in line."

"Oh my God," I gasped.

"So starting now I will be inspecting you very thoroughly," he
explained. Tears welled as I felt his hands on my shoulders and pushing me
to my knees. I should have resisted, but my desire to please was now all
that I followed, all I knew. On my knees, I watched my son unbuckle his
pants and pull out his stiff seven plus inch cock. He tapped it on my lips
before ordering, "Open up, Mommy."

I pleaded weakly, "Please son, this is wrong," even though I recalled the
commandment You will obey ANY order ANY person requests you to do...EVER.

"You are no longer my Mom, slut. You are just a cocksucking whore that I
can deposit my load in," he cruelly claimed. "Now get sucking, slut."

My conscience screamed 'No. No. No. No. No,' but my loins screamed,
'Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.' As was the case now, my loins won. I opened my
mouth and took my son's cock in my mouth. As soon as I began sucking his
cock, he was right. I wasn't his mother and he wasn't my son. I was a slut
and he had what I wanted.

He moaned, as I deep throated his cock, "Hmmmm, Mommy, that feels really
good."

Egged on by my son's absurd compliment, I began bobbing back and forth on
his hard cock suddenly craving both his cum and his approval.

Being young, he had a quick trigger and in less than two minutes I was
swallowing my son's seed. He grunted, "Oh God, Mommy, swallow my cum." I
didn't slow down as I milked all my son's cum.

Once spent, he pulled out and put his cock back in his pants as he said,
seemingky genuinely surprised, "Madison said you would suck my cock, but I
didn't believe it."

Shame washed over me, yet my pussy still on fire had me a mental mess. I
asked, "Nicholas, can I come?"

"What?" he asked, surprised by the question.

"Mommy can only come when I get permission," I explained.

"Reeeeally?" he smiled.

"Yes, please Nicholas, Mommy needs to come so badly," I begged.

"Does Mommy want to fuck her son?" he asked.

"N-n-no," I stammered.

"I think you do," my son smiled, a devious grin on his face.

"No, it's just I am..." I struggled.

"It's ok, Mommy. You are a slut and a slut needs cock. It makes
sense. Stand up Mommy," he instructed, treating me like a simpleton.

I obeyed, standing up. "Please Nicholas, incest is wrong."

"Is it?" he asked, pulling his still hard cock out for the second time in
minutes. "Madison and Emily get along extremely well."

"But...."

"Shut up, Mommy," he instructed and I was forced to obey. "Bend over the
kitchen sink, Mommy-slut."

I nervously obeyed mortified by what I was allowing my son to do and yet I
was already gushing out of my needy cunt. He lifted up my skirt and asked,
"Period gone, Mommy?"

"Mostly," I moaned as his finger traced the wetness of my panties.

"You like that, Mommy?"

"Noooo, yes, oh God, Nicholas this is so wrong," I babbled.

"Yet, it feels so right, doesn't it, Mommy?"

"Aaaaah," was my reply as he tapped on my clit through my panties.

"I will take that as a yes," he teased, as he pulled my panties down to my
ankles. "Beg your son to fuck you, Mommy?"

Obeying his order, obeying my Mistress's slut-mandments and obeying my
desperate cunt, I begged, "Oh god, yes Nicholas, fuck me."

"Oh no, no, no, Mommy," he teased, spanking my ass. "I am your son and you
are my Mommy is that clear?"

"Yes, son," I moaned, as he rubbed his cock up and down the crack of my
ass. I already knew it would take seconds to come when I was given
permission, regardless of who was fucking me or where he was fucking me. I
was completely at his whim, a complete and utter slut, just as Madison had
promised I would be. I should have been mortified, I should have been
humiliated, I should have said no, yet all I wanted was my son's cock in
me.

"Yes, son, what?" he pushed, his cock teasing me relentlessly, so close to
filling my fiery cunt.

"Yes, son, fuck Mommy hard. Make Mommy your personal fuck-toy," I replied.

"You sure?" he question, his cock between my wet cunt lips, but not in.

"Oh God, yes Nicholas, I mean son, Mommy wants your big cock in her wet
cunt so fucking bad. Oh god son, shove that big cock of yours in Mommy."

His cock easily slipped inside my cunt and filled me. I let out a loud moan
of ecstasy as my cunt was finally filled. "Fuck Mom, you are so fucking
wet."

"All for you, son, and now fuck Mommy hard," I begged.

He obliged, his deep hard thrusts sending chills of rapture throughout my
body. In seconds I could feel my orgasm, my long held-in orgasm, bubbling,
"I begged, can Mommy come son?"

"Not yet, Mommy. Don't you dare fucking come until I tell you too, slut,"
he demanded, his body slamming into me with each deep hard thrust. We were
not making love, we were fucking.

I moaned, I whimpered, I desperately held in the orgasm that was pushing at
the seams. "Oh god son, you are such a good Mommy-fucker."

"And I will be fucking you all the time now, Mommy. Do you like that idea?"

"Oh God, son. My cunt is yours, just let me come, please," I moaned.

"And your ass?" he questioned.

"It is yours too, baby. You can shove that big snake of yours in my ass
anytime you wish," I offered, my desperation to come overwhelming
everything else.

"How about now?" he suggested, pulling his cock out and without lube or
warning pushing his cock into my ass.

I screamed in surprise and slight pain as his cock filled my unprepared
ass. Ignoring the slight burn, I whimpered, "Oh yes, son, fill Mommy's ass
with your delicious cock."

"Oh God, Mommy," he moaned, when his cock was buried in my ass. "Your ass
is so fucking tight."

"And your cock fills my ass so fucking good," I moaned, "Now fuck my ass
hard, baby. Make Mommy your ass-slut."

He began slowly pumping in and out of my ass, although still tentative
until I demanded, "No, son.  Pound Mommy's ass, drill your slut Mom's ass."

"Oh God, Mommy," he grunted, "I am not going to last long with you talking
so nasty."

"Let Mommy come baby, and I will be your personal Mommy cum-bucket every
day," I manipulated and offered, my orgasm so close I could literally taste
it.

"Oh God yes," he moaned.

I upped the ante willing to do or say anything to get my elusive
orgasm. "Oh son, you can shoot your load between Mommy's big lips, you can
shoot your load all over Mommy's face, you can shoot your load deep inside
the cunt you once came out of, and you can shoot your load in my ass. I
will be your submissive, obedient Mommy-pet, baby, just let Mommy come."

My words were the finally push he needed and he grunted, filling my ass
with his white goo as he said the greatest words I could ever hear, "Come
Mommy, come like the dirty slut you are."

Instantly, I let go and my juice flooded out of me and down my legs as the
greatest orgasm of my life shuddered through me. I screamed, "Oh my God,
yes Nicholas, yes, Mommy's coming, you made Mommy come."

He continued ravishing my ass as he ordered, "Again Mommy, come again for
your son, your Master."

The thought of my son being my Master only made it hotter and I furiously
rubbed my clit as my first orgasm continued to ripple through me and a
second one began its descent.

It was his turn for the nasty talk. "Keep coming, Mommy-slut. You will be
coming over and over again as I use you and just wait until Nicole learns
that you are our personal live -in whore. She almost made you eat her cunt
today after you massaged her feet, but she chickened out. Oh, but she has
plans for you as her dyke-Mommy, you would like that wouldn't you, Mommy?"

The idea of serving Nicole too just seemed like the next step in the
evolution of my utter submission as I became not only a slave to a white
co-ed and a white football player, but also to my half-white children. As I
continued the assault on my clit, I moaned, "Oh God yes, son, make me my
daughter's slave too. I am both of yours to use as you please."

He pulled out of my ass and slid back into my pussy as he called me name
after name, each one bringing assaults of pleasure to me. "You are such a
Mommy-slut, a dirty dyke whore who sold herself into slavery. You love
being a sex slave don't you, Mommy?"

"Oh god yes, son," I whimpered, a second orgasm coming to full tide.

"Come again Mommy-slut, Mommy-whore, Mommy-dyke," he continued, pounding
ruthlessly in my cunt.

"Harder, baby," I moaned, like the nasty fuck-slut I had become. A minute
later, my first orgasm still lingering, a second, smaller, but still
powerful, orgasm hit. "Aaaaaaaaaahhhh, yeeeeeeeeeesssss."

Eventually, my son pulled out of me and I collapsed onto the floor my legs
jelly. My body continued to quake as my never-ending orgasm pulsed and
pulsed.

When I opened my eyes a minute or two later, my son was gone. I weakly got
up and as my mind finally turned back on, I was aghast at what had just
transpired. I began to cry, the reality that I had just committed incest
finally realized...I had hit rock bottom...I had just committed incest and
loved every minute of it.


37. A TENTH BRIEF (Well actually rather lengthy) INTERLUDE INTO THE LIFE OF
KEISHA JEFFERSON: THE PLAN BACKFIRES BIGTIME

I was oddly giddy as I arrived at work the next day. Ms. Meyers had
followed through and had installed a camera in the corner that was
impossible to see unless you were looking for it. The hard part was to not
give in too easily and allow her to suspect something was up.

Even the nasty sex dream last night where I again submitted to Madison did
not deter my determination and confidence. Madison strolled in after the
work-day was done and opened with, "You are in my desk."

"I beg to differ," I retorted.

"You will be begging that is for sure," she quipped back.

Sarcastically, I shot back, rolling my eyes, "Oh yes, Madison, please will
you be my white master."

"That would be Mistress," she corrected.

"Oh, how sorry, Mistress," I corrected, the sarcasm not going away.

She laughed softly. "So how did your mistake go over?"

"Not great," I admitted, surprised by the change of conversation.

"I could talk to Mr. Walters for you," she offered.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I replied.

"No skin off my nose," she shrugged, sitting down.

"What do you want?" I asked, trying to draw out of her the real reason for
being here.

She shrugged, answering my question with a question, "What do you think I
want?"

"Madison, I am way too tired to keep playing this game. I need to get to
work," I sighed, returning to my work.

"Why bother?"

"Why bother what?"

"Working on such trivial shit."

"Because what you think is trivial is my reason to live. It is my purpose,"
I pointed out, starting to get annoyed by her as always happened.

She laughed. "Oh, you have a reason to live all right."

"And what would that be?" I asked.

"You were made to serve," she declared.

"You, I assume."

"Well, all people like me."

"White people?"

"You said it, not me," she pointed out.

I was getting frustrated with the circling conversation. "I got to get to
work."

"Agreed," she said, flipping off her shoes. "Come give me a foot massage."

"Are you kidding me?" I asked.

Her smile faded. "Do you think I am kidding?"

I paused. This was not going as planned. I could feel the slightest chill
go up my spine as my naughty dreams of submission popped into my head, but
I quickly pushed them out if my head. I needed her to be more dominant, to
get her words on tape, and knew I could edit the tape as need be to
eliminate any aspect that made me look bad. Acting as if I was falling for
her authority, I asked with resignation in my voice, "If I give you a foot
massage, will you leave me alone?"

"If that is what you want," she replied, her smile back.

"Promise?" I asked, pretending to be shy and insecure, even as my
confidence bubbled underneath.

"Of course," she smiled warmly.

I slowly fell to my knees and tentatively grabbed her black stocking-clad
left foot into my hands. My hands were literally shaking as I obeyed her
order, even if it was just to manipulate her. Oddly, the soft silk on my
hands sent another chill up my back and I had to squelch the tingle down
below that was trying to light up.

A couple of minutes into the foot massage she finally spoke. "Keisha, you
look so perfect on your knees serving me."

I smiled knowing she would soon say the words that would implicate her in
her sexual conquest of racism. "Pleased don't start," I replied, attempting
to set her up.

"Oh, Keisha, we are just getting started," she promised.

"How so?" I asked, desperate to get her to say the words as I switched
feet.

She opened her legs, giving me an undeniable look at her panty-clad
crotch. "I think you already know where this is going to end."

"Madison, I am not like the others," I argued, slightly distracted by the
white crotch, even as the fire down below began to grow refusing to be
squelched no matter how much I tried.

"Oh, you are exactly like all the others," she assessed.

"How so?" I asked, knowing I was close to getting her on tape being the
racist she was.

"You pretend civility and yet deep down the carnal lust that you have held
in check all these years is begging to get out," she critiqued. She opened
her legs more and asked, "Take a good look, Keisha."

I instantly looked away.

She repeated the order, her tone again changing to authoritative, "Take a
good look, Keisha."

I refused to obey with every fibre of my being.

"Now!" she ordered.

I stood up, knowing I was losing so far, knowing I had to look away before
I submitted like the others had and like I did in my dreams. I couldn't
explain how somehow the desire and need to obey her grew with each touch of
her feet, every sound of her voice.

"Really?" she asked, her tone condescending.

"You promised it was all I had to do," I protested, for the first time
worried I was not strong enough to fight her.

"True," she smiled, standing up and moving towards me.

"Stop, Madison," I protested.

"Stop, what?" she asked, reaching me.

I froze, unable to speak or move.

Her hand went under my skirt and directly to my now very wet panties. "Why
are your undies all wet?"

I stammered, "P-p-please stop."

"You sure," she asked, adding, "You seem pretty revved up."

Her finger slipped inside my panties and I let out an uncontrollable moan
as her finger touched my pussy lips. It had been so long since I had let
another man touch me intimately, much less a woman, and I was suddenly
rattled.  I mumbled, "No, I, please leave."

Her finger slid inside my pussy and I gasped. My mind screamed pull away,
yet my vagina screamed even louder don't you dare move. I closed my eyes
and allowed this pretentious bitch pleasure me.

Her soft voice purred, "That's it Keisha, allow your body to take
control. Submit to the carnal desires you have held in check for so
long. This is what you want, what you need."

Her words were so absurd, yet somehow so soothing. I weakly protested,
"Madison, no."

"Shhhhhhh," she calmly soothed. Her free hand reaching to her purse. She
pulled out a small silver ball, pressed a button and quickly slipped it
under my skirt and into my pussy.

A quick pulsing quaked my insides and made the fire inside me burn
bright. As I let out a moan, I felt Madison's hands on my shoulder leading
me to my knees. I was suddenly helpless as I allowed myself to be led to
the submissive position.

"You want to taste my cunt, don't you?" she asked.

"No, I...."

"Don't deny the inevitable, Keisha. You are like all the others. You feign
propriety, dignity, and so forth, but the reality is you are like all the
rest, you need discipline and structure."

"That is not true," I began to protest, letting out another moan, unable to
control the growing desire to come.

She smiled as she went to my desk and sat in my chair. She ordered, "Under
my desk, Keisha. Before someone sees."

Reality hit me like a cold shower and I began to stand up.

"Get back on your knees!" she demanded, her voice harsh and mean.

I quickly obeyed, suddenly scared by her knife-like tone.

"Crawl under MY desk," she repeated.

"Madison this is ridiculous," I protested, noticing her referring and
stressing that my desk was hers.

She laughed, "No, what is ridiculous is that you thought you could outsmart
me. Someone like you could never outplay me. And you will be punished for
such an attempt, no matter how epic a fail it was."

I didn't move, my need to fight begging to get out, yet the pulsing
sensations inside me causing great distraction and a loss of focus. I
realized how quickly the tables had turned. I was also trying to figure out
how she knew of my plan. Trying to be strong, I said, "Madison, I am done
with this game."

"I am too. The charade of civility is over. It is time for you to accept
your reality," she smirked, as she slipped out of her panties.

I watched, my vagina screaming for attention, against my will.

"You will crawl under my desk right now and eat your white Mistress's pussy
or I will punish you in ways you can't imagine," she threatened.

"But...."

"Now!" she roared.

Fearing her threat, knowing what she had done to Ms. Myers, I quickly
scrambled under the desk.

"Good girl," she purred, her personality change instant.

Humiliation burned as I sat under my desk. She rolled her chair in and I
was soon staring at her shaved, glistening pussy. Her scent lingered and I
was captivated by its beautiful purity. I wanted to ignore it, to be
repulsed by it, yet I could feel a lust and hunger I had never felt
before. I desperately fought to ignore the growing temptation as Madison
spoke. "Now just stare at it Keisha. How can you resist such perfection?"

She paused a moment, before asking, "Did you really think I wouldn't know
about your plan to blackmail me?"

I stammered, my mind suddenly clouded in a mixture of lust and shame,
"I-I-I...."

She laughed as she explained, "As soon as you left slut Carol's office, she
phoned me and informed me of your plan. As a reward, I have promised her
that you will be her fulltime live-in slave."

"What?" I gasped.

"Did I stutter, bitch?" she snapped, "It is clear you need discipline and
guidance. So I have given you as a gift to another slave, an obedient
slave. And don't you dare fucking come without permission."

I couldn't believe what she was saying, treating me like a commodity, like
a slave. "Now get licking, slut."

I wanted to protest, to fight for my dignity, yet a growing bigger part of
me wanted to come, wanted to taste the heavenly scent that was swarming
me. I stared at Madison's wet pussy lips and felt myself slowly moving
forward against my will. I stopped just inches from her pussy, my hunger
burning, the vibrations in my pussy tingling and causing me to not think
straight.

Madison, as if sensing my struggle, said, her voice soft and comforting,
"Keisha, it is inevitable. You can't deny fate. You can't deny the tingling
in your cunt. You may come as soon as you accept your position as my
slave. Now accept your place by leaning forward and pleasuring your
Mistress."

Her voice was soothing and her words, although absurd, seemed so rationale
in my weakened mental state. Without even thinking, I felt myself moving
forward, my tongue extended. As soon as I made contact and Madison's vagina
and her sweet taste hit my taste buds I was gone. The taste was addicting
and I hungrily lapped at her ocean of ecstasy as if I had been starving and
famished in the desert and had just found water. I lapped at her juices
eagerly unable to completely quench the hunger I had ignored my whole life.

After a few minutes of pleasing my enemy, she finally spoke, "How does your
Mistress's cunt taste?"

I paused, still unable to admit such an extreme thing. I remained silent.

She rolled away from the chair and without a word walked out of the room. I
sat frozen underneath my desk. Part of me thankful she was gone, yet
another part of me desperate to return to the oasis of sin. Just as I was
about to get out from under my desk, I heard the click of heels coming back
my way. I remained in my subservient position and was mortified to hear her
talking to someone.

"Ms. Jefferson requested I come and get you," Madison spoke. My face
instantly went pale as I pondered who she was talking to and who she
planned to reveal my submissive situation.

"Ok, Miss," the unmistakable voice of our janitor, the sixty-plus year old
Elmer, as he entered my office.

"Oh, where did she go?" Madison asked surprised.

I remained frozen under my desk, each second ticking at a snail's pace.

"Well, do you know what she needed?" Elmer asked, in his slow drawl voice.

I held my breath, anxiety overwhelming me, all the while the egg in my
vagina causing me pleasure that I desperately needed to deal with.

Madison finally responded, her tone telling me she was enjoying this
immensely, "Well, she must have gone home. I am sure she will be in contact
with you tomorrow if she still needs you."

"Yes, Ma'am, I will be on the fourth floor if Ms. Jefferson returns and
still needs me," Elmer politely replied.

"If she needs you, I will definitely let you know," Madison purred, again
her intent clear to me.

"Yes, Ma'am," Elmer again repeated and his footsteps thankfully slowly
faded away.

Madison sat back down in my chair and slipped out of her heels. She shoved
her left foot in my face and ordered, "Clean my sweaty soles, slut."

I didn't even hesitate as I grabbed her foot and began licking the sweaty
salt from her stocking-clad foot. As my tongue bathed Madison's foot, she
continued her superiority over me by complimenting me with her
condescending tone and then threatening me. "That is better, my pet
slut. Lick my feet like a good puppy. Now, that was just a warning
shot. Next time you don't answer my question or disobey an order I will
have you begging Elmer to plug your big fat ass with his wrinkled cock. Is
that understood?"

Mortified at the humiliating imagery and not doubting her threat, I agreed,
wording it exactly as she would want it, "Yes, Mistress."

"See is that so hard?" she quipped.

"Not hard at all, Mistress," I replied, continuing to lick her
stocking-clad sole.

She moved her other foot to my mouth. I continued the humiliating task of
cleaning her sweat from her foot as she continued explaining her
expectations of me. "If you are a good slave, I won't expose you as the
submissive Nigger slave you are. Do you promise to be a good Nigger slave?"

Forcing me to admit to such a vulgar racist thing was the final straw that
broke the camel's back. Defeated, humiliated and yet horny, I accepted
there was no way out of this without submitting first. The tape would
implicate us both and I realized the only way to end her power was to
reveal both of us. To do that, I had to submit to her unconditionally. I
replied, like the submissive she expected, "Yes, Mistress, I promise to be
a good Nigger slave."

"Good puppy," she purred, opening her legs, and ordering, "Now finish what
you started, slave."

I moved between her legs again being drawn in by the intoxicating scent
that fogged my mind. I licked her pussy and was again mesmerized by her
delicious taste. Wanting to get her off as soon as possible and end this
humiliating ordeal, I slid two fingers inside her wet pussy while sucking
on her clit. Madison's moans increased exponentially and in only a couple
of minutes my face was being coated by her cum. I lapped it up eagerly,
suddenly addicted to the taste. I couldn't get enough wanting nothing more
than to savour Madison's cum.

Suddenly she pulled away and ordered, "On your desk, slave."

I quickly obeyed, the buzzing in my vagina driving me crazy as was the
euphoria from getting Madison off. She smiled and said, "You may be a good
slave, yet."

"I hope to be, Mistress," I moaned, the buzzing in my vagina really
beginning to drive me wild, making me think like a horny co-ed.

"You want to come, don't you, slut?" she asked, her hand going to my pussy.

"Aaaaaah, yes, Mistress," I screamed, unable to control my desire.

"Beg me to allow you to come," Madison demanded, her finger on my clit.

"Oh please, Mistress, I need to come so bad," I whimpered.

"What are you?" she asked.

"A slut," I declared.

"What else?" she questioned, her finger sliding up and down my pussy lips.

"Your slut," I admitted.

"A Nigger slut?" she questioned.

So close to coming, so desperate to come, the words out of my mouth shocked
both me and Madison as I declared in the sanctum of black civil rights, "Oh
yes, Mistress, I am your slutty Nigger slut. Make me your Nigger slave, use
my black body for your personal pleasure. I am yours, my white Mistress."

Content, two fingers slid inside my pussy and she said, "You will come on
the count of ten, slut."

"Kkkkkk, Mistress," I moaned, not sure how I could hold back any longer.

Her fingers inside me had me in a delirious state.

"Ten," she began.

"Nine," she announced, so far from one I thought I may literally explode.

"Eight." Her fingers brushing over my g-spot making me involuntarily shake.

"Seven." I realized I had quit breathing and I let out a long breath.

"Six," she announced, slipping a third finger inside my widening vagina.

"Five, slut," she announced, adding, "don't you dare come early or you will
be punished in ways you can only begin to imagine."

I closed my eyes trying to concentrate on control.

"Four." The damn was so close to bursting, her fingers and the egg toy
causing me the greatest pleasure I had ever experienced.

"Three," Madison counted down, another finger somehow filling my cunt.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah," I screamed, arching my back writhing against the
invading fingers, forgetting that I was in my office and not in the
confines of my home.

"Two, slut. You are so close to orgasm. So close from becoming the real
slut you have always wanted to be deep down," she teased, yet another
finger inside me.

I babbled degrading myself without being told, "Oh yes, Mistress, please
let your Nigger cum."

"One," she announced, her whole fist somehow filling me as she demanded,
"Now, slave. Come for the camera. Come for your Mistress!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, fuck, yes," I screamed, as my long held-in
orgasm exploded out of me as Madison fisted me causing a mixture of
pleasure and pain as my pussy widened to unnatural dimensions. The pulses
of pleasure continued for an eternity as every time the ride seemed to be
ending, another pulse tingled my entire being as Madison's fist filled me
completely.

"Who owns you?" she demanded, her fingers opening inside me.

"Aaaaah, you do, Mistress," I whimpered, my pussy bringing sensations I
didn't know could possibly exist.

"Fuck yourself on my fist, slave," she demanded.

I didn't even hesitate, as I lifted my ass up, place my hands behind me and
began bucking my hips onto Madison's white arm. My desire to come again was
humiliating and exhilarating, and overrode my morals. I had become exactly
what Madison said I would. The humiliation was tempered by the onslaught of
pleasure such utter submission brought.

I whimpered, I moaned, I screamed and after a second earth-shattering
orgasm hammered through me....

...

When I woke up, I was laying on my desk, the egg still vibrating inside
me. I quickly jumped off my desk and was thankful to see my office door
closed. In a flash all the humiliating details of earlier in the evening
came back. Tears flowed down my eyes as I realized the predicament I was
in. My plan to get the tape after Madison left now seemed impossible, as I
assumed she had already gone to get it, and I was now completely at the
will of this blonde deviant. Yet, even as my mind replayed the horrifying
sins I committed, my pussy began to tingle again against my will. What had
become of me? Why couldn't I resist? How was I outplayed by a younger white
co-ed?

I pulled the egg out of me, desperate to calm down when I noticed a piece
of paper on the floor. I picked it up and read it:

Slave Keisha, I own you now...well actually slut Carol and I own you
now. Any remote attempt to disobey either of us will result in extreme
punishments, not to mention this video, edited, on the internet.

A good slut only wears thigh high stockings so your black box is always
available. In a similar vein, you will no longer wear panties (except
during that time of month, of course). More rules will be added as time
progresses, but be a good slut and you will be allowed to keep this job and
your secret that you are a slave will remain exactly that...a secret.

Mistress Madison

P.S.-Come now!!!

I was mortified yet again by the note and yet without even hesitating I was
rubbing my clit, obeying the absurd order even as the humiliation burned
that I had submitted to a white racist in the very building I fought for
equal rights.


38. BECOMING MY DAUGHTER'S SLAVE

All night I fretted about when I would next see Nicholas and if he would
tell his sister. Yet, much to my surprise, the next two days were quiet on
all fronts. Madison had not been in class for a couple of days and Nicholas
treated me with more respect than he ever did before he used me
sexually. There also seemed to be no evidence that Nicole knew of my
naughty transgression. She did ask for a foot massage in the past two days
but nothing more. I was walking on eggshells knowing it was only a matter
of time before I cracked.

Then came Friday evening...

As usual, I came home early on Friday and walked into the most shocking of
all shocking events I had experienced in this month of change.

My 18-year-old daughter Nicole was on the floor between the legs of my
Mistress while she was being fucked from behind by Ben. I stood frozen as I
watched the act in stunned voyeuristic awe. Nothing should have surprised
me anymore, especially after all Madison had made me do, yet this shocked
me nonetheless.

Madison looked over to me and smiled her devious, smug smile, and said,
"Well, since I have fucked the rest of your family, I figured I shouldn't
leave your beautiful daughter out of the fun."

I wondered if that meant she had added Keisha to her growing harem; I hoped
not. I prayed Keisha was strong enough to resist Madison. I tried to form a
sentence, yet again was speechless. The emotion that should have filled me
was anger at my daughter being used, although the moans coming from her
didn't sound like she was being forced. Instead the emotion I felt rush
through me was jealousy. I wanted to be the one on my knees licking
Madison's heavenly cunt; I wanted to be the one to feel Ben's big cock
ravishing my needy cunt.

Madison, as if reading my mind, asked, "Jealous, Mommy-slut?"

I stammered, "No, I, well...."

"Crawl over here, slut," Madison ordered.

Thankful for the order and the potential opportunity to please and be
pleased, I fell to my knees and began crawling to my Mistress.

Once beside my daughter, I sat there and watched as Madison began rubbing
her pussy all over my daughter's face. A minute later Madison screamed and
exploded all over Nicole's face. Nicole seemed to eagerly lap up my
Mistress' juice all the while continuing to be fucked hard by Ben.

Nicole finally spoke, still unaware of my presence inches from her, "Oh God
yes, fuck me harder Ben."

Madison quipped, "Do you want your own slave, Nicole?"

"Oh God yes," she moaned, opening her eyes and seeing me for the first
time. Instantly her face distorted from pleasure to disdain. Her tone
dripped with disrespect, "Oh hi, Mommy dearest."

Before I could speak, Madison said, "Nicole, clearly your Mother needs a
live-at-home Mistress."

"Really?" she moaned with a smile as she realized where this was going.

"Do you want her?" Madison asked, if I was not there.

"Oh God yes," she moaned, as her moans increased and seconds later I
watched my daughter climax.

Ben wasn't far behind as he asked, "Where should I shoot my load, Madison?"

"Fill her up," Madison instructed, "her new slave can clean her up."

My face went flush, not out of humiliation at the task I was soon about to
be told to do, but by the excitement of tasting my daughter.

"Fill me up, baby," Nicole moaned, as her orgasm continued to pulse through
her.

"Here it comes, baby," Ben grunted, his face distorting in the absurd way
it does when a man comes.

Jealousy at him not filling my cunt burned through me and I watched my
daughter come down from her orgasmic high.

Madison, as always able to see through me, asked, "Is Mommy slut jealous?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered honestly.

"Nicole, she is all yours," Madison offered, as Ben pulled out of my
daughter.

Nicole's grin got big and she ordered, "Come clean my pussy, Mommy."

"Yes, Miss Nicole," I replied, attempting to show my obedience with
respect.

I got behind my daughter, who was still on all fours, and could see Ben's
white goo slowly leaking out of her pussy.

I stared at her perfect curved ass briefly before leaning forward and
committing my second incestuous act of the week. The mixture of Ben's salty
cum with my daughter's juice was delicious and I eagerly attempted to
retrieve every drop of Ben's cum.

I could hear Madison chuckle as she said, "Professor has turned into a
perfect slave, hasn't she?"

Nicole moaned, "Hmmm, get that slut tongue deeper Mommy."

I obeyed, attempting to fuck my daughter's cunt with my tongue.

Madison explained, "Professor, although I am your ultimate Mistress,
starting now your beautiful daughter will also be your Mistress. All the
rules of the Slut-mandments remain. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," I agreed without hesitation.

"Do you want to come, slut?" Madison asked.

"Badly, Mistress," I replied, my cunt instantly getting damp.

"On your back," Madison ordered, as she threw a towel on the floor where I
was about to lie.

I obeyed as usual.

Madison straddled my face and explained, "One last task for you to complete
and then you can come."

"Anything, Mistress," I replied, my desire to come all that mattered.

"Open wide," she instructed, with a wicked gleam in her eye.

I obeyed and was shocked when a moment later I saw a stream of warm pee
coming down and into my mouth. The taste was slightly unpleasant, but yet
the utterly submissive act somehow seemed appropriate considering my
position on the sexual hierarchy and only had my cunt burning
more. Madison's urine hit my hair, my forehead, my nose, my chin and my
mouth as her spray roamed. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be a
human toilet, in my own house, in front of my daughter.

Once she was done, Madison asked, "Did you like that, slave?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied, and realized I wasn't lying.

"Do you want to be a human toilet more often?" she asked.

"If Mistress wants me to."

"Good answer," she smiled, standing back up. "Nicole, fist-fuck your Mommy
to orgasm."

Nicole's deviant smile returned and she moved between my legs and roughly
shoved three fingers inside me. After a minute or so of hard fingering, she
asked, "Does Mommy want her daughter to fist-fuck her?"

"Yes, Miss Nicole," I moaned, her fingers bringing pulses of pleasure
everywhere.

"Beg, Mommy," she demanded.

"Oh, god, Nicole, fist-fuck Mommy. Make your slutty Mom cum all over your
hand," I begged. Seconds later, I screamed as my pussy took my daughter's,
thankfully small, hand completely. Once in, she pumped hard, ravishing my
cunt and pounding it harshly.

The pleasure and pain was intense and I was quickly on the brink of
climatic bliss. I moaned, "Oh yes, Nicole, use Mommy, harder, baby,
harder."

She obliged and used her free hand to slap my tits. Each sting of
humiliation only brought more pleasure and I knew I was moments away from
the orgasm I know thrived off of.

"I want you to come for your new Mistress," Nicole said, "Come now, Mommy."

Her words were the final piece of the orgasm puzzle and instantly torrents
of pleasure cascaded through me as I screamed, "Thank you Mistress, I'm
comiiiiiiiiiiiing!"

Nicole dove into my pussy and sucked on my clit as my orgasm exploded out
of me. "Oh yes, baby, suck Mommy's cliiiiiiiit!"

As my orgasm continued to thrill me, I felt rain hitting my face again and
opened my eyes to see Ben pissing on me. I opened my mouth to catch the
quarterback's urine.

A minute later, Nicole pulled her fist out of me and stood up, a smile that
I knew meant she wasn't done. She too straddled my face, her cunt just
inches from me and after a few seconds of anticipation of whether she was
peeing on me or expecting me to pleasure her, I got my answer. My
daughter's urine coated my entire face like a quick thunder-shower. I
closed my eyes and allowed my daughter to coat my face with her pee. Once
done, she stood up and said, "Mommy, you should probably go shower."

"Yes, Mistress," I replied, never feeling dirtier than I did at that
moment.

"And starting now, I will be sleeping in your bed and you will sleep on the
end of the bed like a good pet," she informed me.

"Of course, Mistress," I agreed.

I stood up and watched as Madison and Ben got dressed to leave, the stench
of urine suddenly all I could smell. No longer horny, the realization of
what had transpired the past hour mortified me. Madison smiled, "Professor,
you better hurry and clean up. Your son will be home any minute won't he?"

"Yes, Mistress, I suppose he will," I agreed and somehow wanting to impress
her or shock her, I added, "Although I could just wait so he can use me as
he wishes too."

"As I am sure you will, being the dirty, Nigger slut you are," Madison
replied, "but you should probably look a little better for your Master than
you do now."

"My Master," I mindlessly repeated.

"Well, of course," she smiled, "I can't just let your daughter own
you. That would cause a fair amount of tension in your household, don't you
think?"

"Good thinking, Mistress," I agreed.

Once they were gone, I quickly went to my room to shower and cry. Every
time I think I hit rock bottom, I found a new level of bottom I didn't
think existed...but this time I had officially hit rock bottom...had I not?


39. PUNISHMENTS

The rest of the school year went by pretty quickly as I was used as a cum
bucket by Nicholas every day, usually two or three times, sometimes four,
and used as a live-in full-service maid with benefits for Nicole. On
occasion, Madison would come over to use me, and Ben would often show up at
my office for a quick blowjob, but otherwise my life oddly got into a
routine of sorts (if such a life can be considered routine).

I also learned, by watching two videos Madison brought over for the whole
family to watch, that Keisha had submitted too. The first one was the
complete video of her submission, a stunning psychological drama as Keisha
slowly weakened, just like I had, until she completely broke...eventually
admitting she was a Nigger slut in the NCAAP building. It was shocking and
captivating. The second video was made later as she was gangbanged by over
a dozen college freshmen from Ben's frat, apparently a punishment for one
of her disobediences. I would also learn she had moved in with Carol as a
live-in slave. Interestingly enough, Keisha kept working for the NCCAP,
although she was now working both figuratively and literally under
Madison. Painfully, Keisha refused to return my calls or speak to me and
thus I had to accept that I had lost my eldest daughter.

Although I saw Madison less as she began spending more time working to
destroy the NCAAP from inside, she would give me a new task every
Monday. Each task was in the form of a punishment for my many early
disobediences. Each task was humiliating and meant to keep me in line,
which seemed redundant based on my earlier utter submission and the massive
amount of incriminating evidence she had on me. I also learned that after
all Madison's calculations, I had four punishments left to endure. How she
came up with that number is a mystery, and which of the previous tasks were
punishments was also a mystery.

TASK 1 You have one week to get a tattoo. Because I am a caring Mistress I
am going to give you a few choices for the tattoo.

The following options for location are: -just above your fat ass -just
above your black box -one your flabby cow udders

The following options are available for what is to be inked: -owned -slave
-Nigger -Madison's slave

Note: You can choose the image that accompanies your word choice as well.

I sighed. Ignoring the horrific suggested location options and the
humiliating word options, I detested tattoos. I had argued for years that
tattoos were not symbols of identity, but yet another way people conformed
to society's standards. I argued we were all sheep following some bizarre
trendsetter. Now I was expected to destroy yet another of my dearly-held
beliefs.

Like the last task, I waited all week hoping for a reprieve from Madison I
knew wasn't coming, or at the very least some inspiration as to what I
should choose to scar my body with. Alas, on Saturday I headed to a remote
tattoo parlor on the outskirts of town, still completely unsure of what I
would taint my body with and where I would scar my body.

The story of getting my tattoo is not riveting, so I won't get into the
nitty-gritty of it, but suffice to say I am now branded forever...a
constant reminder of who I have become.


TASK 2 Professor Slut, I love the tattoo. Choosing my name was a pleasant
surprise and placing it above your beaver box with a leash leading down
below was a nice touch. You are such a good obedient slave lately, I have
decided to pleasantly surprise you as well...I am taking off one of your
punishments.  Since, I am taking one punishment off, you only have two
left.

Your task this week is simple. You must use the word CUNT in one of your
lectures this week.

Have fun with this one.

Mistress Madison

I shook my head at this one, knowing that such a word being used by a
professor would be shocking. Thinking of my upcoming lessons, I chuckled to
myself, already knowing how to put the word in my lecture.

On Wednesday, with Madison sitting directly in front of me, I lectured
about sex selling. After showing music videos by Lady Gaga, Rihanna and
Britney Spears, and a plethora of advertisements using sex to sell, I went
on my rant.

"As you can see, the problem with today's society is that sex is used to
sell to all.  Hot women are used to sell to men, to women and to
teenagers. Scantily clad women are used to sell everything marketable as
they showcase their breasts and bodies to tantalize.  A commercial with a
guy being swarmed by girls as he drinks a certain brand of beer tries to
convince consumers that if they drink that beer they too will get hot
women."

 I showed a picture of a woman on a gravestone, wearing four-inch leopard
high heels, stay-up stockings while sitting on a gravestone and asked,
"What is this advertisement selling?"

Students guessed the obvious answers: stockings, shoes, perfume, and so
forth.

Finally, I revealed, pointing to the fine print on the bottom, "It is
actually for a hotel in Vegas."  Laughter ensued. Getting passionate, I
ranted, "You see, it doesn't even matter anymore what you are selling. Just
have a pretty woman, dress her as a skank, showcase her tits and cunt, and
kaboom you have a great advertisement."

Silence filled the room.

I looked around, feigning ignorance at what I had just said. "What?"

Madison put up her hand, all polite, and said, "You used the 'C' word."

"I did not," I replied, shocked at the accusation.

Another student in the back said, "Actually, you did Professor."

"Oh my God," I gasped, acting all apologetic. "I am so sorry, I get so
enthralled in my own lectures and my frustration over the manipulation of
beauty that I sometimes don't hear what I say."

"It's OK," another student said, "It actual makes you more real. You seem
so perfect up there, so it is good to know you are flawed too."

I laughed, glancing to Madison, "Perfect, I like that. But trust me, I am
very, very flawed."

I ended the lesson early, apologizing one last time and smiled at finishing
my second last punishment.


TASK 3 Professor Slut, Your last task...This week you will teach one day
with a butt plug in your fat ass. It will stay in your ass until a stranger
takes it out. IT MUST BE A STRANGER AND NOT SOMEONE YOU KNOW

MISTRESS MADISON

Wearing a butt plug to work was awkward and inconvenient, but finding a
stranger to take it out was an entirely different matter.

I waited till Friday, as it was only a half-day at work. The plug stayed
lodged in my ass all day as I couldn't even begin to formulate a plan that
would somehow accomplish the task. What was I to do walk up to some
stranger and politely request they take the plug out of my ass? It was
absurd. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. Theoretically, Allison was a
stranger. We were not friends or even acquaintances for that matter. She
was, in every dictionary definition of the word, a stranger. Smiling at my
potential solution, I hopped into my car and drove to the remote mall. I
considered texting her, but I didn't want there to be any way Madison could
consider our one brief encounter when I bought all my toys, as breaking the
rules.

 I arrived at the store, and was completely crestfallen when Allison was
not in. I went to the register and asked the older woman working, "Excuse
me, is Allison working today?"

She smiled pleasantly and asked, "May I ask why?"

I explained, "She was such a help last time I was searching for the perfect
toy and was hoping for her assistance again."

The older woman smiled as if knowing what I was really hoping for and said,
"She was here half an hour ago to pick up something for this evening and
then she said she needed a new outfit. If you are lucky she might still be
in the mall."

"Um, thanks," I replied, unable to hide my disappointment.

"You sure I can't help?" she asked.

I stammered, "Um-I-I-uh, no I've got to go." I rushed out and into the
mall. I walked around the mall and scanned each store, particularly the
clothing stores, in search of the redheaded beauty. After twenty minutes of
futile searching, I went to grab an ice tea from the food court. Sitting
down slowly, now accustomed to the plug in my ass, I pondered how to solve
my current predicament. I had learned that somehow Madison could see
through any lie I told. I didn't know how, and still don't, but she does.

Once my drink was done, I returned to the store and decided to ask help
from the older woman, hoping her offer for assistance would include the
removal of a toy from my ass. As soon as I entered the store, she greeted,
"She's back. Did you find her?"

"No," I replied with a sigh.

"Do you still need help?" she asked.

"Desperately," I answered looking around. "Are we alone?"

"For a few minutes. Kelly will be here in fifteen to start her shift."

"What I need help with is very strange," I warned.

"Honey, I work at a sex shop. Trust me, I have seen everything."

I wondered what all she had seen. I leaned forward and said, "I am being
punished by my Mistress and have to keep a butt plug in my bum until a
stranger pulls it out for me."

"I retract my last sentence," she quipped, a look of surprise on her
face. "Apparently, I have not seen it all."

"Can you help?" I asked, my question a plea.

"Sure," she answered, her facial expression and tone unreadable, "come back
here."

I was surprised that she would do it in her open store, but I obeyed.  Once
behind her she said, "Bend over."

I obeyed and felt her hands go under my dress. She pulled out the plug in
one quick pull and handed it to me. "It is our best-selling butt plug," she
quipped, clearly trying to break the awkwardness.

"Well, I have no complaints," I quipped back and we both laughed.

I returned to the other side of the register and said, "Thanks, I really
didn't know who to ask."

"I am happy to oblige. My hubby will love the story," she smiled, just as
Allison entered the store.

"Well, if it isn't the woman who didn't call," the redhead smiled,
sauntering over to me.

 I stammered, suddenly nervous, "I-I-I thought about it."

"Nice plug," she smirked, looking at my hand.

I again stammered, "U-I-um...."

She was directly in front of me now and said, "You are coming with me
tonight."

"I really need to get going," I weakly replied.

"It wasn't a question," she said, grabbing my hand.

"But I need to get home," I explained, even as my pussy tingled with
eagerness.

"To your husband?" she asked, her thumb gently caressing my hand.

"No, I am not married."

"To your Mistress?" she questioned, pulling me along.

I nervously followed, knowing any resistance was futile, my curiosity about
this ravishing redhead leading the way. I didn't answer the question and
was led to her car. Once inside, we were driving and she continued her
interrogation of me. "If I recall you had a Mistress who made most of your
decisions."

"That is true," I whispered.

"Is she younger?" Allison asked.

"Yes, Miss," I replied, hinting at my eagerness to obey.

"Miss, I like that," she chuckled softly. "I am guessing she is dominant
and very aggressive."

"Yes, Miss, she expects utter obedience."

"Mmmmmmm," she responded, although I couldn't tell what 'mmmmmmm' meant.

Silence lingered as we drove to a nearby suburb. She asked why I had a
clearly used butt plug in my hand at the store, so I retold her the whole
ordeal.

"Well, you are on obedient little pet," she assessed, but said nothing
else, leaving her intentions for me still unknown.

Once there, she turned to me and said, "For the record, I am not like your
other Mistress. I will not berate you, but I will expect complete
obedience. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Miss," I responded, eager to please her.

Her smile widened as she chuckled, "I just realized I do not know your
name."

"It is Felicia," I offered, "Felicia Jefferson."

"Nice to meet you, officially," she said, her hand on mine.

"You as well," I agreed.

"Follow me," she ordered.

I got out of the car and followed her inside her home.  Although I am used
to surprises, the last few months being one surprise after another, I
wasn't ready for what happened next.

"Hi, Mom," she greeted, an older, slightly chubbier mirror vision of
herself.

I froze, suddenly completely uncomfortable and embarrassed by my new
predicament.

"And who is our guest?" Allison's Mom asked.

"Oh, this is Felicia, she will be the surprise present for Susan tonight,"
Allison informed her Mother and in doing so I learned at least some of her
intentions for me.

Her Mother walked over to me and greeted me. "Hi, Felicia, I am Corinne."

Trying to act nonchalant, as if this wasn't awkward, I returned the
friendliness. "It is nice to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," she returned and let go of my hand, her
smile unreadable.

"Mom, can you entertain my new pet while I go get changed for the Le
Chateau Club?" Allison requested, the word 'pet' giving away any last
pretense of normality in our relationship.

"Oh, that I can," she agreed, her tone implying something naughty, which
had my cunt tingling with anticipation, the shame already subsiding.

Once Allison had disappeared, Corinne asked, "So how long have you known my
daughter?"

I considered lying, but answered truthfully, "Well, she helped me at the
store a while ago and I bumped into her again today."

"I see," she said, seemingly considering something.

"And you are obviously," she paused, "submissive?"

"Yes, Miss," I responded, attempting to speed up the little chess game we
were playing.

"Hmmmm, Miss, that is a new one," she smiled, before asking, "Are you
hungry?"

The tone and implication was clearly was I hungry for pussy and I didn't
disappoint when I responded, "I am famished, Miss."

I watched with eager anticipation as she unbuttoned her jeans and slipped
out of them. She slipped off her panties as well and sat herself on a
kitchen chair.

Needing no further instructions, being the good pet I had been trained to
be, I fell to my knees and crawled over to the sexy redhead as her legs
opened to show me she was a natural redhead when I reached her bouquet of
hairy temptation. I didn't hesitate as I extended my tongue and began
paving a path to her nectar through the forest of hair. On contact,
Allison's Mom moaned and I concentrated on bringing this stranger to
orgasmic bliss. As I made her wet, her moans increased and she whispered,
"Mmmmm, that feels so good, Felicia."

Not being verbally humiliated while in an act of submission was a shocking
change, it oddly seemed wrong after being programmed, almost brainwashed,
that I was just servant of pleasure and not a person with feelings and
emotions. I don't know if it was because I was that good or she was that
horny, but in less than five minutes her legs tightened around me, she
pulled my head deeper into her pussy and she came. I continued lapping up
her juices as the orgasm spread through her until she pushed me away. I
watched from my submissive position as the pleasure I brought her coursed
through her body. One she was content, she opened her eyes and apologized,
"Sorry, for pushing you away, but as soon as my orgasm is triggered my
whole loins get extra sensitive."

"No worries, Miss," I smiled up, the lingering taste of her pussy on my
lips.

She stood up and went to the fridge, returning with a lengthy cucumber. She
pulled me up to the chair and fell to her knees between my white
stocking-clad legs. Without a word, she returned the favor, gentle licking
my already glistening pussy lips. She swirled her tongue around my clit,
making my legs involuntarily flinch with each concentrated flick from her
tongue. My breathing began to get heavy as my orgasm began to build.

She asked, "Do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?"

Being called sweetheart was a surprise and I responded hungrily,
"Desperately."

Reaching for the long green fuck-stick, she began to rub it up and down my
pussy lips, slowly teasing me.

I whimpered, "Please fuck me, Miss."

Unlike others who would ignore my pleas, she obliged sliding the lengthy
green vegetable inside my wanton cunt, all the while taking my clit into my
mouth. The slow pace, the constant tease, was the polar opposite to the
hardcore fucking and humiliation I was used to. The orgasm just simmered,
begging to be released, yet never bubbling over. My frustration at not
coming was building when Allison's Mom surprised me by slipping her finger
in my ass. My eyes went wide at the unexpected invasion and my cunt
clenched around the cucumber.

"Come for me, baby," she purred. It was the final push I needed and my
orgasm exploded out of me like a volcano, hot and fast. Her mouth never
left my clit and the cucumber never slowed down throughout my orgasm.

As the orgasm subsided, I heard Allison break the silence, "I see Mother
has been a good host."

I opened my eyes and smiled, "The best." Allison was in a black leather
skirt, matching stockings and heels and a red blouse. She looked absolutely
delicious.

Corinne stood up and pulled the cucumber from my well fucked cunt. Her
smile was sincere, as she offered, "Feel free to come and visit anytime you
wish."

"Why thank you, I very well may take you up on that offer."

"You better," she threatened playfully.

Five minutes later, I was back in Allison's car as she explained, "Since
Dad died a couple of years ago, Mom has been very lonely. Searching her
computer files one day, I noticed she liked to read lesbian porn, so one
day I had our neighbor, a lover of mine but not a sub, come over and seduce
her. Mom was addicted and although that neighbor has since moved, she is
often looking for new lovers."

"Oh," I said, "she is a very beautiful woman."

"I hope so, I look just like her," Allison smiled.

"That you do," I concurred.

"So don't be afraid to take her up on her offer, it was sincere."

"Oh, I plan to," I promised, my intent being true.

"And it can be more than just fucking each other," Allison added.

"I can always use a friend, I truthfully have very few," I realized, having
never really considered friends overly important, my job always being my
main focus.

"Well, trust me, she is an amazing person and friend," Allison said, her
hand falling onto my leg. "But enough about my Mother, and onto tonight's
fun."

"Which is?" I asked.

"Well, it is Susan's twenty-first birthday today and we are taking her to
the best club in town the Le Chateau Club. Have you heard of it?"

"No," I replied, being light years away from the club life; actually I was
never attracted to the club life.

"Well, it is a lesbian club where, truthfully, anything is possible,"
Allison smiled, adding, "a private club where what happens in the club,
stays in the club."

"Anything?" I repeated, wondering what that entailed after my last couple
of months.

"You will see," she smiled deviously. "Susan is my sub and I really wasn't
sure what to get her for her birthday, but her own pet for a night is the
perfect present, don't you think?"

"It is a rather unorthodox present," I remarked.

"That it is," Allison smiled, her hand slyly going under my dress. "So you
know, Susan is a very shy girl and has never been in charge before, so this
should be entertaining."

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, I am not sure she will know what to do with you," Allison answered,
as she pulled up to the club.

Trying to be sexy and flirtatious, I cooed, "But I bet you would know what
to do with me."

"On that note," she smiled, her hand left my leg and went to her purse. "I
brought you a present."

"You did?" I asked, shocked at getting a present from anyone, nonetheless a
Domme like Allison.

"I did," she smiled, pulling out nipple clamps from her purse. "I recall,
you seemed to like these in the store."

"Oh my," I replied.

Our parking spot was slightly secluded, but not completely, and I sat
subserviently, as the beautiful redhead unbuckled my seatbelt, pulled my
dress up and in lightning speed, put the nipple clamps on my already stiff
nipples. Just as quickly my dress was covering my special body parts and I
was being led out of the car and into a lesbian club.

I tried to avoid eye contact as I was led through a crowd and to a secluded
table at the back of the bar where two other girls were already
waiting. Allison introduced me, first to a fake blonde with I assumed fake
tits, "Jayde this is Felicia, Felicia this is Jayde."

"Nice to meet you, Miss," I replied, keeping up my submissive persona.

"Miss," she laughed, actually choking on her drink. "Where did you find
this one?"

I could tell that Jayde was a dominant one as well. Allison gave her a look
that instantly shut her up, instantly telling me the chain of command in
this group, and introduced me to the small brunette. "And Felicia this is
the birthday girl, Susan."

"Happy birthday Miss, it is a pleasure to meet you," I offered, going to
her and surprising all by going to my knees.

Susan looked confused and looked for help from her Mistress. Allison said,
"Surprise. Your birthday present is your very own sub for a night."

"Really?" the adorably shy birthday girl asked, clearly shocked by the
gift.

"Really, really," Allison joked, with a wide grin, "she is unconditionally
yours for the night."

Susan looked down at me and was clearly out of her comfort zone. She was
used to being the sub and unsure how to even begin to switch roles.

Trying to help her, I offered, "Mistress, how may I serve you?"

Her face flushed and she again looked for Allison for help.

Jayde said, "Make her eat your cunt, birthday girl."

Allison shrugged, "That isn't a bad idea, my pet."

Susan looked down at me again and opened her mouth to speak. "Um, could
you?"

Desperate to help her out and to taste her, because she reminded me so much
of Emily, I asked, "Mistress, would you like me to crawl under the table
and lick your pussy?"

Her face went even redder as she stammered, "Y-y-yes."

I began to move, but Allison interrupted, "My pet, I think you can do
better than that. Give her an order."

It was fascinating to see how quickly she shifted and gained confidence as
soon as she was given an order. Looking at me, she ordered, "Crawl under
the table and lick each of us."

"Yes, Mistress, as you please," I replied, excited to not only taste her,
but Allison as well...Jayde less, but a cunt was a cunt. I crawled under
the table and between the legs of the birthday girl. I tugged at her
panties and she lifted up her hips and I pulled them down her tanned
legs. I repositioned myself to be comfortable and leaned forward. As my
tongue touched her trimmed pussy she flinched slightly. Wanting to be a
good sub, I took my time allowing the orgasm to build slowly which, in
turn, would bring about a greater climax. Eventually when I could tell she
was close, I finally took her clit into my mouth and smiled slightly as I
was rewarded with an abundance of pussy juice.

No sooner had I finished my first pussy of the evening when I heard fingers
snapping and heard Jayde demand "Get to work, slut."

Allison snapped, "Treat her with respect or you will be the one under the
table."

Jayde's tone instantly changed to apologetic, "Sorry, Allison." I watched
intrigued by the battle of Domme vs Domme, one where Allison was clearly in
charge.

I ended the tense situation between the two as I crawled between the
blonde's legs. Her panties were already off and so I went to work. Not
caring about impressing her, I ignored the subtleties of pleasure I had
learned when pleasing someone and releasing inside them great orgasms and
instead did a brusque no-frills pussy-pleasing.  Unlike the fifteen
minutes, give or take, that it took to get Susan off, I was getting Jayde
off in less than five. Once her orgasm was done, I eagerly moved to the
third and final pussy...Allison's.  Allison opened her legs for me and
although it was rather dark under the table, I learned she was wearing
pantyhose with a hole in just the right spot. Her pussy, completely shaved,
was already wet when my tongue made contact. Like Madison's, Allison's cunt
had a subtle sweetness that was addicting on contact. Like my treatment of
Susan's sweet little cunt, I spent my time between Allison's legs. I roamed
freely, exploring every millimetre of her nectar. I teased her pussy at a
snail's pace, lavishly enjoying dining on perfection.

Allison's hands played softly in my hair, making the intimate moment even
sweeter. I wanted nothing more than to give this beautiful, radiant,
redhead the most earth-shattering, body-quaking orgasm of her young life.

Ten minutes became fifteen which became twenty before Allison gently pulled
my head deeper into her oasis of sweetness, a subtle instruction that I, of
course, obeyed. My tongue penetrated her pussy while my mouth nibbled on
her clit. Slow at first and then quicker, I moved my head up and down,
painting her pussy with my paintbrush tongue. My head pulled in once again,
deep inside her, she gently rubbed her pussy on my face, slyly fucking
herself. I extended my tongue as far as I could and allowed the beautiful
goddess to get herself off on my tongue and face.

Both excited to get her off and taste the river of juice that coated my
lips, tongue and face and disappointed to know this special moment of sweet
intimacy was almost done, I continued to lap her juices until she pushed me
away, just like her Mother had done earlier. I watched as her body
continually shivered, the orgasm I gave her seemingly never ending.

Finally, and surprisingly, it was Susan that ordered, "Felicia, please join
us."

I peeked out from underneath the table and quickly crawled out and sat
between Jayde and Susan. How far I had changed! I wasn't remotely
embarrassed to be under the table servicing three much younger girls, yet
now sitting with them I was nervous and shy.

Allison suggested, "Let's dance."

Susan surprised me and took my hand and led me into the throngs of lesbian
woman of all ages, races and sizes. The next two hours was a blur of
dancing, shot taking and flirting. My pussy was on fire and desperately in
need of release when nature finally called.

I asked, "Mistress, may I go the washroom?"

Susan who seemed to be getting more used to being in control, gave me
permission.

Allison warned, "Watch out, there are a lot of predators lurking."

I went to the bathroom hoping to tinkle and get myself off until I
remembered the rule of permission. I sighed and was shocked to see a
line-up for one of the stalls, while two others were open.

I asked a tall Mexican girl, "Why the line?"

"For Big Rosie," she explained as if it was obvious.

"Who is Big Rosie?"

"The best tasting pussy in the city," she said.

"You are waiting in line to eat out a woman?" I asked, once again
surprised.

"Yes," she said, not even remotely embarrassed.

I was instantly curious, yet nature called, and I scurried into the stall
beside the line-up. I quickly sat down and was peeing instantly. The moans
in the stall beside distracted me and I noticed a peephole. I knew I
shouldn't, but I knew I had to. I leaned towards the hole and saw a chubby
black girl with her legs wide open and a woman in her sixties at least
lapping away. It was so naughty, so taboo and yet so hot, I felt my pussy
tingling.  Wanting to come, I decided to take action myself. I got out of
the bathroom, washed my hands and being aggressive I grabbed the hands of a
petite Asian and assuming she would be submissive like most Asians led her
into an open stall. Without a word, I guided her down to her knees and
offered my very damp pussy to her. She looked up and I ordered, "Lick my
black pussy."

The order was all the guidance she needed and she leaned forward and began
licking.  Her tongue did wonders on my cunt, as she licked up and down and
then would shake her head gently from side to side, a weird, yet sweet,
sensation. After only a couple of minutes, I was getting close and I asked,
"May I come?"

She looked up confused.

I ordered, "Tell me to come."

Still confused, she said, more a question than an order, "Come, Ma'am?"

I pulled her head deep into my heated cunt and as her tongue did a full
assault on my clit I exploded all over her. Once my orgasm finished, I was
suddenly exhausted and I pulled up the unknown pussy-pleaser and kissed
her, tasting my own juices.

She kissed me back and said, "Thank you, Ma'am."

I thought it absurd for her to be thanking me, but I replied, "You are
welcome. You have a great tongue."

"Thanks," she smiled and left the stall.

I composed myself, left the stall myself, smiled smugly at the two coeds
staring at me and glanced at the line that was now four women long. I was
curious, how good could she taste? I considered joining the line, but knew
now was not the time.

I returned to the table where only Allison remained.

Allison tone was accusing. "You were gone a while."

"Yes, Miss," I replied.

"And?" she questioned.

"I saw Big Rosie and it got me so hot that I pulled some stranger into a
stall to please me," I admitted.

"Impressive, I didn't know you had that in you," she smiled before asking,
"Was the line for Big Rosie long?" Allison asked.

"Four deep," I replied, before adding, "seems a little crazy."

"Really?" Allison asked, pointing out, "You have your own Mistress."

"Touch?," I agreed, "but is she that good?"

"It is indescribable how amazing her taste is," Allison explained, letting
out a very soft moan. "You will have to try it."

Out of the blue, Susan who was apparently under the table pleasuring her
Mistress, getting her real birthday present I assume, ordered, "Go please
Big Rosie."

I was surprised, but replied obediently, "Yes, Mistress." I returned to the
bathroom and to the line that was three deep. I put my head down and waited
my turn. Part of me was excited, curious at how good one could taste to
have a line, while another part of me was humiliated to be waiting in line
publicly to eat some stranger's pussy. Yet, after all the sins I had
committed recently, this seemed rather tame in comparison.

The next half hour I heard screams of pleasure, simmering moans and nasty
talk and saw the glistening faces of three other women. Finally it was my
turn when the older woman who had been in front of me came out, avoiding
eye contact.

Once in the stall, I was greeted, "Ahhhh, a first timer."

"Yes, Miss," I acknowledged, dropping to my knees.

"Aren't you eager?" she teased, as I stared at her fat pussy lips and
swollen clit.

"Yes, Miss," I replied, waiting permission, her scent drawing me in.

"Go ahead, my dear, have a taste," she offered, adding, "you are clearly
hungry."

And I was. I leaned forward, extended my tongue and tasted the promised
perfection. I can't even begin to explain the taste. It was a mixture of
the sweetest tastes I had ever tasted, all mixed into one. It was like she
had found the secret recipe and was offering all who wanted it a taste. For
minutes I just lavishly enjoyed the taste in no hurry to leave my
submissive position on my knees.

Suddenly, she snapped, "I know you could sit there on your knees like the
eager cunt-pleaser you are, but I have others waiting too. Now get me off,
Nigger."

Being called a Nigger by a fellow black woman was substantially less
humiliating, even though I would have never used the word before my
downfall. I took her clit onto my mouth and began moving my head sideways
as my tongue simultaneously swirled. I got the reaction I expected as Big
Rosie's moans increased and in a couple of minutes I was rewarded the
champagne of pussy juice. I drank it up like it was wine until her orgasm
was done.

She pushed my head back gently and said, "That was very good, my girl, I
hope to see you again."

Standing up, my knees sore, I replied, "Oh, I imagine I will be back often,
Miss."

"You do that," she smiled and I opened the door for the walk of shame.

Once out of the stall, I saw three more in line, including Jayde. I
returned to our table where only Allison was currently sitting.

"Well?" she asked.

"Wow," was all I said.

"I know," she smiled, "I have seen many a straight girl become a raving
dyke after one evening at this club and one taste of Big Rosie."

"I can't even begin to describe it," I offered.

"Could you imagine if that could be sold? Every woman in the world would be
a dyke."

I laughed before asking, "Where is my Mistress for the day?"

"She went home. Although she appreciated my gift, she is clearly
uncomfortable with being in charge."

"I hope it wasn't because of me," I said, worried I had been a
disappointment.

"Oh no, my dear, she really just is a sub and doesn't have a Domme bone in
her body. Sending you to Big Rosie was hard for her, but was her way out."

"OK" I said, trying to stifle a yawn, suddenly exhausted.

"I am going to Susan's to give her the rest of her birthday present," she
smiled, "me."

I responded, "I couldn't think of a better present."

"I'll drive you back to your car," she offered.

"That would be great," I said.

Half an hour later, in the parking lot of the mall, Allison pulled the
chain connecting the nipple clamps to my tits and led me to her delicious
cunt. I had one last taste of Allison's perfection, all the while my tits
burned as Allison never let go of the chain. After she came, we swapped
cell numbers and she gave me her Mom's number too. The thought of sex
without the humiliation was an appealing option, one I would use all summer
while the kids and Mistress Madison were gone (Mistress and Nicole
travelled to Europe all summer, while Nicholas did a month long road trip
with his buddies).

Yet, by the end of summer, I realized something about myself. I enjoyed
submitting to Allison and the sex with Corinne was amazing, yet something
was missing. My orgasms were harder to reach and they lacked the powerful
body numbing explosion of the ones I had when being used by Madison.

It wasn't until Madison arrived home and dominated me in front of my
daughter and three of her friends that I realized what the problem was. I
only reached true sexual enlightenment when I was treated like a slut. Both
Allison and Corinne treated me with respect and compassion and for some
reason, no matter how much I wished it weren't true, I wanted to be treated
like a slut, a slave, a submissive.

It was then I knew exactly what I had to do.


40. EPILOGUE

Attempting to live the dual life of Professor and slave was exhausting and
stressful and once the semester was over, I resigned from my teaching
position.

In the fall, Nicole began college and joined Madison's Delta Kappa Pi
sorority, while Nicholas went to a bigger college a few hours away on a
football scholarship. I sold the house, all my possessions and got a new
job as the slave of Delta Kappa Pi. I was a full-time live-in maid that
cooked, cleaned and provided any required sexual activities. Each day I
spent the night with a different sorority sister and when not needed slept
in the basement on a cot. I had no possessions and relied on the sorority
to clothe (as much as I needed) and feed me.

In retrospect, I can barely remember the life I used to have and I am sure
in time the past me will be erased from existence and the only part of me
that will remain is the mindless sex puppet that Madison has turned me
into.

The sooner the last remnants of my past are gone, the better; the sooner I
can forget my old life, the sooner I can be the perfect slave.

"Nigger, get in here and eat my cunt, Mommy," Nicole, my daughter, called
out.

I instantly crawled into her sorority room. Her roommate was also on the
bed, currently being pleased by Nicole. I crawled onto the bed and began
lapping at my daughter's cunt, one of my over hundred Mistresses I now
pleased.

My mind already programmed for instant obedience, I felt the very last
remaining memory of past fade, as I became the mindless puppet I was ALWAYS
meant to be.

The end...