Deconstructing the Professor

Deconstructing the Professor: A Novella silkyjasminewalker@gmail.com

Summary: A proud black MILF is slowly dommed by a racist white co-ed.

WARNING 1: This story includes many politically incorrect words (such as nigger). If any such words or concepts offend you, please do not read any further

WARNING 2: Personal Reflection: I have many kinks. I love the thought of being seduced and used by a younger woman; I love the idea of submitting to a black man or woman (ideally both); I love the thought of utter submission. My point is twofold:

1. Fantasy is exactly that....what someone fantasizes in the dark subconscious kink of their inner being...it shouldn't be taken as a reflection of who the writer is.

2. Having naughty interracial fantasies does not make the fantasist a racist. Although I am expecting comments calling me a racist (I am not; if anything I am enthralled by the thought of submitting to a black man or woman). Yet I am telling this story from the point of view of a black woman using racist language and a sordid history, to create a vivid and, I hope, realistic downfall of a strong, black woman.

So please read this lengthy tale with an open mind, an open heart and an open libido.

NOTE 1: I have written a few fantasies about a younger black woman dominating an older white woman. I have been asked to write a story from the opposite point of view. So with the assistance of a fan who requested the story, this is my attempt to write a story about an older black university professor who is blackmailed into submission by a dominant white student.

NOTE 2: The story could fit a variety of Literotica categories including Lesbian (because the story is about a black woman who becomes a lesbian slave to a group of young girls), Incest (because there is a lot of implied incest early on and actual incest later), Group Sex (because later sex scenes include a variety of participants), Interracial (because it is a story about a black woman and a white Mistress), Mature (because the main character is a beautiful 40 year old MILF), Anal (because there is a fair amount of backdoor sex), Exhibitionist and Voyeur (because the protagonist is forced to do things in public, and in front of and for groups of people), First Time (because our lovely professor is a lesbian virgin when the story starts), NonConsent/Reluctance (because Felicia very reluctantly submits to the powerful white seductress), Toys and Masturbation (because throughout the story both are used), BDSM(because there are many levels of bdsm in the story), Fetish (because of its multi-layered kink: panty-sniffing, stockings, golden showers, etc ), Mind Control (because of the domination at the core of the story) and Novella (because of its length).

NOTE 3: A special thanks to Vanessa for the many e-mails exchanges that guided this story. A second special thanks to Estragon, who accidentally inspired the beginning by an e-mail he sent me with an article from a well-known academic journal.

NOTE 4: As always a million kisses and thanks go to my editors for this story as it went through many drafts and changes: Vanessa, LaRascasse and Estragon.

Deconstructing the Professor: A Novella

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

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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....

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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?'

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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)

1. 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.

2. You will be home the rest of the weekend.

3. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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?

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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.

1. 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?

1. 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.

1. 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...