Melissa was nervous and anxious, but even so she felt a dark thread of sexual anticipation and arousal pulsing within her body as she stepped into DeShawn's car.
“Hi,” she gulped.
“Hi who? Hi what? How do you address me again, slave girl?” he asked.
She flushed and felt the twin emotions of anxiety and excitement swirling more powerfully within her.
“Hi... Master,” she gulped.
She supposed it was, in a sense, silly. But she was sure DeShawn was intent on teaching her just how horrible life had been for Black people oppressed for so long by racist White society. Pretending she was his 'slave girl' was kinky and thrilling, but it also served to bring home to her how horrible White people had treated Black people for their whole history!
Melissa was not black, of course. In fact, her skin was quite fair, a gift of her Swedish father. Her hair was a dark, chestnut brown, which was a compromise between her dad's blonde genetic code and her mother's darker Semitic bloodline. Her mother was Gloria Lowenstein, and she'd had very dark, curly hair.
The intersection of her family's bloodlines only mattered insofar as it made Melissa a beneficiary (a reluctant and guilty beneficiary) of white privilege. Her parents were very liberal, and had raised her to be, as well. So she was well aware of how racist white society had oppressed people of color for so many centuries.
Melissa had brought her inclusive liberal beliefs in tolerance and racial understanding to Harvard, where her parents and grandparents had gotten their law degrees. She intended to continue that tradition, and also the tradition of working for the betterment of the downtrodden.
She was a very earnest, but determined young woman, imbued with a steely sense of self-confidence and the righteousness of knowing that feminism and equality were the only true paths to enlightenment.
She had, of course, joined the Anti-Racist Action Committee, the Safe Space Coalition, and Black Lives Matter to demonstrate her sisterhood with the oppressed, and her parents had been quite proud of her for doing so.
But when DeShawn Washington, a member of the ARAC, who was very large and very handsome and very Black, had asked her out on a date, she had hesitated. Of course, it wasn't simply that he was Black. She was eighteen, after all, while DeShawn was nearly thirty! He was also not a student, but one of the groundskeepers.
The truth was, Melissa would never have looked twice at him if he'd been White. But being asked out by a Black man had filled her with a sense of anxiety. If she refused he might think she was racist, after all! Almost as bad, he might think she had turned him down because she thought that as a pre-law student she was better than him, a mere groundskeeper!
To show that level of disdain for a working class person on the outrageous presumption that he was not in her class would have filled her with such guilt she didn't think she could have born it! She'd have had to call her therapist for an emergency session!
DeShawn had not treated her like the nice Jewish boys she had previously dated. In fact, he had behaved in an outrageous fashion, like a macho man, taking for granted his right to make decisions, not to mention his right to her body!
The sex had been far rougher than anything she had ever experienced! And it had also nearly melted her mind in the fiery heat of a lust she had never previously experienced. It had been like a traumatic episode, only... only the opposite. She had been spellbound afterward, and couldn't stop thinking about it.
And wanting more!
At the same time, she writhed in self-loathing and guilt over how she had reacted and why! As a good feminist she insisted on being treated with respect and equality. But DeShawn had done nothing of the sort! He had treated her like a 'Ho'! Of course, Melissa would never in her wildest dreams question the cultural value system of a member of a minority group, but it still left her feminist sensibilities deeply outraged.
DeShawn had also invited other Black men to touch and use her body! That was stunning and outrageous on so many levels! But worse was that she had not only tolerated it she had felt in the grip of a sexual fever while they had roughly used her!
And why? Because somehow, in the inner recesses of her filthy white racist mind, she felt almost like... like they were savages, and she was a noble sacrifice! They had acted like animals! And she had felt like they were devouring her in their hunger and lust!
She had reveled in their abuse and rough handling in part, because she felt that it was only her due. The guilt gripping her at the way Black people had been treated through the years by whites made her feel that them getting payback on her was only right and just. She deserved to be roughly treated!
And if that helped assuage some of their justifiable anger at the way they had been abused all their lives, then Melissa felt very much a kind of sense of self-sacrifice. What bothered her was that she still had that horrible sense of superiority, one she hadn't even been aware she possessed, which let her feel almost masochistic about how these 'savages' were treating her!
She was mortified at discovering what a pretender and elitist she was once she realized her reactions at seeing DeShawn's tiny bachelor apartment. Why, it was almost the size of her bathroom at home!
Clearly he had noticed her reaction, though she hadn't said anything. Him ordering her to clean his bathroom was meant as both punishment and, she was sure, learning experience for her. She did the work, suitably chastised over her snobbish mentality, and then wallowed in how he had reversed their fortunes, turning her into the slave and he, the powerful Black man, into the master!
Yes, she had deserved it! The world deserved it! Her lifelong enjoyment of white privilege deserved to be brought up short by the righteous anger of a powerful Black man!
But that had still made her feel dreadfully uncomfortable as DeShawn picked her up today to bring her to his friend Ebony's apartment up the hall from his.
Ebony and her roommate Raven were strippers, apparently at a Black club where they didn't earn a lot of money. That was doubtless because of how racist white society was, of course. And today DeShawn had promised to have them teach her how to dance!
He meant strip of course, and give lap dances! Melissa was, of course, uncertain about the wisdom of going along with this. Strip clubs were, after all, places where misogynist males in an outrageous sense of power imbalance forced helpless young women to dance naked for their entertainment!
It was shocking such places were still allowed to operate, or that the authorities didn't take those helpless women away to protect them from such filthy, depraved abuse! She understood why, in the case of Raven and Ebony, of course. Society was racist and didn't care about Black girls!
She moaned as DeShawn reached out a big hand, swept it around her neck and jerked her roughly across the center console to kiss her passionately. His tongue thrust into her mouth and his other hand came up to roughly grope her breast through her shirt!
His hand pulled harder and she half slid across atop him as he continued to kiss her, and Melissa felt her heart beating faster and faster as that the sexual anticipation within her blossomed and her breasts swelled hotly against his kneading fingers.
“Hot little white slut,” he growled, pulling her back again.
He shifted his grip to her hair and she gasped as he forced her head back, making her full young breasts thrust out. Her hands instinctively shot up to grip his wrist but he had a grip of steel.
“Hands down, slave!” he barked.
Panting, moaning, she dropped her arms to her sides, sitting there with back arched as his other hand moved over her breasts.
“You got really nice tits. You should stop hiding them,” he said.
He released her and put the car into drive, then accelerated away from the curbs as Melissa, still gulping and panting, hurriedly did up her seat belt.
“Guys love big tits,” he said. “Specially when they're nice and round and firm like yours, even more when they're real.”
He smirked. “Course, you'll be a saggy titted ho in ten, fifteen years. But you're prime now, baby.”
Melissa frowned at that sort of backhanded compliment. She would certainly keep doing exercises to make sure her breasts stayed as firm as possible. And if necessary, there was always plastic surgery. She would never be a saggy titted ho!
Of course, she wouldn't say so.
“You need to learn to wear skirts more, too, show off that tight ass and those nice legs.”
“I... don't dress to show off my body, DeShawn,” she said hesitantly.
He turned and glared at her.
“Master, I mean!” she said hurriedly.
“Bitch, when you're with me I decide what gets shown off,” he said.