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.