Deconstructing the Professor

Summary: A proud black MILF is gradually dommed by a racist white coed.

WARNING 1: This story includes politically incorrect terms (chief among them the infamous N word, and unlike the term of ironic respect it's used as in my stories about whites submitting to blacks, in this story it's used as it commonly is by racists, as an epithet). If such words or concepts offend you, please do not read any further.

WARNING 2: Personal Reflection: I have many kinks. Among them, I love the thought of my 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 isn't their real life...it shouldn't be taken as a reflection of who the writer really is.

2. Having or telling stories of naughty interracial fantasies does not make the fantasist a racist. Although I'm expecting to receive comments calling me one (I am not; if anything, I'm the opposite: 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 portray a vivid and, I hope, realistic downfall of a strong black woman, and how this downfall ultimately satisfies her inner needs; although admittedly most people's inner needs are far different from hers.

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

NOTE 1: As I write this note during a revision in early 2019 (with updates to make the political situation 2019 and not 2012), I've written a good number of fantasies about a younger black woman dominating an older white woman. I didn't hold back on the white woman's humiliation. Now I'm writing a story from the opposite point of view and I won't pull any punches this time either. So with the assistance of a fan who requested the story, one of my current editors, and some fresh thoughts and insights I've developed during the past seven years, this is my attempt to revisit a story about a middle-aged black university professor who is blackmailed into submission by a dominant white student.

NOTE 2: This 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 younger college girl), Incest (because there's a lot of implied incest early on and actual incest later), Group Sex (because later sex scenes include expanded collections of participants), Interracial (because it's primarily 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, as well as in front of and for groups of people), First Time (because our lovely professor is a lesbian virgin when the story begins), NonConsent/Reluctance (because Felicia initially submits to the powerful white seductress very reluctantly), Toys and Masturbation (because throughout the story both are featured), BDSM (because there are many levels of BDSM in the story), Fetish (because of its multi-layered kinks: 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 email exchanges that guided this story. A second special thanks to Estragon, who accidentally inspired the story's beginning with an email he sent me containing 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 for the original version of this story in 2012, and Tex Beethoven, for helping me give it a fresh coat of polish in 2019.

EDITOR'S NOTE (from Tex Beethoven): I think it needs to be said that in writing this story Jasmine Walker has done a courageous job of exploring a controversial subject: Racism. Racism as it affects the journey of a naturally submissive black woman who, unlike most people, requires to be controlled and humiliated in order to achieve sexual fulfillment. In my view, the heart of racism is how it dehumanizes the 'other' by concentrating on a single facet of who they are... their physical appearance... and proclaiming that facet to be the only one that matters. In that sense, this complex novella is far from being racist. It should be added however, that some of the characters in this in-depth tale, principally Ms. Madison Adams, are extremely racist, and they don't hesitate to flaunt their twisted views and to act on them. But every good story needs villains, and without these racists strutting their stuff, the main character, Professor Felicia Jefferson, would have neither a tale nor a journey. She is the true focus of this story, and she is the person we learn about in depth and learn to care about.

Deconstructing the Professor: A Novella

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

Setting the tone for a class of students is critical, especially in college. Most students don't want to be there except as a means to an end, and in today's information-now world, a professor mustn't 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 striding aggressively into the classroom from the doorway, without pause approaching the board and writing the word Nigger on it. The response is always the same: horrified gasps followed by utter silence. I wait, still facing the board, arms by my side, feet spread somewhat, letting the objectionable word and the silence linger. Finally, I turn to face them and ask a group of sixty freshmen, mostly white, with a few Asians and on this occasion three blacks, "Who can say the word Nigger?"

Silence lingers throughout the room. Sixty students' eyes are fixed on the forty-year-old female professor with unmistakably black skin who has just asked them the most controversial question imaginable.

When no one answers, I go through a lengthy history of the word's significance during America's time of slavery and the racist reasons it's been used for well over a century since, and its continuing impact on Black identity.

The history lesson now done, I re-ask the question, "So I ask you again, Who can say the word Nigger?" I scan the room, gauging the reaction of my students, almost all of whom are still stunned.

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

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

She responds boldly, "It's clearly racist if any other race says it. But if a Black person uses it, it's usually okay."

"I see," I say thoughtfully.

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

"Interesting," I agree, but attempt to push the envelope, "but what about some 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: guaranteed."

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

"I suppose," she whispers, 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 shamefacedly raise their hands.

"Queer?"

Again a few raise their hands.

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

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

I nod my head, "You're correct. They too are offensive and could easily be included in this discussion. But for now, let's not complicate things and stick to the one term: Nigger."

A student, who's never opened his mouth in class before, a nerdy looking white boy, is the first student to use the word, "It's 2019, and the word Nigger is just as offensive as the other words you mentioned."

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

Madison, a very pretty blonde, asks, "Professor Jefferson, even though you initiated it, isn't our even having 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 in the presence of 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 my fellow blacks, or the way black stand-up comedians like Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy use it so liberally for laughs, but in a classroom discussion like this, the word takes on a different context. One where hopefully the word can distance itself from the negative connotations it's historically symbolized. Today we're not calling anyone a nigger, we're discussing the connotations and the etymology of the word."

I notice an odd smile cross her face, one that I can't read. My reply to her question seems again to lighten the tension in the room, and the conversation becomes freer and less halting. For the remainder of the period the discussion continues with more students responding, and one more student actually using the word itself. Most continue to call it the N word and even then they look down, avoiding eye contact with me when they refer directly to the taboo word.

The conversation evolves into clothing and fashion and I point 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 for me to earn than if I were the same age, similarly educated, but white. On the other hand, the rap culture, gangsta rap and the glamorization of thugs, pimps and hoes to the cultural mainstream, manifests 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 debate who is to blame for today's excessive sexuality, Madison asks another question. "Professor Jefferson, is that why you always dress so properly? To appear more like you're white?"

That surprises me, but I've thought about this and I explain. "Not to appear whiter, 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 some of my potential answers could be very judgemental. "Well, as young adults, you tend to dress casually, because in this school that's the norm, and you'll be less likely to be judged."

"But you're judging me right now," she points out.

"Touché," I reply, "but only because you asked the question. The point I'm attempting to make isn't about you personally, but that how you dress as a reasonably typical student is part of your culture. Students in general dress casually at school because that's the norm, yet those 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 isn't based on race."

"True," I conclude, "but the end result is that, even as an accepted member of this faculty, I feel that as one of the very few black professors at this college, it's important for me to dress the part."

"Even though your husband doesn't?"

I look up, as does my class, not knowing who said that, except it was a male. I explain, not fond of the way this conversation has begun focussing on me personally, "Well first of all he's my ex-husband, but we won't go into the details of that. Secondly, you have just helped me make my point. As a white professor, and a male, Professor Hamilton doesn't need to earn respect the same way I feel that I do. I know that may sound sexist and racist, which is how it might be taken, but I'm trying to be totally honest with you."

"But Conner doesn't try to make a statement, he just is who he is," the same voice explains, and now I can see who he is. I recognize him as a player on our basketball team, a team my ex assistant coaches. I'm 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 nevertheless 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've just been having," Madison explains, revealing a new piece of information to me. Although they both have the same name, their very different demeanors had me assuming they were cousins at the closest.

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

Madison, glaring at her sister, her tone now angry, threatens, "We'll see about that."

I smile at Emily's stubborn morality; I respect it. She understands who she is and isn't giving ground even when being pressed by her clearly dominant sister. "Of course," I explain, "racism is much bigger than just the use or non-use of a word. I've met many people who demonstrate racism towards the black race or toward any race for that matter, even though they never use that word. The word, like many others, has evolved into a derogatory term, and it's my guess that stigma will never change, even centuries from now."

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

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

She's now liberally using the word Nigger, and I try to get a grip on the conversation. "No, that isn't the message I was trying to get across. I was simply implying that the exercise of racism is much wider than whether a person uses such a derogatory word or not. The high incidence of white policemen shooting and killing unarmed black men and boys is patently racist, just to give one example."

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

Madison, her face getting redder, clearly not accustomed 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. "And that's regardless of which of them may be smarter or better educated. If I don't feel a professor is worth listening to, I won't learn as much from them."

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

I break into the sisterly disagreement. "I think we're 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 Professor Hamilton's competence."

Madison, ignoring my attempt at closure, pushes the envelope some more, "If Professor Jefferson weren't here, and there weren't any African American students in the room, I'm confident that many people who're here right now would have no problem using the word 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 that many in here would. I've 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 the discussion. "Our time is almost up. I hope you understand the primary point of this lesson. Every one of us comes from different pasts, from different histories, and our pasts and histories have helped us develop our values and beliefs. And as we move forward in this course, you'll all need to be able to be aware of your personal values while respecting those of others. It's a given that the word Nigger will always be offensive when it's used in a derogatory context. But it's only through respectful discussion that we can ever move forward."

I dismiss the class and watch as Madison and Emily leave, arguing all the way up the stairs. I consider intervening, but it isn't my place. This may be my classroom, but their lives are their own.

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 had dwindled. Going forward, she always looked at me smugly, and I always felt like she was assessing me in a way I couldn't explain at all.

Oddly on occasion, Madison would pop up in my dreams. I never remembered them completely, I never do remember much about my dreams, but I did retain the memory of her always being in control, always smiling smugly, and always flaunting her superiority over me. Looking back now, clearly this was my subconscious warning me of what was to come... but I missed it completely until it was far too late.

amiH

2. A SHORT HISTORY OF MYSELF

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