Deconstructing the Professor

"You did?" I ask, stunned.

"Yes, that's one of the reasons why I've never married, never really had a relationship with anyone of either sex. I was so determined to break free from my past, a past that had me eagerly serving as 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 working, I squelched all my sexual energy and used that energy for the NAACP, trying to right my past wrongs," my mentor explains, shocking me yet again. She sighs, "until I broke down and submitted to Madison."

"Can't we find a way of stopping her?" I ask, desperate for someone to say that it's even possible.

"I don't know, I sincerely doubt it. But we can at the very least contain it."

"Okay, I'll do it," I agree, realizing it's probably best to keep the enemy close.

"Thank you," she replies, clearly relieved.

"But I'm going to try to find a way to get evidence on her to level the playing field."

"Okay," she replies cautiously, "but please be careful, women like Madison don't play nice."

"When necessary, neither do I," I smile, confident I can win this battle of wills.

I return to my desk, oddly confident, considering what I've just learned. The morning is a flourish of chaos this first day back at work as I try to catch up and finish some projects with approaching deadlines. After all that's happened, I'm more determined than ever to prove myself as a dedicated employee and as a future leader of our cause. Yet, even as I work, I'm constantly distracted, wondering when Madison is going to show up. Instead of focusing on finishing my tasks, I'm preoccupied with the thought of the confrontation I'm certain is going to happen... but that doesn't happen. She never shows up, so eventually I relax and focus on the many tasks at hand.

32. TRIPLE TEAMED

Friday's class, like the rest of the week, was uneventful but being exhausted, I put a note on my door saying I was unavailable for the rest of the day and headed home. After making myself a quick lunch, I decided to take a quick nap, having had a restless and unhelpful sleep after last night's confrontation with Keisha.

I was awakened at 2:30 by a white cock tapping my lips. I vaguely heard a male voice saying, "Open up, Professor Jefferson."

I groggily opened my eyes and saw Ben smiling down at me, and his cock also 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 over."

Alarmed, I sat up and saw two other big white college men, completely naked, staring down at me. I stammered, "B-B-B-Ben, how did you get in here?"

"Madison said the door would be unlocked, and it was. Something about the rules she has you following."

"This is incredibly..." My impending outburst was silenced as he shoved his cock in my mouth.

Ben opined, "Professor, I think there'll be no more talking from you for the next while."

He held my head and began slowly fucking my mouth. I felt a pair of hands pawing at my tits while another pair spread my white-stocking-clad legs open. I felt fingers playing with my pussy, creating wetness in seconds, my desire to come building rapidly like the slut I'd become. After a couple minutes of my being molested, Ben pulled his cock out of my mouth and asked an outrageous question with perfect courtesy, "Tell me Professor, have you ever been DP'd?"

"N-n-no," I sputtered, gasping, my eyes going big, appalled at his intentions.

"Well, no better time than the present to change that," he announced.

"Professor, these are Eddie and Jay; Eddie and Jay, this is my intimate friend and Nigger fuck toy, Professor Jefferson," Ben introduced us.

I said nothing as Ben resumed fucking my mouth and the two other men, now with names, big whoop, continued molesting me, getting me wetter and wetter.

Ben ordered, "Jay, lay down on your back."

Jay did, his seven-inch erect cock standing tall and ready. "Professor, I think you know what to do with that white stick."

I did as he expected, straddling Jay's cock and easily allowing it to slip inside my eager cunt. I let out an uncontrollable moan as it spread my pussy lips and progressed inside me, "Aaaah."

Ben quipped, "If you like that, you'll love this." I watched him lubing his cock.

Before I even had time to think, Eddie shoved his smaller six-inch cock in my mouth and demanded, "Get sucking, slut."

Like they always did since I'd begun this journey downhill, every derogatory name only enhanced my pleasure and I obeyed, moving back and forth on the two cocks fucking me. A couple minutes later, the pleasure really beginning to grow, I felt cold hands on my ass cheeks, and I froze.

Ben ordered, "Beg for me to fuck your ass, Professor."

No longer the least bit concerned about my dignity but only about 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 ass. It was tight, but after last week's gape training with the butt plug the pain was minor, and even that soon dissipated as Ben began pumping in and out of me. It was awkward at first as I tried to continue sucking the cock in my mouth, keep riding the cock in my pussy, and now respond to the cock buried in my ass. Eventually a rhythm was created with minimal motion on my part, 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 were a pan of water constantly simmering, with my orgasm also simmering, but refusing to boil. Time stood still as I was used as a shared fuck-toy by these three white college students. Finally, the cock in my mouth pulled out and Eddie sprayed his cum on my face. A minute later, Ben pulled out of my ass, sidled around to my face and stroked his delicious cock in front of me. I opened my mouth, giving him a wide-open 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 Jay's grunts increasing, and he suddenly flipped me over, pulled out, and within seconds coated my face with a third load of cum. From my back I looked up and saw Ben, cell phone in hand, taking a picture of my cum-coated face. He ordered, "Smile, Professor."

I obeyed, smiling and posing like the dirty slut I was.

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, "Then come for us, Professor. Fuck yourself."

I didn't hesitate, sliding two fingers inside my feverish cunt while I rubbed my clit with my other hand. My moans increased and my eyes closed, and I came within only a couple of minutes while these three white college students watched me.

When I opened my eyes a minute later, all three boys were getting dressed. Ben offered, "Anytime you need a facial, just give me a call, Professor."

Acting all sexy and provocative, I smiled, "I may just do that."

All three of them left my room, and after I heard the front 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 was a mess, my face coated with cum, my make-up running and smeared. I looked like a slutty crack whore. I hurried into the washroom to shower.

Later that night I was home alone. The kids were at a school dance, and I was making up my final exam, when the doorbell rang. My pussy tingled with anticipation, assuming it was Madison.

I slipped a robe over my naked body just in case, and 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 felt that it hadn't been Madison.

It was then as I gazed at myself in the mirror after buying a few boxes of cookies while wearing no more than a white silk robe and white stockings, that I knew I was forever, irrefutably, Madison's.

33. AN EIGHTH BRIEF INTERLUDE INTO THE MIND OF KEISHA JEFFERSON: FRUSTRATION BUILDS

A weekend of late nights at the office as I try to prepare myself for a deadline on Tuesday, wears me out. My efforts for the cause are even more determined because of the fiasco I'm calling Madison-gate.

Monday is also stressful as I brace myself for my inevitable conversation with Madison. After a busy morning, the confrontation occurs just before lunch.

Madison walks in and announces, "Your Mother's class is hilarious."

"Excuse me?" I ask frostily, unable to hide my disdain for this woman.

"Well, today she was discussing ethics in the workplace. Which is pretty ironic, considering..." she smiles, letting the unfinished sentence just linger there.

I shouldn't ask, I should know better, should know it's a set-up. "How is that ironic?"

"Well, she threw her ethics out the door when she submitted to me... one of her students... as my personal professor plaything," she reveals smugly.

My growing anger is hard to control. I try to remain civil. "Well, I'm not my Mother."

"That, my dear, is up for discussion," she responds, the smug look still there.

I want to knock that look off of her face. Through gritted teeth I reply, "I'm not your dear, and my mother and I are nothing alike."

"I disagree," she counters, "I think you're just a younger, more stubborn version of her."

"Why? Because we're both black, both proud we're black, and we both threaten the long-held social hierarchy you so desperately cling to?" I shoot back proudly.

She laughs, a spiteful laugh, "I agree your Mom is proud, but these days she's proud to be my personal plaything. Proud to finally accept her place as she came to grips with accepting that her true place is serving people like me."

"People like you? Bitches?" I snap sarcastically, unable to contain my anger and hatred.

She chuckles 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 moral icons, have both submitted without much effort from me at all."

"Well, I'm not them, either," I point out.

"True. You're still in a state of denial."

"Reeee-aaahll-ly," I reply, sarcasm dripping with each syllable.

Containing to ignore my sarcasm, she explains, "You're still so young and naïve."

"I'm a few years older than you," I shoot back, furious with her condescending attitude.

"But you still think you can change things. You still think the NAACP is about changing things for blacks. It's all a façade."

"I've had enough of this," I say, "and enough of you!" standing up.

"Sit back down!" she snaps.

Her harsh tone startles me and without even thinking I obey her, even as anger continues bubbling inside of me.

"Now where was I before you so rudely interrupted me?" she pauses. "Ah yes, you're an idealist. You truly believe you're equal to whites, that you can change things. But your superiors know the reality. That the reality is black and white."

She smiles and pauses as if daring me to speak. I remain silent, frustrated by my feeling of weakness at the moment, unable to stand up to her.

"It's a reality where they know there's still a social hierarchy, and although they play the equality game on the outside, inwardly they realize they crave the dominance and submission that's always existed between our two races, and that thinking otherwise is pretentious and just silly. Even right now, your thoughts are disagreeing with every word I say. You want to snap back at me, to counter my arguments, yet silly thoughts aside, I'll bet you all my sluts that even as we speak, your cunt is very, very damp."

I'm furious; I'm outraged; and yet she's right, I'm bursting at the seams. Even though the thought that her theory could be right is horrifying.

"Am I right, Keisha? Is your cunt wet?"

"No," I lie, trying to play a game of sexual poker.

"I call your bluff and raise you," she counters.

"What?" I ask with less intelligence than I'd like, distracted by my pussy's ineffective flood gates.

"If your cunt is dry, I promise to release your Mother and Ms. Myers from their sexual slavery and leave you and them alone forever," she offers, "but if your cunt is as wet as I know it is, then you will become my submissive Nigger pet just like the others."

I stare at her. The N word is the biggest slap in the face in this lengthy assault on my dignity that she's thrown at me the past couple of weeks. Yet as much as I try to ignore it, I can't deny, at least not to myself, that my pussy is wet enough that its fluids are leaking out of me and making my panties very wet. I sidestep her offer, knowing that if I accepted it I'd be honour-bound to surrender in a heartbeat, so instead I say, trying to project a confidence I usually have but recently lost, "This entire conversation has been ludicrous and offensive, and I never want to hear the N word used in this office again, is that understood?"

Her face changes and she acts all sincere and apologetic. "Oh I'm terribly sorry, Miss. Jefferson. You are of course, in the right; I was just trying to give you an opportunity to save the others. Alas, that offer has now been revoked. I wish you a good day, Miss Jefferson."

Before I can respond, she whisks out of my office, leaving me rattled, mentally abused and incredibly horny.

Although I almost never take a lunch break, I decide I have to get out of this building for a while. This place has been everything to me. An oasis that kept me strong whenever I had doubts, it's been my church, my place of redemption. Yet, like a person who loses their way and thus questions their religion and their God, I've begun to question everything I've spent my life fighting for. I no longer know if I have the fight in me that I need. I no longer even know who I am.

I go for a long lunch, still horny and frustrated with the whole fucking system. The fact that we still have to fight for the equality we supposedly got decades ago is absurd. It's 2019 for Christ's sake. Yet, dealing with racists like Madison, the truth is that we're still far away from receiving the respect that should come with equality.

After lunch, I return to work to find a large manila envelope on my desk. I open it and find inside a note and a pair of panties. The note reads:

Slut to be:

After our conversation I went and visited slave Carol and had her eat my sweet cunt like the accommodating slut that she is. She's such a good, obedient slave. She never questions my authority. She understands her place. I also punished her for your disobedience. I sure hope she's on the pill, because I'm sure you'll agree that we'd 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'm sure my delicious juices are still fresh for you.

Enjoy, until you can savour perfection from the source.

Your Mistress to be...

I'm furious. I'm outraged. I'm confused. Punishment? Because of me? This is getting completely ludicrous. Mr. Walters comes in and I toss the envelope (still concealing the panties, thank god) in my bag. After a brief conversation about the motion that I need to have into Judge Hurst by 10:00 a.m. tomorrow morning, I'm alone again, but I can't get focused. Three times I read the same paragraph of a brief I've just proofread and I'm just too distracted to focus on the content of it. The legal motion finished yesterday, I print it off and leave it in a file so I can hand deliver it tomorrow. Mr. Walters always preaches that it's the small things that count, although his advice seems far less profound than it did a week ago. I decide to go home early and relieve the burning desire that's causing me such distraction, hoping once it's relieved I can focus like I usually do.

As soon as I get home I go to my bedroom, pull out my seldom-used vibrator and begin pleasuring myself. I close my eyes, and unlike the times my dreams played tricks on me, this time I'm wide awake when I fantasize about submitting to Madison.

I try to fight it, but eventually I just give in, my desire to come overriding my common sense. I pull Madison's panties from the envelope and place them against my nose. The scent is intoxicating in a way I can't explain. I want more, my mouth salivating at the thought of tasting such perfection. My mind on standby, my pussy doing all the thinking, I feel my hand moving the crotch of Madison's panties to my mouth and I involuntarily suck the still-wet crotch into my mouth. The fabric is unappealing, but the wetness is like heaven. Madison's panties in my mouth, my eyes closed, I fantasize of Madison forcing me to eat her pussy, forcing me to become her slave. I frantically fuck myself, my vibrator on high, while rubbing my clit with my other hand. It's the quickest and hardest I've ever come, as convolutions quake my very being, from my pinky toes to the hair on my head. The sensations arrive in wave after wave as I suck her dried cum into my mouth and my own juices explode out of me.

Minutes later, exhausted and sexually satisfied, my mind slowly turning back on, I'm mortified by my thoughts and my actions. What's becoming of me? I curse, and I'm determined once again to refrain from allowing such a humiliating display of sexual weakness ever to happen again.

34. WITHDRAWAL SETS IN

I'd gone almost a year without sex at one point, and yet an entire weekend without it, plus one endless school day, and I was a mess. Three times I almost texted Allison in hopes of some guaranteed release, but I was still 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, which had arrived in full force on Saturday and was still quite heavy today, although it was beginning to show signs of being on its way out.

Things had also continued to change as my two eighteen-year-old children had begun 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 assure himself I was obeying the instructions of my Mistress. He scolded me when he saw me wearing panties on Saturday, and I was humiliated by needing to defend myself to my son that I was on my period.

Nicole had also started dressing sexier every day, wearing very similar outfits to the ones 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 burgeoning in my own house.

On Monday night, Nicole called out to me while she was in the bath ordering, "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 knew it was wrong, but I could feel my mouth watering and my pussy tingling at my inappropriate perception of my daughter as a sex object.

Once I was done a few minutes later she asked, "Mommy, can 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 eighteen-year-old daughter pouted.