Deconstructing the Professor

I seized the letter and read it for the umpteenth time. I recalled I'd completed this afternoon's assignments almost without thought. My first task tonight was to cum without using my hands or toys. Of course, I had no conscious plans of following through with these orders set out for me, but just like this afternoon, my body had other ideas. Suddenly really horny, I scanned my room for something I could use to comply with the order. Seeing my hairbrush, which had a three-inch handle, I grabbed it and brought it to my bed along with Madison's panties. Getting completely undressed except for my short, transparent lavender 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 must look with this black underwear in my mouth, but I didn't care at the moment, my only focus was on my needy vagina. The scent of Madison's vaginal juices so close to my nose was exhilarating. I sucked her panties into my mouth, searching with my tongue for any last remnants of the powerful white coed's leavings. Spreading my black legs wider, I slid the brush handle easily into my damp vagina. I began pumping the brush in and out of me, disappointed it wasn't longer.

...

I'm transported back to my office, with Emily still bound to my chair. The events replay exactly as they had earlier today, but this time instead of leaving she announces, "Professor Jefferson, Mistress insisted I couldn't leave your office until I brought you to orgasm."

My pussy already tingling from seeing the beautiful Emily bound a few minutes earlier, I'm now craving just such attention. When I don't protest or refuse the offer, Emily pushes me backwards onto my desk and spreads open my black legs. She discards my damp panties and buries her pale white face between my crimson labia. Next, while she licks my swollen clit, she slips two fingers inside my bubbling cauldron. I let out an uncharacteristic scream the instant Emily buries her fingers inside me. Fucking me like a man with a dick, she pumps my vagina hard and fast, her mouth never leaving my clit. Soon my orgasm is brimming to the surface and once she pounds me with a single deeper penetration, widening my vaginal lips, a powerful orgasm shudders through me. Her fingers remain inside me, keeping my pussy lips stretched apart... holding me open while my juices flood out of me.

The monumental orgasm finally complete, I lay in my bed, completely drained and sexually satisfied in a way I couldn't remember ever feeling before. But I looked between my legs and gasped. The brush was almost completely inside me, far past the handle. I slowly, carefully, tugged 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 just 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 still buried in Madison's panties. In one immense crest, yesterday came flooding back. My cheeks burned with shame at my weakness and what I had, apparently willingly, succumbed to. Luckily, no one had witnessed my growing number of sexual indiscretions. My body already warming up, I knew that soon I'd to be adding to that number. For no conscious reason except for remembering the clear instructions in the letter, I scanned the room for something other than last night's brush I could use to get myself off. Today nothing was an obvious choice. I sighed, getting frustrated, against my best interests my mutinous pussy pleading for attention. I stood up, my legs still like jelly, and began searching my room. I had perfume bottles but they were too short, and if the contents somehow sprayed inside me, that wouldn't 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 for my television. It was long enough, but the buttons were an issue. But my need both to obey and to come stripping away any reasoning, I returned to my bed. Worried that my moans could wake my children, I shoved Madison's well-used panties into my mouth. My vagina already well lubricated, I shoved the odd, wide, bumpy pleasure-stick into my vagina.

I find myself dressed in a cheerleader's outfit and Madison has gotten me to crawl on all fours across the sidelines of a football field, hooked to her metal leash. I'm led towards Ben Mauer, our all-star white quarterback. He's still in his uniform and dripping with sweat.

Madison leads me up to him saying, "Here's your promised Nigger." She yanks my chain until I'm kneeling at Ben's feet and she hands it to him.

"Thanks, baby," Ben says suavely.

Madison sits down on a nearby bench and watches.

Ben discards his sweaty uniform and padding, and presents me with his rock-hard, eight-inch cock. He orders, "Get sucking, bitch."

Excited and nervous, I open my mouth and take his stiff cock in my mouth. I struggle to get into a rhythm, and Ben finally grabs my head, holds it in place and begins pumping his cock in and out of my mouth. He gives me all of it, and he doesn't mind that I'm audibly gagging and that strings of drool are cascading from my chin. After two minutes of hardcore face-fucking, he pulls out and demands, "Bend over, bitch. It's time for this quarterback to get into the end zone."

I obey like a good slut should, and I feel his cock easily slide into my wanting vagina. He grunts, "Holy shit, Madison, this old Nigger is tight."

Madison laughs. "Well enjoy it while you can, the cow won't be tight for long."

He grabs my hips and begins to really pound away at me from behind. He asks, "How does Madison's Nigger like white meat?"

I moan, loving what he's doing to me, "I love white meat."

The hard fucking continues for a few minutes until I hear him ask Madison, "Where should I shoot my wad?"

Madison responds, "Your choice. You can spray your dominant seed up her cunt and right into her womb, or you might prefer to pull out and spray your superior juice all over her face."

Both choices mortify me, but my orgasm is building, and I just keep enjoying the quarterback's white cock burying itself inside me over and over.

"What do you think, slut? Should I cum up your black cunt or all over your black face?"

I don't want to be the one to choose, so I avoid the responsibility by trying to manipulate him with dirty talk, going out of my way to degrade myself even more, "I'm your slut, do with me as you please."

"Fuck, she really is a submissive little slut, isn't she?" the quarterback says, impressed with my whorish declaration.

Madison snaps her fingers to get my attention. "This is just the beginning," she teases, her eyes staring directly into mine.

The quarterback grunts, "I'm coming, Nigger, I'm shooting my seed deep in your cunt." The moment I feel his semen coating my vaginal walls I too come, feeling his seed filling me completely. He doesn't slow down as I shake and quake my way through another humiliating orgasm.

I opened my eyes just as the orgasm fluttered to an end and was surprised to find myself on my knees on the bed, and the remote control 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 recovered from coming, common sense came rushing back to me and I felt guilt and shame at what I'd just done to myself, and at what I'd just fantasized about. Madison was dictating none of these sexual fever dreams, they were all coming from me, or at least from my subconscious. I took a long shower, attempting, like Lady Macbeth, to wash away my sins. Unfortunately, as with Lady Macbeth, sins don't just wash away.

*****

I went grocery shopping, worked out, took a second shower and read a book. I did everything I could to avoid thinking about my predicament. Doing a quick house cleaning, I ended up in my son's room and snooping in his dirty laundry. Finding a pair of his underwear, I examined them closely and saw what looked like a semen stain. I felt myself put them in my pocket and I returned to my room.

Reading the letter yet again, I knew there was no way I could attend church without panties. It was just far too wrong, way too scandalous. I also knew that wearing all white, as she ordered, would give her even more power, something else I couldn't allow. I looked at the threat: three punishments. If I disobeyed this instruction there'd be an additional one. I pondered what they might be, decided I didn't have an imagination wicked enough to predict them, and I pondered how many more she'd add if I completely stopped obeying her orders at this point: at the moment I was on track for no additional punishments. Shouldn't I keep going? Then I shook my head; the idea of this snip of a girl punishing me at all 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 needed to start making supper.

Oddly, even though I had no intention of following the other commands laid out for me, I decided, absurdly, to go ahead for now and obey this next 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 in size to the cock I'd fantasized Ben having, and walked... well, rushed in all honesty... up to my room. I tossed my son's underwear and the cucumber onto my bed and got undressed. Once I was on the bed, I rubbed the cucumber up and down my pussy lips, getting them nice and wet. The cucumber was wider than any cock I'd ever had inside me. I grabbed my son's underwear with my free hand and brought it to my nose; it was a very different scent from 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.

I'm at Madison's sorority, naked, in the center of the room, with a dozen white girls watching me fuck myself with a cucumber, just like some nasty whore.

Madison, who has another girl between her legs, one unrecognizable to me, demands to know, "Professor Jefferson, why are you fucking your coochie like a cheap hoochie mama, like a two-cent whore, in front of my sorority?"

Other girls make lewd comments that only add to my humiliation, as does the whispering between each other. Shamed, I have no answer. I finally answer, "I'm fucking myself 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 become our sorority house Nigger? Is that what this is about?"

A part of me finds it appalling and deeply galling to have this painful, shameful old racial tradition 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'm so humiliated and infuriated, and yet my vagina is all the more juiced and agitated, not in spite of, but because of this degradation. I'm speechless but feel my head nodding up and down in agreement.

"But house Niggers were generally the light-skinned Niggers, the ones with some ameliorating white blood in them, and who were favoured by whites because they were smarter and better looking, because they 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, professor?"

My God! This arrogant white girl has just 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 looks like an ape and a monkey would generally be a field Nigger! Personally, this is bad enough, but professionally it's made even worse because of the fact that this scenario is historically accurate, and that colourism is so historically obdurate as to be virtually a cultural universality even to this day... insidiously inserting itself to wedge apart even members of the same family, including my own. It's all too much for my mind to handle, but my gushing gash has a mind of its own.

"Then again," Madison muses aloud, "house Niggers were more intellectual, at least compared to other Niggers, often even learning how to read. And you're 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 earn the privilege of being white bred?"

I hesitate, humiliated, and yet feel my delirious head dumbly nodding again. The girls cheer and heckle me as I continue to pump the long green vegetable in and out of my vagina.

"Say it, slut!" Madison demands.

My vagina burning hot, the cucumber widening my pussy lips like never before, have me in such a delirious state that I'll agree to almost anything. "Yes," I moan, and in response to my shameful agreement, I feel my orgasm building further.

"But are you not a proud black woman with a prestigious job?" Madison points out.

My orgasm bubbling closer to release, I proclaim, "I don't care about that anymore. I'm just your slut. If you'll have me, your house Nigger. All the window dressing of how I'm perceived is just a front. You saw past that, Mistress Madison, and into the real me. I'm nothing more than a Nigger slave eager to please her white Mistress."

Madison is pleased, "Then come for me, house Nigger, come for your white Mistress. Come harder than you've ever come before. Now, Nigger. Now!"

My whole body spasmed and quaked as another orgasm coursed through 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 I believe as a direct result, led to an even more extreme orgasm. I hated myself so much for what I was becoming, for what I was fantasizing, yet the pleasure that came with each new step further away from normality was becoming more and more addictive. I craved it the way I used to crave nicotine back when I'd smoked. Yet, my mind was now betraying me too. This most recent fantasy had been much nastier than the others, and the historical knowledge being thrown in my face, which I knew from my studies was true, was bizarrely erotic and yet disgraceful. Worse yet, it was my own mind, not Madison's, creating these humiliating historically-based shots. Why was my own subconscious starring me in such derogatory scenes? Not to mention the reference to my two white children. What was becoming of me? And more importantly, how could I stop this accelerating train from picking up even more steam?

Looking at the clock, I cursed, realizing I needed to start supper soon. I took one more quick shower and was walking downstairs when my son walked upstairs past me, sweaty from a game of basketball.

He told he was going to jump in the shower, and my first thought was devastatingly humiliating. I wonder what his underwear will smell like?

10. SUNDAY, BLOODY SUNDAY: Revelations

I dressed in my Sunday best, ignoring Madison's ludicrous request not to wear panties to church. It was actually this request that finally last night had pushed me into ignoring my growing temptations and to stand tall, proud and defiant. Although being defiant to a twenty-year-old college girl did seem rather pathetic.

My younger kids had always attended church with me. But this time they resisted going, only giving in after I'd pleaded with them, almost whined. I wondered what this meant, nearly apoplectic about the prospect of my children finding out what I'd been going through and losing all respect for me. Perhaps church could cleanse me of my sins and thoughts. I was sweating profusely during the whole drive there, alone in my car, the kids insisting on driving themselves over separately. The kids and I walked in just as the first hymn began playing.

As hymn after hymn played, I began to feel rejuvenated. I felt the old me coming back. The Minister Hart gave us a lengthy sermon on inner strength and resisting temptation. I felt as though he was speaking directly to me, and my resolve to walk the higher road became even stronger.

When the service was over the kids went their own way and I decided to confront this slave of Madison's and tell her I was done once and for all. After this morning's service, my resolve was 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 meeting spot and found a semi-secluded booth in the back. I ordered a coffee, refusing to order food; I planned for this to be a short, sweet and one-sided conversation. Five minutes became ten and I began to get frustrated; I had better things to do than wait endlessly for some college-age slave of Madison's to arrive. I was just finishing my coffee when the elegantly dressed Mrs. Hart came in. Mrs. Hart... Sister Jessica Hart... Minister Hart's beautiful wife, caught my eye and began walking towards me. Anxiety came flooding in, not because I thought she could be the slave of Madison's I was expecting, but because she might catch me in a compromising conversation with some whorishly dressed girl.

She smiled and asked surprisingly tentatively, "May I sit down, Felicia?"

"Of course," I responded politely, even though I desperately wanted to flee.

The waitress returned, 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'm so sorry to ask this Felicia, but did you obey the letter?"

"Excuse me?" I responded, although my heart sank as I absorbed what she was asking. I couldn't comprehend how she could possibly be the slave of Madison's I'd been waiting for. It just was incomprehensible that the preacher's wife could be a submissive slave to a young college coed. I couldn't even fathom how the two could meet each other, never mind how Madison could maneuver things into getting Jessica Hart to submit to her.

Her voice, still a whisper, reached out to comfort me, "It's okay, Felicia, I know what you're going through right now. I've gone through it too; actually, I'm still going through it."

"But how?" I asked.

"It's a long story, but long story short, her parents are good friends of ours, and over a few months she broke me down," she explained, her shame clearly displayed in her blotchy red cheeks; she hadn't yet looked me in the eye since revealing her submission.

"But you're 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's a very determined young woman."

Trying to stay strong, I announced confidently, "Well, I won't submit to her."

"I hope you're right," she replied, although her tone conveyed strong doubt that I could be strong enough. "But I have to ask, are you wearing panties right now?"

"Yes, I am," I announced proudly, showing off my inner strength.

She looked into my eyes for the first time. "I'm very impressed Felicia, you're a stronger woman than I am."

"You can be strong too," I suggested.