Deconstructing the Professor

Once she was gone, Madison switched her dominant persona back on, standing up, "Now let's get back to where we were."

"Ms. Adams, it's over. I have a meeting in less than an hour."

Her reply was to press her hands on my shoulders and to push me slowly to the office floor. My knees weakened at her touch and although my mind was screaming No, my body offered no resistance to her gentle not-quite-coercion. Now that I was on my knees, in the ultimate submissive position, she explained, gently, even kindly, totally at odds with her words, "Felicia, I've always wanted my very own Nigger." I winced at her use of the N word, yet my pussy's dormant flame quickly rekindled. Seeing the arousal flickering in my eyes, she continued, slipping her stocking-clad feet out of her shoes again, "You see, Professor, I know exactly what you need. You need a White Mistress who can make all your decisions for you. You need a White Mistress to break you free from your wannabe-prestigious wannabe-white bondage, to allow you to become who you truly want to be... a good Nigger slave. So tell me, Professor Jefferson, Felicia, Nigger... tell me what you want."

Sitting down in the chair in front of me, she lifted a stockinged foot to my face, her perfectly pedicured toes just an inch from my big lips. I stammered, my head reeling from the knowledge that she was right. My vaginal juice was leaking through my panties, and I desperately needed to come. I tried to stay strong, even when every fibre of my body disagreed that I should. "I want you to leave."

"Really? I tell you what, Professor. If your cunt is dry right now, I'll walk out of here right now defeated, and I'll never bother you again. Is that reasonable?"

I cursed my weakness, knowing it was a great deal, but one I couldn't win. "Ms. Adams, please just go."

She stood up and pulled me to my feet, and reached her hand under my dress. I pushed it away, but she scolded me harshly, her anger triggered in a heartbeat. "Stand still, Nigger, don't you ever touch me unless you have my permission! Understood, you fucking cunt?"

Instead of exploding at being called such harsh names in such an arrogant tone, my vagina began flowing more freely than before, and absurdly I apologized abjectly, "I'm so-so-so sorry Ms. Adams, for touching you. It won't happen again."

Her anger disappeared like storm clouds being swept away by a spring breeze. She smiled down on me and said condescendingly, "You may become an obedient little cunt licker yet." She placed a hand on my sopping wet pussy and concluded, "Well, I guess the prospect of becoming my little Nigger slave does excite you doesn't it?"

I whimpered at her touch, abandoning any last pretence of not being horny. My body was screaming inside for me just to get it over with, just to submit unconditionally to this powerful, beautiful White Mistress. Yet my mind was once again desperately struggling to resist the growing avalanche of temptation. I knew, just like Eve, if I took just one bite of the apple, everything would change. I stammered, "N-n-no."

"Then why is your Nigger cunt so fucking wet?"

I had no reasonable answer to this question. So I again reverted to pleading weakly , "Please... just leave, Madison."

The unexpected slap across my face stunned me. "How dare you address your White Mistress so disrespectfully? Given names are for equals or inferiors. That's now yet another clear breach of your submission to me and it will be punished; what number are you at now, eight?"

Panic spread though me and I rushed to correct her, "N-n-o! It's only seven."

She laughed harshly. "So Nigger, you acknowledge deserving seven punishments from your Mistress?"

Realizing my slip, I stammered, "N-n-no, I was just..."

A second slap stung my cheek. "Shut up, Nigger." Her finger went under my panties and grazed my vaginal lips. I let out an involuntary moan. The white coed asked, looking for the answer she was accustomed to receiving, "Do you want to come, Nigger?"

"Yes," I whimpered, unable to think straight in my overheated condition, with her fingers teasing me so effectively.

"Yes, what?" she asked.

"Yes, please," I replied, my breathing getting more erratic.

She took her finger away. "You can't really be that stupid, can you?"

Desperately wanting her finger back there, my vagina now so close to ecstasy, I apologized, and finally used the words she'd been waiting to hear, the words my inner soul had been dying for me to say for a week, even if my mind hadn't accepted it yet, "I beg forgiveness for resisting you for so long. Yes, Mistress, please let me come."

Her finger went back to my wanton vagina. "You do understand, Professor," she sneered. "Once your Nigger cunt comes on my white finger, you're mine. You'll do whatever I say from now on."

"Yes, Mistress, I promise," I agreed without hesitation, my need too far too advanced to resist the hypnotic sexuality of this white Goddess.

"Then tell me, what are you?" she asked, her finger parting my wet labia.

"I'm your slave," I whimpered, finally accepting my desire to be just that.

"And what kind of slave are you?" she tested, her wonderful finger now beginning to penetrate my forbidden sheath.

I knew what she wanted me to say, but I hesitated. Such a final humiliation was too much, and I held back, unable either to progress my commitment forward or to withdraw it the least little bit.

She wiggled her finger inside me; she leaned in, her hot wet breath on my ear, "Answer me slut, what kind of slave are you?"

She found my g-spot and my legs weakened, my orgasm bubbled, and I began to come shamelessly all over Madison's finger. She pulled her finger out and I collapsed onto the floor, weak from the ultimate orgasm that was now pulsing through me.

I hear heard her rant, "You fucking Nigger, how dare you come without permission! I guess my telling you that the number of punishments in store for you being eight was fucking prophetic." I zoned her words out as the delirium from my orgasm overpowered everything. But I was brought back to reality, like a cold shower, when I heard the clicking of what sounded like a camera.

I opened my eyes, shocked to see Madison using her phone to take pictures of me. She smiled, "Just in case you had thoughts of backing down after you declared your complete obedience to me. Now open your legs wide, and let's see that wet cunt of yours."

"Please no," I begged.

"NOW, Nigger slut," she exploded.

I shamefully obeyed and closed my eyes while she took some more photos.

"Pull your panties down so I can get a good look at my new furrow."

Humiliated, as the concept of being no more than a location on her property to be planted killing the last of my orgasm, I obeyed, knowing that fighting her while I was in this condition was utterly hopeless. She took a few more pictures and then she smiled, a smile nastier than the Devil's, and said, "You'd better compose yourself Professor, you have a meeting in a bit over five minutes." Calling me Professor was like a cold shower, awakening me back to the harsh reality of what had just occurred. I was supposed to be the adult, the professional. She sauntered out, leaving my door wide open with me still lying bedraggled on the floor.

I staggered up and closed my door. I collapsed back in my chair, exhausted, mortified and yet... completely sexually satisfied. I knew I had taken a damn big bite of that apple, and I knew that my life had forever changed... and just like Eve, I had no idea what was going to happen next. Who could have expected angels with flaming swords?

12. HEEL

Lust is a powerful emotion; like a drug however, once the high is done, the withdrawal is incredibly painful. All night my head spun with what I'd done. I palliated myself with the thought that all that had really occurred was she'd masturbated me to an orgasm. It was morally wrong. It was ethically wrong. But it could have been so much worse.

This devastating weakness of mine now having been officially exposed to Madison was very troubling, but it was balanced by the wonderful news that my daughter Keisha had been assigned to work on a civil rights case with the NAACP. I'd convinced her to come over tomorrow night for a celebratory supper, and she'd reluctantly agreed. (I must admit our relationship has never been great, but that's another story, except to wonder if I'd unconsciously resented her from the moment she was born because I associated her with the sweet-talking shyster who'd raped me and planted an unwanted daughter inside of me. Hardly fair to her since it wasn't her fault, so I hoped I hadn't been doing that, but I could never be certain. Something else to feel guilty about.) But in any case, for the first time since Christmas, I'd have all three of my children at home. It was so exciting, and a great distraction from today's sin. I went shopping and grabbed a roast, potatoes and all the fixings for a grand supper.

That night while I tossed and turned, my submission to Madison replaying in my mind, I contemplated my next move. Shame overwhelmed me as I knew I'd been weak, but I also knew I now had to be strong. I convinced myself that I was capable of such strength, and that the pictures she'd taken were unlikely to be too compromising... at least I hoped they weren't.

*****

Deciding I didn't want any confrontation with Madison or wanting at least to delay one as long as I could, the next morning I wore the white stockings. I was surprised by how nice they looked on my legs, yet I felt ashamed to know I was wearing them only so I wouldn't upset Madison.

I arrived at class slightly late again, a new trend of mine, and Madison's smile widened when she saw me wearing my obedient clothing selection. I tried to ignore her, but my eyes kept glancing back at her, my body yearning for her approval. It was frustrating and it probably showed, as I was very distracted during class. After finishing giving a historical lesson on the NAACP and telling my class, as a beaming proud Mom, that my elder daughter was working for them, I let them go twenty minutes early, something I never, ever did.

I high-tailed it out before Madison or anyone could talk to me, but halfway to my car, my cell vibrated. I stopped to check it and saw a text from MistressM. I sighed. How had she gotten my cell number? It wasn't even listed.

I clicked on it and read the text:

If I didn't know better, I would think u r trying to avoid me, your WHITE MISTRESS. But I know my NIGGER SUB would never avoid me... would she?

A second text followed:

That would add a punishment and I can't imagine my NIGGER CUNT would want that... would she?

Then a third:

Or does my NIGGER BITCH like being punished? I think maybe she does. If she is not in her office in ten minutes I will add another punishment.

As I lingered, frozen, a fourth text came:

It was a picture of me during my orgasm. It wasn't too revealing as body parts went, but my expression could only be described as orgasmic bliss, and it was unmistakably me.

Realizing her threat of blackmail, I cursed to myself and rushed to my office. Once I was there, I waited and waited and waited. I went from anxious and nervous, to frustrated and angry as an hour passed. Finally, there was a knock on the door.

I called, "Come in."

No one entered.

I called a second time, "Come in."

Again, no response. I began to think I'd been mistaken and the knock had been for the office next to mine, when a sharp meaning-filled knock asserted itself.

This time I got up and opened the door. A look that would melt ice boring into me was waiting on the other side. Madison, wearing a rather conservative flower-print sundress walked in, and once I'd closed the door, reprimanded me. "Nigger, how dare you make me wait at the door?"

I began to say something but she demanded, "On your knees, Nigger, you dare not disappoint me again today, or the punishment will be your pictures posted on Facebook, understood?"

I sat down on my heels instantly, not for a second doubting that her threat was real. In fact, I was terrified she might follow through with her threat no matter what I did at this point. Once I was in compliance with her demand about the knees, I replied, "Yes, Ms. Adams, I understand."

She sat down in my office chair and gave me a look. The last time she'd sat there I'd objected. This time I just looked at the floor.

She placed her thigh high boot on my leg. "Unzip me, Professor Jefferson."

I nervously and quietly obeyed the order, my hand trembling the entire time I was unzipping the boot. Once it was unzipped, she ordered, still sternly but with her anger now gone... at least according to her tone of voice: I didn't dare to look at her face, "Take your White Mistress' boot off, Felicia."

I again obeyed, a bit surprised by her civil manner. I knew I had a bunch of unimaginable punishments to look forward to, but I hoped that at least the fireworks were over. Once her boot was off, Madison demanded, "Clean my foot, Darkie."

Darkie for some reason felt more insulting than any of the other derogatory terms she'd used on me. Uncontrollably, and yet undeniably, I felt a tingle flow through me. I leaned forward, extended my tongue and began licking her stocking-clad foot. I started on the top and lapped my way down to her perfectly manicured toes. I took each toe individually into my mouth and pretended they were small penises. She lifted her foot up a bit, and I began to lick her sole. The mixed taste of silk and sweat should have been disgusting, but instead I found it erotically sweet. I felt my vagina getting wet yet again.

"You like licking my feet, don't you, Nigger?"

The term and her condescending tone made me wetter. I didn't have to lie to admit, "Yes, Ms. Adams."

"I think it's time for your first punishment," she announced.

Trepidation filled me, but I remained silent.

"You told the class you were having a special supper tonight," she began.

"Y-y-yes," I stammered.

"With your entire family," she continued, "for the first time in several months."

"Y-y-yes," I stuttered, worried about where this was going.

She changed topics. "Are you horny right now?"

It was undeniable so I answered honestly, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" she barked.

"Y-y-yes, I'm horny, Ms. Adams."

"Do you want to come?"

"Yes," I admitted, looking down.

"Look at me when you speak to me, Nigger!" she exploded.

I immediately looked into her eyes and grovelled, "I'm sorry, Ms. Adams."

Her softness returned. "Grab my boot." I did. "Remove your panties." I shuddered in anticipation of what was to come as I obeyed. "Go to that guest chair and lift up your skirt so I can see that black cunt." I obeyed again, silently, my body loving every second while my brain attempted to reason with it.

"Spread those Nigger legs wide, I want to see that cunt I now own," she announced, like I was a prize show pony.

Tears began to well in my eyes, the humiliation drilling even deeper. I begged, "Please, don't make me do that, Ms. Adams."

She laughed. "Oh, Professor, you needed me more than any of my other sluts. I knew it the first week of class. You've been living this fake life for years, this charade of civilized living. But I could tell deep down you're just like every other Nigger, a horny slut desperate to serve. Am I wrong?"

What a question. Of course, she was wrong. I was a respected professor. A powerful black woman who'd fought for every little thing I had. Yet at this moment all that mattered to me was coming and obeying this white bitch. I wanted to look away, but instead with tears now rolling down my face I admitted, "You're right, Ms. Adams."

"And I assume that right now you desperately want to come," she predicted.

"Yes, Ms. Adams."

"Take the four-inch heel of my boot, slut, and use it to fuck yourself."

"What?" I asked.

"You heard me. Fuck yourself with the heel of your Mistresses' boot. Now!!!"

Her abrupt change of tone startled me and I obeyed, inserting the narrow heel inside my very wet vagina. Not surprisingly, it easily went in.

"How does that feel?" she asked.

"It feels good in my vagina," I replied honestly as my desire to come took me over.

"Your vagina?" she cackled. "What are you, twelve? You have a cunt! A fuck-hole! A Nigger pussy! Not a fucking vagina."

"Sorry, Ms. Adams," I moaned, now beginning to fuck myself with the boot. "My cunt is very wet, Ms. Adams."

"So back to our earlier conversation, but don't stop what you're doing. You're having a special supper tonight."

"Yes," I whimpered, worried about what she had in mind, but right now more preoccupied by the boot heel in my cunt.

"Well, I think you're going to invite me to come and meet your family tonight," she suggested, in a tone meaning it wasn't a suggestion.

"But it's a special family supper," I defended, still fucking myself.

"Stop fucking that Nigger box," Madison demanded.

I reluctantly obeyed.

"All you have to do to be allowed to come in front of your Mistress is to invite me to dinner tonight," she explained.

I let out a subtle sigh. I was far past horny and I knew if I didn't ask her, she'd probably just show up anyway. So I reasoned that the best way to at least attempt to gain some control of the situation at all was to first give in. "Ms. Adams," I began all cordially, "would you please be so kind to be a part of my family's celebratory supper tonight?"

She answered, so civil that it was as if we were two friends, "Thank you Felicia, I'd like that very much."

She surprised me by dropping to her knees, between mine, and taking charge of the boot. Without a word, she began pumping the heel in and out of my pussy. My moaning increased even as I tried to keep it down so passersby in the hallway wouldn't hear my throes of passion. With her white face so close to my pussy, I was a puddle of goo, and after only a couple minutes of her fucking me, I came, my juice flooding out of me. She continued fucking me with the boot heel until my orgasm was over and then lightning quick, she stood up and took a totally humiliating picture of me face and all, my legs spread wide open with a boot heel up my pussy.

"Clean off my boot, slut," she ordered.

I reluctantly took the boot out of my pussy and placed the heel at my mouth. I sucked off my juice like a dirty whore. The shame again swept through me, just like it always did after I'd finished coming and rationality came flooding back.

She made me put her boot back on for her and just as she was leaving, I asked, "Are you sure you want to come tonight, it'll probably be pretty boring."

Her smile, as wicked as one could look, sent a chill down my back, "Oh, I doubt that very much." She gave me a wink and walked out the door.

I collapsed into the chair, wondering what she could possibly have in mind for tonight. Everything up until now had been very discreet except within her circle of... what would one call it... circle of influence?... so it seemed unlikely she would out me in front of my children. Pacified by that theory, I pulled myself together and headed home early to prepare for my daughter's special supper.

13. MAID TO BE

I spent an hour debating what to wear for the evening, realizing that whatever I wore would make a statement to Madison. If I changed into something casual, she might criticize me about disrespecting my own family or something. If I remained in the same white stockings, I was indicating that I was still on duty as her sub, although I wasn't sure there was such a thing as off duty. After bouncing back and forth, I decided to remain in the skirt, white stockings and other apparel I'd worn to school, since I was desperate not to attract any sort of negative attention from her.