Deconstructing the Professor

"Yes slut, your daughter is a good Nigger slave. She's a very obedient girl," Madison purrs. Her eyes bore into mine until I have to look away out of utter humiliation. "Is your cunt wet, Nigger?"

I should have been furious at being called a Nigger, but instead my vagina gets wetter. Ashamed to admit the truth, I remain silent.

Madison calls out, her tone condescending and arrogant, "LaKeisha, get your coon ass out here."

In seconds, my daughter, my twenty-five-year-old lawyer, crawls in from the hallway, completely naked except for white stockings. Once she arrives beside me, avoiding eye contact with me, Madison orders, "Slut, check to see if your Mammy's panties are wet."

"Yes, Mistress Madison," my normally stubborn daughter replies and moving behind me, roughly places her hands directly onto my juice-filled panties. Her touch is so firm that it squeezes out some of my juices so they leak down my leg. "She's fucking drenched, Mistress Madison."

"Of course she is, she's a Nigger slut just like you," Madison agrees with confidence. I wince at being called a Nigger again, but my vagina continues to respond to the epithet with tingles of pleasure.

"Of course, Mistress," my daughter agrees.

"Now come and show your still-in-denial Mother what a good slave does." Madison opens her legs and I watch transfixed as my daughter crawls between the coed's legs and buries her face into Madison's panty-covered vagina.

Watching my daughter submitting so completely has my vagina bubbling to the brim, and I'm jealous that she's being allowed the privilege of this white pussy.

Madison looks directly into my eyes and explains, interspersed with soft moans, "All you have to do to come, Nigger, is admit you're mine."

This last Nigger shot is the final straw. My hot vagina, my wet pussy, my burning cunt, speaks for me and my orgasm bursts. "Madison, I am yours, use me as your Nigger slave. Own me. Own Me. Own me. OWN ME!"

My dream orgasm flooded me into the waking world as I came hard all over my dryer, my scream shaking the walls. I humped and ground as best I could on the machine, not wanting this intense orgasm ever to subside. The orgasm spread through all my pores and lingered for several minutes. Once it subsided, I came to my senses and stood up, my younger daughter's dirty panties dropping out of my mouth. I opened my eyes and looked around, mortified at what I'd just done, what I'd just fantasized. I'd just experienced the most amazing orgasm of my life, humping my dryer while visualising about my elder daughter and me becoming sex slaves to Madison. I pulled myself together, removed my second pair of soaked panties today and, realizing I hadn't yet started the second load of laundry, tossed my symbol of sin and my daughter's last pair into the machine before starting it.

I'd just recovered my breath completely when I heard the front door open. I also realized my water for the spaghetti was probably boiling over by now and rushed upstairs. Although neither my son nor my daughter noticed anything different about me, I felt like my sin was on full display, that they could tell that I'd sinned in such a nasty way. It was an illogical thought, but it stayed in my head all evening and helped ensure I didn't succumb to the temptation again that night.

8. FUCKED UP FRIDAY

I woke up fresh, and was determined not to allow my weakness to overcome me again. I wore a black skirt with a blue blouse and, like every Friday, went bare-legged (it was my version of casual Friday). I successfully resisted the white stockings, determined now more than ever not to submit to anything that bitch might attempt to get me to do.

Friday's classes are always about current event pieces and how they relate to the course. Today as usual, students came to class bringing newspaper articles, internet postings, even tweets, and we discussed their significance. Not wanting to have to deal with Madison by accident, I was tardy again by a couple of minutes. When I looked up, I saw that she was in her usual spot (still in the front row), dressed in a flowery summer dress and beige pantyhose, much more conservatively than she'd dressed during the past month. Miko, on the other hand, was again wearing white stockings, this time with four-inch heels, and wearing a black leather skirt, a white almost see-through blouse, and a black choker. It was easily the most shocking thing someone like Miko could wear. Neither Emily nor Ashley, Madison's best friend, were in class, which was odd.

Twenty minutes into the class, Ashley arrived in jean shorts and a t-shirt, and apologized for being late before she sat down. The class was uneventful; even Madison wasn't stirring the pot like she usually did, and I began to think perhaps I'd made my statement. The class ended, and everyone dispersed as they usually do on a Friday, lightning quick.

Finally relaxing after a tense morning, I returned to my office and saw a line of three boys I didn't recognize waiting outside the door. As soon as they saw me, they scattered as if they'd been caught red-handed at something, which I thought very odd. I opened the door to my office, which was unlocked, which was also strange, and...

I was greeted with the most shocking thing yet! Emily was naked except for white stockings, tied by her arms and legs to my office chair and was being... there's no other term for it... face fucked by some really overweight student. He was gripping her skull and pounding his (fortunately tiny) organ into her mouth as rapidly as he could.

I boomed, "Excuse me, what the Hell is going on here?"

The chubby boy jumped, pulled up his pants, stammered, "I-I-I'm sorry," and rushed out.

I closed the door and looked down at poor Emily. Her face and chest were coated with what must have been several loads of ejaculate, and tears were streaming down her face. I untied her and pulled her in for a motherly hug, not even considering the sperm that would transfer to my clothing. I let her cry and just be held before I finally said, "Emily, this has officially gone way too far."

Through her sobs Emily blabbered, "I-I-I know, Dr. Jefferson. But... but... there's nothing I can do."

"We can call the cops," I suggested.

"On my own sister?" she gasped.

"Well, what kind of sister does this?" I countered, handing her a box of wipes from my desk so she could clean herself off.

"It was my own fault," she defended Madison, like a stereotypical abuse case.

"No my dear, it wasn't," I comforted her as gently and compassionately as I could. "Whatever rationale she gives you, she's making you into a victim."

"But I... I... I like it," she stammered, tears again rolling down her face.

"You do?" I gasped. "What could you possibly like about being abused like that?"

"I'm submissive, Professor. I'm a submissive. Which means that even though my mind hates me and throws society's morals in my face, my body weakens and gives in to powerful people. Being told what to do sexually, being tied up and being pushed into doing what I shouldn't or normally wouldn't do, is the only way I can get... can get..." she was explaining, but stopped in mid-sentence.

"The only way you can get what?" I asked, oblivious to her meaning, though it should have been obvious.

"Get off. It's the only way I can fucking get off!" she blurted out, frustrated, embarrassed and overwhelmed by her admission.

Having gotten off myself from a vision of such submissive, masochistic humiliation only yesterday evening, I understood her in a way I couldn't have a day earlier. I continued trying to comfort her, "Emily, it's okay; I can help you get through this."

"Ma'am, it's too late for me. My relationship with my sister, with my Mistress, is a love/hate one. I hate my sister with every fibre of my being. She's a selfish bitch; a sadistic diva; a ruthless Mistress. But, underneath all that, she knows exactly what I need. I'm so frustrated that I need to obey her, but I do."

She'd been using the wipes while we talked, and now that she was relatively clean, she stood up and began getting dressed. She explained, "But you're different from me. You're a professor. You're self-assured. You're proud. And you're a good person with strong morals. I've been trying to protect you, and I still want to. Once you succumb, there's no going back."

Her compliments both flattered and shamed me. If she only knew of the dreams I'd been having, or that I'd gotten myself off smelling and tasting her stained panties, or that I'd had the greatest orgasm of my life just yesterday while fantasizing about becoming her sister's slave. Just the thought of yesterday's vision had my vagina tingling again. I tried to ignore the temptation to touch myself, to stay focused on our conversation. "Thank you, Emily. I've always thought you too were a strong person."

Emily smiled for the first time. "Well... I used to be."

"What changed?" I asked.

"Madison's punishments can be pretty extreme, but even though they humiliate me they also excite me," Emily admitted, now fully dressed. She added, "Like for example, just now being forced to suck cock after cock in my favourite professor's office. You must have found at least six loads of cum on me, and I came at least four times while those guys were putting it there. As soon as I saw you, I wanted to fall through the floor, but until then I was actually enjoying myself. Not exactly enjoying myself, but I was enjoying the humiliation. Which is crazy! I'm a mess!"

"I'm so sorry, Emily. There must be something I can do for you."

"There is."

"What can I do for you, Emily?"

"Don't submit. Be strong. If you can resist her, maybe one day I can too," she said with a sigh so heavy I could tell she'd already resigned herself that her fate was sealed.

"I won't submit," I promised confidently.

Emily's smile returned slightly. "I've got to go. Madison will want the full details of our conversation."

"What will you say?" I asked.

"I'll lie and tell her that I offered myself to you like she wanted. That you threatened to expel me if I didn't leave immediately."

"Do you think that will work?" I asked, my undies getting damp at the thought of the adorable, vulnerable Emily pleasing me. I tried to push away the enticing thought of her beautiful pale face buried between my dark legs.

"I doubt it, but it's worth a try," she shrugged. She took both my hands in hers, looked sincerely into my eyes and said, "Good luck, Professor Jefferson. Be strong." She squeezed my hands and left.

Rattled and undeniably horny, I decided to go for a walk, hoping some fresh air might calm me down. Replaying my week, I realized Emily was right. I was strong. Yes, I'd succumbed to my lusty hidden desires on a couple of occasions, but it was always in the privacy of my office or my home. I'd resisted the orders of a clearly powerful girl who usually gets what she wants. Feeling precariously victorious and proud, I returned to my office, planning to finish assessing my final couple of essays.

When I returned though, all my pride vanished. On my desk was another pair of panties and an envelope. How does she keep getting into my locked office? I hurriedly closed my door, which had been locked when I arrived this time, and collapsed into my chair. These new panties were black, with a red bow on the front, distinguishing them markedly from the other three I already had. I avoided touching this new underwear while I picked up the envelope and noticed as usual it was addressed to Professor Jefferson. I tentatively opened it. Like the previous one, the letter inside was typed, although this time the tone was much different.

Professor Slut,

I thought it was made clear what was expected from you. You have disappointed your future Mistress and now have not one, not two, but three punishments scheduled for you once you finally do submit to me as my slave. If you don't want that number added to, you will follow these instructions like a good little pet.

1. You will come to school on Monday dressed entirely in white, the colour that you wish you were born, and the colour you have attempted to emulate for your entire pathetic life. If you have to go shopping, then do so. I expect a white bra for those cow tits you have, I expect white panties to cover that fat black ass and coochie of yours, I expect white stockings to hide as best they can those dark legs of yours, and I expect a white skirt and blouse or a white dress, to complete your racial makeover. Any deviations from these instructions will add to your punishments when you do succumb to me as your supreme White Mistress.

2. You will masturbate right now while sniffing your future Mistress' dirty panties. I came in them twice today. Soon you will be sniffing this same scent directly from the source. Once you have come like the nasty whore you are, you will leave your cum-filled panties in your desk, where one of my other slaves can retrieve them. (It's okay to lock your door, my slave will have a key.) If this task is not completed to my satisfaction, yet another punishment will be added to your tally when you eventually submit to me wholly as my personal black plaything.

3. Tonight and twice tomorrow, you will masturbate yourself to orgasm without using your fingers or toys. I expect a detailed written summary of how you accomplished this task to be ready by Sunday at lunchtime. If this command is not fulfilled, your White Goddess will add yet another punishment for when you bow at my feet like a good slave.

4. You will attend church on Sunday without wearing any underwear. If you disobey this simple expectation, another punishment will be added to you once you're on your black knees begging to smell my sweet white pussy. (Bring along your masturbation report.)

5. Lastly, you will go to Mac's Diner after church and find as secluded a booth as you can. A slave of mine will meet you there to check your cunt and to make sure you obeyed my commands. She will also explain to your stubborn dumbass nutshell of a brain the consequences of disobeying your White Mistress.

A reminder, since following instructions has been difficult for you, slave. Each disobedience will incur a harsh and humiliating punishment. You are already at three!!! You should know that no one has ever been able to refuse submitting to me, and I doubt very much if a stupid ass Nigger like you will become the first.

Now accept your role as a slut and submit...

Your White Mistress

P.S. Now get to fucking yourself, cunt!

Fury bubbled through me. How dare she make such ridiculous presumptions and demands of me? I read the letter a second and third time trying to find a passage that could be the proof I needed to prove once and for all that this was Madison. Yet as usual, she'd crafted her obnoxious demands in such a way as to make it clear to me it was she, but to conceal her identity from any third party: any accusations I might make to some authority would still be no more than my word against hers.

Furious, I threw the letter on my desk. I went to stand up, but I felt myself bound to my chair by imaginary restraints. My panties were so wet I could feel my juice leaking down my leg. My anger began to falter as my desire to come took over. Again, in a pattern that was becoming more consistent and alarming, I took Madison's stained panties in my hand and brought them to my nose. The aroma, much stronger than the previous scents I'd lustily, dementedly sniffed, was also the most intoxicating I'd smelt. It was heavenly, and it launched a powerful attack on my senses. I leaned back into my chair, pulled up my skirt and began rubbing my fevered vagina through my panties. I closed my eyes, remembering my submissive acts when I'd been married, and I rubbed my clit frantically while sucking on Madison's panties and attempting to retrieve any of her remaining juices.

I imagine Madison walking into my office, closing the door and speaking angrily, "What are you doing with my panties, Nigger?"

I remove her panties from my mouth and stammer, "I-I-I don't know."

Madison walks over to me, dressed entirely in black, grabs me by my hair and pushes me to the floor.

Fear overwhelms me and I stutter, "I-I-I'm sorry, Ms. Adams, I don't know what got into me."

She laughs harshly. "Fuck, you really are a stupid fucking Nigger. How the hell did you ever get a job as a professor? You were sucking my panties because you're a slave. A slave for white pussy. You want to be my personal Nigger dyke, don't you?"

With my pussy so dripping wet it's hard to deny it, but I try to remain strong. "No," I protest weakly.

Her harsh laugh echoes through my small office. "You're way too funny. You really believe you have some control in this situation, don't you?"

Her tone and self-confidence scare me, and my own pride and confidence fade into emptiness. I feebly defend myself, "Yes, Ms. Adams, I do. I'm your professor."

A hard slap rings across my face as she explains, "Shut up, Nigger. I'm the professor now. I'm your professor of discipline. And you're my student. You're my fat, stupid, black-ass Nigger student. Is that understood?"

My cheek burning in shame, I whimper, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" she demands, her hand poised in the air, ready to strike me again.

"Yes, Professor," I reply, hoping that's what she wants to hear.

Her hand falls to her side and she orders, "Now come for me, Professor Darkie. Come on all fours, like my good Nigger pet."

My vagina is so wet, so excited, I obey and right in front of my white student I began to rub my cunt like a horny slut. It takes less than a minute to feel my orgasm building, and less than another minute for me to let out a fierce scream as I come from her humiliating racist treatment.

...

My orgasm spread through me like a tidal wave of pleasure and, when the final soft waves flowed through me, I opened my eyes. I was in my office, Madison's panties were entirely in my mouth, and somehow I'd gotten down on all fours on the floor like a dog.

Ashamed, I spat out the panties and stood up. A small puddle of my cum was on the floor. Mortified, I used a wipe to clean it up and tried to regain my composure.

A chain of thoughts swirled through my head. What's happening to me? Why can't I resist a ridiculous order given by an uppity, privileged white girl? Why did I just come so hard from picturing myself being treated so poorly? Who am I becoming? And lastly, Can I resist the inevitable fall that Madison is predicting?

Mindlessly, I obeyed Madison's order and placed my wet panties in my left-hand drawer even as my mind raced, desperate to find a way out of this mess.

9. CREATIVE MASTURBATION

The drive home was hell, my mind constantly playing tricks on me. Everywhere I turned I thought I saw Madison. Anxiety riddled me as I tried to figure out a way to end this persecution from without and within once and for all. Between Madison's words and my naughty daydreams, I'd begun doing things I'd been critical of my entire life; succumbing to the ways bigoted men had tried to treat me for years. The thought of falling even further petrified me, and I knew I had to stop this once and for all... and yet that evening...

Around ten I was getting ready for bed, having ignored as best I could my memories from earlier in the day. I recalled that Madison's soiled panties were still in my briefcase. I went downstairs and fetched a plastic sealed bag to safeguard the moist state of the panties when I should have been throwing them away. When I pulled them out of the briefcase, the temptation became too strong and I tentatively took a quick sniff of the sweet sex juices absorbed in her cotton undies. Unfortunately for me, the lone sniff was all it took to derail my mind from proud black woman to horny, eager, submissive wannabe.