Prejudice

Part One:

Professor Gregory Stimson noticed that every year there were a more Asians on campus, not only the foreign students, but the sons and daughters of recent immigrants. At one time there had been much fewer. They were good students, but drudges, automatons; all they did was study. They only lived to study and study more. Stimson imagined their little brown fingers diddling their privates in a feeble effort to release sexual tensions between their tests and term papers.

Anahita Nara was on her way to her favorite class, taught by a talented instructor, Professor Stimson. She liked him and smiled at him whenever she could, and sometimes he smiled back. That made her feel good inside. She was born in America and wanted to be just like the other students, even if it meant arguments with her traditional parents. They informed her very firmly that boyfriends were not permitted. Her job was to study. Then, after she graduated, they would arrange a suitable marriage for her. There was no room in her life for romance. They even directed her to major in Psychology, and this was America! Failure was a disgrace; it was unthinkable. Her parents would simply not accept failure. Students had no other lives but their books and schoolwork, the true road to success.

Professor Stimson did not recall how it began, but he now disliked Indians. They ate strange food, and most were vegetarians. They were standoffish and did not mix in well. Indo-British accents grated his ears, and the female version was even worse; it sounded like a hysterical whine. They even smelled funny. The Indians had picked up every bad aspect of their former masters, the British, and converted them into annoying vices. Their native land was a constant thorn in the side of the United States. Finally, relentless drudgery earned them the top grades, depriving real Americans their proper reward in the college.

Anahita Nara liked Professor Stimson because he epitomized what she liked about her country: the informality, the individuality, the freedom. Maybe she and her teacher could meet socially in a more informal setting. He would discover what a cute and charming girl she was and maybe even... Her heart fluttered with secret romantic yearnings. She wanted no arranged marriage; she wanted no marriage at all to another Indian. She wanted an American husband!

Gregory Stimson smiled evilly. He had caught an Indian student turning in a plagiarized paper. He would do her in! He would have her expelled from the college in disgrace and send her packing back to her little brown family so that they could punish her too. The little wog had thought that she was clever. She had paraphrased a classic paper on Indo-British relations, but she had made a big mistake. Every idea and its development were in the exact same order as the original paper. It had popped out at him as soon as he had read the little drudge's first two paragraphs. Too bad for her that he knew the original document almost by heart. He should; it had been at the core of his PhD dissertation.

Ms. Nara was an excellent student and seemed very bright; Stimson could not fathom why she had copied the paper. Her test scores had guaranteed her an A. Even a mediocre paper, balanced against her excellent class participation would not have changed that. Fair was fair; they often annoyed him, but he gave the Indians what they had earned in his courses. He would give her what she earned: expulsion! The rules of Chapawquaque College were very clear about that.

Professor Stimson walked into the recitation hall. The class, Modern World Political Systems, was due to begin, and he arranged his notes on his desk. It was a small room, and he enjoyed close proximity to the nineteen undergrads still in the course. That is, he enjoyed being near those that weren't Indians. Also there were a few cute coeds, young females at the age of ripe perfection. The little blonde with the big tits was his favorite. Now that the weather was warm, her flimsy, almost slutty, outfits gave him stimulating ideas for his idle hours.

Anahita had a shy smile on her face as she glanced at her teacher. He was so ruggedly handsome, so amusing, so charming, and so knowledgeable. She would love to know him better. She saw him smile at her and smiled back. Maybe he actually liked her! She needed to meet him sometime. She wished that she dared be as brazen as the blonde girl with big breasts, boldly displaying her body to the world.

Ms. Nara was seated in her usual place. A slight smile moved across his face as he anticipated holding her after class to arrange an appointment at his office. She smiled back at him, possibly thinking that he held nice thoughts about her. If she only knew, but she would know at the end of the day when her world came crashing down on her. A brightly colored scarf covered her hair and a small dot of color gleamed on her forehead. Her round face had a very light tan complexion. It would become pale later today when he sprang his little surprise on her. Maybe Ms. Nara could pass for a white woman then.

The last few students ambled in and dropped into their regular places. Ms. Nara was patiently seated with her notebook open, her text in the corner of her desk, and a pen poised and ready in her hand. As silence grew, Stimson stood and made the introductory remarks of a short lecture. When he finished talking, he opened the floor for discussion. Anahita participated well again. She seemed to understand every point he had made; too bad she had to go. The little blonde asked such an inane question that the class was in stitches, and even he had to smile. Her face flushed in embarrassment. She was a poly-sci major too. He would love to be her faculty advisor. He would straighten her out; she needed a big dick in her. Oddly, only Anahita did not laugh at the blonde's shame.

The recitation slowly wound down. Stimson's eyes flicked across Ms. Nara's pleasant, but all too brown, face at times. The shuffling of papers signaled that the students knew that time was up. Professor Stimson stood and rocked back and forth on his heels. He made a gesture with his hand, and the Indian girl moved toward him obediently, her books gathered against her full chest.

"I need to see you today, Ms. Nara, about something important," he said.

"I can see you after four; is that is all right?" she replied with a faint smile on her face. She probably though she was to be commended. He watched her as she followed the other students out the door. She modestly wore long skirts, but her clothing did not conceal completely the full, feminine hips, shapely legs, and round, full boobs. Anahita was both sexily well proportioned and sweetly innocent; it was too bad she was an Indian.

Anahita walked slowly to her next class. She supposed that she might be receiving a compliment about her paper at the upcoming private meeting. Maybe she could announce her intention to switch her major. She liked Professor Stimson so much and wanted to have him as her advisor. She was becoming tired of Psychology, but combining Political Science and Economics would be just right for her own future plans. Her parents would be annoyed, but this was America.

She had found just the right paper in the old bound journals in the library basement. The article contained the same ideas that she wanted to say about India and Great Britain, so she made a copy and used its format to phrase her own ideas. It said everything that she had already thought of; She just filled in her thoughts and verbiage over what was there already. It was a snap, and she was done in no time. The most work came when she put in her references and bibliography.

After lunch Anahita returned to her dorm room, showered, and changed into a new, fresh dress. She wanted to look her best for her appointment. She put on new underwear, a sexy set that she had bought and concealed from her mother. Her next class ended thirty minutes before her meeting with Professor Stimson, giving her time to stroll slowly to the Higgins Social Science Building.

Part Two:

By fifteen minutes after four she was a sobbing wreck. Her body quivered on a hard wooden chair in Professor Stimson's office. Tears streamed down her face. If his office had been up on the third floor she would have thrown herself out the window onto the pavement below, hoping for a quick end to her miserable life. His first words rang in her brain, "About this paper you plagiarized and handed in..." His face was not smiling when he said those words, slowly and with menace. Anahita had heard more unpleasant news after that, only barely comprehending it.

Anahita felt a roaring in her head and blackness overwhelmed her. Her muscles relaxed, without warning all at once, and she slid onto the office floor. Her life was ending, and she was dropping into an abyss. Sometime later she felt strong arms gather her up and place her in a comfortable place. Hands arranged her clothing to preserve her modesty, a cool glass of water was held to her hot lips, and she sipped delicately the refreshing liquid.

She opened her eyes. Anahita was looking directly into Professor Stimson's strong and handsome face. His blue eyes and light brown hair were so attractive. She felt tears forming again in her eyes. He reached over and wiped them away with a fresh tissue and placed it in her hand. It was hard to focus on his face, but Anahita believed that she perceived some sympathy and concern there. She tried to say something, but only some mumbled nonsense emerged from her lips.

"Don't talk now, Ms. Nara," he directed. He urged her to relax for a while. As he looked down on her, he recalled what he had seen as the young female student had slid to the floor of this office. Her nice dress had caught on the chair edge and slipped all the way up her body exposing her curvaceous bare legs, sexily flared hips, and narrow waist. She had a shape that men would die for, both firm and sensuous. She was wearing sexy, tiger-striped panties. They had pulled up tight against her vulva and exposed its shape. Her pale brown skin was so smooth and golden. Her hair had become disarrayed in her tumble. It was long, shiny, and emitted a pleasant, spicy aroma. When he picked her up, his hands had inadvertently touched the soft, round fullness of her breasts. The girl emitted a sexily scented aroma, but it was so subtle, as if she wore no perfume at all. Holding her in his arms was the most exciting thing he had done in years.

Anahita slowly gathered herself together. Her life was over, turned into nothingness by Professor Stimson's accusation. Her eyes told her that she was still in his Office and on his couch. The building was silent and the sounds of nature floated in on the Spring breeze. What had she been thinking when she had prepared the paper? Her innocent efforts had disgraced her forever! He was right; she had plagiarized the paper, unintentionally, but to the entire world it appeared to be deliberate. No one would ever believe her. Her father would curse her, and her mother would turn away in disgust when she arrived home. If she were lucky, they would send her as a servant to some wealthy relative's home.

Gregory gazed down at her, allowing his eyes to sweep the length of her without really seeing, only feeling, her femininity radiate from her sexy body. She was, no doubt, a virgin, completely untouched by male hands. He would be, if he dared, the first to touch and kiss her nakedness. His lips would be the first to suck on her breasts and kiss her private places.

Anahita's eyes focused on him, shyly noting his rugged good looks. He was not old, maybe in his thirties. Anahita had dreamed about him in a sexual way after her first class with him, filling in her romantic thoughts with images garnered from popular films. They would touch, kiss, and excite each other in these girlish fantasies, but that was all over now. She had angered and disgusted him.

"I am so sorry," she murmured. "I really did not mean to plagiarize, but no one will ever believe me. I am judged and doomed. I accept any punishment you impose; I also accept my disgrace, sir."

Greg said nothing, but stared at a bare leg, exposed to mid-thigh, which protruded from her disarrayed clothing. The leg ended in a slim ankle and a small, bare foot delicately housed in a sandal. A gold ring gleamed from one dainty toe. How, he thought, could anyone do evil to such a beauty? Still, Stimson was now undressing her with his eyes. He saw her shudder and glanced at her face. It was so pretty. He felt obsessed with her in a sexual way. He wondered how it would be to be naked with her and wanted to find out.

"Sir," she continued, "I am entirely in your hands now. You may do with me as you please. I beg you to help me. My future is entirely up to you."

Gregory continued to gaze on young Anahita. She was so distraught. She exuded some irresistible sexuality. He felt stirrings in his loins as he stared at her and recorded each nuance of her words in his mind. In spite of all ethical concerns, he lusted after her. He needed her; he needed her right then and there amongst the books and papers of his office. Gregory wanted to take her completely. His social life had been devoid of contact for the past three years as he churned out paper after paper to insure his tenure. The few women he had met soon became bored with his incessant pedantry and left him.

"I am dead to my family; I am nothing, sir. Do what you will. My life is ended, and I will pay any price for my misdeed. I am in your hands."

"Take off your clothes," he whispered. He could not resist her offer.

"Yes, sir." She slowly rose from his couch and began to undress. Anahita unbuttoned the top of her dress and pulled the entire garment up and over her head and draped it carefully on the back of a chair. Her movements made her breasts jiggle within her thin bra, also of the tiger-stripe pattern, and Gregory could see her nipples were pushing out the fabric. When she reached behind her and unhooked the bra, her round breasts sagged slightly in their fullness. Anahita slipped her fingers into her panties and slid them down her shapely legs, stepping out of them gracefully. She placed her pretty underwear neatly on top of her dress and stood before him in only her sandals. The young girl attempted to conceal her nakedness with her arms and hands.

"Drop you hands. I want to see you," Gregory ordered.

She was a sight. The voluptuous figures on Asian temples could have used her as a model. Anahita was all women, from her pretty face, to her ample breasts and wide hips, down her shapely legs to her delicate feet and toes. His penis hardened in the confines of his clothing. He stood up and saw her eyes notice his condition. A glimmer of fear passed over her face, but was replaced by resolution. Her world had crashed; she was nothing. He could do as he pleased. She had said it.

Greg took off his trousers, shirt, shoes, and socks. He stood before her with his briefs bulging with his erection. He motioned her closer and pressed her down to a kneeling position in front of him.

"Pull down my shorts." Anahita helped him step out of them.

"Suck my penis."

"I don't know how, sir," she lied. She had found her father's private porn collection two years ago. She gave herself some private screenings of his videos. Her father liked to see blonde women suck off big, black cocks after these monsters had been jammed deep into their twats. The blondes always had enormous breasts. It had been a very educational experience.

"Use your mouth, tongue and lips on my cock, but be careful with your teeth. Suck me... lick and kiss my dick. Do it until I come and then suck my semen from me and swallow it.

"Yes, sir," Anahita mumbled meekly. As she recalled from the videos, that was exactly how it was done. She began with slight tentative kisses and licks, but soon gave up any pretense of being unsophisticated. She understood exactly what deep throating involved, and, in this first practical experience, found that she was able to do it without gagging or choking. Hopefully, she would please him enough that he would reconsider and help her.

The girl was doing such a fine job that Gregory felt no need to force her head onto his hard prick. He watched in amazement as Anahita expertly fellated him. He began to wonder if the Kama Sutra was required reading for young ladies from India. He felt the first twinges of his climax in his balls and moaned. He saw her eyes glance up at him. Anahita began to bob her head up and down on his thick cock while she stroked it with her small hand. With a muffled groan, Gregory drove his hips forward to insure that the first load of his cum went into her mouth. Anahita wrapped her lips tightly around him. As his cock spasmed out each load of cum, she gulped it down and accepted all he could produce. She was actually sucking him and licking up his cum! She did not lose a drop. Pleasure enveloped him.

"Was that satisfactory, sir?"

"Uh... yes, Anahita, it was rather... uh... adequate," he lied. It had been the best blowjob that he had ever had. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, curious about her background. Was she really an innocent young girl?

"I found my father's video collection," Anahita admitted. She cast her eyes down in shame and whispered, "I watched each one from beginning to end." She did not dare confess how many times she had viewed them.

"Did you like what you saw?"

Her face flushed. "Yes, I did, sir," she confessed truthfully.

"I see. What did you do while you watched?"

She turned her hot face farther away in her shame and mumbled softly, "I touched myself, sir."

"Show me... Show me, Anahita, what you did."

Anahita sat on the couch and spread her legs. One hand grasped a breast and the other began to massage her pubic mons slowly. Her pace gradually quickened as she fingered and pinched her nipples and slid her fingers into the moist, pink crevice below her thick, dark fur.

"Have you ever had a man?" He needed to know that.

"No, sir," she gasped weakly, already caught up in her activity. Her busy, delicate fingers continued to stimulate her pussy and breasts.

Gregory was torn between two opposing inclinations: to touch her gently and lovingly, enjoying her virginal, but partly sophisticated, innocence, or to violate her in every way, callously raping and fucking her, using her body to satiate all of his libidinous, lustful urges. Gregory's lust joined his dislike of all that Anahita represented to him and overcame his natural good will.

Anahita began to whine almost inaudibly and her hands moved in a frenzy of frustration. Her head twisted about, and her partially open mouth gasped for air. She licked her lips and moaned. Her pelvis began to rock against her fingers. Little whimpers emerged from her, and her entire body shook with the tension of her effort. A sheen of sweat made her skin glow. The room filled with her sexy aroma. She seemed to be unable to reach her climax even with Gregory blatantly fondling his dick and balls before her wanton face.

Unable to resist this lewd sight any longer, Greg knelt before her and began to lick Amanita's pussy. Its exotic aroma stimulated him to make an enormous effort. Her hips undulated against him. He cupped her ass with his strong hands and pulled her pussy to his mouth. She froze with her fingers entwining his soft hair. Her face relaxed, she moaned, and finally her body relaxed and slumped back on the cushions. Lust had driven him beyond the bounds of decency.

Gregory did not know how many minutes passed, but he ended her respite and ordered her to get down on her hands and knees on his carpet. He knelt behind her and rubbed the head of his dick, once again hard, through her wet crevice. He placed the head of his hard cock at the vaginal opening.