Prowling

Then night had been long, or at least it seemed so, and Vanessa hadn't slept very well. Plans, or what seemed like plans, for that evening kept her awake enough that she saw the clock at 2 AM, 3:30 AM, 4Am and finally she was up at 6 AM to get ready for work.

It was a Friday and would be a busy one, with end of the month work to be done. She knew that she might have to ride heard on the crowd today, since they'd likely be in a Friday mood. These thoughts were occupying her mind as she went about some 'getting ready' tasks automatically.

Then she looked at what she was doing, let out a stifled cry and set the small bag she was packing down, as though it were burning her fingers. She looked, paying attention now and saw in the bag, a pair of dark, smoky thigh high stockings, a black garter belt, a short mini level pleated skirt, a fresh pair of pink bikini panties, with lace at the waist and a matching bra, and a silk blouse.

"Oh, no!' she muttered, sitting and holding her head in her hand.

She wasn't all that shocked; she'd done this before, enough times, many times, who knew? But it disturbed her every time she caught her self doing it.

The bag, innocent as it might seem, was her indication that she intended to go, as she called it, 'prowling' after work. Her pattern with 'prowling' was to work late, take a shower at the office and then dress in her prowling clothes and go out for a drink.

This was innocent of itself, but Vanessa's intention was anything but innocent in her prowling adventures. She'd go out, seek out a bar, maybe one that she'd never think of going to otherwise, and kind of 'show the goods'. Then she'd let happen whatever was going to happen.

It came in waves, this urge to 'prowl'. There seemed to be times, in between her sessions of 'prowling' that were perfectly normal. It meant work and doing a very good job at work. Managing the needs of the large office and being on top of all that was happening. This was the daily thing for Vanessa but those other times came, not too often, she was glad of that, but they came nevertheless. They came, when she was in a certain mood, and wanted to go out and get around and let men look her over and . . .and----this was the hard part that she almost never wanted to admit to herself, it was the part that unsettled her so much, it was the part that already ruined her morning, when she discovered that she was packing a 'prowling' bag----and just do what they wanted with her.

It wasn't romantic at all. It was to satisfy this deep lust that rose up within Vanessa now and again. She hated the need as much as she loved it. She knew that she'd give in to it, she always did, when the mood was on her.

So, she'd do that after work, after long hours at work. She shower and dress in a sexy fashion and go out to be used by whatever white men that could twig to what she was about, this formidable looking but utterly submissive, lovely, stacked black woman.

Her day went fine. Her nervousness made her more exacting that usual, and people tiptoed around her for most of the day, never suspecting what the actual reason was for 'the boss lady' to be in such a huff all day long.

She was finally alone and took a little time to get herself ready, but not too much. The one thing that Vanessa didn't want at all was time to think about what she was about to do.

Showered, and dressed, and, she said to herself, 'lookin' fine'!, she was ready to go. She had a destination in mind. It was a place called 'David's Den', and was a distance away but that was fine. She'd run across references to it, a gentile yet mostly red neck kind of bar. What she was able to learn, she did research these things, was that it was good for prowling, but maybe not usually her type of prowling. She was headed there, in any event.

But she sat in the car, the old revulsion coming back, wondering what the hell she was doing there, with a small voice in the back of her head demanding that she leave and go home.

She answered the doubts and the quibbling by getting out of the car, and moving toward the entrance.

She was nervous, as she went in. It proved to be a normal place, but her entrance did cause a stir. She was one of the few lone women there and the only afto-American. She heard voices, whispering and knew that she might be in the right place. She'd made her decision about this. Her daily persona was set aside and Vanessa was here to simply be used. It's why she prowled in the first place.

She sat at the bar and a large man wearing a white tee shirt with a confederate flag on it, came up to her and smiled. The smile wasn't all that friendly. He apparently hadn't decided about her. But she was 'saved' any confrontation with the bartender by an older man, who slid onto the bar stool next to hers.

With a hand he waved the bartender away and spoke to Vanessa softly:

"Well, lovely lady," he said in a pleasant voice, "What are you doing here? Alone? And all dressed up."

Vanessa had a feeling of having gone back in time. She was in school and here she was, for whatever reason, in the office of the principal. That's what the man next to her brought to her mind. He had wavy whitish hair and a very nice smile.

"Just from work;" she said softly, "Thought that I'd, uh, just stop for a drink."

"Here?" he said with some surprise.

"Yes, sir," she said, the 'sir' slipping in before she was aware of what she was saying.

"Well," he went on, "You're a lovely treat; I'll say that."

"Thank you, sir," Vanessa said, averting her eyes.

"And so polite!" he went on "We don't often get lovely black ladies like yourself in here."

She looked around then, as though it just then struck her. He put his hand over hers and said:

"Now, girl, don't you let that bother you; you're here with me and nothing's going to happen."

The word 'girl' shot through Vanessa's senses. She was captured by it and realized that for her it began the process, the very process that her prowling was devoted to.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

"Why don't you join me at my table over here?" he suggested, taking her arm, as he got up, and giving Vanessa no room or time to say 'no'. He smiled as she got up obediently and went with him.

When they were seated, he asked her what her name was. It was almost as though it were another's voice saying to him: "Nessa, is my name, short, uh, for Vanessa."

For Vanessa it was another step that followed the first ones made: the bag packed this morning, the journey to the bar, the decision in the parking lot to go into the bar, being called 'girl' and now introducing herself by using 'Nessa', the name she called herself for her sexual adventures. She could see the progression and at that moment didn't seem to want to do anything to stop it.

"Well, Nessa, pretty lady," he said with a smile, "What'll you have to drink?"

"Uh, white wine for me, sir," she said politely.

"White wine it'll be," he said, "Just a little wind down from work?"

"Yes, sir, uh, that's what it is," she admitted.

"You wait here, honey," he said going to the bar.

At the bar the bartender said: "Dave, how is she?"

"Hot and polite," the older man said. Then he added:

"Call the others, and get yourself free; I think we've got a live one tonight."

The bartender smiled and Dave said to him: "And a white wine for our Nessa and a beer for me."

"Got it!" the bartender said, and got the drinks ready, after which he went off to make the phone calls that Dave wanted made.

Vanessa was extremely nervous by the time that Dave came back to the table. She realized that she wasn't fully committed to this yet and still had time to get away and not have what she was sure would be some kind of terribly humiliating evening. Her struggle was, at that point, going back and forth. She had to admit to herself that she liked the potential of this 'almost like a high school principal' man. But there was always that time that period before she was totally committed and under someone's influence, when the opportunity still existed to leave with her dignity.

There was, however, always that little voice, the inner voice that would whisper to her: "But, Nessa, honey, you don't want to leave with your dignity, do you."

"No," she answered, whispering the word to herself miserably but in truth.

"No what?" Dave's voice echoed from above her and she started.

"Oh, just a kind of inner dialogue that I have with myself at times," she said, trying to hedge and not go into it further.

He sat down and gave her the drink. She looked up at him, a bit flustered that he'd heard the tail end of her monologue. He sat the drink down and said:

"Here, pretty Nessa," he gave her a big smile and continued: "And no Rohypnol!"

She smiled at him, when he said that, and he patted her hand and said:

"We don't need such things, now do we, Nessa?"

"No, sir, we don't!" she said.

He smiled then but let the topic drop but it certainly pushed Vanessa a little in the direction of allowing Nessa to take over. She knew that she was moving in that direction.

He patted her hand and said: "Truth now, Nessa, why are you so nervous? Is it this place?"

She spoke up then, caught in his demand for 'truth'; she knew that she was going to tell him about some of her ambivalence. She tried to be careful:

"You just seem to me, strike me as a real kind of authority." She laughed a little almost only to herself and went on: "It's like being in the prinicpal's office at High School."

Dave joined in the laugh and said: "Not far wrong, pretty Nessa, I am a school administrator." He paused then and said to her:

"Drink up, honey; no date rape stuff in your drink."

She smiled at this second mention of that possibility. But she did take up the glass of wine and drink more than half of it.

"Need to be careful," she said, "Not much to eat today; don't want to get funny."

"You go a head and get funny, child," he said, the patronizing attitude not lost on her at all, "Dave will take good care of you."

"Thank you, sir," she said, drinking more of her wine.

"I know what it is that's affecting you, pretty Nessa," he said then.

"Sir?" she said politely.

"It's this place; I mean you're such a lovely black--er--afro american woman and all . . ."

His voice trailed off then in mid sentence; he wanted to see how she'd take what he said.

"I don't 'mind, black, sir!" she said, finishing her wine.

"Of course you don't, " he said with a smile. "You are lovely and you are black, right Nessa?" he said, his eyes staring at her.

"Yes, sir, I'm black," she said, giving in just a little more to him in the process.

"So, here's what we'll do, my lovely, lovely black woman, one more for the road and then we'll go to my place. This place is making you nervous, all these white men and all."

"Yes," she mumbled, "All these white men and all."

He grinned at her and patted her hand. "I'll just get you another glass of this, and .."

"No date rape drugs!" she said for him this time, and they shared a kind of a laugh.

When he got to the bar, the bartender just raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Hot polite, and easy!" is what Dave said.

"The other four will be there, and I'm leaving now," the bartender said. "Thanks for this, Dave."

"Oh, Nessa's going to be a treat for us tonight. It's what's for dinner!" Dave finished with a flourish.

The bartender raised an inquiring eyebrow again and Dave, with a little laugh, said:

"Nigger meat!"

They both chuckled and Dave went back to the table with the drinks. They chatted a bit at the table, with Dave drawing Nessa in bit by bit. She drank this second wine a bit more quickly than the last one and, when she was done with it, said:

"Ladies' room."

But Dave had decided to push one more button before they left. He realized that slowly, through their conversation, he was certainly gaining power over this lovely but impressionable, and, he suspected, submissive black woman.

"Ask permission, Nessa!" he said, "Remember, I'm the principal."

She sought for a smile but it wouldn't come at all. The new demand was pushing her buttons once more. It kept happening, the mentioning of the date rape drug, and not needing it, and now, just before they were to leave for his place, he wanted her to ask permission to go to the ladies'.

"Truth now, Nessa," he said, "Remember that I'm your protector here."

"Yes, sir," she said and in a tiny voice, one that those who worked where she was in charge would never have recognized, she said:

"Please, sir, I have to pee, can I go to the ladies?"

He smiled his charming smile then and patted her hand, and said: "Now, Nessa, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No, sir," she admitted timidly, "But may I please?"

He just smiled at her and, breaking momentarily the bond which he'd been establishing over her, she said abruptly:

"I have to go!"

He got an angry look on his face, and said in a soft, very hard voice:

"Nessa, no one is going anywhere with that kind of attitude."

She was repentant immediately:

"I'm so sorry," she moaned, and tears actually formed in the corner of her eyes. "I don't want to disgrace myself!"

"You mean, pretty Nessa, that you don't want to pee your pretty panties?" he said softly.

She knew what he wanted then: "No, sir, I don't want to pee my pretty panties."

"Well, then you'd better go to the ladies, otherwise, we'll have to stop on the way to my place and let pretty Nessa kneel in the grass with her panties pulled down to pee, won't we?"

"Yes, sir," she said, "We'd need to do that." She reached for his hand then and kissed the back of his hand, it pleased him.

"May I please go to the ladies and pee?" she asked humbly.

"Yes, love," he said, and she went.

She made a decision on the way to the bathroom. She'd seek a side entrance, if there was one, and she was leaving. She hadn't gotten all the way into this humiliating scene but she was sinking and often enough, she'd be able to extract herself, if she acted in time. He final decision was made, as she sat on the toilet. She'd go home, maybe play with herself, maybe the vibrator but cut off this growing humiliation.

She had no idea how he knew, or how he did it. She left by the side entrance and he was standing, patiently waiting for her at her car but his face was like thunder. Without a further thought, Nessa simply took over for the rational, in charge Vanessa.

Her reaction, the submitting of herself totally to Nessa, was to go to him and simply sink to her knees in the dirt. She knew right then, and he knew also that the evening was his, and she was going to do what she was told and have another glorious, hellishly humiliating night, those nights that she sought out like candy, and that she loathed with all of her being.

He just looked at her, kneeling there but she was going to go all the way with her apology. She kissed the back of his hand, and turned it over and kissed the palm of his hand too. Then she spoke and the strangeness of what she said pleased him totally:

"Massa Dave," she began, and he broke into a gigantic smile, "Dis nigger gal don't have the sense she was born wid; no she don't. You go and let her go to that bathroom so's she don't get to piss herself and humiliate herself and she walk out dat side door! Got no sense at all, and asks for forgiveness; please, Massa Dave, please I'se sorry, and ain't goan ta do no sech silly assed thing again this long dark night. Ain't goan ta! Jes ain't!"

He grabbed for a hank of her hair and spoke down to her.

"It's alright, girl! You just behave yourself from now on and do what you're told and we're fine, right as rain."

"Yasuh!" she said with the slow wideness of the talk of her childhood spilling out of her, as though it were normal. "Right as rain!" she concluded.

He held out his hands at that point for the keys. "I'll drive;" he said, "Your car."

She surrendered the keys immediately. He got in the driver's side and she slid into the passenger seat. She instinctively pulled her short pleated skirt down, since it had ridden up showing the tops of her stockings and a bit of her garter belt.

"Stop that!" he yelled at her, and Nessa cowered against the door on her side of the car.

"Pull it back up to where it was," he said. Then, in exasperation: "Why are you being such a problem, girl? Do I have to take you in hand?"

The effect of the threat was immediate:

"No, suh," she drawled, her eyes wide, "I'se goan ta stop doin' those damn crazy things, Massa; you see."

"Good," he said. "But before we go to my place for a lovely evening, I want to know why you were in Dave's Den tonight in the first place. And no damn lies about it. You tell me straight out, girl!"

"I'se goan to, Massa!" she said.

"Then do," he said to her, staring at her intensely.

"Sometimes," she said, reverting, in her explanation, to her normal language, which caused him to smile. "I go out late in the week, like tonight, when I don't have to work tomorrow."

"And?" he prompted her.

"I call it, uh, 'prowling'," she said quietly.

"Hmm, prowling, eh?" he said, grinning now. "And the purpose of this prowling is?"

"Truth?" she asked him softly.

"Better be, or trouble, girl!" he replied softly.

She hesitated at that point, and he became impatient:

"Shall I slap you, girl?" he threatened.

"Noooo," she wailed, "It's hard for me to say." She took a deep breath and went on:

"I fantasize about being a slave to . . ." she hesitated again and he did slap her across the face.

"Missy, this evening is going to be a very painful one, unless you stop fucking around with me and become straight right away!" he raged at her.

"Thank you, Massa," she said, humiliated and again ready to sink herself into the fantasy. "I goes in search of dat white cock that I loves so much! I'se goan to be its slave this night, I bet, and dis nigger gal is goan to love dat, sure is!"

It made him laugh and he said: "Yes, girl, I bet you are going to love this night."

They were relatively quiet, as the drove toward his house. He lived on the outskirts of town, and down a lane. As they arrived, he turned to Nessa and said:

"You're going to do what you're told, Nessa."

It was a statement and not a request.

"Sure am, sir," she said.

Vanessa knew that she was in for an evening; but it's really what her prowling was all about. When they parked in his driveway, he went around and took her by the arm, leading her to the house. Inside the doorway, still holding her by the arm,he said to her:

"Stand here and I'll put the lights on."

When he put the lights on, Vanessa let out a small squeal. There were five older men standing around and staring at her. All were dressed alike. They all had white tee shirts on with a confederate flag emblazoned on the front, and none of them was wearing any other clothing. Vanessa was confronted with a room full of older white men with stiff cocks.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh!" she sighed. She'd seen this kind of scene on the net so many times, had masturbated to it, fantasized about it, thought about it, let her dirty dreams revolve around it, loved it, hated it and here it was for her.

Then Dave was back, now 'dressed' like all the others.

A voice broke the silence, as Dave approached Vanessa, who was frozen in one spot:

"Dave brought us a monkey to play with!"

Vanessa's breath caught in her throat at the use of the derogatory name that he used.

Another voice from the semi-naked men softly said:

"Niiiiiiiggggggggerrrrrrrrr!"

"Nessa," Dave barked at her, to get her out of her reverie,"Kneel, girl, and greet my friends."

"Yasuh, Massa Dave!" she said, going to her knees, and the men cackled.

"Tell they who you are, Nessa!' he ordered her next