A Perfect Fall 2020: College Sub

Summary: White college girl succumbs to black therapist and...

Note: This is a story occurring around the same time as A PERFECT FALL: A SUBURBAN MOM, where Becky's mother Jessica Jamieson tells the story of her fall from being a bored wife, to becoming a submissive slut to black pussy and cock. This retelling is the story from Becky's point of view, focusing on how she too becomes a submissive slut to black pussy and cock, falling a week before her mother succumbs.

Note 2: Thanks to Tex Beethoven, and Robert for editing.

PROLOGUE:

You may have read my Mom's hot story as she transitioned from a boring sex life with her husband (Martin, my Dad), into becoming a submissive for black pussy and black cock. If so, you would also have read bits and pieces of my own story... although none of the hot parts.

What follows is my own story, and I think it's equally as hot as my mother's.

Oh! I almost forgot. In case you're wondering, I'm a tall (6 feet one), slender, raven-haired down to my shoulders girl... or woman I guess I should say, since I'm now 19 years old. My skin is a burnished olive just like my Mom's; we probably got that from some Italians somewhere back in our ancestry. I'm very athletic, which you'd be able to tell just from a glance (which unfortunately means I have tiny breasts, but great legs and butt), and I'm attending the same college where my Mom teaches English. I'm a freshman there on a volleyball scholarship, and volleyball is pretty much my life, or at least it was at the beginning of this story. Now my passions are sex and volleyball, as you'll see.

A PERFECT FALL 2020: COLLEGE SUBMISSIVE

I was thrilled to see that my Mom had a new friend, especially one who wasn't another college professor.

Mrs. Amy Watson was a breath of fresh air, as was her sexy husband. Although my sex life had been pretty bland... almost nonexistent... up until my life-altering transformation, I'd always found black men hot, and Mr. Watson was really hot. From the day they moved in next door, he became my new masturbation fantasy, especially after through my bedroom window, I spied him going for a swim in his backyard a couple days later.

Although I had already met Mrs. Watson a couple times at our house and found her charming, I hadn't really talked with her until I was coming home from volleyball practice a couple of weeks after they moved in, and she was taking groceries out of her SUV.

She was carrying in only some of her groceries, so I offered, "May I carry the rest of those for you, Mrs. Watson?"

"Sure, that would be great!" she agreed with a big smile, dressed as she had been both days she'd visited our house, very professionally and in pantyhose... something my mom always wore... but that I hated. The apparel was restrictive. I was an athlete, and I tended to dress very casually every chance I had in athletic gear... my hair usually in a ponytail.

"You're Becky, right?"

"That's me," I said, as I grabbed the last couple of bags from her SUV.

"And please call me Amy," she said, as I followed her into the house.

"You sure that's okay?" I asked. I had always found calling an adult by their first name a little weird, strange I suppose, since at 19 I was considered an adult too. But I called all really grownup adults Mr. or Mrs., except for Coach, whom I called, are you ready for this? Coach. It was just how I was brought up. Respect your elders, although I wasn't sure Amy was all that much older than me... still definitely in her mid-twenties.

"Yes," she said, as she opened the door, "I prefer it. Being called Mrs. Watson makes me feel old."

"Okay, Amy it is, Amy," I laughed, thinking she could be a lot of things (I'd only met her briefly a few days ago), but old wasn't one of them.

I followed her into her kitchen, and she asked, "How's your volleyball season going? You're the team captain, aren't you?"

"Yes I am, but it's no biggie. We only win some, lose lots," I joked, although it was the truth, and it drove me nuts. I hate losing.

"I sense you don't like to lose," she said as she slipped out of her heels.

"Who does?" I shrugged, trying to downplay my intense desire to win.

"Nobody," she agreed, as she put milk in the fridge. "But there are strategic ways to get more out of your performance."

"Like what?" I asked, recalling Mom telling me she was a psychologist, and that I had seen a few patients, all of them girls or women, going in and out of her house.

"Well, did your mother tell you what I do?" she asked.

"Psychology."

"That's true in general," she nodded, "but my focus is in helping women explore their true selves."

"Only women?" I asked, even though that's all I had seen coming and going so far... although I'd been witness only to a limited amount of data.

"Yes," she nodded. "I feel our livelihoods should reflect our passions, and men bore me."

"That I can understand," I laughed. Sure, I'd fucked a couple guys, but I'd found them exhausting and needy, and my own passion was focused on my athletics. I had also learned men especially didn't like losing to a girl, and I played to win in everything: active physical sports, but also Xbox and board games.

"Don't get me wrong. I love my husband, and he's not boring at all," she pointed out, "but when it comes to my job, I want to help people who want my help in helping themselves, and who are willing to do the work; and almost all men are too stubborn or afraid to really dig deep inside, to bring out their true inner selves."

"Interesting," I said.

"Yes, I find my work fascinating," she said, before adding, "there's nothing more fulfilling than helping a woman let go of her insecurities, of society's ridiculous expectations, and to become the woman she was born to be."

"That sounds amazing," I said.

"It is," she nodded.

"I'd love to chat some more with you, but I have a 4 o'clock session, and I need to prepare for it," she said.

"Okay," I said, adding, "yes, I should get going anyway. I promised my Mom I'd cook dinner tonight."

"If you're interested in coming next door for a session or two, just let me know," she offered.

"Oh, what you described sounds amazing; but I'm sure I can't afford anything like that," I demurred wistfully.

"Your mother Jessica is the only one of our neighbors who went out of her way to welcome Derek and me to the neighborhood. For her daughter who carries in my groceries so sweetly, I won't charge a dime."

"You sure?" I asked, a little intrigued to learn how she could affect my mentality and make me into a better volleyball player.

"Definitely," she affirmed, as she walked over to me and surprised me by giving me a tight hug. Breast to breast, not that I had much of any. I had height, yes. Muscles and fitness, yes. Curves, no.

The hug lasted only a few seconds, but it warmed me up completely. When she released me, I said, not wishing to commit, "I'll think about it."

"I have an opening tomorrow at 3:00," she said, her tone still polite yet carrying a sense of authority, "I'm writing you in."

"Okay," I said, feeling forbidden to refuse, and truthfully I didn't want to refuse.

"See you then," she said, and I headed out, feeling excited for tomorrow. Things got a little more intriguing when I'd traveled the few dozen steps to my own house, and I saw a car pull up in front of Amy's.

Curious, I paused on my porch to see who her patient was.

I gasped when I saw who got out of the car.

I actually did a doubletake!

It was not only someone I knew... it was one of my best friends... Jill... dressed in her cheerleader outfit plus oddly, nylons with lace tops in clear view a little way up her thigh.

She was turning from the sidewalk into Amy's walkway, when she spied me. Startled, she stopped in her tracks. Her cheeks went instantly red. With embarrassment? Why?

I waved. "Hey, Jill."

"Hey, Becky," she waved back, and then headed quickly to Amy's front door and punched the doorbell.

I went inside, and wondered why she was there. Jill was one of the most confident women I knew. I mean I was confident on the volleyball court, but Jill was outgoing socially. Comfortable and gregarious in any situation. Why would someone like her need a psychologist? I also wondered how she'd even learned about Amy and what she did.

I shrugged; it really was none of my business. Everyone had their own issues, and perhaps beneath Jill's pretty, bubbling personality were hidden issues she didn't feel comfortable sharing with her closest friends, but would share with a professional.

I went to the kitchen and made dinner, then ate it with Mom and Dad, before spending the evening working on a history paper due in a couple of days.

...

The next day flew by, I was almost late getting back for my appointment, and I hated being late. I rang Amy's doorbell exactly at 3:00.

She answered the door, and I apologized, "Sorry I'm late."

"Actually you're right on time," she smiled as she gestured me into her home.

"I like being a bit early for things," I said.

"That's a good trait," she nodded, dressed in a blue blazer and skirt, a white blouse, and black pantyhose. I don't know why it surprised me, but her toenails were painted bright red. Mine hadn't been painted since my high school prom many months ago. I, in embarrassing contrast, was wearing track pants and a t-shirt; I definitely felt underdressed. But in retrospect, Jill had arrived in her cheerleading outfit, and a couple of other ladies I'd seen going in or out had been dressed rather provocatively... each of them around my Mom's age.

"I think maybe I should have changed into something nicer," I apologized.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"It's just that you're always dressed so elegantly, and I should have gotten the hint," I explained.

"No worries; let's go to my office," she said, surprising me by taking my hand and leading me down a hallway. She was saying, "Thinking you should dress one way or another, especially when only two of us are present, is kowtowing to society's expectations, a practice I consider psychologically unhealthy. I believe what you wear should reflect who you are."

"Hence I must be an athlete," I joked, as we entered an office containing a couch, a chair, a desk and a couple of lamps. There were also various framed certificates hanging on a wall, and in the adjacent wall was a large window that must look out into her backyard and a pool too seldomly used by a very hot black man, except that right now her husband wasn't home, and the opaque curtains were fully drawn.

"Athlete is one of your personas," she nodded, as she gestured me to the couch, and sat down in the chair directly opposite me.

As I sat down she asked, "But is that all you are?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you simply an athlete? Nothing more?"

"No, I guess not."

"Good. What else are you?" she asked, as she crossed her legs and I noticed, ever so briefly, that like Jill had worn yesterday, her pantyhose actually weren't pantyhose... they were nylon stockings with elegant and sexy lace tops.

I pondered her question. It should be a rather easy one. 'What am I besides an athlete?' Yet as I searched for an answer, I actually found no answer; truth was, athletics did define me. I answered, "I have to say I don't know."

"What do you focus on besides sports?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course," she smiled.

"Nothing else, really."

"Boys?"

"Rarely,"

"Girls?"

"No, no, no," I laughed. Many people thought of female athletes as guaranteed lesbians... I'd been called a dyke, or a 'secret Jenny Allard', too many times to count.

"Not to worry, it is what it is: our starting point. Now I'm going to ask you some rather personal questions," she said.

"Okay," I said. I wasn't much of a sharing person but for some reason, I already felt comfortable in her authoritative but non-judgemental presence.

"When was the last time you had sex with someone?"

"Oh, so not very personal," I said jokingly.

"I need to know what barriers are holding you back from becoming your true self," she explained.

"Last summer."

"That's been a while," she said, before asking, "do you at least masturbate regularly?"

"How often is considered regularly?" I asked, wondering what she would think if she knew my last couple of play sessions with myself had included my fantasizing about her husband being unfaithful to her with a certain next door neighbour.

"Well, if I don't come at least daily, I'm not a pleasant person," she said, surprising me with her frank honesty.

"Then I guess I'm not often a pleasant person," I replied.

"Then you're being unkind to yourself. Sexual stress release is a principal key to any woman's happiness," she said.

"Stress release?" I asked, not having ever experienced sex with another person as any kind of release at all... it was never fulfilling, especially since I'd never come from sex, only with the vibrator I'd bought last summer while out of town in New York.

"Maybe I'm moving too fast," she said, "let's return to the original question."

"I don't remember what it was."

"What are you besides an athlete?"

"A daughter," I answered after some thought.

"Good. More?"

"A friend, a student, a teammate," I continued.

"Good," she said, "those are all critical roles in your life. Now... what brings you joy?"

"Besides playing sports and winning?" I asked.

"Yes."

I thought about this. I admitted, after a lengthy pondering, "Not much, I guess."

"Being an athlete is great; it's part of your core being," she said, "but if that's all you are, then how do you deal with the high amounts of stress you accumulate from being a competitive athlete?"

I had never thought of athletics as stressful, but once she mentioned it, I couldn't help but realize that's exactly what it was. Intense stress. Constantly. Maybe that was why I was always so high-strung.

"Shit," I said.

"What?"

"Oops! I'm sorry!"

"Please don't be; I want you always to express yourself around me as openly as possible. So what was that 'shit' about?"

"I never realized how stressful playing sports is."

"Stress can be good for us," she said; "strenuous exercise for instance stresses the body, resulting in improved musculature; but it's important to be aware of the impact it has on your body. The principle of hard exercise one day followed by gentle stretching the next, applies to our psyche as well; it's important to give our minds and emotions the opportunity to let loose and heal."

"My psyche?" I asked, thinking athletics were only about hard work and grit, and that the mind only entered the picture for tactics.

"Yes, the biggest impact of unrelenting stress is a withholding of the release of energy and, if I may be blunt, athletes and women in positions of power experience the most stress, primarily because they don't allow themselves enough time for what their mind and body needs the most," she continued.

"Sex?" I asked.

"Simply put? Yes," she nodded, "but in practice, it's more complicated than that."

"How so?"

"You need to learn to know yourself and what you need," she answered.

"Apparently I don't know myself at all," I laughed, a little awkwardly.

"You're still young," she said, "but I can help you discover who you are, and more specifically, what kind of sexual being you are."

"What kind of sexual being I am?"

"Yes," she nodded, "but our time is up, so that's for your next session."

"Really?" I asked, quite curious where she was going with this.

"First, we must get your dopamine thriving," she said.

"How?" I asked not sure what dopamine even was... I remembered the term from somewhere, but at the time I had no idea what it was.

"Do you know what releases dopamine?"

"Not really," I admitted.

"Orgasms."

"Oh."

"Orgasms make a woman feel good. Daily orgasms lower stress levels by releasing dopamine, which obviously is good for your overall well-being," she continued.

"Okay," I said, not sure what else to say.

"So, I have some homework for you," she said.

"This sounds like it may be more fun than most homework," I said, expecting her to tell me to masturbate to lots of orgasms. And it turned out I was pretty much right.

"I hope so," she said. "You need to have an orgasm tonight, and another one first thing when you wake up tomorrow."

"Wow! Okay," I said.

"Lastly, I want you to wear something a little more feminine tomorrow when you come to see me," she said.

"Like a dress?"

"Or a skirt," she said, before adding, "and some sort of hosiery."

"Like pantyhose?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"I'm not much of a fan of that," I said.

"Why not?"

"They're a pain to put on, they're kind of itchy, and annoying when I go to the bathroom."

"I have a solution to all three of those concerns."

"I'm listening," I said, intrigued.

"I don't love pantyhose either," she said, but added as she lifted her skirt to reveal her nylons, "these, on the other hand, are sexy, comfortable and convenient."

"Solves the bathroom problem," I joked.

She smiled and gave a little laugh, and added a little provocatively, "That, and other conveniences."

It took me a moment before the light bulb went on. "Oh, I see."

She got up and went to her desk. A moment later she handed me a package. "These will solve the itchy problem."

"How so?"

"Feel my nylons," she said, putting a foot on the couch right next to me.

"Really?"

"Yes, you'll feel they're pure silk," she said. "They're sexy, and they'll accentuate your legs in ways you won't understand until you try them on."

"Oh," was all I could muster as she took my timid hand and placed it firmly on her leg.

It was indeed super soft and silky. "See?" she asked.

"Very soft indeed," I agreed, unconsciously stroking my hand up and down, entranced by the sheer softness.

"These will change your life," she said, as I still didn't realize I was petting her leg.

"These are a lot nicer than the ones I've had to wear at weddings and funerals," I said.

She stepped away, returned to sitting in her chair and said, "You'll love nylons forever after you try those on. They should be a part of every woman's daily wardrobe... not just for special occasions."

"I guess," I said, still captivated by the sheer silk.

"There's no guessing," she insisted. "Fact."

"I'll try them," I agreed, actually curious to see what they felt like on my legs.

"Final question for today. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, I do," I replied sincerely, by now very impressed, and trusting her completely.

"Then you'll do as I say for at least the next few days," she said.

"Okay," I said hesitantly, a little surprised by her request.

"I know it's scary and unorthodox," she said, "but I have an excellent track record in helping women discover their inner selves."

"Okay, I will," I agreed, noticing her frequent reiterations of the inner self concept.

"So for the next few days, you will explore your body inside and out," she continued.

"That sounds rather like fun," I said.

"That too. But more importantly, it will completely change your life," she promised.

"Well I could use a break from my same-old, same-old routine," I said, standing up.

"I plan to shatter that routine completely," she said, standing up as well, and giving me a hug.

"Same time tomorrow?" I asked, already excited about digging deeper into this exploration.

She looked at her book calendar and said, "That's perfect."