Best of Both Worlds: A Surprise

Jasmine (not the real me, but I wish), deciding to finally give in to her black cock curiosity, slips out of her heels, and moves her sexy nylon-clad feet to his face.

Curious, she gets his pants off, and discovers his BBC.

She gives him a nylon-clad foot job...

...until he comes all over her nylon-clad legs.

Another playful fantasy of theirs is to catch me masturbating with a dildo in my classroom at lunchtime. The eighteen-year-old stud says, as Mrs. Walker looks devastated at getting caught, "Sweet little Mrs. Walker isn't so sweet after all. She's been a naughty girl, hasn't she?"

He then spanks me, before demanding I ride his cock... making me beg for it.

He then takes my asshole...

...before coming all over my ass.

He finishes by eating his own cum off my ass, plus the little bit leaking from it.

The more we talked, the more we learned about each other... including them learning all my fantasies, and my learning Babygirl's biggest ones. Such as:

Getting spit-roasted by a father and son duo, or two brothers (white of course).

She also imagined being triple teamed at a frat house, or being trained all night while her man watched.

Babygirl also gets turned on by being forced to suck the filthy dicks of homeless men in a back alley, and being a weekend sex slave for Cassandra, the girl she used to babysit, and her husband.

Besides submitting to me, her other biggest fantasy is being forced to service her clients and coworkers sexually at the massage parlor where she works.

Eating ass:

Eating pussy:

Getting fucked:

So, everything you've read so far has been a super long introduction, before getting to the actual story... hopefully you are still with me.

.....

I was quite concerned with how LaCresha, a popular black cheerleader at my high school, one I often fantasized submitting to, seemed to be bullying the sweet Eleanor.

When I called her on it, LaCresha accused me of being a racist, and she threatened to get her parents involved. Realizing this was getting out of hand quickly, I agreed to meet with her mother.

To my surprise, she arrived just as that same school day was ending. She was very pretty, and she actually looked too young to have a eighteen-year-old daughter.

She did not appear to be in a good mood.

"My daughter says you've been treating her unfairly," Mrs. Jones said, apparently having arrived with both barrels loaded.

Having dealt before with irrational parents who assume everything their child tells them is the gospel, I smiled and said calmly, offering her a seat like the students sit in, "Please take a seat, Mrs. Jones."

This soft tone often disarms an angry parent, and she did as I requested.

I then asked, still standing, finding that standing up puts me in a position of power, "What did your daughter tell you that I said?"

"She said you were bullying her because she's black," Mrs. Jones said, venom still in her tone. It was obvious she believed her daughter's version hook, line and sinker.

I kept my smile plastered on my face as I said, "I would never treat any student based on their race. I was simply concerned with how she was treating a fellow student."

"And let me guess: the other student was white," Mrs. Jones said, as I noticed a necklace around her neck that looked very familiar, yet I couldn't figure out why.

"She is white, but that is irrelevant," I said, the necklace really distracting me, as I tried to place where I'd seen it before.

"Irrelevant," she said.

Deciding to be a little aggressive, I said, as I sat on top of a desk and crossed my legs, "Look. I hate to be blunt, but your daughter has been bullying a few girls, all of whom just happen to be white. And that's her choice, not mine."

"Are y-y-you calling my daughter racist?" she stammered, as she looked at my legs.

I hadn't meant to say that to distract her, although it was something I would have done if a father had come... I had long ago learned that men are easy to manipulate.... But then the light bulb came on. I knew that necklace very well... it was in many of the pictures Daddydick had sent me of his wife. I had never seen her face, but I had seen the necklace, and of course her dark skin.

"No, I'm calling her a bully," I said, again standing up and walking over to her.

"How dare you?" she said, standing up as well

"Nice necklace," I said, wondering if it was possible for the woman I had been discussing filth with for months not only to live in the same city as I did, but even to have a daughter in my class. The odds against that seemed astronomical.

Yet I could tell there was a natural submissive hiding behind that Pitbull Mom persona.

"What?"

"It looks very familiar," I said, trying to convince myself she was definitely Babygirl. Her skin was the same color, the couple of pics of her lips I'd seen seemed the same... yet still how could I confirm without a doubt she was Babygirl? I certainly didn't want to risk my career on a hunch. But that necklace was unmistakable. "Actually, you look very familiar."

"I do?" she asked, surprised by my soft tone.

"In fact," I said, now supremely confident I was right. "You do, Babygirl."

Her eyes went wide.

"Y-y-you are?" she stammered, shocked at what I had just said.

"You know me as Jasmine," I smiled, as I moved my hand to her pussy.

"J-J-Jasmine?" she stammered... as shocked as I was that we were looking at each other face to face.

"The one and only," I smiled, a weight lifted off my shoulders finally to have a real person, and one with whom I shared a meeting of minds, knowing who I was.

"Jasmine the writer?" she asked, not pushing my hand away.

"Yes," I admitted, as I moved behind her. "And unless you've been making things up for all this time, that makes you my Babygirl pet."

"Jasmine, I..." she began, as I squeezed her ass cheeks.

"Go ahead and say it," I said, getting a massive rush at being in control of this hot woman. I then used a word I had never actually uttered from my lips in my life (although I had written it lots of times in stories with certain themes), knowing it was a word that made this particular woman weak to her knees, and turned her into a completely submissive slut, "Tell me you want to be my nigger slut."

"Oh, God," she quivered, as I moved my hand around her, back to her pussy.

"Say it, slut," I repeated softly but firmly, as my hot breath swept over her ear and neck, "Tell me you want to be my pet, my nigger slut."

"Oh God, Jasmine," she moaned. "I can't believe it's you."

"I can't believe it's you, either," I said, as I slowly rubbed her pussy. "But here we are."

"But how?" she asked, clearly trying to process this shocking revelation.

"The odds are so inconceivable, it can only be Fate," I answered, believing it.

"Oh, fuck," she moaned.

"Do you want to be my pet?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"My slut?"

"Yes."

"My nigger slut?" I questioned, the word so taboo, yet in this situation, with this specific woman, so hot. "That isn't a word I ordinarily use, but I think you want me to call you that."

"Yes please, Mistress Jasmine," she answered. "I want to be your nigger slut."

"Tonight?" I asked.

"Anytime you like," she moaned, as I kept rubbing her pussy.

"Can you rent a hotel room for two hours from now?" I asked, thinking I needed the time to fetch some sexy attire and buy a toy.

"We have a cabin half an hour out of town, if you want to meet me there," she answered. "It's completely private."

"Perfect," I said, as I rubbed her faster.

"Oh yes Mistress, rub my nigger cunt," she moaned.

I stopped... before she could come.

"Nigger sluts don't get to come before their white Mistress does, now do they?" I said, moving my hand away.

She dropped to her knees before me and begged, "Then may I service your white pussy, right here and now, Mistress?"

"I'd love that," I said, loving the idea of having her munch on my pussy right here, right now; but the janitor would be here any minute. "But we'll have to wait."

"Yes, Mistress," she nodded.

I went to my desk, wrote down my number, and handed it to her. "Text me the address, and I expect to see you dressed in something sexy, with white nylons, and to be on your knees when I arrive."

"Yes, Mistress," she nodded, still on her knees.

"And don't tell Daddy yet," I said. "He'll have to know of course, and I hope join in, just not yet."

"Okay," she nodded, looking a little nervous about that.

"Tonight I own your three holes," I said. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress," she nodded.

"Good girl," I said, pulling her up and slapping her ass. "Now go."

"Yes, Mistress," she said, completely forgetting she had arrived here to deal with a racist teacher.

She walked out, and seconds later she texted me an address.

I smiled as I packed up my things and headed home to change into some sexy lingerie, and then off to a store to buy a strap-on (something I had never owned, but had always wanted to).

Tonight was going to a life-changing night.