Challenge 03 - Monica Unmasked

She wished some of her Members could have been here to see this. It seemed her tits weren't so shabby after all. These two guys were certainly enjoying looking at them. The adrenaline was rushing through her body now, preparing her for what she needed to do. What were the three causes of adrenaline? The need to fight, the preparation for flight and the desire to fuck. She knew Trent was watching on and that there was no danger. No need to run away and no necessity for her to fight. Her body was reacting to this scenario by preparing her for that third option. If these two guys made a move then how would she react? Was there a back store-room? Could they lock the door and go back there! Her heart beat even faster, the desire flowering into raw lust. She couldn't see the candies any more and just snatched one at random.

She put it on the counter and looked up into the eyes of the man waiting to serve her.

"Anything else we can do for you?"

She knew what she wanted to say. However, that was impossible.

The other customer spoke. "Loving that outfit girl. If you don't mind an old bastard like me saying so." The second sentance wasn't delivered with any hint of the deprecation suggested by its words.

She slowly turned so they could both see her from every angle. "No. I'm glad you like it." She smiled at him.

"Like that design too. You seeing that design Mike?" He spoke to the man behind the counter.

Mike made a non-committal noise. Did that mean he did or he didn't? Maybe it was harder to make out through the screen or maybe he didn't know what the QOS symbol meant. A Queen of Spades. A white girl who loved to fuck Black men.

She remembered something else her Members had said. Was she worthy to wear that symbol? Doubt crept into her soul. In truth she was fronting. Wearing this in front of these two men. Claiming to be something she was not.

But they could remedy that fact. She couldn't yet raise herself to suggest it but she wouldn't deny them if they made that move. She would welcome them.

The chime sounded again. "Honey have you got the milk. We're running late." That was Trent - posing as her man. The door swung closed again as he headed back to the vehicle.

The two men were still looking at her. There was no threat in their expressions but there was desire, there was hunger. The older man cast a rueful glance after the retreating form of Trent.

She paid her money and collected her goods.

"Hope to see you again," said Mike. His eyes were still on her cleavage.

The older man hesitated a moment and then reached in his pocket for paper and pen. He scribbled something and handed it over.

"You coming back here - especially on your own - you be sure to ring ahead. Me and Mike will make sure to be here and look after you."

She had a very good idea what 'look after' meant. She unconsciously bit her lower lip and mirrored his momentary hesitation before reaching forward to take the paper.

"I'll be certain to." She smiled and then walked out of the store, making sure to swing those hips as she went.

The door was just closing behind her when she heard the words.

"Damn she is -"

The door closed and shut the words out. What was she? Beautiful? Hot? A slut? A whore? She didn't know but she knew that they approved and she knew that she felt very good about that fact.

Trent had a shit-eating grin on his face when she got back into the vehicle. She raised her eyebrows to him and smiled. It was time to get home and they had arranged one extra stop first.

***

Tonisha was a beautiful woman. Dressed casually but stylishly, her coffee-colored skin flawless. Make-up and styling perfectly judged. She and Trent made quite the power couple.

The Black woman nodded. "I know what you're thinking girl. How come I let that husband of mine out at times like this." She brought her long graceful fingers up to the delicate golden chain around her neck. Dangling from it was a small key. "Well you know I take precautions on that."

That had to be the key to Trent's little cuckold cage.

"Trent is a fine man, an excellent provider and a caring father. As a husband he is all I could wish for but he does have two little interests. First is interracial which I share and which we enjoy participating in and encouraging. The second is, err ..." She wrinkled her nose a little at the thought.

"Feet," said Heather.

"Yes, err, feet," said Tonisha. "I'm not into that shit but I ain't losing a good man because of one little failing. At the end of the day I can find him others to satisfy that little desire of his. So long as they are white girls there is no danger of it getting too serious. Which is why I can trust you with this."

Tonisha eased the necklace up and over her head. She held it out to Heather. "You can judge if he's deserved to be unlocked. Since its your last little escapade together."

Heather took the necklace and put it on. She felt the small key hanging between her breasts.

"You earned that outfit yet?" Tonisha's question was stark and all the more so for chiming in with her on thoughts back at the store.

Heather didn't even consider lying or fronting. "Not yet," she admitted.

Tonisha gave a knowing smile. "Not for much longer I'll bet. Your next level is one where Harley likes to take a more hands-on approach with the best of his girls. I'm thinking you'll be qualifying from all I can see of you. Maybe a wee light in the..", she cupped her own considerable breasts, "but otherwise you're just what Harley likes." The African-American woman studied Heather intently and then nodded. "If you do unlock my man tonight then you best be setting a new standard you know. He may be a fine man but he don't get no pussy and he don't get no head and he most certainly don't get no ass. You got to use your hand then use one of them thick kitchen gloves. I'm guessing you'll know what to do if you really want to reward him though."

***

They had worked really well as a team and Trent had been a friendly and at times funny companion. She liked him - though obviously only as a friend. There was no question of him being anything more than that to her. He simply was not her type. However, she did want to thank him and so she did indeed use the key.

Trent carefully removed the cage from his previously imprisoned dick. It looked like a long-confined prisoner allowed out into the light. It was pink and weak, looking even smaller against his big frame. Fortunately George had a stock of gloves ready for use in cleaning. She donned a thick yellow glove and tried to coax Trent's dick into life. It worked and he really wasn't so small but that pink skin just left him looking so unimpressive, so feeble. There was none of the power and strength of George's cock. This was just a willie, a weener, a penis. However, Trent seemed to be enjoying her activities, even through that insulating glove.

When he was as hard as he was going to get she shifted her position and pushed her legs forward so that she could gently move her feet around his penis.

She had never done anything like this before. It felt distinctly odd and not at all sexy. However, that seemed to be her perspective only. Trent appeared to be in ecstasy, groaning and moaning and with a ludicrous grin on his face. She tried to move her feet across his penis so that she could try to stroke him off with them.

"UUUhhhhhhhhhhhhh," grunted Trent and cum shot out of his penis and over her feet and the floor.

Well how long had that taken? About twenty-five seconds. Well she wasn't going to argue. Frankly, it suited her. "You'd better get all this stuff cleaned up and then we'll get you safely locked back in your cage." She spoke sharply and harshly but Trent didn't seem to take offence. In fact his face flushed with pleasure as he dropped to lick his own cum off her feet.

"I got it all," said George as he still pointed his phone at them. He moved across to beside Heather. "Now girl you know what to do."

The lens of the camera looked impassively down at her as she began to undo his pants. Trent tickling her feet like that wasn't going to help but she was determined as ever to give her man George the best Blow-Job possible.

***

Heather Cameron sat in front of her lap-top. In a couple of minutes she was due for her next check-in with Professor Solon. How much could she tell him? He looked such an old-fashioned English gentleman in his tweeds and with the pipe that she saw sometimes on his bureau. You sort of worried about shocking him. Not that she had ever yet really managed to shock him. He just absorbed the details of her topic and of her discoveries about the TKB network and its sub-culture. Just the occasional nod and observation to prove that he was taking in all that she was telling him

Was she really going to tell him about her latest discovery though? Academics loved to establish hierarchies. Well there certainly seemed to be a hierarchy of sexuality at work. At the top was the Black man, of course, though Black women could sometimes assume primacy. Then, a little way behind, came white women and anyone of another background. Finally, right at the bottom and far, far, behind came the white boys. Lapped twice and on a pile of bricks in the pits. It seemed a little extreme but from her perspective once you accepted that hierarchy was always in play then everything suddenly just made sense in ways that you would never have believed.

The screen flashed into movement as the placer page was replaced by the live-link.

The avuncular face of Professor Solon appeared on the screen. He gave a longing look at his unlit pipe and then turned to her and smiled. "Ah! My dear Miss Cameron I see from your notes that you have indeed been a busy little bee!" The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled into a myriad of small wrinkles just before his spectacles inevitably slid down his nose. Why on earth didn't the man get some elastic or something to stop them doing that!

"What a truly fascinating perspective was provided by your interviews with T- and T-. Quite, quite, remarkable and illustrative of so much within this particular economic world. The workings of the network, er," he consulted his notes and his spectacles slid down his nose again, "TKB, seem rather more understandable when viewed from their perspective. Have you drawn any further preliminary conclusions?"

Well - here goes. She explained her theory of the sexual hierarchy that she saw in play. The Professor's only response was a gentle nod as he took notes. When she finished she awaited his response.

His first response was to push his spectacles back up his nose. Then he paused thoughtfully before finally speaking. "Not a world view of great comfort to myself." He chuckled to himself. "But certainly one of considerable sociological interest. I wonder if such organisations exist in my own country. I would doubt it but for the infinite diversity of the human imagination. Yet still the history and nature of the United States seems excellently suited for such a phenomenon. I see a strange but clear comparison with a wonderful paper I was reading recently on Georgian molly-houses. I think that you would find that fascinating. Also my own dear Grandfather did certain unpublished research on the socio-sexual aspects of some rather remarkable occult Far Eastern secret societies of the time which..."

He stopped, paused and smiled again. "Anyway - once you have read those you rather lose the ability to be surprised or shocked. Some of his experiences were certainly rather hair-raising." He paused again and tapped his pencil gently on his polished desk. "It seems to me that if you desire to conclude your researches then you have sufficient material to analyse and refine into a very decent paper. A proper interview with the fascinating Mr H- might be useful but even without that I think this is viable." Professor Solon looked intently into the monitor. "However, I believe that this could truly be a world-changing research project. That being said, it would be naive not to consider what further research would require and unconscionable to allow, let alone suggest, a student undertake it unless it was their own strong desire to do so."

She looked at his image on her screen. She had come to know excitement, desire and raw lust in the human features over the remarkable last few months. Professor Solon showed none of them - only curiosity. Was he curious about her reaction or about what she might discover? She had never met the Professor in person but she knew that she liked him. Perhaps because she shared that insatiable curiosity - that need to know.

She remembered what Tonisha had said about the prospective next level of the Challenge. Harley liked to take a 'hands on' attitude to his preferred contestants during that stage. She remembered again her night at Harley's place and hearing the sounds of sex through the walls. She had wanted to be where Allie was that night and as time passed she realized that she ever-more wanted to be there.

"I need to go on. I couldn't stop now."

Professor Solon's smile broadened. She hardly even noticed that his spectacles promptly slid down his nose.

***

For anyone wondering which song Monica uses for her show it is, 'With My Own Bare Hands' by Ween. Written by Michael Melchiondo and Aaron Freeman. I don't quote real lyrics out of regard for their copyright but give it a listen and you'll see why it was chosen. Especially the third verse. Just be aware that it is most certainly not safe for work.