tagInterracial LoveSlave to a White Bitch

Slave to a White Bitch

bysilkstockingslover©

Summary: Proud black woman is dominated by younger racist employee.

Note 1: This is dedicated to the real Shauna who this happened to... although I have tamed it down... believe it or not! It is also dedicated to the real Ms. Shelly.

Note 2: WARNING

This story is a story about racial domination. If this offends you please stop reading. Also note, this is a lesbian story, but because of the intensity of the race relations I choose interracial over lesbian.

This story includes very generous use of the 'N' word, used disparagingly. If this offends you please stop reading.

This story is a tale of a proud black woman's fall into the world of submission to a younger, pretentious, pretty, bigoted white girl. If this offends you please stop reading.

The majority of my race stories are about a dominant black girl/woman seducing a white girl/woman, but for the second or third time I am writing a story the other way around. Like my lengthy 'Deconstructing the Professor', this story was requested by a black woman who gets turned on by being dominated by a white woman (just like my own fantasy is to be dominated by a black girl/woman) and thus uses racial terms that are historical and politically incorrect. Again, if this offends you please stop reading.

On the other hand, if you are turned on by race.... Please enjoy.

Thanks to Tex Beethoven, Robert, Scott, and Wayne for editing.

*

I was working my ass off to get my law degree... but since I didn't come from a privileged white family like most of my classmates, and my scholarship helped, but wasn't a full ride, I had to work part time. Usually weekends with the odd daytime shift.

Although I had only worked for the chain for a few months, I was promoted to shift manager of a restaurant because of my hard work ethic, loyalty and skill at schmoozing... sorry, being diplomatic with... the patrons.

So I was new to this location, but had experience at two other ones, and I was in training for upper management. I'll avoid telling you the name of the chain (although it was one that had mostly white upper middle class appeal, so most of the employees and managers tended to be white).

So I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the senior manager who would be training me was also black. I'm not racist, okay yes I am, but I'd much rather work under a black person than a white... for many reasons.

Janette and I got along great; she was a strong black woman who didn't take crap from anyone, especially her prima donna white teen employees, and showed me how to work with the largely white, entitled teenage staff. She stressed over and over again that in order to be a good boss you had to work twice as hard as any of your staff... and that wasn't a race thing; that was good policy no matter who you were. And she wasn't just spouting off. It took roughly two and a half hours of my seeing her in action to earn my total respect!

Early on Janette quietly described most of our staff to me as 'little Princesses' who resisted hard work, which made me laugh, although it turned out to be very true. The first month I seemed to spend a lot of my time trying to get these girls to do their jobs, be polite to our patrons and clean up their work areas properly.

And although none of the teens disrespected me in any real way, it was obvious this was not a job they really cared about and likely didn't need the money... and saw me as nothing more than a bossy old bitch... even though I was only four to six years older than they were.

During training, which I took in the summer while I was not in school, I had worked Monday to Friday and thus had the better employees to work with for the most part (some of them having worked there for years and having respect for the company because the company treated their proven employees well).

As school started in the fall, I moved to the weekend shifts and rubbed shoulders with the least motivated employees we had. It was a lot more work, a lot more babysitting and a far higher percentage of pretentious teens who had never needed to work for a thing... which really pissed me off as I had worked solidly since I was ten to make money for my family or for my future.

It was during this time that my life began to change... because it was when I met Shelly... the most diva-like princess of all the employees. She was your stereotypical blue eyed, blonde haired, pretty, haughty bitch. She had a tight ass and firm high boobs that only someone young can have. She was just eighteen and her daddy was making her get a job to learn what it meant to work... although I'm not sure she ever would learn that nose-to-the-grindstone ethic.

At first she also fit the dumb blonde stereotype, seeming to be a complete airhead, yet I quickly learned she only played dumb around the boys to trick them into doing most of her work.

It was pretty clear after just a couple of shifts that not only was she entitled, she was racist and thought she was better than me. This, of course, had me in a secret rage, as I'd grown up in the South where I was treated that way a lot... and I was the first woman in my family who hadn't ended up being a maid... I was the first one to graduate high school... the first one (obviously) to go to college... and one day soon I would be the first lawyer to pass the bar. Just imagine -- that uppity black bitch calling herself Esquire! LOL! I could hardly wait!

Now I had been treated a lot worse back home: I had been called every racist taunt you can think of, and many that would never occur to you unless you really put your heart into it; I had been bullied and beat up... so glares and snotty comments under her breath weren't going to faze me.

Yet we butted heads over pretty much every direction I gave her, as she always smirked and scoffed at my 'so-called' experience.

I likely made things worse as I was a very aggressive woman at the time. I felt that in a white world, I needed to be strong and no nonsense... so I was firm and fair... yet unrelenting. I chose my battles, but once engaged I didn't back down.

That said, I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy making whites do my bidding for me. It was a nice role reversal to be the one in charge. Yes I had attitude, but I had earned it in the school of hard knocks.

At the time I even had a white boyfriend... well more of a white hanger-on I used for sex. He was obsessed with my big tits and even bigger ass and was at my beck and call whenever I needed my cunt munched or a quick fuck.

I was finally getting ahead in this racist world...before it suddenly began to crumble around me.

Shelly's disrespect escalated quickly one afternoon when I saw her in the back room eating, while one of the black boys who worked there (there were only two) was massaging her pantyhose clad feet (every girl had to wear a plaid skirt, white blouse and mocha pantyhose to work). She was arranging the universe for her own comfort instead of cleaning the floor like she was supposed to.

Was the company sexist?

Yes.

Did that help with sales?

Yes.

As a manager I too had a uniform although it was a little less slutty than the staff's. It was a black blouse, black skirt (longer than the employees') and black pantyhose.

Anyway, I blew up at her. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Eating," she replied laconically, snapping her fingers at Jerome who was actually supposed to be on break and had quit massaging her feet... briefly, before she snapped him back to it.

"You know what I mean," I roared, furious and more than a little over the top.

"Mike is doing the floors for me," she explained, as if I should have been smart enough to know that but obviously wasn't.

"Mike is supposed to be on the till," I informed her, before adding, "Jerome, please leave Shelly and me alone for a couple of minutes."

Shelly asked me, as Jerome obeyed, scurrying out of there, "Does that mean you're going to massage my feet now?"

"Excuse me?" I questioned, stunned by her pretentiousness.

"Do I need to speak more slowly? Use shorter words?" she asked, with such a smirk that I instantly wanted to slap her smug face. Before I could respond, she added the one word no white person, especially an entitled bitch like her, should ever utter, "Nigger?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Completely stunned she had used the 'N' word. It hadn't been loud enough for anyone else to hear, especially over the noise from the kitchen, but she had definitely said it, and definitely had intended me to hear it.

I sputtered, even as she looked at me smugly, lifting her foot up towards me, "I-I-I'm going to write you up!" I then stormed out before I could say anything else that could get me in trouble. Another principle Janette had schooled me in was never to speak when you're too angry to think straight. Teeth clenched, I was outta there!

Usually I would rip her a new one right then and there... yet thanks to Janette's wisdom, I didn't.

All night I replayed the conversation, wondering why I didn't do something right then and there. Why I had allowed her to think she'd won. Frustrated, I called my white boy toy and had him eat my cunt... then sent him home without sex... yeah, I could be a bitch too.

That was Saturday night.

On Sunday afternoon, as Janette came in to do weekly inventory, I told her what happened... still fuming a full day later.

I wanted her fired, but Janette calmed me down, saying that there will always be the odd employee or customer who had racist parents and hadn't yet grown up... it was our job to help teach tolerance. I sighed; I'd been teaching tolerance my whole life, or turning the other cheek, and yet society didn't seem any less racist... it was just hidden better... I suppose.

I agreed that was true, but we couldn't be having that kind of disrespect and language in our building.

Janette promised she would deal with Shelly before my next Friday shift in two weeks. (The following weekend I was attending a course the company was having me take... ironically, anger management.) Then she began teaching me the last task of a manager: inventory.

Because I respected Janette so much, because she was such a role model for me as a black woman who had overcome poverty and racism to have a successful career, I let it go... mostly. There weren't any challenges I was facing now that she hadn't already overcome. Like I said, she was a class act.

That said, I was a little surprised she didn't seem as angry as I was, but figured she would bring this little princess into line... and perhaps she had developed some tools from experience in dealing with such behaviour in the past. Plus, I needed to be able to control my anger in such scenarios. Maybe the upcoming course would give me some pointers.

The next Sunday night, I was driving home from the course I was taking a couple hours away and decided to stop in the restaurant a couple of minutes after closing to offer to help Janette with inventory and share with her a couple of exciting ideas I had learned. I also thought I'd show my eagerness and friendship to her and get brownie points for enthusiasm.

I used my key to get into the locked building, and due to the noise of the large walk in refrigerators in the back, nobody heard me.

As I got close to the office, I heard voices. One of them was Shelly. I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I assumed Janette was either reading Shelly the riot act or firing her.

So I stopped and listened.

"Your new girl isn't getting the picture," Shelly said to her boss, "but she is like you."

I didn't understand this. Was Shelly talking about me?

Before I had time to consider the answers to my own questions, my shock and confusion doubled as I barely heard Janette's muffled voice, "Sorry, Ms. Shelly."

I couldn't fathom why she would be apologizing or calling this over-entitled white prima donna 'Ms. Shelly'.

Yet, wanting to see Shelly justly punished, I walked around the corner and to the partly open door... where I was totally stunned.

My mind went blank.

And although what I was suddenly witnessing was obvious, I was too stunned to recognize or understand what I was seeing at first.

In truth, it wasn't until I replayed the entire set of surreal events at home later that night that I clearly understood the role reversal that I was witnessing.

Shelly was sitting on top of Janette's desk comfortably, her nylon-clad feet dangling over the desk with her usual superior smirk as she gazed down at my boss and hers... Janette.

Adding shock compounded on shock, Janette was on her knees, topless, and also bottomless except for her black pantyhose, sucking on the teen's toes through her nylons.

Janette had her back to me, so she had no idea I was watching, but Shelly looked up and saw me. For a brief moment she looked worried, but only for a nanosecond, before her smirk returned when I didn't move or say anything.

Ever since that night I've sometimes wondered how things might have turned out for me and perhaps even for Janette if at that moment I would have said something, done something, asserted myself.

Yet, I remained paralyzed in shock and confusion, unable to tear my eyes away from this act of dominance... as if I were watching a car accident and knew I should look away... yet couldn't no matter how hard I tried.

Shelly then smiled at me as she switched from one foot to another, and placed her pink painted toenails in our boss's mouth. I watched as Janette wordlessly obeyed as she licked and sucked on the teen's nylon-covered toes. Shelly then ordered, "Hands behind your back nigger; push those udders out for me."

I was still silent as I watched my wise and sophisticated role model obey instantly, all while she kept Shelly's toes in her mouth. She moved her hands behind her back, and her back straightened as she thrust her chest out for Shelly... her massive tits swaying bovinely from side to side.

It was then I realized two very confusing things:

1. My black boss was a submissive to a white teen princess who controlled her.

2. My panties were soaked and my nipples were hard and poking through my top (since I hadn't worn a bra for the two hour drive home, just letting my titties breathe free).

Shelly rested her other foot on Janette's outthrust tits as she continued to stare at me... as if daring me to say anything. But I was utterly paralyzed with shock and confusion and remained speechless.

Then, when I didn't say or do anything, I only empowered the teen princess even more as she continued to stare into my eyes, as if she were hypnotizing me, "I think your new nigger manager is as much a submissive slut as you are, bitch... I bet she'd love to be on her knees sucking my other toes...what do you think?"

Here was Janette's chance to stand up for me, yet her answer did the opposite. "Yes, Ms. Shelly, I'm sure she would love to be another nigger slut for you."

I couldn't believe that Janette had used the 'N' word and worse yet, to describe me.

Shelly was staring right at me the entire time with a confidence I couldn't fathom an eighteen-year-old having. Worse yet, as I watched and listened I couldn't help but feel my knees get weak... I had never thought of being a lesbian submissive before that moment...always being dominant in my relationships even though I was straight, and facing the challenge of intimidating macho men, loving the power I had over these men... especially white men... yet, at the moment I could feel myself being sucked in by this white entitled teenager.

Suddenly terrified at my own weakness, I quickly scurried out of there before 'Ms.' Shelly could push the envelope any further.

As soon as I got home, I collapsed on my bed and fingered myself to multiple orgasms as I replayed the surreal scene I had just witnessed... although my mind betrayed me like my body had back at the restaurant... I got off by imagining it was me on my knees and not Janette.

Once I recovered from my intense orgasms, I lay in bed wondering what the hell? Why had that turned me on? Why didn't I say anything? Why didn't I protect Janette from such a bitch? Why hadn't I bounded forward and cried something like, "I'll save ya from this white uppity bitch!"

Fuck!

Fuck!

Fuck!

During the next week of school I tried desperately to exorcize what I had witnessed on Sunday... but every night no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, it replayed in my memory, and my pussy dripped like a faucet.

Twice I even called in my white booty call to fuck... where I was in total control. Yet, both times as I climaxed bouncing on his cock it was Shelly's smug face that popped into my head, providing the trigger for my orgasm.

This frustrated me.

This pissed me off.

How was this prima donna bitch getting into my head?

Why?

Why wasn't I able to push her away?

So I was quite nervous when I returned to work... and yet determined to maintain my decorum even as I was still angry and confused (and excited, damn it) by Shelly's and Janette's upside down interaction.

Not surprisingly, my shift the following Friday evening was awkward. I relieved Janette, so we only had about twenty minutes together, but Janette didn't mention anything and acted exactly the same as always... which I assumed meant Shelly hadn't told her that I'd witnessed her humiliation.

Shelly walked up to me at the register and whispered, "Did you enjoy the show?"

I shook my head and said firmly but sotto voce, "This isn't the place."

"Oh, I know exactly the place you would like to be, my soon-to-be nigger pet," she purred in my ear, before walking away, leaving me again stunned... her intention proclaimed... my cunt inexplicably gushing into my panties, even as I fumed in anger and frustration. She walked into the lobby where I couldn't confront her and deal with this right then and there. I also was confused by why my panties were so damp.

Once her shift was over and she left for home, I was furious at myself for not doing something when I'd first witnessed her treatment of Janette, and just now when she'd continued that treatment towards me. I am a strong-willed, determined black woman. I am a feminist. I am trying to end decades and centuries of a family history of being subjected to a social hierarchy where we were maids and servants and even fucking slaves... often literally... for rich whites. No way could I allow myself to end up in a situation like Janette's.

Yet, that night I ended up again masturbating, and again Shelly's arrogant smile popped into my head and sneered at me just as I climaxed.

Once I came, I scolded myself for my fixation on her and my subconscious that seemed to be playing tricks on me. I needed to break the chain of submission... not continue it. 'Black Power' wasn't just a slogan, it was who I was!

Saturday, Shelly wasn't working and in spite of my itching for a fight, I was ashamed to realize that I was relieved.

Sunday, Shelly's shift overlapped with mine and as I was leaving, Janette arriving for Sunday inventory, Shelly whispered, "Are you staying to watch again tonight?"

"What you did was horrible," I said accusingly.

"Was it?" she asked with her usual smug smile. "I just gave her what she wanted, which is the same thing you want."

"And what is that?" I asked, not shutting her down instantly like I should have.

"To serve white cunt," she bluntly smirked, before again walking away leaving me angry, frustrated and horny. Once she was gone I wondered, 'Did Janette do more than just lick her feet? Did she go down on her?' Based on Shelly's insolent words, likely so.

That night at home, I again ended up having multiple orgasms, this time including visions of me licking Shelly's pussy... something I had done with a girl only once... in a hotel with a friend of mine when we ended up tipsy and in a 69. I had actually enjoyed licking her pussy and loved hearing her moans, but had resisted the temptation of lesbian sex since... instead mostly fucking white boys, although I had a black friend with benefits I had on call for when I needed some black cock. Sex was good, but it wasn't personal. I would be wise to remember that.

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