Susi Learns to Submit

This story isn't intended to be only 'wham-bam, thank you, ma'm stuff. It's also a story with some character development, and it makes a statement about ethnic social interaction between different cultures.

**

Her name was 'Susi,' and she was a South African 'lady of privilege,' working temporarily in the U.S. as an internist with one of the federal government departments. I was a U.S. civil service employee. We had occasion to talk professionally during intergovernmental agency teleconferences on issues of mutual concern. Teleconferences provided a convenient means of addressing issues without having personnel fly in from all parts of the country. So, while Susi and I talked regularly, we never met each other in a professional capacity.

One afternoon while I was at my desk, Susi called unexpectedly. I wasn't particularly aware of her in a personal way—she was simply another in the maze of people that government employees deal with endlessly. We made small talk while I tried to ascertain the real reason for her call. Susi, though, just wanted to talk. It became obvious that she was lonely, but this wasn't the time to help her with that issue. It was a rough time with 'the program,' and personal calls usually had no place in the office.

I suggested that she call me at home that evening, so we could talk at length about whatever was on her mind, and she agreed. I gave her my telephone number and hung up, puzzled as to why she sought me out to talk about personal things. I did know that she was South African, because of her very distinct accent, and her temporary status was made known to all during the teleconferences. She seemed pleasant enough, though I guess I was a bit impersonal to her because of the apartheid issues in her country's history.

Susi called late that evening, at around 10 p.m., as I was readying for bed. I'd thought she decided to not call, after all. Her voice was shy and uncertain, without the professional attitude she carried during work. I could sense almost immediately that there was something wrong in Susi's life, and just gave her the lead to take the conversation where she wanted it to go.

She was lonely, having made no friends in the U.S. during the three months she had been here. Her in-country support was a married woman who, after having Susi in her home once for dinner, just let go of the responsibility. Susi was living in a government supplied 'apartment' which was a combination living room, bedroom, and kitchen about the size of one large living room. The bed was a pull-down from one wall, after the sparse living room furniture was moved to the other side of the room. Her life in the U.S. was essentially her job and the apartment.

The reason Susi had taken the assignment was because she was separated from her husband in South Africa, and he had temporary custody of her two children. Susi had decided to 'go overseas and see the states,' but it hadn't worked out that way. The job was demanding, and she found she had no means to travel as she thought she would. She also hadn't been able to make any friends. Susi confided to me that she often cried at night from loneliness, and because the Washington area seemed so cold and impersonal.

I interjected every so often to ask a question, or make a suggestion about cultural and social events in the area, places to go/see nearby. Susi responded that she did travel well locally, and had grown adept at using the subway to go to shows, and other events. It was obvious that what was lacking in Susi's life was companionship. And I didn't know if I wanted that job.

Then, Susi opened up even more to me, talking about her life back in South Africa. She had grown up in Durban, Zulu Nataal province, living what she called a life of 'privilege,' under apartheid. She said that she had never associated with 'the coloreds' in any fashion. Even the family servants were indentured whites. She had carried on that tradition while married, and her children's nanny was also an indentured white. Susi had made an incorrect assumption--she didn't know that I am a black American. She had never seen me—we'd only talked on the telephone.

I listened, but chose to not disclose my ethnicity to her. I was cordial, and offered to help in any way I could, suggesting places she could go/things she might do to meet someone interesting. She was appreciative, and asked if she could call me again. I said she could.

Susi called again a few nights later, at around the same time of evening. She seemed a bit more upbeat and positive about her circumstance. As the conversation went on, Susi began to flirt, lightly veiled at first, but then more openly, asking me about myself, what my interests were... She eventually told me that she'd talked with someone on a telephone chat line who had aroused her to a point of masturbation, but that she'd gotten 'cold fingers,' and cut the conversation short. Susi went on to say that being sexually open to strangers in that way was unheard of in South Africa.

And again, the questions got around to me—describe myself, my interests and likes, but this time the questions had a decidedly sexual tone to them. And, I got into the game. I gave her a graphic picture of my sexual makeup, from physical description (excluding race) to my dominant sexual traits, some history, etc. Susi was very attentive, wanting more intimate details and facts. Her voice became more liquid, her breathing slowed to a soft feathery tone. And then she began responding by interjecting comments about her desires, what aroused her, and her frame of mind about needing sex at that very moment. In effect: Phone sex... something that I don't usually indulge myself with.

It became a very direct give and take. Her cries, moaning and heavy breathing all combined in response to my encouraging her to loosen her inhibitions, to open up to her needs and be accepting of all the (telephone) passions being hurled at her. And, Susi did. She gave as good as she got, and all her pent-up lust and need seemed to flow out of her into the phone.

It only took a couple of minutes of whispered, coaxing and salacious words before her moans, furious intakes of air, and (I imagined) contorted groping sent her reeling away to the floor, breathlessly spent, out of control.

**

That became the initial basis for my relationship with Susi. She called, usually late in the evening, when she felt I was situated. Sometimes, it was just straight-forward, as if she'd found an outlet for her sexual needs. We'd talk a couple of minutes, and she'd begin to exhort me to take her sexually, in any manner of ways. I asked if she'd had any success in meeting people, but she always deflected any discussion, saying that she was making do with letters from home.

A few weeks into our telephone 'relationship,' Susi called, again despondent and out of sorts. I asked what was wrong. She didn't answer directly, but asked me if I would stop by her apartment while I was en route to my weekend home. I rented an apartment in Maryland during the week, but usually drove to my home in central Virginia each Friday night. Susi's apartment was in northern Virginia, along a route I could take to go home. Curious, I asked her why—I'd had no intention of meeting Susi, remembering her assumption that I was 'white.' She said that she simply needed a 'hug.'

I suggested that her need of a 'hug' could really turn out to be much more than a simple embrace. She said it wouldn't—that she really just needed to share a cup of coffee with someone, and that she felt closer to me than anyone else in the area. I continued to resist, as I knew we'd likely not get any further than her shock at discovering that she'd engaged in telephone sex with a 'colored.' Strangely, I wasn't afraid of being discovered. Subconsciously I'd always expected that the time would come when she'd find out, but I'd also wanted to manage her discovery. It was a question of seeing the expression on her face.

I agreed to meet Susi, have coffee, and give her the hug she needed. I told her to not expect anything else, as I had a three hour drive in front of me. Not that I expected 'anything else,' except maybe some stern words of rejection.

As I drove towards Susi, I considered her possible reactions—beyond the shock, would she be angry... Would she just shut the door and walk away? I felt a sense of curiosity, as much as anything about this woman who had lived a life where the government accorded her a sense of superiority, based simply on the color of her skin. Beyond that, she seemed a nice enough person.

I entered the apartment complex, and rang up Susi on my cell phone, to let her know I was there. She said she'd come down to meet me at the secure entrance. It was a security door which required a combination be entered to gain admittance. Susi would be able to see me without concern for her safety.

"Well," I thought. "It looks like I'll only see her expression through the glass..." And then, she was there.

We looked at each other. I guess the word for her reaction was 'stunned.' Her mouth was open, her eyes said, "This has to be a terrible mistake!" We continued to look at each other through the door.

"Ralph?"

"Susi..."

She didn't know what to do, or say. After a few seconds, however, Susi opened the door, and I stepped through, warily, continuing to gauge the effect I had on her. I didn't want to alarm her, as she seemed incapable of absorbing any additional shock.

I offered my hand by way of greeting her, "How are you?"

"Why, I'm absolutely shocked!" she responded, but accepting the handshake.

"You didn't tell me you were 'colored,'" were her words of choice.

"I'm not 'colored,' I'm a black American," I responded. "And besides, you never asked what my race is," I reminded her. "You assumed me to be white that first evening you called, when you talked about the way you grew up in South Africa. I just didn't correct you."

"But, you seem so..."

"Intelligent," I interrupted. "Yeah, I know. Most of us are that way. You've been watching too many television shows."

"Look, I didn't stop by here to start anything. You asked me to come by, so I did. I just felt it was time for you to see me, face to face, without any more misinterpretations."

We both stood there, ill at ease, not sure what would happen next. I said 'good-night,' but Susi had gained some sense of composure. She said that she had coffee waiting.

We went up to her apartment. She offered me a seat, which was a bar stool at the kitchen counter. Sure enough the coffee was already brewing, the placements of the cups and saucers reflecting the overall tidiness of her living arrangement. For whatever reason, a dozen red roses neatly adorned the coffee table. Susi poured our coffee, but the conflict in her mind was still apparent.

She took her coffee to the sofa, and sat there, not really saying anything. I knew though, that she was considering all of the erotic telephone discussions we'd engaged in, the lewd descriptions she'd given of herself to me, and of course the volcanic orgasms that always erupted when we were no longer able to contain them. She was thinking about having given herself over in extremely erotic ways to a 'colored' man, even if only on the phone.

She was an attractive woman, in her early 40's, with an energetic, toned build, but with the bit of paunch that usually accompanies a middle-aged mother. Her hair was light brown, long enough to cover her ears, and brushed a bit over the face. Susi had dressed casually to meet me, wearing jeans and a button-down blouse. I sorta gave the apartment a visual once-over, to see if she'd had any expectations of extending my visit.

We attempted to make small talk, but after about 20 minutes, I decided to end the embarrassing visit. I thanked her for the coffee and said that I should be going. Susi got up to accompany me to the door. We stood there, again looking at each other, not knowing what to say. I reached for the doorknob, only to hear Susi speak in that soft, accented voice, "I still haven't gotten my hug." It wasn't a calculating statement—it was the voice of a woman who was desperately lonely, and who really needed a friend at that minute.

I turned to look at her. She was just standing there, afraid I'd walk out the door without showing any compassion at all. Her eyes spoke for her, saying that she needed to be held, and comforted by a friend. Whatever Susi's history in her home country, this woman at this time just needed a friend.

I didn't know what to do—I didn't want to be aggressive towards her. I let my instincts guide me, and smiled down into her face, with my arms outstretched. Susi moved effortlessly into my arms, and I wrapped them platonically about her, high up on her back. I made sure she knew that my intentions were for this to be only a friendly embrace.

Shortly, I lightened my arms around her, to allow her to step away. She didn't. Instead, I felt her arms tighten around my waist, as if she was afraid to let go, and she began to cry, lightly. I held her again, reassuringly, and we stayed that way for several minutes. Somewhere within those 'several minutes,' Susi and I went from the friendly 'hug' to holding each other passionately, urgently straining our bodies together to the fullest extent we could manage.

I looked down into her face again. Her eyes were still teary, wetting my shirt, and getting mascara on it. She looked up at me, seemingly questioning my intentions. I could feel her warm breasts heaving in anticipation of her being comforted other than as a friend. I put my lips to Susi's face, and softly caressed her with my hands.

She melted into me, and as my hands sought encouragement from her body, her lips were searching for mine. I was still not completely sure where this passionate embrace was leading us, wondering if at point Susi would recoil, and put up some defense against her own sexual desires.

In fact, I questioned if this was something that I particularly wanted to do. But, Susi showed no such inhibition. For every touch, kiss, or caress of mine, she responded rhythmically against me, making me know that the passionate, erotic creature within her that had seduced me on the phone was again begging to be unleashed.

We made our way to the bed, and managed to get it pulled down with only a bit of fumbling. I was afraid of anything that would upset the fragile atmosphere. I again decided to let Susi carry the moment. She would decide what would happen, how far we would go. The first thing Susi did was to darken the room, a lot. We lay together on the bed covers, with the only light coming through the window from the street. Susi held me tightly, her face in my chest, as to keep from looking directly at me.

I put my hands in her hair and pulled her face upwards.

"If we're going to do this, you'll be looking at the man you're with," I said, brusquely. "If I'm not someone you want, then I'd best leave now."

I was looking good, smelling good, and my confidence told me that her need for me was overwhelming. I wanted Susi to know that I sensed that.

"It's n-not that..." she responded. "But, this is all so unexpected. I hadn't planned any of this. Especially not that you'd be 'colored...' ahh, black. And now, we're already in bed, and I—I don't know..."

"You don't know, what, Susi? You don't know if you want to do this?"

"Yes, I do want you... very much, Ralph," she said haltingly.

"Then, come and get what you want, Susi," I whispered directly into her ear, and pushed my hips directly onto her. "Come and get what you need."

That was what it took. Susi needed to feel pursued, and my vanity had gotten in the way. She looked up into my face, the hunger showing in hers. I nuzzled her face with mine, then kissed her and began to undo her jeans...

I made love to Susi several times that night. Her first orgasm was from missionary sex. As we continued our love-making, Susi wondered aloud about the number of times I enjoyed coupling during one session. I told her that I was available as long as she showed any interest in continuing. She found that astonishing, saying that in South Africa, men usually only enjoyed missionary sex, and that it normally lasted 20 minutes at most. I suggested that she hang on, and enjoy the ride.

And she did. I exhorted her to 'go uptop,' and she didn't understand. I put her there, and penetrated her, my cock expanding and driving deeper into her than she'd ever been taken (her words). I showed her how to 'ride,' and let her begin bucking furiously up and down on my shaft. I grabbed her breasts, and pulled them down to my mouth, suckling each one in turn. Susi screamed from the oral and penile manipulations, and lost it. She orgasmed even as she sought to dismount the throbbing, pulsing shaft that was permeating tsunami-like ripples throughout her body. I held her in place, locked onto my dick, feeling her deep-set pussy lips writhing wetly against it.

"What was that??" she exclaimed, as she attempted to regain control.

"Get used to it." I remarked, smugly. "If you're going to be with me, you're going to be taken like that. Every orgasm has to be better than the previous one."

"You're going to be the death of me, because that monster is certainly a deadly weapon!"

She told me again that South African men do not allow their women to have sex in the woman superior position. She had never even been allowed to hold her man's cock, much less perform oral sex on it. I told her to closely inspect mine. She did, and I watched her eyes straining to take in every detail in the semi-darkened room. She remarked that she'd never enjoyed such a large and thick penis. I told her to hold it, and she looked at me.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. It won't bite you."

She gently wrapped her hand around it, as if holding a newborn baby.

"Squeeze it!"

"No... I don't want to hurt it."

"You won't hurt it. Squeeze it... Go on!"

Susi squeezed my dick, and it involuntarily throbbed in response.

"Again... C'mon, work on it!" I'm whispering softly to her now, coaxing her to enjoy and explore my cock.

She began to squeeze rhythmically, feeling my cock pulse in her hand each time she squeezed it.

"It feels good... it's so hard, so alive... it makes me want to do things to it..."

"Like what, Susi?"

"Like, suck it. I've never sucked a cock, you know."

"Never?"

"Noo... In South Africa, I wouldn't be allowed to even hold it. Sucking a cock is like a taboo to us."

"You're not in South Africa, Susi," I reminded her, softly. "You're in America, and you're holding a large black American cock in your hands, only inches away from your face. You can do anything you want with it."

She looked at me and smiled. "So I am... You're turning me into a wanton woman, Ralph, and I'm enjoying it, very much!"

"Then, taste me, Susi... Taste your pussy juices on my black cock," I said it lewdly, designed to affect her desires. Then, "Put your mouth on it."

Susi leaned in and touched the tip of her tongue to my engorged cock lightly, then swirled her tongue over the bulbous head. With an appetite born of years of suppressed fantasy, she sucked... no, she raped my cock with her mouth. She kept her fingers around the shaft close to the base, but her mouth polished the rest of it to a high sheen.

I tried to hold my body steady, but my cock was betraying me. It responded to Susi's mouth and fingers by serving her a generous dose of precum that she licked onto her tongue. Susi learned fast, or maybe she was just a natural cocksucker, although one who'd had no opportunity to put her skills to use. She pulled away from the head, and left a string of precum 'pearls' from the top of my cock to the tip of her tongue.

She laughed. She was finding out what it meant to be lasciviously erotic.