Hey reader, don't read further till we have a few words. I write sex stories. As a matter of fact I've written a lot of sex stories. Over 100 in fact. I write about controversial topics mainly involving the how and why of how submission and how doing what we aren't supposed to do can be an incredible turn on.
What that means is that what turns many of us on, what we fantasize about, is usually far from being politically correct. Now I get tossed into the coals by readers all the time. "That story was not consensual. That story involved bdsm. That was anti-gay."
Well for one, it is fiction. That's like saying King or Koontz murdered folks, because they wrote stories about it. They write about murder for the same reasons I write about sex - for entertainment.
Where's the porn? Where am I going with this?
Over the years, I've had several reader requests for a tale of submission with a white dominant and black submissive. I've always declined because I didn't need the outcry. But that really isn't fair is it? If you are black and submissive, shouldn't you be able to read about your fantasies too?
This is one such story. If you are offended by the concept of a white dom and a black sub; and are offended by hearing the n-word occasionally, I suggest you do us both a favor and read another story.
Now, on with the story.
"Heather...." Miss Simms was so startled by the sudden appearance of her student that she was momentarily at a loss for words. She was supposed to be grading papers, but first she was snacking on a cup of yogurt she'd taken in to work.
"...this is my study period. You'll have to come back later." Miss Simms managed. She looked out the door of her office. It was just a small office in the back of her room. She could have sworn she had locked the door to her classroom. But perhaps she hadn't. It wasn't as if she had anything to fear. Heddingham High was a private school...very exclusive.
"So I guess you don't want this?" Heather said, tucking the Blackberry back into her purse and turning around. "Fine then. Be seeing you."
"Wait..." The young teacher knew her Blackberry was safely stowed away in her purse, located in her bottom drawer; where it had been all day. But the Blackberry looked just like hers. Perhaps...perhaps she had dropped it on the way in to school.
"...wait." Miss Simms quickly opened her bottom drawer and took out her purse. However the handle came loose and spilled its contents on the linoleum floor. The young teacher was aghast. She'd never seen these items before. And they weren't just regular old items either....there were pictures of naked girls in compromising positions, everal small vibrators, a large dildo in the shape of a very well-endowed male appendage...worse, there were other items she couldn't even ascertain the nature of. She quickly shoved them back into her purse before Heather could see.
"Miss Simms," Heather mocked. "I would have never guessed. So kinky."
The young teacher could feel her cheeks redden. Heather had seen. Lord, the rumors were going to be flying if she didn't quickly nip this situation in the bud.
"Someone has clearly been in my drawer and played a joke on me," Miss Simms said. "I guess that is my Blackberry after all. They must have stolen it while they were here."
"Look teach, your purse doing something," Heather giggled.
And it was. Vibrating away. The poor young teacher hazarded a look inside to find the culprit. A purple jelly vibrator was buzzing contentedly. She traced a cord from the base back to a controller and turned it off.
Only it didn't turn off. It began to move. The bulbous shaped head flexing and turning. Dear Lord! Stop you little bastard! Her cheeks were hot from embarrassment. She hit the switch again and this time a ring of tiny balls began to turn. Miss Simms blushed redder and redder, there with the purple vibe gyrating luridly in her small hand. She was mortified. Absolutely horrified.
But along with the mortification, there was another new feeling. An itch. A tingle in her loins. Very small. Just a little sliver.
"I can't wait till I show this to my friends," Heather laughed. "It's priceless."
The tingle gave way to cold dark fear as she stole a glance at Heather and realized the girl was capturing the moment for posterity with the stolen phone. Her phone.
"You can't," Miss Simms demanded. "Give me that. That's my phone and its..its stolen."
"This phone?" Heather asked, holding the phone out.
Miss Simms snatched at the phone, but Heather held it firmly in her grip. The young teacher tugged, but her student refused to let go.
"You are being very rude Rena." Heather said. "Didn't your mother teach you not to snatch?"
No one called her Rena. Her name was Serena. Serena Simms. Even as a child she'd been called Serena. Now this girl. This impudent little bitch had taken her name and turned it into some sort of cutsee white girl name. And yet...and yet...she wanted the phone. And she shouldn't have snatched it.
"I'm sorry," Miss Simms offered, but she didn't release her grip of the phone. She needed it. Badly. "May I please have my phone back Heather?"
Still holding the phone, Heather sat down on her teacher's desk, making herself comfortable. At the same time, she did something that made Miss Simms most uncomfortable.
It was such a small thing. Yet, a chill went down the young teacher's spine. The girl, the impudent little girl had reached up and caught her teacher's earlobe. She didn't tug it. It wasn't painful. It actually felt rather good.
And yet. And yet, it was a touch that assumed a great deal. A familiarity that didn't exist. It wasn't sexual. Not quite. But at the same time, it was unwanted. Miss Simms wanted to tell the girl to stop. However, she decided it better to tolerate it until she had her phone back.
"Good. Now Rena," Heather said. "When you call on me in class to ask me a question, how do you address me?"
It was a thing Miss Simms did that most teachers didn't. She would say "Miss Morgan, what was Shakespeare trying to say when he wrote that?" It was her way of treating her students like little adults. To give them a bit more respect and then expect that they live up to it.
If she grew angry with them, she rescinded their status instantly. "Heather if you are going to act like a child, then get out of my class and sit outside."
Though she had never sent Heather out. It was usually one of the boys. It was usually an effective method of control, but now she wondered if it were such a good idea after all.
"I would say Miss Morgan...but..." This wasn't usual. The girl was acting like an spoiled little child, she wasn't worthy of her adult surname.
"Now ask me nicely Rena."
The girl kept rubbing her ear and it was beginning to grow uncomfortable. Worse, the mysterious tingling in her loins was back. The girl had called her Rena. And expected her to respond back with Miss Morgan. It was an unthinkable audacity. And yet it was easier to go along, at least until she had her phone back and got rid of all the sex toys in her purse.
"Miss Morgan," the young teacher began, her former authoritarian voice dropping to a squeaking whimper. Once the words left her mouth, she wished she could recall them back. It felt as if she had given up something precious. She didn't know what it was, but she prayed she could get it back again after she got back that one very important thing. "May I please...have my phone back."
"How do I know that it is yours Rena?" Heather said. "I mean...it could belong to anyone. Did you write your name on it?"
No she didn't write her name on it. Only children had their names written on things. Miss Simms was an adult. Not some child to be treated in such a manner. The poor teacher felt herself growing angry, but bit back her retort.
The grip on Miss Simm's ear was released, but her situation hadn't improved. Now the girl had her by the chin, tilting her head up to look up at the girl sitting so uncomfortably close on her desk.
"No...but ..it has my number." Miss Simms volunteered, her eyes fluttered up, but she was unable to meet the intense gaze of her student, and they quickly dropped down.
"Are you looking at my breasts Rena?" Heather said snidely, shifting her grip from her teacher's chin, back to her earlobe and forcing her gaze back up.
"No..." Miss Simms stammered. "Of course not." She forced herself to meet those intense blue eyes once again. But it was so hard to hold that gaze. Her eyes dropped once again, but she stopped at Heather's lips. To her sneering little smile. Then it hit her that the girl might take that the wrong way as well. Her eyes darted back to Heather's eyes then back down to the girl's breasts once more. By accident, but this time she actually took note of them. They were large. Much larger than hers. And by the look of the cleavage being shown at the top of the girls baby blue blouse, Heather was fully aware of it too.
"Again with my boobs Rena," Heather said. "Pervert. I have half a mind to take you to the principle's office. And your phone too."
"..no please..." Miss Simms breathed. The principle's office. It was a place she sent errant students. A tool to keep her kids in line. But now... now it was a place that struck fear in her heart. Dear Lord, trying to explain the pictures...the sex toys. She could just imagine the look of disbelief as she tried to explain that they weren't hers. That some student had planted them in her locked drawer. Looking up, she knew by Heather's smile, that Heather knew that her teacher would do nearly anything not to go to the principles office. She felt like she was in a hole and getting deeper all the time.
"Focus Rena," Heather said, giving the earlobe she held a nice pinch.
"I'm sorry, I won't do it again." Miss Simms stammered. "But my phone Miss Morgan. I know the number...I could-I could call it. It would - it would ring."
Heather smiled. She had her pretty little teacher right where she wanted her. Now to bring it home.
"But it could be anyone's number that you called. I know...we could look at the text messages," Heather said. "Don't you have something there that would prove it was you?"
"I suppose," Miss Simms said. Although, she dreaded the thought of her personal life being snooped into by her student.
Heather stood up and moved behind Miss Simms, and handed her teacher back her cell phone.
Miss Simms held it with small trembling fingers. She was tempted to throw the little bitch out of her class now, but there was still the purse full of sex toys to contend with.
"Now let's see if it really belongs to you." Heather said.
Miss Simms reluctantly brought up her messages. Now that she had her phone back, she could stop, and call an end to this humiliating display, but she preserved. She'd prove the phone was hers and get Heather out of the office. Then she'd figure out a way to dispose of the toys in her purse and the embarrassing photo on the cell.
"I can't see it Rena," Heather complained. "And you've got it all sticky with your pawprints. Don't you use a napkin when you eat?"
I do, but I don't usually have a student barge in on me in the middle of a snack, Miss Simms fumed. But she dared not utter those words. Instead she meekly said "Yes" and "Sorry" then cleaned the fingerprints off with a tissue. Besides, most of those 'pawprints' as the little bitch put it, were probably Heather's.
As the young teacher clicked over to her messages, Heather looked over the woman's shoulder's and her hands alternated between giving her teacher a massage and rubbing her slender neck.
Of course Miss Simms felt the girl was taking liberties, but she had to admit it was relaxing and she needed all the relaxing she could get after the afternoon she had had.
As the hapless teacher brought up her text messages, she quickly concluded that her afternoon was only getting worse. She scrolled through them one by one.
"Hey Heather. Thinking of u."
"I have sum toyz to try on u"
"cant. N class"
"Ill fail u white bitch"
"Plz Already did what u wanted"
"do again or bye bye senior year"
While her teacher read the text messages that had been planted on her phone, Heather grew more audacious. She moved her hands from Miss Simms shoulder's and slid them down her blouse. Heather prayed her teacher couldn't tell she was trembling with fear.
The young eighteen-year old knew what she was doing was wrong. So very wrong. She had read stories about this sort of thing. Stories about taking a woman...a straight woman and seducing her.
Of turning her into a slave. A lesbian.
It was the sort of thing she masturbated to over and over again.
It had been fun at first. Planting the pictures and text messages. Setting it all up. Each night fantasizing of her hot little teacher. Masturbating. Again and again. Dozens of times.
But those stories...those fantasies had never prepared her for this part. In the stories, the protagonist had always been so sure..so matter of fact. A force of nature.
Heather didn't feel much like a force of nature, with her sweaty palms at the edge of her teacher's bra. So close to those soft little mounds. She felt like a scared little girl. A stupid girl. A pervert.
Was it too late? Had it gone too far for her to back out? Expulsion. Humiliation. Her darkest fantasies being known by everyone.
"It was you," Miss Simms said with a sinking feeling in her stomach. "You did this. My God...you-you..."
There was something in her teacher's tone. A signal. An understanding. Heather's hands ...reached into her teacher's bra to discover her hidden treasures. It was all she could do to keep from rubbing off on the back of her teacher's chair.
The further Miss Simms read, the more liberties Heather's hands took with her teacher. They were now down in her bra and touching her breasts, tracing nubby little nipples.
"You - you set me up." Miss Simms said accusingly.
Heather caught tender nipples and gave them a rough pinch. Causing her teacher to gasp. "Forgotten how to address me already Rena?"
This would be the test. It was do or die. Heather's heart hammered in her chest. The nipples between her fingers felt hot...like little hot embers.
"Ouch!" Miss Simms squirmed, but was helpless to do more than say,"No...no Miss Morgan."
"Yes..yes I set you up," Heather said. "And no..you can't do anything about it. I know what you are thinking, but the only fingerprints anyone will find will be yours. You wiped mine off, remember."
Miss Simms brain leaped ahead. Yes, she'd been thinking that very thing. She remembered fumbling with the toys, struggling to hide them. She remembered wiping the Blackberry off...shit! wiping off Heather's fucking fingerprints. God she had contributed to her own demise....
...but there was still a chance...
"Or that you can explain how it was a misunderstanding. How your Blackberry was stolen. But you see Rena, I've been coming in here every day for the last several weeks. We have emails we've sent. The cute little pictures of me hidden on your hard drive. What would the anyone think if they saw those pictures?" Heather continued as she began to unbutton her teacher's blouse.
"Please don't," Miss Simms begged as her chances to get out of this horrible mess disappeared like smoke on the wind.
Heather paid her teacher no heed, unfastening the front clasp of the cute embroidered bra that held her teacher's small ebony fruit.
"Please Heath..." Miss Simms begged. "I mean...Miss Morgan...I'm..not..."
Then hard fingers found tender brown flesh.
"...like that.." Miss Simms gasped.
"I hope not Rena," Heather purred. "That's what makes this so fun."
"My God. Why? Why are you doing this?" Miss Simms stammered. "Is it....is it because I'm...black?"
"Oh I hear how the other students talk about you Rena - even some of the teachers" Heather said as she continued teasing her teacher and slowly but surely stripping her of there blouse and bra. "What's that uppity little nigger doing here? I bet there was someone else much more qualified. Was there someone more qualified Rena? It's okay, you can tell me."
Heather got the idea from the stories she read. A slave needed to second guess the opinions of others. Who could she go to if she believed everyone was against her. A seed had been sown...she'd harvest it later.
"I..I don't know," Miss Simms breathing became labored. Sweat grew on her forehead in tiny beads.
Heather's blue eyes flashed. She felt high. As if she were on some sort of drug. Her fear had given way to power and lust. Her loins were tingling, a buzz of sensation.
"But I defended you. At least to my friends. I can't very well say anything to the teachers though can I? But my friends...I told them that teachers didn't make shit anyway. Who the fuck would want to teach? It's like babysitting but with twenty kids an hour. They could see my point Rena, but they still didn't like it.
We both know the truth though don't we? What really disturbed them wasn't that you were teaching...it was that they had to do what you said. They had to obey the uppity nigger teaching our class.
But now? Now they may have to do what you say, but you? You have to do what I say, isn't that right little Rena girl?"
"No...ouch" A pinch to her tender nipples brought Miss Simms protest short. By then her student was close to her, so very close to her. She could feel the heat from the girl's body. Her mouth moved close. Miss Simms could feel the breath on her cheek. The fingers on her chin kept the young teacher from turning away as a pink tongue darted out and touched her lips.
"Maybe you didn't hear me right," Heather said. "Now you have to do what I say, isn't that right little Rena."
Miss Simms tried to protest once more, but the kiss that followed silenced her.
Her mind in turmoil, all Miss Simms could think about were all those rich little white kids that had been intimidated by her, the only African American teacher on staff at this exclusive private school..and the teachers too. No one wanted her here. She had no allies to protect her from this - this dreadful girl.
"Stand up Rena," Heather ordered. "I want to see your tight little body."
"Please don't..." Miss Simms begged. "I'll...I'll quit...I'll swear it. I'll never bother you again. I'll teach..I'll go somewhere else. Anywhere else."
"Up bitch!" Heather demanded.
The tone of the command..being called a bitch...once again it stirred something unseen within the young teacher's body. She found herself on her feet and turned around to face her tormentor before she had a chance to contemplate refusal.
"Strip off girl," Heather commanded. "I want to see the merchandise."
By now the idea of resistance was firmly planted in Miss Simm's brain. Fuck this bitch. She had no right.
"No." Reva said. "Now give me my blouse back. Now! Or else I will fail you. Have you expelled for what you've done. Who will they believe, you or me?
That's right. Say goodbye to your senior year...isn't that how you put it? Now let's just...quit this right now...and we'll forget..forget this ever happened."
Heather's chin began to tremble. It looked as if she was on the verge of crying. Miss Simms was sure she had won her way free.
"Oh principle...something terrible happened. Miss Simms called me back to her office....and she tried to touch me...it was horrible...she she...took out these things...these horrible things from her purse...and she used them on me..." and those tears disappeared as quickly as the came and the tearful meek voice suddenly turned hard. "Now strip bitch."
There was no recourse. The young teacher knew she had lost. She wouldn't just be fired...she'd likely be arrested. With trembling fingers she removed her skirt, slip, underwear, and shoes; and stood naked with arms covering her privates from the hungry gaze of her student.