Summer Help

Billy’s hand ran along my thigh and he began to bite my ass cheeks softly.

“Girl, I could eat you right now, right here,” Billy grunted, huskily.

“All right, boy, that’s enough for now. I gotta get some work out of this girl today. So far, she should be paying us,” Ward Joseph chuckled, as he pulled down my now thoroughly wrinkled skirt.

Mr. Joseph patted my ass again, signaling my dismissal. I stumbled out of his office on shaky legs.

All I knew was that I was hot...and that I wanted more.

The rest of the day was spent trying to fend off Billy’s advances while encouraging Ward’s.

Billy now wanted more of what his boss had offered him a taste of—figuratively and literally.

Throughout the day Billy began to grope at me. Once or twice he smacked my ass, and once at the filing cabinet he groped my breasts, just as he’d seen his boss do earlier in the day.

I consistently told him no, but after what he’d witnessed that morning, nothing was dissuading him that he could also enjoy this Caucasian girl’s charms at his own pleasure.

“Damn girl, you got some titties,” he whispered, as he pawed my breasts at the filing cabinet.

“Billy!!! Please...you know I’m here for Mr. Joseph,” I’d try reprimanding him. Without blatantly saying it, I wanted him to realize I was Ward’s—not his.

As I left at the end of the day, my blouse had a button torn, my skirt was a wrinkled mess and my thong was stretched and stained with my own secretions. I was ashamed and humiliated. I’ve become a whore, I thought. These arrogant, over-sexed black men have made me become the one thing I’d always looked down on—a whore!

Mr. Joseph and Billy had spent the day feeling me, slapping my ass, and groping away at will. I couldn’t let that go on and maintain any self-respect. What would my friends or family think if they knew or ever witnessed how I’d behaved in that office...for those black men?

I was determined to not return again.

When I got home Tommy was there. As usual, he was watching TV and drinking beer.

“Come here and gimme’ a kiss,” he demanded as I walked in the door.

I just walked by him. I didn’t really feel like being with him. And I didn’t want him to smell the sex all over me from my soaked panties.

I found myself in the shower again, incredibly horny.

“What have these black men done to me,” I wondered. My body was in a state of constant arousal. I worked my clit under the cascading fount of water...and images came to me again.

I saw myself as Scarlett O’Hara on the plantation after all the white men had gone. Could she not have ever wondered, as she watched the laboring slaves, their muscles rippling, slaked with sweat under the hot sun, whether they might not have been better lovers than Rhett or Ashley?

I thought of myself as Scarlett, inviting the house slave to help move a piece of furniture upstairs in my bedchambers. Then after arriving in the bedroom, reclining casually on the big bed and asking...”John, have you ever thought of me in any way other than your master’s daughter?”

He stares at me in stunned silence.

“Well I’ve thought of you in other ways...ever since I was just a little girl.”

More stunned silence.

“Please John, come here to the bed.”

The large black man approaches hesitantly, confused, but with a rising lust for what might await him.

As he stands before me, sitting on the bed I lean forward and begin to unbutton his fly.

“Miss Scarlett, you sho’ you want dis’?”

“John, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I answer with an earnestness that convinces him that I am now his property, not he mine.

I pull the large black dick from his pants and look up into his eyes deeply, as I shuck the meaty weapon. Then as the flower of all that is Southern and Confederate, I take the black, sweaty dick into my mouth and begin the age-old labor, bobbing and sucking, to bring forth the rich black seed with which only John can bless me.

After all, Tara will need a new generation of strong, young—dark—men to work it.

Suddenly—I came in the shower!!!

“Oooooooooooooo...yessss...”

I had never in my young life experienced the quantity and quality of orgasms as I had since meeting Ward Joseph. My black employer had brought my young white body to life as no white boy had ever been capable of doing.

I realized I would be returning to Mr. Ward Joseph’s office the next day, after all. It was to my previous white, middle-class life to which I would not be returning...ever.

Please let us know what you thought...email at the end of the story.