Author’s Note: This is intended to start a multi-part story. Thank you for reading. Any comments are appreciated.
Lisa was half asleep when she heard her parents through the wall their bedrooms shared. Her father was saying something to her mother. Her mother responded, saying “I’m not going to do it.”
”I wasn’t asking you to hon,” her father said. “Keep your voice down, the kids shouldn’t have to hear about this. I’m just telling you that we must find a way to pay the Reparations Bill. If we don’t, the letter says they could put a lien on the house, or foreclose on it to pay the debt.”
”But how?” Her mother demanded. Was she crying, wondered Lisa. “Are we sure they didn’t make a mistake?”
There was a pause. Maybe they were looking at the papers again? She wondered. “It says here,” her father said, stumbling, “that I’m related to a slave owner. And it says that your ancestor captained a slave ship. His name was Peter Quimby, who lived from 1769 to 1830.”
”No!” Her mother almost screamed, catching herself not wanting to wake up everyone in the house. “I know my ******’s history. I am related to Quimby but he was a whaling captain. He never captained a slave ship.”
She could not hear her father’s response, but she could hear her mother again. “And how could you be related to a slave owner? Your ****** didn’t come to the States until the end of the 19th Century I thought.”
“My great-grandmother was a slut,” he said ruefully. That brought a laugh from her mother.
”How?”
”Remember when we all did those DNA tests back when we got married?” her father asked. After a pause, he continued. “Well, we figured out my granddad was only a half-brother to the rest of his brothers and sisters. We just figured great-grandma Gertie got lonely while great-grandpa Josh was off fighting the war. It was a little bit of a scandal but since my grandpa was the one who made all the money, no big deal. Well, as part of the Reparations Act, the government got access to all of the DNA tests and started sifting through them to look for slave owners descendants and to look for descendants of slaves who were *****, you know to pay them their share of inheritance after taking it from the families that hadn’t done right by them back in the day.
“Apparently, according to this, great grandma Gert decided to cheat with some descendant of a slave owner named Stephen Duncan from Mississippi. And, they’re claiming that the money that my *** made is counted as part of what should have been divided with the descendants of the slaves who … were ***** I guess is the right way to say say it… by the slave owner.”
”How long do we have to pay? Can we contest it?” Asked her mother. Then the voices became more muffled.
Lisa lay there in bed, thinking about what they had said. She never imagined her ****** would be one of the ones who were tolled by the Reparations Act. Were they going to be evicted? What would people say if word got out?
Her parents tried to contest the Reparations liens. But shipping papers were found to show that on at least one voyage, Captain Quimby had transported some slaves to South Carolina for sale. Before her father could file an appeal, a Supreme Court decision came down on the issue of illegitimate children of slave owners. They found that because of the use of slavery to build the US, the illegitimate children, such as her father’s grandfather, would still have to pay reparations, although at a lesser percentage than those who were direct, legitimate descendants of the slave owner.
That still, however, left a massive Reparations bill that was going to come due the month after she graduated high school.
As much as she had tried to keep it quiet, word eventually got out that she was the descendant of slave profiteers and slave owners on both sides of her ******. Some white students immediately cut ties with her. Some students didn’t change how they treated her. Fortunately, her best friend remained loyal. Nicole may have reverted to going by her Chinese name at school, Ning, but she still hung out with her beleaguered friend. However, the more militant members of the Black Students Association went out of their way to make an example of their very own slave owner’s descendants.
On Reparations Day, January 16, also the first day back after winter break, she was made to dress in chains as part of the school parade commemorating the first attempt at reparations that had been quashed by white supremacists. She was made to apologize for the sins of slavery on behalf of her ancestors and to publicly show support for the Reparations Act as a symbol of unity and justice for the school.
Lisa hated it. She did it to get through the year. She did it because she knew if she did not, the BSA would report her for racial insensitivity or, worse, promotion of racism. The former would just have gotten her kicked off extracurricular activities. The latter could mean a suspension or expulsion, either of which would make her a toxic candidate for any college.
So she had toed the line. Said the required words. As a descendant of slave profiteers and slave owners, she was not allowed to join any of the organizations that could have helped her in the new world created by the passage of the Reparations Laws. Lisa was not allowed to join the Anti-Racist League. She was required to take additional classes before and after school each day of the semester including White Crimes 101 and Racial Healing/Racial Harmony.
Lisa was not the only student required to take the classes. Among the other students caught up in the wave of revolutionary fervor following the passage of the Reparations Act were students who had been picked to be team captains for sports or clubs.
One was Monica Laurent. She was not a friend of Lisa’s. She was a rival who had usually come out on top in the social arena but typically lost out to Lisa in the running for the class’ highest GPA. Monica had been last year’s junior prom queen, narrowly beating out Lisa by a handful of votes. Then, it came out that she had an ancestor who had been a general for the Confederacy. Even though there was no record of her ****** ever owning slaves, that had qualified them under the Reparation Act to be classified as descendants of gross racial oppressors, mandating that she be treated like Lisa and the others.
Monica had managed to get out of the anti-racist classes, officially, for showing her commitment to racial justice. A few weeks after Monica stopped attending the extra classes, Lisa was doing one of the extra jobs that were required of her now. In this case, it was the laundry for the women’s basketball team.
The laundry area was just off the main locker room for the girls in the gym. With the machines running, no one would notice her there. Which was fine, being alone these days was better than being with other people. Even her boyfriend was not restful to be around, bouncing back and forth between trying to cheer her up and finding ways for her to lose her racial oppressor designation.
Bored, she stepped to the doorway to try and get a better signal on her phone when she realized that there were people in the locker room. On the bench in front of the lockers was Monica. She was dressed in her practice uniform for the cheer squad. On either side of her was Mr. Jackson, the principal. He was a short, solidly built man with very dark skin, a shaved head, and rimless glasses. The other man, Mr. Lynch, was the assistant coach for the basketball team. He was tall, lighter skinned with a manicured Afro.
Monica looked from one to the other, licking her lips nervously. “Don’t worry, girl,” said Mr. Jackson with his deep baritone voice, “It’s not gonna be like last time. We just need a little service before you go home.”
Mr. Lynch ran his hand over her hair, Lisa could see the smallest flinch from Monica as he did. Lynch smiled, wrapping his fingers in her hair and pulling. Monica whimpered, her hands rubbing the crotches of both men.
Lisa knew she should have done something. She should have left. She should have made noise. This just looked wrong. But that voice in her head that told her to go along, was the one she listened to. Better that she not make waves, So she slipped back behind the door frame, just enough of her face peeking around to see what happened next.
Monica unzipped Mr. Jackson’s pants first, the older man helping her by undoing his belt for her as she slipped her hand into his slacks. Monica’s other hand fumbled with Mr Lynch, rubbing him through his track pants, the outline of a cock becoming visible through the pants.
“That’s it, baby girl,” Mr. Jackson growled as Monica’s hands moved, stroking his cock, pulling it free and leaning in to kiss the tip. Lisa slipped back behind the door, but she could hear the sounds of Monica’s mouth as she took the cock and started to suck on it. Gagging sounds soon could be heard, Lisa imagined that one, probably the principal, was being more forceful, fucking Monica’s face hard.
Lisa squirmed. She shouldn’t be so aroused by this. But all those spicy novels her mom had put on the ****** Kindle account had given her a taste for less-than-consensual situations. She could hear the groan and then the cough, imagining that it was the principal pulling his long, thick cock from Monica’s mouth, letting her get some air for a moment. The gagging sound started again a moment later, maybe because she had turned to accept Mr. Jackson’s cock. Grunts were starting to be heard, two sets. One must be in her mouth the other in her pussy.. or maybe Monica was enough of a slut that she would want them to take her ass.
Without realizing it, Lisa had pressed herself against the washing machine. The hum and the vibrations of the machines moved through her skirt, panting as she imagined what was going on just a few yards away. She hated she was so turned on by this as she pressed her mound against the washer as the vibrations got more intense. Biting on her fist to keep from making a sound the sensations drove her over the edge as she heard her principal saying “You gonna need plan B,….”
She lost track of what happened in the next room. Her legs shook, she groaned and felt the orgasm erupt in her. From her skull to her toes, her body tingled as she convulsed against the machine, trying not to make a sound, but whimpering and moaning as the seat ion overwhelmed her.
The sensation seemed to last an eternity. But a few moments later she started to come back to her senses, leaning against the washer, panting. Shame quickly filled her as she realized she had made a mess of her clothes, a dark spot on her skirt that anyone could see. She hid, slipping beside the washer and sinking to the floor hoping no one would find her. Lisa finally worked up the nerve to move from her hiding spot when the washer’s cycle ended.
But there were no more sounds from the other room. After a few minutes, she peaked around the corner. Everyone was gone. The only sign that anything had happened was a few drops of cum.
Her year had not gotten better. Because of her status, she had become a pariah. When she failed to get a perfect score on her Racial Healing/Racial Harmony mid-term assessment, she was placed on probation and not allowed to go to her senior prom except to work as a server, helping to clean up and serve food.
All in all, it was not the year she had expected. After graduation, and before the parties started, she and Ning hung out in her room.
”You’re going to Neveah’s party?” Lisa asked as she changed from her graduation outfit to more comfortable clothes.
”Yeah, everyone’s,” Nicole paused and grimaced as if realizing again she had said the wrong thing, “going to be there. I mean, you know. As long as she thinks you’re down enough with … you know.”
Lisa sighed. “I know. Fuck,” she groaned. “I used to be friends with Neveah. And the moment she found out my parents got the Reparations bill.” Neveah had had a glow-up in the wake of the Reparations reforms. She had been a moderately popular student, and friend of Lisa’s, before the last election. But with all the changes, Neveah Long had moved into the stratosphere of the school’s social order. She had finished the year as the Prom Queen and was named Miss BLM, the latter carrying a full scholarship to the school of her choice.
”Yeah,” Nicole said. She hugged her friend. Lisa accepted it but hated that it was a pity hug, even though Nicole meant well. “How’s it going? Are they going to be able to make the payment?”
Lisa bit her lip for a moment. “I don’t think so. They have some of the money, but the interest runs from the date the law became final. And then they reassessed it higher because they discovered some other property that the guy had. Our share comes to like, a half million. My *** tried to get equity from the property, but the banks are hesitant to do that because of something else … I can’t even explain it.”
”Damn,” Nicole said and hugged her friend. “What are you going to do?”
Lisa swallowed. “I think I might volunteer.”
Nicole’s eyes went wide and she looked her friend in the face. “What? You mean like?”
”RIPP,” Lisa said, using the acronym for the Reparations Indenture Payment Plan.
“But, the … you like,” sputtered Nicole for a moment.
“I know, “ Lisa said quietly. “But I mean, it's run by the government. I mean, guys join the military all the time. Sure they die in war and stuff but like they can’t kill them. I’m sure it's just … more of what I’ve already had to do this year. Do shitty jobs for Black people to atone for what my ancestors did.”
Nicole sat next to her friend on the bed and leaned against her. “Are you sure? Like, you hear rumors and stuff “
Lisa shrugged. “I mean, I went to the website and it had a list of rights that the RIPP participants retain.”
Nicole pulled her phone out and went to the website as she listened to Lisa. “And if I complete a 3-year contract, my parent's debt is completely erased and I regain my eligibility for student aid. I mean, instead of a single year off, it’ll be three but it's not like I was going to go to college to party and stuff. I’ll only be 21 when I’m done and I’ll be able to apply to schools and show that I’ve paid on my ******’s Reparation Debt. That has to look good for something, right?.”
”Yeah but did you see the penalty?” Nicole said, turning her phone around for Lisa to see. “If you quit, for anything other than a medical reason, none of the service you perform counts towards reducing your debt and it's the equivalent of a dishonorable discharge from the military. Like, I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like super bad.”
“I saw that. But I mean, if I do it, then my parents keep the house, and my baby brother and sister won’t have to move schools because there’s no way mom and *** will be able to keep living in this area after the government takes all our money for the Reparations debt. Plus, they won’t be tagged as DSO/DSP like I was, so they might be able to go to college without having to do extra. ”
”Have you, like, told your parents?” Asked Nicole.
Lisa shook her head. “I’m 18. They’ve done so much for me and they’re getting fucked because of a stupid quirk of history. I can do this. I already made the intake appointment for tomorrow.”
”No cap?” Nicole said. Lisa just nodded. “Dayum. Do you want me to blow off Neveah’s party? I totally will. I feel like after tomorrow I won't see you forever!”
Lisa hugged her friend, hearing her cry softly. Why wasn’t she crying? Lisa wondered. “It's ok. I’m sure once they have me set up somewhere I will be able to get in touch. Besides,” Lisa said with a sigh, “you don’t want it getting out that you skipped Miss BLM’s party. You’re white adjacent as is, I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
The next day, Lisa quietly got up early. She dressed in a pair of jeans and a tank top. She slipped on a pair of wedge sandals that gave her 5’3 a couple of extra inches. The website had not said what to bring to the interview other than her government-issued photo ID, which for her was the driver’s license in her wallet. She threw it and her phone into a small backpack, a knockoff of a Chanel backpack.
She left a note on her desk using one of the leftover thank you cards she had not needed for graduation gifts. It told her parents not to worry, that she would contact them as soon as she could.
Forty-five minutes later she was one of half a dozen men and women in a waiting room downtown in one of the government buildings. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she remembered her trip to the DMV for her license had been, but the wait seemed nearly as long.
Three of the people looked like her, young, probably fresh from high school, and a little nervous. The other two were both adults to Lisa and looked like they had come in together. Guessing they were in their early thirties, they looked related but she wasn’t sure. Like her, four of the others had clothes on that suggested that at one time they had more money, but the fact they were a season or two past, suggested they had been caught up in the Reparations debt crunch.
After an hour, a Black woman entered the waiting area from a door and called “Lisa Newmark? Come this way.”
Lisa hopped to her feet and quickly followed the woman. The woman was taller than she was, closer to six feet, wearing a slacks and blouse with her hair in a braided bun. Not skinny but not heavy. Thick seemed disrespectful to her mind to describe the sort of power the woman’s body and movement displayed. So much confidence in just the motions she had given to direct Lisa, that they had made her wish she she could someday be that assertive again.
She was older, she looked late 30s or maybe 40s. Without looking at her, the woman said, “I’m Laetitia Mack. I will be conducting your assessment today. You may refer to me as Mrs Mack. Understood?”
”Yes Mrs Mack,” Lisa said, walking quickly to keep pace with Mack’s longer strides. After a couple of turns along the hallway, Mack used a card that hung from a lanyard that hung around her neck to unlock a door. She gestured Lisa in.
The room was spare. A couple of chairs, a table. A cabinet along two walls. If there had been a mirror along one wall, she would have sworn she was in a police interrogation room. “Now, child, you indicated that you wish to be part of the Reparations Indentured Payment Program.”
”Yes, Mrs. Mack, I-” Lisa started to say and was cut off by the woman holding up a hand. She sat down in one of the chairs and gestured for Lisa to take the one that placed the door she had entered from at her back.
“Child, if you want to impress me, you will not use 10 words when the answer calls for one, is that clear?”
Lisa controlled herself and nodded, saying, “Yes Mrs. Mack.”
“Good girl,” she said, pulling open the lap drawer of the table and extracting a tablet and stylus, placing them on the table in front of Lisa. “Now, once you pick up the tablet, you will have 60 minutes to complete the test questions. I will not be able to answer any questions related to the test. If the tablet has a malfunction and will not accept input using the stylus, inform me immediately and I will deal with it,” Mack said in a tone that made it clear she had said it many times. “This is the Indenture Servant Aptitude Assessment. There are 60 questions. To be considered for the program, you must score at least 40 correct. Do you understand?”
”Yes, Mrs. Mack,” Lisa responded. She had heard there was a test, but now she was worried. What if she didn’t answer enough right? How would she return to her parents after leaving like she had?”
”You may begin, child,” Mack said, looking her in the eyes. It took Lisa a moment or two to realize the test had begun. Grabbing up the tablet, she started to answer the questions. Quickly she realized that this was not a test that someone who had taken a heavy load of AP and Honors classes needed to fear. At least until it reached the DEI portion of the exam. Even those were doable, especially since they were all multiple-choice answers.”
Mack pulled out her phone and watched the answers come in along with other evaluations that the computers were making based on her body language and even eye glance as she took the test. It took Lisa only 30 minutes to answer all the questions, missing only one, math question because she hadn’t been able to use a calculator.
Taking the tablet from Lisa, Mack stood up. “Wait here for a moment. And just as a warning, if you leave in the middle of an assessment, that counts as quitting the program. Do you understand?” Lisa acknowledged the instruction and Mack walked out of the room.
One door down was the monitoring room. Four laptops had been set up with additional monitors. Three people were in the room, two women and a man. Well, Mack corrected herself, a white boy.
“What do you think of her?” Mack said to the younger of the two.
”Honestly, other than being very smart, she’s boring as fuck,” the younger woman said. The younger woman wore her hair short, dyed pink. She was lean, like a long-distance runner, only shorter. “I mean, the eye glance indicates she’s not happy about being here. Her body language is tense but compliant. She’s another little daddy’s princess who lost all her toys when the mean old people came and took her ******’s money.”
The other woman agreed. “Maya’s mostly right. I think she’s got a little something more to her, but I’d have to test her for longer than we can for someone like this. Ask her the standard questions and then see how she reacts. I think she’ll be fine for domestic employment. I don’t think she’s a candidate for advanced training. Have the doc check her out so we know if any issues might make her unsuitable.”
Mack nodded and then noticed the white boy kept looking over at the monitor with Lisa on it. Mack leaned in and whispered, “Do you see something you miss, bitch?”
The technician sat up straight, face flushing. “No. I mean... I’m sorry Mrs. Mack.”
Mack sneered down at him. “Were you thinking what she looks like without all those clothes on? Maybe you could break out of your little cage and try and make a baby with her? That young, teen body. Untouched by a real Man, so she might take pity on you.”
The technician squirmed in his seat. Mack leaned in again, whispering so softly this time that it could barely be heard by Maya, “Or are you thinking how she will look after a real Man has finished with, stretched her out like no white boy ever could?”
He shuddered a little at the images he now had in his mind. He could see Lisa, her lithe, body stripped of clothes, a man like the one Mrs Mack was married to, pounding his thick cock into Lisa as he watched. On the one hand part of his brain, the trial al part said he should do something, but the primal part of his brain just wanted to see her wrecked by a Black Man’s cock. He squirmed his cock… no, he had learned he had a little penis from women like Mrs. Mack… was starting to leak into it the tiny cage that kept him chaste.
On the screen, Lisa chose her final answers put down the tablet, and sat. Waiting.
Lisa was half asleep when she heard her parents through the wall their bedrooms shared. Her father was saying something to her mother. Her mother responded, saying “I’m not going to do it.””I wasn’t asking you to hon,” her father said. “Keep your voice down, the kids shouldn’t have to hear about this. I’m just telling you that we must find a way to pay the Reparations Bill. If we don’t, the letter says they could put a lien on the house, or foreclose on it to pay the debt.”
”But how?” Her mother demanded. Was she crying, wondered Lisa. “Are we sure they didn’t make a mistake?”
There was a pause. Maybe they were looking at the papers again? She wondered. “It says here,” her father said, stumbling, “that I’m related to a slave owner. And it says that your ancestor captained a slave ship. His name was Peter Quimby, who lived from 1769 to 1830.”
”No!” Her mother almost screamed, catching herself not wanting to wake up everyone in the house. “I know my ******’s history. I am related to Quimby but he was a whaling captain. He never captained a slave ship.”
She could not hear her father’s response, but she could hear her mother again. “And how could you be related to a slave owner? Your ****** didn’t come to the States until the end of the 19th Century I thought.”
“My great-grandmother was a slut,” he said ruefully. That brought a laugh from her mother.
”How?”
”Remember when we all did those DNA tests back when we got married?” her father asked. After a pause, he continued. “Well, we figured out my granddad was only a half-brother to the rest of his brothers and sisters. We just figured great-grandma Gertie got lonely while great-grandpa Josh was off fighting the war. It was a little bit of a scandal but since my grandpa was the one who made all the money, no big deal. Well, as part of the Reparations Act, the government got access to all of the DNA tests and started sifting through them to look for slave owners descendants and to look for descendants of slaves who were *****, you know to pay them their share of inheritance after taking it from the families that hadn’t done right by them back in the day.
“Apparently, according to this, great grandma Gert decided to cheat with some descendant of a slave owner named Stephen Duncan from Mississippi. And, they’re claiming that the money that my *** made is counted as part of what should have been divided with the descendants of the slaves who … were ***** I guess is the right way to say say it… by the slave owner.”
”How long do we have to pay? Can we contest it?” Asked her mother. Then the voices became more muffled.
Lisa lay there in bed, thinking about what they had said. She never imagined her ****** would be one of the ones who were tolled by the Reparations Act. Were they going to be evicted? What would people say if word got out?
Her parents tried to contest the Reparations liens. But shipping papers were found to show that on at least one voyage, Captain Quimby had transported some slaves to South Carolina for sale. Before her father could file an appeal, a Supreme Court decision came down on the issue of illegitimate children of slave owners. They found that because of the use of slavery to build the US, the illegitimate children, such as her father’s grandfather, would still have to pay reparations, although at a lesser percentage than those who were direct, legitimate descendants of the slave owner.
That still, however, left a massive Reparations bill that was going to come due the month after she graduated high school.
As much as she had tried to keep it quiet, word eventually got out that she was the descendant of slave profiteers and slave owners on both sides of her ******. Some white students immediately cut ties with her. Some students didn’t change how they treated her. Fortunately, her best friend remained loyal. Nicole may have reverted to going by her Chinese name at school, Ning, but she still hung out with her beleaguered friend. However, the more militant members of the Black Students Association went out of their way to make an example of their very own slave owner’s descendants.
On Reparations Day, January 16, also the first day back after winter break, she was made to dress in chains as part of the school parade commemorating the first attempt at reparations that had been quashed by white supremacists. She was made to apologize for the sins of slavery on behalf of her ancestors and to publicly show support for the Reparations Act as a symbol of unity and justice for the school.
Lisa hated it. She did it to get through the year. She did it because she knew if she did not, the BSA would report her for racial insensitivity or, worse, promotion of racism. The former would just have gotten her kicked off extracurricular activities. The latter could mean a suspension or expulsion, either of which would make her a toxic candidate for any college.
So she had toed the line. Said the required words. As a descendant of slave profiteers and slave owners, she was not allowed to join any of the organizations that could have helped her in the new world created by the passage of the Reparations Laws. Lisa was not allowed to join the Anti-Racist League. She was required to take additional classes before and after school each day of the semester including White Crimes 101 and Racial Healing/Racial Harmony.
Lisa was not the only student required to take the classes. Among the other students caught up in the wave of revolutionary fervor following the passage of the Reparations Act were students who had been picked to be team captains for sports or clubs.
One was Monica Laurent. She was not a friend of Lisa’s. She was a rival who had usually come out on top in the social arena but typically lost out to Lisa in the running for the class’ highest GPA. Monica had been last year’s junior prom queen, narrowly beating out Lisa by a handful of votes. Then, it came out that she had an ancestor who had been a general for the Confederacy. Even though there was no record of her ****** ever owning slaves, that had qualified them under the Reparation Act to be classified as descendants of gross racial oppressors, mandating that she be treated like Lisa and the others.
Monica had managed to get out of the anti-racist classes, officially, for showing her commitment to racial justice. A few weeks after Monica stopped attending the extra classes, Lisa was doing one of the extra jobs that were required of her now. In this case, it was the laundry for the women’s basketball team.
The laundry area was just off the main locker room for the girls in the gym. With the machines running, no one would notice her there. Which was fine, being alone these days was better than being with other people. Even her boyfriend was not restful to be around, bouncing back and forth between trying to cheer her up and finding ways for her to lose her racial oppressor designation.
Bored, she stepped to the doorway to try and get a better signal on her phone when she realized that there were people in the locker room. On the bench in front of the lockers was Monica. She was dressed in her practice uniform for the cheer squad. On either side of her was Mr. Jackson, the principal. He was a short, solidly built man with very dark skin, a shaved head, and rimless glasses. The other man, Mr. Lynch, was the assistant coach for the basketball team. He was tall, lighter skinned with a manicured Afro.
Monica looked from one to the other, licking her lips nervously. “Don’t worry, girl,” said Mr. Jackson with his deep baritone voice, “It’s not gonna be like last time. We just need a little service before you go home.”
Mr. Lynch ran his hand over her hair, Lisa could see the smallest flinch from Monica as he did. Lynch smiled, wrapping his fingers in her hair and pulling. Monica whimpered, her hands rubbing the crotches of both men.
Lisa knew she should have done something. She should have left. She should have made noise. This just looked wrong. But that voice in her head that told her to go along, was the one she listened to. Better that she not make waves, So she slipped back behind the door frame, just enough of her face peeking around to see what happened next.
Monica unzipped Mr. Jackson’s pants first, the older man helping her by undoing his belt for her as she slipped her hand into his slacks. Monica’s other hand fumbled with Mr Lynch, rubbing him through his track pants, the outline of a cock becoming visible through the pants.
“That’s it, baby girl,” Mr. Jackson growled as Monica’s hands moved, stroking his cock, pulling it free and leaning in to kiss the tip. Lisa slipped back behind the door, but she could hear the sounds of Monica’s mouth as she took the cock and started to suck on it. Gagging sounds soon could be heard, Lisa imagined that one, probably the principal, was being more forceful, fucking Monica’s face hard.
Lisa squirmed. She shouldn’t be so aroused by this. But all those spicy novels her mom had put on the ****** Kindle account had given her a taste for less-than-consensual situations. She could hear the groan and then the cough, imagining that it was the principal pulling his long, thick cock from Monica’s mouth, letting her get some air for a moment. The gagging sound started again a moment later, maybe because she had turned to accept Mr. Jackson’s cock. Grunts were starting to be heard, two sets. One must be in her mouth the other in her pussy.. or maybe Monica was enough of a slut that she would want them to take her ass.
Without realizing it, Lisa had pressed herself against the washing machine. The hum and the vibrations of the machines moved through her skirt, panting as she imagined what was going on just a few yards away. She hated she was so turned on by this as she pressed her mound against the washer as the vibrations got more intense. Biting on her fist to keep from making a sound the sensations drove her over the edge as she heard her principal saying “You gonna need plan B,….”
She lost track of what happened in the next room. Her legs shook, she groaned and felt the orgasm erupt in her. From her skull to her toes, her body tingled as she convulsed against the machine, trying not to make a sound, but whimpering and moaning as the seat ion overwhelmed her.
The sensation seemed to last an eternity. But a few moments later she started to come back to her senses, leaning against the washer, panting. Shame quickly filled her as she realized she had made a mess of her clothes, a dark spot on her skirt that anyone could see. She hid, slipping beside the washer and sinking to the floor hoping no one would find her. Lisa finally worked up the nerve to move from her hiding spot when the washer’s cycle ended.
But there were no more sounds from the other room. After a few minutes, she peaked around the corner. Everyone was gone. The only sign that anything had happened was a few drops of cum.
Her year had not gotten better. Because of her status, she had become a pariah. When she failed to get a perfect score on her Racial Healing/Racial Harmony mid-term assessment, she was placed on probation and not allowed to go to her senior prom except to work as a server, helping to clean up and serve food.
All in all, it was not the year she had expected. After graduation, and before the parties started, she and Ning hung out in her room.
”You’re going to Neveah’s party?” Lisa asked as she changed from her graduation outfit to more comfortable clothes.
”Yeah, everyone’s,” Nicole paused and grimaced as if realizing again she had said the wrong thing, “going to be there. I mean, you know. As long as she thinks you’re down enough with … you know.”
Lisa sighed. “I know. Fuck,” she groaned. “I used to be friends with Neveah. And the moment she found out my parents got the Reparations bill.” Neveah had had a glow-up in the wake of the Reparations reforms. She had been a moderately popular student, and friend of Lisa’s, before the last election. But with all the changes, Neveah Long had moved into the stratosphere of the school’s social order. She had finished the year as the Prom Queen and was named Miss BLM, the latter carrying a full scholarship to the school of her choice.
”Yeah,” Nicole said. She hugged her friend. Lisa accepted it but hated that it was a pity hug, even though Nicole meant well. “How’s it going? Are they going to be able to make the payment?”
Lisa bit her lip for a moment. “I don’t think so. They have some of the money, but the interest runs from the date the law became final. And then they reassessed it higher because they discovered some other property that the guy had. Our share comes to like, a half million. My *** tried to get equity from the property, but the banks are hesitant to do that because of something else … I can’t even explain it.”
”Damn,” Nicole said and hugged her friend. “What are you going to do?”
Lisa swallowed. “I think I might volunteer.”
Nicole’s eyes went wide and she looked her friend in the face. “What? You mean like?”
”RIPP,” Lisa said, using the acronym for the Reparations Indenture Payment Plan.
“But, the … you like,” sputtered Nicole for a moment.
“I know, “ Lisa said quietly. “But I mean, it's run by the government. I mean, guys join the military all the time. Sure they die in war and stuff but like they can’t kill them. I’m sure it's just … more of what I’ve already had to do this year. Do shitty jobs for Black people to atone for what my ancestors did.”
Nicole sat next to her friend on the bed and leaned against her. “Are you sure? Like, you hear rumors and stuff “
Lisa shrugged. “I mean, I went to the website and it had a list of rights that the RIPP participants retain.”
Nicole pulled her phone out and went to the website as she listened to Lisa. “And if I complete a 3-year contract, my parent's debt is completely erased and I regain my eligibility for student aid. I mean, instead of a single year off, it’ll be three but it's not like I was going to go to college to party and stuff. I’ll only be 21 when I’m done and I’ll be able to apply to schools and show that I’ve paid on my ******’s Reparation Debt. That has to look good for something, right?.”
”Yeah but did you see the penalty?” Nicole said, turning her phone around for Lisa to see. “If you quit, for anything other than a medical reason, none of the service you perform counts towards reducing your debt and it's the equivalent of a dishonorable discharge from the military. Like, I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like super bad.”
“I saw that. But I mean, if I do it, then my parents keep the house, and my baby brother and sister won’t have to move schools because there’s no way mom and *** will be able to keep living in this area after the government takes all our money for the Reparations debt. Plus, they won’t be tagged as DSO/DSP like I was, so they might be able to go to college without having to do extra. ”
”Have you, like, told your parents?” Asked Nicole.
Lisa shook her head. “I’m 18. They’ve done so much for me and they’re getting fucked because of a stupid quirk of history. I can do this. I already made the intake appointment for tomorrow.”
”No cap?” Nicole said. Lisa just nodded. “Dayum. Do you want me to blow off Neveah’s party? I totally will. I feel like after tomorrow I won't see you forever!”
Lisa hugged her friend, hearing her cry softly. Why wasn’t she crying? Lisa wondered. “It's ok. I’m sure once they have me set up somewhere I will be able to get in touch. Besides,” Lisa said with a sigh, “you don’t want it getting out that you skipped Miss BLM’s party. You’re white adjacent as is, I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
The next day, Lisa quietly got up early. She dressed in a pair of jeans and a tank top. She slipped on a pair of wedge sandals that gave her 5’3 a couple of extra inches. The website had not said what to bring to the interview other than her government-issued photo ID, which for her was the driver’s license in her wallet. She threw it and her phone into a small backpack, a knockoff of a Chanel backpack.
She left a note on her desk using one of the leftover thank you cards she had not needed for graduation gifts. It told her parents not to worry, that she would contact them as soon as she could.
Forty-five minutes later she was one of half a dozen men and women in a waiting room downtown in one of the government buildings. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she remembered her trip to the DMV for her license had been, but the wait seemed nearly as long.
Three of the people looked like her, young, probably fresh from high school, and a little nervous. The other two were both adults to Lisa and looked like they had come in together. Guessing they were in their early thirties, they looked related but she wasn’t sure. Like her, four of the others had clothes on that suggested that at one time they had more money, but the fact they were a season or two past, suggested they had been caught up in the Reparations debt crunch.
After an hour, a Black woman entered the waiting area from a door and called “Lisa Newmark? Come this way.”
Lisa hopped to her feet and quickly followed the woman. The woman was taller than she was, closer to six feet, wearing a slacks and blouse with her hair in a braided bun. Not skinny but not heavy. Thick seemed disrespectful to her mind to describe the sort of power the woman’s body and movement displayed. So much confidence in just the motions she had given to direct Lisa, that they had made her wish she she could someday be that assertive again.
She was older, she looked late 30s or maybe 40s. Without looking at her, the woman said, “I’m Laetitia Mack. I will be conducting your assessment today. You may refer to me as Mrs Mack. Understood?”
”Yes Mrs Mack,” Lisa said, walking quickly to keep pace with Mack’s longer strides. After a couple of turns along the hallway, Mack used a card that hung from a lanyard that hung around her neck to unlock a door. She gestured Lisa in.
The room was spare. A couple of chairs, a table. A cabinet along two walls. If there had been a mirror along one wall, she would have sworn she was in a police interrogation room. “Now, child, you indicated that you wish to be part of the Reparations Indentured Payment Program.”
”Yes, Mrs. Mack, I-” Lisa started to say and was cut off by the woman holding up a hand. She sat down in one of the chairs and gestured for Lisa to take the one that placed the door she had entered from at her back.
“Child, if you want to impress me, you will not use 10 words when the answer calls for one, is that clear?”
Lisa controlled herself and nodded, saying, “Yes Mrs. Mack.”
“Good girl,” she said, pulling open the lap drawer of the table and extracting a tablet and stylus, placing them on the table in front of Lisa. “Now, once you pick up the tablet, you will have 60 minutes to complete the test questions. I will not be able to answer any questions related to the test. If the tablet has a malfunction and will not accept input using the stylus, inform me immediately and I will deal with it,” Mack said in a tone that made it clear she had said it many times. “This is the Indenture Servant Aptitude Assessment. There are 60 questions. To be considered for the program, you must score at least 40 correct. Do you understand?”
”Yes, Mrs. Mack,” Lisa responded. She had heard there was a test, but now she was worried. What if she didn’t answer enough right? How would she return to her parents after leaving like she had?”
”You may begin, child,” Mack said, looking her in the eyes. It took Lisa a moment or two to realize the test had begun. Grabbing up the tablet, she started to answer the questions. Quickly she realized that this was not a test that someone who had taken a heavy load of AP and Honors classes needed to fear. At least until it reached the DEI portion of the exam. Even those were doable, especially since they were all multiple-choice answers.”
Mack pulled out her phone and watched the answers come in along with other evaluations that the computers were making based on her body language and even eye glance as she took the test. It took Lisa only 30 minutes to answer all the questions, missing only one, math question because she hadn’t been able to use a calculator.
Taking the tablet from Lisa, Mack stood up. “Wait here for a moment. And just as a warning, if you leave in the middle of an assessment, that counts as quitting the program. Do you understand?” Lisa acknowledged the instruction and Mack walked out of the room.
One door down was the monitoring room. Four laptops had been set up with additional monitors. Three people were in the room, two women and a man. Well, Mack corrected herself, a white boy.
“What do you think of her?” Mack said to the younger of the two.
”Honestly, other than being very smart, she’s boring as fuck,” the younger woman said. The younger woman wore her hair short, dyed pink. She was lean, like a long-distance runner, only shorter. “I mean, the eye glance indicates she’s not happy about being here. Her body language is tense but compliant. She’s another little daddy’s princess who lost all her toys when the mean old people came and took her ******’s money.”
The other woman agreed. “Maya’s mostly right. I think she’s got a little something more to her, but I’d have to test her for longer than we can for someone like this. Ask her the standard questions and then see how she reacts. I think she’ll be fine for domestic employment. I don’t think she’s a candidate for advanced training. Have the doc check her out so we know if any issues might make her unsuitable.”
Mack nodded and then noticed the white boy kept looking over at the monitor with Lisa on it. Mack leaned in and whispered, “Do you see something you miss, bitch?”
The technician sat up straight, face flushing. “No. I mean... I’m sorry Mrs. Mack.”
Mack sneered down at him. “Were you thinking what she looks like without all those clothes on? Maybe you could break out of your little cage and try and make a baby with her? That young, teen body. Untouched by a real Man, so she might take pity on you.”
The technician squirmed in his seat. Mack leaned in again, whispering so softly this time that it could barely be heard by Maya, “Or are you thinking how she will look after a real Man has finished with, stretched her out like no white boy ever could?”
He shuddered a little at the images he now had in his mind. He could see Lisa, her lithe, body stripped of clothes, a man like the one Mrs Mack was married to, pounding his thick cock into Lisa as he watched. On the one hand part of his brain, the trial al part said he should do something, but the primal part of his brain just wanted to see her wrecked by a Black Man’s cock. He squirmed his cock… no, he had learned he had a little penis from women like Mrs. Mack… was starting to leak into it the tiny cage that kept him chaste.
On the screen, Lisa chose her final answers put down the tablet, and sat. Waiting.
- Next: II. Orientation
